#it is. very fun writing this bratty little edge lord LMAO

[consul-valerius]

Hold My Hand & Tell Me I Did Good (1/2)

She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying. It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies [...] She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time.  

Rating: T+

W/C: 3390

Characters present: Damien, Donna, Imee (wow! what an intro for her this is!), Valerius & Nadia (with some references to Sam too lol)

Content warnings: references to abuse/childhood kidnapping; negative self-talk; general disturbing narration/ discussions of trauma + memory loss associated with the trauma; really shit psychology + depictions of hypnosis lol; Damien is Not Nice to Nadia

A/N: long time no fic lmfaoo I had the urge to explore more of when Damien initially first came home, and it's been a sec since I've written anything in the first person so thus.... this was born lol This chapter is is primarily exposition + usual family drama w/ more of Damien's personal insight/paranoia lmao

Mama and Papa have something planned for me. No, that’s not right. Countess Nadia has something planned for me, and she has convinced my parents into doing it. That’s all she’s done since I’ve gotten home: trick them into tricking me into doing some shoddy attempt at an interrogation. She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying. 

It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies. 

It’s annoying that she sees right through me, though. Is she not human? How could her first reaction to me being alive be to rule out if I somehow had something to do with my own disappearance? She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time. 

“This won’t be long,” Papa lies, his attention focused out the window. He hates this as much as I hate it, but he isn’t allowed to show it. He’s never allowed to show that he disagrees with Nadia—not since the last time. Mama is holding my hand, their knee rubbing against Papa’s. Comforting both of her boys; it’s overwhelming how much they extend themself to calm us down. They deserve better than the two of us, and yet they’re stuck with us. It makes me so damn sad all the time. “We can have tea when we’re finished up here. Or perhaps you’d like to go to the Heart District?” Papa continues, his voice hopeful. 

“The last time we did this, I couldn’t speak for three whole days.”

I’m being cruel, and I cannot stop myself. Mama’s hand tightens around mine.

“We won’t let it get that bad,” they say, their tone soft yet resolute. I can almost believe them—they are much better at lying than Papa. They believe their lies. “The moment you want out, we leave.”

“Is… Naima there?”

The last time she was there, I wanted to die. I still want to die just thinking of it. 

“No. She’s with Julian at the clinic,” Papa interjects quickly, happy to give me some sort of good news. Mama smiles at him and then at me, hoping I return it. I don’t; I slump further into my seat. 

“It’ll just be us and the Countess then?”

“Well… one more person will be there,” Mama finally admits; I knew they were hiding something. They’ve been on edge all day. “A family friend. You definitely don’t remember her—she only saw you at your baek-il.”

“Oh her! Of course, I remember her!” I finally smile, and I can feel the relief ooze off of them both. Mama nudges my side as I catch Papa rolling his eyes, still looking out the window with a smile on his face. 

“So fresh,” Mama teases; I keep their hand on my lap, clinging to it and playing with their fingers. “Her name is Imelda. I’ve known her forever; she’s very doting.”

That isn’t that comforting. I don’t really like Mama’s friends. Or Papa’s either, for that matter. They’re all creeps. 

“Why bring in someone new?” I ask, my tone still scathing even though I don’t want it to be. I’m so tired of making my parents sad, and yet that’s all I can really do these days. “I don’t have anything else to say. I’m not lying.”

“No one said you are lying, Damien.”

Papa sounds hurt saying it, and I want to cry. I didn’t say he thought I was lying.

“Then why are we doing this again?”

“Dia wants to ensure that—”

“The Countess has gotten all the information she will get from me!” I cut Mama off before they can defend that woman. Always defending her—it makes me so mad, I could spit. They have no idea how she looks at me, how she’s always looked at me. When they talk, I hear her voice. It drives me mad. “I don’t have any more to give her! Why won’t you just accept that what happened… is over? No one is coming back for me. I’ve taken care of it.”

