#TLDR: Nothing happens. Like actually nothing happens. And Hank is SUPER OOC

[immovable-force-archive]

Drabble me! // @motherfucking-username

[O] Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours. [X] Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]

The view from the playground was beautiful when it snowed.

They came here a lot, Kew noticed. Whenever shit went down, and they had too much to think about... this is the place Hank's mind seemed to go to, and it's easy to see why. A brilliant skyline shined in the distance, blasting through the black sky like an explosion. They seemed to be on the other side of some kind of flowing lake, with a massive, suspended road that connected the two sides. Even if you took away the cars passing over, the bridge was lit up in blue lights, just like lots of things in this city. The detail of it all was stunning when he really looked, right down to how the snow piled up around the 'feet' of the fence in front of them.

Kew's legs materialized beneath him, as he stepped into the scene. Hank wasn’t hard to find, always in the middle of it, on the same bench. That sharp detail was noticeably lost, in places Hank wasn't facing-- things too far behind him didn't exist at all yet, melding into the black void Kew had come out from. As he got closer, the world became more focused-- Kew could always tell when Hank noticed his presence, because the snow would start crunching beneath his feet, taking his footprints.

"..." Hank looked up from the glass in his hand; just a glance at first, as Kew came into view beside the bench. Then a double-take, brows furrowing. "... Ah, shit," he grumbles after a second, shaking his head. "I'm dreaming."

"Mhm." It's kinda funny, watching Hank rediscover that every time. Devils don't dream, so Kew had no idea if it was normal... Still, at least Hank was aware enough to know what Kew's appearance meant, and he didn't have to explain it every damn time. This was the only place Kew didn't appear as a ghost. He was here, fully, as he used to be.

Kew stepped up, climbing to sit on the back of the bench, the same way Hank did. (Although Kew kept one foot planted on the 'seat' of the bench and bent the other one up, so he could rest his elbow on his knee.) "Guess this means we're talkin', huh?"

Hank scoffed, with a bitter sort of smirk. "That what it means? Or are ya not even letting me sleep in peace anymore?"

Kew's brows lowered, looking back out towards the bridge. They stayed like that for bit, long enough that Kew could feel the snow peppering his horns and shoulders. (No doubt in his giant carpet of hair too.) Hank looked the same, white flakes standing out against the shoulders of his black coat. Some clumps of snow had made their way into his whiskey glass as well, which he was staring at like there was an eye floating in it.

"... I'm... sorry for what I said."

The stare was instantly redirected to Kew.

"I know you don't wanna hear it, I get it," Kew raised a hand to stop Hank from interrupting. (He didn't actually get it, but it sounded like the right thing to say.) "So-- Fine, I'm not sorry, whatever. But I regret it."

Hank blew out a tense breath. "Don't get hung up on it. I don't care."

"Yeah, well I do," he bit back, talking faster. "You didn't need to see me like that. I shouldn't'a even brought up Raikaira." Kew folded his arms, glaring towards the ground. Hank didn't say anything-- maybe he could detect that Kew wasn't done. (Damn him. This whole dream-world was a testament to how fucking observant he was.) "I meant what I said, that's what it is. You can say whatever ya want about what was honest and what ya just said to piss me off, but I meant... I meant the shit about not bein' safe. That was too much."

Another beat of silence. He could hear Hank sipping his whiskey-- a cue to continue, Kew thought. "I give you too much shit to use against me-- that whole fucking argument's proof of that. Now you've got that too-- Can't wait t'see whatcha do with that, fuck. An' you got the best shot'a killin' me out of anything, you know that. So I got no choice but to trust you." Kew chewed on his lip, almost recoiling at the poke of his sharp teeth. This was the most vulnerable to another person Kew had ever been, the most barriers he'd ever dropped, and certainly not by choice. He hates it. It's fucking terrifying, having no choice but to put faith in someone... Giving away any part of himself felt like conceding too much ground. Slipping too many steps in a tug-of-war that Hank could start pulling on whenever he pleased. ... Sometimes it was hard to think that it was the same for Hank. But that was the other thing that the argument made crystal clear, wasn't it? They’re... similar. There was some comfort, in knowing that was a two-way-street-- Hank didn't have much choice but to trust Kew either. Trust him not to constantly fight for control, ruin his entire life and career, or even kill those he cared about and force him to watch. Those were all things Kew could’ve done at the start, and they certainly wouldn’t be here talking if he had. "... S'easy t'think you're some kinda mastermind, lookin' for shit to control me with, 'till ya come up with a good way to get me killed. I know you’re fuckin’ smart." Could he really blame Hank, if that's really how it was? Could he blame Raikaira?

Another sipping sound. Kew glanced over, seeing Hank had slouched a bit. Snow had gathered a bit more on his shoulders, the world around them becoming fuzzier. "So what's your point?" He asks, voice low and grumbly.

"My point--" ... Well shit, what was his point? That his trust's broken? That they had any trust to break in the first place? That Hank pissed away any of the care Kew had felt for him, and they're going to be enemies now? Is that really the path they're gonna go down? Because it's not what Kew wanted, and fuck, he didn't even want to admit that to himself. "... I don't know what my point is."

