Do I look "Cute" to you?

by thesarcasmisreal

Summary:

Matthew, a server at a seedy nightclub, meets Spawn when he is viciously attacked by a local street gang. The anti hero gains an affection for the man, and the two form a close bond after repeated encounters.

Chapter 1: Hellspawn

God I fuckin hate the rain. Everything was cold and wet, and it made me feel like one of those gross scrawny alley cats. It was dark tonight, with the shiny slick back alley bricks reflecting little of the light from the mostly burnt out street lamps. There were boxes piled just about as tall as me, and dumpsters filled to the brim with ripped bags and discarded furniture. The ground made of, stained and now soaked, concrete left little pot holes filled with water. Debris floated in it, presumably what was washed up from the gutters on the backs of the restaurants and apartment buildings that lined the main street; just behind the building I was slinking in back of to avoid the crowded sidewalks and polluted streets. The brick and mortar buildings towered over me, and left the night sky barely visible above the spanning rooftops that billowed smoke. Rain jettisoned from not only the sky, but the roofs that are being flooded with the icy chilled rain.

As my boots slapped against the sopping wet ground, and my black coat deflected water around me, I realized how dark the alley was, being lit just barely by the miniscule glow of the dimmed or burnt out street lights. My work uniform and jeans were soaked from the downpour, with the long coat I was wearing barely catching most of the rain. I was far from work now, and the bar I had been serving at for the majority of the night felt miles away, despite only being about 2 blocks away. The rain and cold wind chill made the walk feel eons longer, with the only respite being the occasional canopy of buildings, overlapping others creating a roof that housed no rain. As I walked I heard a sound like garbage falling, presumably wind blowing a bag off a tall heap, trash that was yet to be taken in the morning. With the assumption came regret as I quickly heard fast and loose steps hauling it towards me from behind. I went in my pocket to retrieve my keys, which housed a pepper spray can, but it was too late, one of the men grabbed my arm, ripping my jacket off, taking my defense with it.

“Hey look here, we got another one walking home. Are you scared little boy?” the taller one snarled.

In the dim light from the crack in the alley, I could see he had a crooked nose and was wearing a soaked beanie that looked more like a cobweb than a hat. It was ripped to shreds and left strands of hair poking out. As he held my wrist the other grabbed me by the neck and put me in a choke hold. I could feel his slick arm creating a steel tight grip around my neck, pushing up so my head was forced to look at the crooked nosed mugger.

“Go fuck yoursel-” I barely gasped out through the arm wrapped around my neck. They both were clearly stronger than me, even if I couldn’t see the one holding me in the darkness.

‘Ooooh, we got a feisty one! We already got your wallet’ He stepped closer, in my face so I could smell his rancid, beer laden, breath. "Want me to take your life while we got you here?” With that, I heard the SNICKT of a switchblade being withdrawn, and felt the cold steel run across my arm. He hadn’t cut me yet, but was teasing me, showing he knew just the spots to slice to leave me for dead.

The other one (who still had me in a suffocating headlock), silenced his giggling as he looked up and exclaimed “Oh shit!”. The other ignored him, and as he went to go stab me in the stomach… hesitated? He stopped and screamed, loud and crackled as he was dragged, knife arm first, into an alley by something I could make out the glint of steel but nothing else. The man's shrieks and cries of agony echoed from the dark shadowed area and eventually, was dead silent. The other man thrust me into the brick wall behind him and made a run for it, Only to be snagged by a pair of chains and yanked into the sky, up towards the roof of the building the other man had been dragged to the base of. Blood streamed down with the rain, splattering on the ground and washing away into the puddles forming from the rain. I stood, leaned against the wall with blurry vision from the impact and heard the assailants' screams, this time higher pitched and saying some indecipherable words.

I stumbled over to my jacket, discarded on the stoop, and heard a SPLASH behind me as an impact smashed the concrete ground and the sound of whipping fabric and chains jingling resonated through the darkness. I got my composure back enough to shout “Hello?” but my voice didn’t go far. Then I saw a glow. Not of the streetlights, something entirely different.

Through the thick blackness that enveloped the canyon between the buildings, two green eyes glinted, with smoke casting from the corners and disappearing into the night.

“You know those assholes?” His voice was deep, not jagged, but definitely commanding. Very smooth.

“No, do you?’ I got at least a little of my voice back, enough to tell whoever it was the short statement. There was an awkward silence (Minus the rain) as He didn’t respond, so I questioned him further. “Who are you?”

“You don’t want to know.” Still concealed in the darkness, the green eyes began to fade away. Fuck I was losing him.

“I know who they are… kinda” I wasn’t confident in my answer but I thought it might grab his attention. Now I'm interested in who I could only assume was a vigilante.