I feel bitter, hot tears pooling already and I want to die even more now. Ever since I’ve come home, all I do is cry. It’s like I’m making up for the lost time. Papa makes a noise involuntarily—he’s an angry crier too. Mama is the only one managing to keep a brave face. This is life now, I guess. Her two boys stomping their feet and sobbing and pulling their hair out and spilling wine everywhere while Mama takes in deep, meditative breaths to calm themself down. 

“Damien, I know how hard it is to not know the full picture,” they say as they gently coax me to at least look at their hands. They never make me look in their eyes—they never did, even when I was a child and everyone would scream at me to look at them properly. Mama and Papa never did though. I look at Mama’s hands and relax my shoulders and jaw. “I know that you don’t want them right now. I know that you think you don’t need them. But believe me, mijo, you will want them. Even if it’s scary and painful—you will want them. And it gets harder and harder to get them back the longer you wait.”

Gods damn them. How dare they pull the “I was dead and now I’m not” card on me. They are just as manipulative as Papa and Nadia combined. I love them so much, it makes me sick. 

“But… I really don’t remember—”

“I know, mi vida, I know. But this will help you—it’s different than the last time. We’re going to try something new and a little wonky. You may hate it at first. I certainly hated it at first—”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Yes. With Tita Imelda, too. But it’s helpful—I think she can really help you.”

At this, I have no rebuttal. How can I refuse when they’ve done it already? A master manipulator. I flinch as Papa places a hand on my shoulder. Once I recognize his hand, I lean closer to him until he is resting his head on mine. 

“You’re so brave, Damien,” he whispers, his tone wet. He’s crying a lot now. I realize I’m also crying. What a bunch of babies we are. “And after today, you won’t have to be this brave anymore.”

“It’s exhausting… I hate having to do this. I just… Want to be a family.”

Neither of them has anything else to say other than, “I know.”

I want to slap Nadia as soon as I see her. Mama and Papa have more or less gathered themselves; Papa’s eyes are less puffy, but it’s obvious Nadia can tell we’ve all been crying already. She is obviously sad to see this, but I can see that she is also annoyed at us too. Weak. We are a weak family, not like hers. 

She instantly embraces Mama first—it’s clear who her favorite of the bunch is. 

“Thank you all for coming,” she says in that stupid, relaxed, in-control voice. She embraces my father next; it is shorter than when she embraced my mother. “I have tea set up in the drawing room.”

She moves closer as if to hug me next, but when I only glare at her, she backs off. Instead, she places her hand between my shoulders and gently leads the way. I can smell lavender, jasmine, and honey on her. I hate that she always smells so good. I hate how comforting she can be. 

“Thank you for having us,” I say very politely. “What experiment are you doing on me today?”

At this, she laughs because I didn’t use my mean voice, I used my sarcastic voice, and I know she likes it. It reminds her of my father, and most people enjoy that. They like it when we are sassy but not mean, cruel and petty to others but not to them. 

“Not an experiment, no,” she replies as Mama and Papa trail behind us. They always get so quiet during these interrogations; neither wants to speak out against Nadia, but I can tell they want to. “I will allow our guest to explain our plans for the day.”

I am introduced to an ancient woman. Okay, not ancient, but she’s old, older than Nadia by at least ten years. Her skin is a dark sandy color, her nose is wide, and she has thick, pin-straight black hair. She has very kind eyes, though she also looks a bit wicked depending on how she angles her face. She reminds me a bit of my grandma—Papa’s eomma—though she looks a bit more fun than her. 

“Look at that!” Her voice is very wheezy—a smoker. A lifetime smoker at that. My eyes are glued to the leather collar around her throat; it has pearl embellishments and lace on it, and dangling below her throat is definitely a vial of blood. 

All of Mama’s friends are creeps. 

“Please don’t say I look just like my father.” I say it without thinking, and I can tell without looking at him that Papa is mortified. Tita Imelda—I mean, this has to be her—only laughs at me. I didn’t think I was being funny, but it’s better that she laughs and does not get upset.

“And you sound like him too,” she sighs, moving with her walker to get closer to me. She has massive, cat-eye glasses on, her dark brown eyes cartoonish with them on. I hate that I am instantly endeared to this woman. I blame my grandmother. Old people make me cry—I want them to like me so damn bad. “Stars, you were a little potato the last time I saw you.”