Hank made a small sound at that. Kew shivered-- a gust of wind seemed to blow right through him. Despite that, he scooched over on the bench, closer to Hank-- enough to accidentally nudge him in the side of the head with one of his horns, making the man jerk in surprise.

"I guess I don't actually think you're like that," Kew admits, nearly letting his eyes droop shut. He slouched as well, resting his cheek against his fist. "And fuck, I hate myself for that."

Part of him wanted Hank to say that he wasn't. Of course not-- he didn't give enough of a shit to cook up a long, drawn-out scheme to kill the demon that lived in his head. If he wanted Kew dead, Kew would be the first one to know about it-- Echoes of their very first conversation played in his mind, where Hank threatened it outright. He’d rip Kew out and make him suffer.  Hm, hadn’t thought of that in awhile... It was one of the first damn things Hank ever said to him. Why would he put up an act now? -- But that could be part of the plan. Anything could be twisted, to be part of the plan. Kew was a fool for trusting his own judgement; what happened the last time he did that!? At the end of the day, Kew was just going to believe whatever hurt the most, to justify whatever shitty thing he was going to do next, and that’s the honest truth. Maybe it’d be better for Hank to laugh like a fucking supervillain and reveal his evil plan in a giant monologue, twirling his mustache about how stupid Kew was. And, of course, he wanted to Hank to say he would've gotten away with it, if Kew wasn't so clever, and hadn't seen right through him. That his plan is ruined, and Kew's safe.

It's a fantasy.

"...!?" A sudden weight on his shoulders made Kew jolt, looking to see a thick, black coat draped over him. "Hank?" The man himself was standing now, a look in his blue eyes that Kew couldn't read. (When could he ever?)

"You're shakin' the bench," he said, matter-of-fact, brows lowered in annoyance. "Gettin' on my nerves. Did they ever invent jackets in Devil Land, or does everyone run around in tank-tops?"

Kew kept staring, eyes wide, though another gust of wind encouraged him to pull the edges of the coat closer. "... Uh," Kew blinked, having no idea how to answer, or even if he should. Hank didn't seem interested in waiting, turning to walk closer to the fence, idly swinging his arms. His breath came out in a cloud of fog-- Kew wasn't sure if that had been happening the entire time or not. "Thanks?"

"Don't, kid," Hank huffed, leaning forward against the fence. "It's a fuckin' dream-coat."

... Well. He had a point. "Maybe I'll keep it. I'll wear it every time you dream."

Hank peered over his shoulder. He looked Kew up and down, then raised his brows with a shrug. "Do it. Suits you."

"The hell it does!" Okay, that got Kew to smile. Dammit! "It's huge. And I don't wear sleeves."

"Give it back, then," Hank frowned. "Ungrateful bastard."

"Not a chance."

"Course not."

Hank turned his back again, leaving a longer break of silence. 'Cause you're selfish, Kew assumed to be the end of that... Whatever. Kew never claimed to be anything better. If anything, being selfish was the only thing keeping him alive-- ... Well. It kept him alive before. Damned if it wasn't easy, and convenient, to only look out for Number One. His thoughts kept coming back to that, didn't it? How easy it all was... He's fooling himself, thinking things should still be that easy. It wasn't selfishness that saved his life during that argument. Or if it was, it wasn't selfishness that saved Hank's life.

He’s still not sure why he did that.

"... I should letcha sleep," Kew sighed, sliding off the bench, adjusting the coat around himself again. “Thought I knew what I wanted t’talk about. Maybe I will in the morning.” Hank didn't say anything in protest, so after a couple seconds, Kew turned away. The black void waited just behind the swing-set, like the entire playground just trailed into a pitch-black tunnel. A minute of walking, and he’d be back in the darkness that had become familiar. Stuck sitting there, until he went to sleep or Hank decided to wake up. 

... Eugh. It felt wrong, leaving things like that.

Kew turned again, walking back towards Hank. Not close enough to stand beside him, but close enough to reach out, and pat him on the shoulder. Who knows why-- some small comfort, maybe. Probably one Hank didn’t want, from the way he jolted at the contact. It’s just... not only was this the only place Kew could show up as himself, it’s the only place he could touch anything. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss some kind of contact... So it’s selfish. It’s always selfish. (That thought isn’t as comforting as it usually was.)

His hand probably lingered a little too long-- enough for Hank to turn around and give him a look like he had three heads. Right, uh... That’s his cue to leav-- “What was that for?” Hank asked, cutting the thought off.

“...” Kew backed up a step, his hands going back to holding the coat around him. Um... Shit. No good answer here, is there? He glanced away for a second, then shrugs. “For me,” he settled on. “Selfish devil, remember?”

With that, he finally turned to walk away. Hank’s stare burned into the back of his head... which meant the black void wasn’t appearing, where it had been before. In fact, the playground behind them had come into that same, sharp focus. The merry-go-round shifting back-and-forth slightly with the wind, the swing-set chains rattling. The parking lot behind it all-- Hank's car was even there, as if he’d actually driven here. What was Kew going to do, just keep walking until he found the exit? Hop in Hank’s car and go for a joyride? “Turn around,” Kew announces, not looking back. “I can’t leave if you’re watchin’.”

Maybe Hank knew that too.