‘Don’t lie to me again.” He was dead serious, and took a step forward. This time I could see some red fabric jutting out. His form was still hidden, but what I could only assume was a cloak streamed from the shadow into the little light piercing the dark.

“They’re members of the local street gang, The Scorpions. Show me who you are and I’ll tell you more.” I said with a little conviction this time. I was absolutely playing with fire but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know who this was.

“I don’t make deals, tell me what you know. Now.” His voice was more aggressive this time. Maybe I was pushing too much.

“Look, I’d rather not spill to someone that could be a pig. Just show me you’re not a cop and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” I really hoped that would get me somewhere.

Finally, he stepped from the darkness revealing what was basically just an Ink black figure and some eyes. He had white accents on his skin tight suit and was wearing a massive red cape/ cloak that wrapped around him and whipped in the wind of the alley.

“Do I look like a cop to you?” His mouth moved under the… what I could only hope was fabric, around his face. His eyes narrowed and he walked closer, clearly not happy with the game I was playing.

“Um, no. I’ll tell you all about them ok?” I retreated into my coat a little, leaning onto the railing of a stoop. He stared at me impatiently, making me a little uncomfortable. “The Scorpions are a local street gang. They’re on the prowl most nights, but over here is way out of their jurisdiction. Normally they stay on the north side of town, I have no fucking clue why those assholes were poking around here.” It wasn’t exactly my finest oral presentation, but it would have to do. I’m not used to having to give the rundown to a vigilante who just saved my ass.

“Thanks.” There wasn’t much appreciation in it. It felt more transactional than it did any semblance of being grateful. He began to retreat back into the inky blackness, but I was quick to stop him.

“Hey wait!” To my utter shock, He did wait. “Uh (jeez I’m not used to talking to guys in this kind of situation)... thanks. Like for saving me. I appreciate it.” I sounded like an embarrassed school girl talking to her crush. It was mildly humiliating. I didn’t want to push my luck, but there was a part of me that wanted to talk more with him. “Do you want anything? I could grab you a bite to eat!... or like, something.” Fuck that was awkward.

“A bite… to eat.” He sounded awkward too, clearly he’d never been offered something in return for his services.

“Uh yeah, there’s this Chinese place downtown. It’s really good and they know me. I get big discounts since I’ve been going there forever.” Guess I got through to him, at least a little.

He stared at me in complete silence, eyes squinted as if he were weighing his odds or something of the like. At this point he had come back into the dim orange light of the alley and was now on clear display, his physical form no longer being obscured by a cape or darkness. His suit had veiny detailing and looked skin-like, rough like charred flesh. It showed off his surprisingly decent physique, and accentuated his height to match his menace. He towered over my 5’2 frame and certainly floored me weight wise. I was slim and fit, but nowhere near as comically muscled as he was. He wore a thick chain along his neck (which presumably held his cloak on), punctuated with skulls on either end acting as cuffs. He had a matching skull on his waist, which was wrapped with a chain in a belt formation, although the belt wrapped around his leg as well. The red, black and white color scheme looked nice, but his suit could use a wash. The legs and one massive red spiked boot he wore were covered in mud from the alley, although I wasn't one to talk with how I looked. My shirt, hair and pants were absolutely drenched in a layer of dirt from splashed in dirty water when I was thrown under the downpour of gutter water. My coat was thrown on a stoop, so shockingly it was less muddy and caked.

“No.” It was pretty clear he wasn’t a talker, or one for manners.

“Well then if it’s not a strain on your schedule, could you make sure I get home? After almost getting my shit rocked, it’d be nice to know I’m not going to end up minced meat before tomorrow.” I sounded like a total asshole, but he and I both knew I had a point. The street was far too crowded to get anywhere fast, but these alleys were dangerous as hell at this hour. Times like these make me miss my Jeep.

“It’s rich of you to be so demanding after I just made sure you didn’t get gutted.” He had a ting of venom in his voice, certainly not liking to be bossed around. It's not really what I meant, but this guy didn’t seem like one for social skills. I must've made a pretty pathetic face, because he seemed to be restrained in his frustration.

“I won’t push you. Thank you for the help, if you need any more information on the Scorpions…” I contemplated whether I should be so forward with this vigilante who just killed 2 guys in front of me. “You can find me at Apartment 78 of the Pearl Building downtown.” I began to walk away and heard a fluttering sound come from behind me, most likely him scaling a fire escape to go skulk on a rooftop or whatever superheroes do. As I began to walk, I heard chains rattling from the sky.

He was following me!

I continued on my way home, and stayed silent as I listened for the chains as they scaled rooftop to rooftop. He had followed me for about a block before I said anything.

“So do you follow everyone you save home, or just the ones who ask nicely?.” I was testing how open he was to conversation, which was a silly idea really, but it’s worth a shot.