“I’m a much bigger potato now.”

“Bigger than your mother, anyway.”

“Hey! Only a little bigger, you hag!” Mama finally steps in, though their voice is playful and full of love. Oh. Imelda is one of those friends. The two embrace and I can tell that Imelda is trying to will some sort of magic, old woman strength into Mama. I could use some of that, too. 

“I take it your parents have told you who I am, then?”

“Tita Imelda?”

“Pssh, call me Imee!” Imee pinches my Mama’s hip, and Papa laughs at that. “So formal. Imelda. Bah!”

We all get situated at a table as a servant pours us all tea. It’s some sort of lavender tea—something to soothe my nerves, most likely. Nadia thinks of everything. The adults dictate the conversation for a little while. No one wants to start a bad conversation just yet. They want to enjoy each other’s company and ignore the severely damaged adult-sized child in the room. I can gather from the conversation that Imee is tied to Old Man Sam—judging by that collar, I assume he owns her or something. Thankfully that old fuck isn’t here for this. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was here. Creep. Imelda is much better than him. Still a creep, but a better creep. 

“I suppose it’s time I begin my speech now, though.”

I am so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t catch that the conversation has turned back to me. Damn it. Imee is looking at me very pointedly, and I gulp more tea. 

“Yes?” I prod, tilting my head towards her. Maybe if I’m mean enough, she will want to go home. “On with it then.”

She only laughs, though. She is used to this behavior. Old people are great at dealing with my behavior. 

“I’m not going to make any assumptions about what you know and don’t know about me,” she continues, knitting her hands together. Man, she has pretty hands for an old lady. “What I do know is that you’ve had it rough, kid. And when horrible things happen to someone, their body protects them.”

Why do I feel like crying?

“That’s what your head is doing—it’s protecting you. But you need help remembering—that’s why I’m here. You don’t need to protect yourself anymore. You’re safe with me—”

“Don’t spin this to make it seem like you’re helping me,” I bite back at her. Mama looks upset already; Papa looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. Nadia is stoic; she knows this verbal attack is meant for her. “You all want information so you can “catch the bad guys” who did this to me, so you can be the heroes of Vesuvia all over again.”

Imee only smiles sadly at me.

“That’s part of it, yes.” Thank the gods she isn’t lying to me. I would have walked out if she lied to me.  “But I have no real business in the affairs of this little city—I can care less about the things that go bump in the night here. What I care about is helping you feel whole. Do you want that, Damien?”

Damn it. This old broad is good. No wonder Old Man Sam owns her. My tongue is getting heavy; I think I’m about to cry.

“No one… asks me if I want this. How the hell should I know what I want?”

“Well, I am.”

Don’t talk to me like it’s only us in the room. They can all hear me; they’re all watching me. Always. 

“Why won’t anyone believe me?” I’m reaching a breaking point; I need to calm down. I am finally addressing Nadia properly. Her eyebrows twitch; she doesn’t like it when I confront her directly. “I told you that it’s taken care of. Do you want the bloody fucking details? Will that make you feel better if I tell you every little thing I did to get home?”

“Damien—!” I can’t tell what’s upset Papa more; the implication of my words, or the use of the word “fucking.” 

“No, let him speak,” Nadia interjects, standing. That’s right. Come over here and face me. 

“I don’t have any of those to give! I’m home! I fought my way home! There’s no way in hell those people will come back! I’ve taken care of it! I don’t need you, I saved myself!”

I know that Mama and Papa are crying. They can never hold it in when we talk about this. I know I’m being ugly right now, that the idea is ugly. They are probably picturing their sweet, precious little boy covered in blood, flesh and entrails dripping from his bared teeth. 

“Damien, we cannot be so sure unless we have the entire picture.”

Nadia is so cruel. I know she has always been cruel, but I see it so clearly now. I really hate her now. I hate her so much. 

“What if there is a detail you are missing? What if there are others out there who may want to come back?” She clamps her hand down on my shoulder before sinking down to get at eye level with me. Fuck you. Don’t fucking look at me. “Damien, I need to ensure your and my city’s safety. Do you understand that?”