“Does it matter?” He sounded matter of fact, the first time of the night he sounded conversational.

“Matters to me. You seem like a busy guy, beating up thugs and saving puppies and all.”

“If you think that’s all I do, you don’t know me.’

“I don’t even know your name, which should be a good idea of my knowledge on you.”

“I’m Spawn.”

“No offense, but that's a pretty 90s name. You sound like a comic book guy.”

“It’s short for Hellspawn.”

“What is that your gang or something?”

“No.”

“Ok so then what is it?”

“It means Spawn. From Hell.”

“Yeah I got that part.”

With that, he leaped from the building and used his suits claws to fall down the wall, leaving lacerations in the brick that were accentuated by a green glow. When he hit the ground, a mighty slam rang out and chains jingled into the night. His fingertips dripped with a green liquid, which quickly dissipated into the dark shortly after.

“Are you going to keep asking questions?”

“Are you going to stop answering them?”

“I’m done here.” His steps began to fade as he walked into a side alley and was enveloped in the smoke from a pipe nearby.

“Wait, please don't go.”

When I said that, his metal marked footsteps stopped, and within less than a ½ second period he had grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the wall, rain splattering from my head onto my face and beating down my body. The green liquid from his fingers dripped onto my shirt and coat, leaving neon streaks lighting my form in the dark.

“Who are you! Who sent you!” He shouted, making a boom with his voice so loud and deep it made the hairs on my neck stand up. At this point, he had lifted me up far above himself, leaving my legs dangling and flailing in his grasp.

“What are you talking about! I’m Matthew Morrison!” I gasped, tears streaming down my face as I looked into his gaze. His eyes flooded with green smoke as the water slammed into his mask. He was looking me directly in the eyes, not looking away for even a second.

“Where are you from? Hell? Have they sent you to retrieve me, incubus?” My hands were wrapped around his forearm (His wrists were laced with spikes), and I was holding on while he looked deep into my soul. I could feel him rooting through my conscience and mind, digging into the fabrics of my very being. “You have the stench of sin on you. You’re impure.”

“Please, let me go….” I weakly stated, barely able to talk at this point.

“Where are you from, I won’t ask again!” He slammed my back into the brick and was now rearing his claw.

“New…. Jer…sey” I could feel the life starting to leave my body. As he stared into my soul he stood silent. After the confession of my birthplace, he let his hand go slightly limp, and his arm lost some of its grip. My boots touched the ground again and I fell, catching myself on his shoulder as he lowered me. I coughed and hacked, getting my composure back after about a minute. He stood still, staring at me as I sat on the soaked and dirty ground

“You’re a mortal. An innocent right?” His voice had a softness to it, something I hadn’t heard from him and certainly didn’t expect to hear after what he just did.

‘Of course I’m a mortal. And if by innocent you mean helpless, then yeah I guess I fit the bill.” My voice had mostly recovered and I was sitting in solitude looking up at his back, his head tilted down now to look at the ground, but still kept an eye on me.

“Then why can I see sin in you. Guilt on your soul. I’ve only seen that on one other kind of person.”

“And that is?”

“A murderer.”

Oh my god. He knows. How could he possibly know that? Who was he? No one else knows who, so who the fuck told him? Could he really see my soul?

“On your soul, I saw the black stain of someone who was killed. The guilt of taking a life.”

“I’m not a murderer, but I've killed.”

“Who.”

I hesitated, but figured that what he could do and see was so far beyond the comprehension of human understanding that I was boned no matter what.

“My father, in self defense. I was 10. He was going to kill me and I stabbed him to death.” I don’t know why I was comfortable telling him this. No one else in my life knew, especially not someone I've known for less than 5 hours.

“That’s a shitty thing isn’t it? Having to kill to survive?”

The silence spoke more than words by so much it was almost painful. He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t want to say that. I did what I had to do. Further conversation was completely unnecessary. What I’ve done in the past is the past and who I am now is who I am now, not then.
He finally turned around and looked at me, taking in the surely anguished look on my face. I wasn’t crying, but the scowl I had must have been fucking legendary.

“You want me to walk you home?”

The perplexed look on my face was enough to tell him I demanded an explanation for what he just uttered.

“I’m not going to ask again.’ He denied me an explanation, rather cutting to the part where he doesn’t take my shit. His voice had a command to it that wasn’t angry or even intimidating, but had a respect in it I could feel resonate in me.

“Sure. But first we have to talk about you.”

“What about me?” The hesitation was palpable, but he didn't deny the line of questioning.

“What are you?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah a hellspawn, but what does that mean exactly?”

“Kid have you not caught on yet? I’m dead.” he said it with a ferocity that I could feel, lending to the topic being a sore spot for him.

“I don’t believe you.” Yeah that was a mistake.

“Stab me. With that piece of glass. Do it.”