“But I… I don’t have any missing details—”

“You say you cannot remember most of how you got home—”

“I don’t—”

“Those are missing details—” “That’s enough, Nadia!” 

I am stunned to hear my Mama’s voice. By the looks of it, Nadia is too. 

They are standing, their hair now a deep green color. Papa is staring off as if he is willing himself out of existence. I wish I could do the same. 

“Damien needs to be relaxed for this to work,” they continue, their tone still so harsh. “It doesn’t matter the reasoning as to why Damien wants his memories back! He deserves to have the full picture when he is ready.”

“Donatello is right,” Imee adds, her tone calm. She gives Mama a look; Mama sits immediately. I can tell that Nadia has grown cold over the entire exchange. She squeezes my shoulder one final time before taking her seat again, not looking at anyone. “This will only work if Damien wishes to do it. Lofty ideas like the ‘greater good’ will get us nowhere.”

Nadia’s jaw is tense now, her teeth gnashed together. Good. Stay quiet. I look back to Imee, my heart pounding. 

“What is this then? Why are you all talking in riddles?”

Imee sighs, rolling her shoulders. I hear a faint pop when she does. 

“Hypnosis has many uses,” she finally explains, keeping my attention only on her. Her deep, husky voice is captivating. Must be a damn good hypnotist. Gods, I hate this all so much. Mama was right. “Some can be fun. Some can be serious. It all depends on the people and why they are doing it.”

“This sounds like bull shit.”

“It is a little bull shit, I need to admit,” Imee laughs, waving Papa’s worries away. I am being so rude and it is killing him. “But it also helps. Tell me, Damien, have you ever been so engrossed in something that time seems to just… slip away? All that you can focus on is what you’re doing and getting it done?”

“I… yeah. Sure.”

“That’s a little taste of hypnosis. We’re going to get you relaxed and your mind open so you can only focus on one specific memory. That’s all. We don’t even need to focus on the day you came home—it can be any memory.”

I know that pissed Nadia off. She doesn’t want any memory, she wants her answers her way. 

“Is it… a spell?”

“The way that I practice, we use just a little bit of magic to help really open up your mind. Others don’t need it, they can just use an object and their words. But I’m clearly more special than other people.”

At this, I can’t help but giggle. Fuck her. 

“So… what? You put me in some sort of trance and I just… talk?”

“Yes, exactly!”

The idea that I may speak without thinking fills me with an ice-cold fear. That doesn’t sound good at all. I feel a shiver run up my spine; I swipe at the back of my neck, feeling as if some sort of bug is crawling on my skin. When I look down at my gloved hand, nothing is there.

“Damien?”

“I… Will I have any control?”

“You always have control, yes,” Imee leans closer to me, offering her hands. I only look at them as I hold her. Her hands are so soft and so smooth. “Think of me as a guide. I will keep you grounded here during the session, and the moment you don’t want to do this anymore, I will pull you back.”

“How will I know? Like… Do I just say it and it ends?”

“Yes, exactly right. It will be a lot of talking, a lot of meditating, and a lot of focusing. The moment you’re done, we finish. You go home. You live your life. If you think it’s helpful, we can try it again. If you think, ‘To hell with this crazy broad!’ then that’s that!”

I smile at that, too. Is she a mind reader and a hypnotist? 

“Believe me, you aren’t the only one to say that either.” She winks at me before giving my hands one final squeeze. She leans back in her seat, looking at me expectantly. I realize that everyone is looking at me, waiting for an answer. 

Swallowing, I clench my fists. This can go so wrong so quickly. One wrong move, one simple misspoken word, and everything I have ever worked for will collapse right under my feet. More than that, I will upset them. I think I may faint just at the thought. I can already feel my skin peeling at the thought of failing them—what good is a doll if it is broken? If it doesn’t make its owner happy?

“Fine. I will do this just to be done with this.”

But I know that Nadia will not back down. If I don’t do this, she’ll think of some other inane idea to get me to talk. This is a test. This is a test, and I will pass this test. Like I always do.