“What? No fucking way, I believe you.”

“Fuckin pussy.”

“Language.”

“Do you want me to choke you again, Morrison?”

“Are you flirting with me?”

He went totally silent. What the hell do I say? Is he flirting with me??

“I’m not mad about earlier. I figure you have your reasons to be worried.”

“Why would I care if you’re mad at me?”

“Because you saved my ass and then almost made sure I got home safe. Average first date stuff.”

Silence. Again. He’s really awkward isn't he?

“Are you still passing on the Chinese food?”

“I’m a walking corpse. I don’t need to eat.”

“Can you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you then?’

“What does it matter to you?”

“Would I be nuts for saying I wanted to take you out for dinner?”

“Yes. I’m dead.”

“You seem like a pretty normal guy besides the get up.”

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t say no to the dinner idea.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“What about a movie?”

“Do I look like I can walk into a theater?”

“Who said anything about a theater?”

"Why do you want to invite a dead man into your house?”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do. I work as a waiter at a shitty gay bar and write bad romance novels for single moms in my spare time. Getting choked out was the most interesting thing to happen to me since I graduated from College.”

“That's pathetic.”

‘And you're so much better? What do you even do in your spare time?”

‘I don’t have spare time.”

“Seems like you got plenty when you met me.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

As we walked from the alley onto the vacant side street my building was on, he stayed behind in the shadows.

“I’m not coming with you.”

“Well, I won't fight you on it (not that I could win anyway). My house is dry. You don’t have to be in the rain. I have a comfy futon you can use, and a space heater.”

“No.” He didn’t have as much conviction in his voice as he normally did. Was he… upset? I couldn’t honestly tell, but there was a feeling of sadness in his voice as he rejected my offer.

“Ok. I understand. Goodnight.”

I used the key on the old wooden door, pushing it in and releasing the smell of old wood and dust outside. As I stepped into the dry room, a small foyer that had staircases leading to the apartments, I looked back to see Spawn in the alley, watching me. He was in the shadows, but his green eyes pierced the dark and locked onto me. To most people it would seem creepy, but I know he’s just making sure I get in safely. For someone as gruff and scary as he genuinely is, he’s got a good heart and good intentions. I can feel it.

Chapter 1 End -

Chapter 2: Surgical

Notes:

This chapter has some gore content. If you're squeamish or adverse to surgery or blood, this isn't for you.

The shift at “Snakes Lounge” felt longer than usual, drawn out by the poor business Tuesdays brought in. There was no performer for the night so all we got was a few of our regulars. Marty, Steven, Darrius. The others were either homeless looking for shelter or drifters who didn’t realize it was a gay bar and left right after they found out. As the night wound down, we turned the TV positioned at the end of the bar to the late-night local news.

 

“3 FOUND DEAD IN SCORPION GANG DRUG BUST; VIGILANTE STILL AT LARGE”

 

The TV was quiet (the speakers on it were broken so its sound barely went past the first few seats of the bar) but the text on screen told me all I needed to know. Eventually, images flashed of the warehouse that the Scorpions presumably used to run drugs, and it moved next to images of the Vigilante. A shadowy figure on the rooftops, and someone somehow got a blurry photo of. It was Spawn of course, perched above the warehouse watching the gang members get taken in. According to the subtitles, Spawn killed 3 of the guys and one of them (stupidly) called the police and Spawn, as well as the Scorpions, were forced to retreat. The cops called it a “drug bust,” but it was pretty clear they just stumbled on the stash after the call.

 

Eventually, the regulars left for the night and the bar was left vacant with just my boss and I. We locked up, and I called a cab to take me home. As much as I’d kill to talk to Spawn again, the Scorpions were starting to become a legitimate threat in this area. Over the last 2 weeks, there has been a significant spike in Scorpion fronted crimes, and it’s clear they’re moving from the north (where the docks and shipyards are) to Downtown, which is loosely called the “shopping district”.

 

Downtown was basically code for “drug running spot” and the area was inhabited by mostly homeless people and people working with incredibly low income. The apartments are shit, but It’s better than having no home. The Pearl Building was the largest in the area and carried 100 something units, mostly rented by local workers and a couple busier drug dealers in the area. The building is old, so most of the piping and construction is falling apart, but that also means the rent is dirt-cheap given the circumstances. I was able to make rent every month, but I didn’t have many other expenses anyway. I had a phone bill, medical insurance, and a couple others, and I shopped on a tight budget. The local bodega wasn’t very expensive and had decent groceries for the price. They kept my fridge stocked for the last few months, and they ended up being familiar with my regular pickups. There was also a little video store down the street, Marty’s, run by one of the Lounges regulars. He gave me discounts on video rentals cause he thought I was cute, and came to my job often just to catch a peek at me when I was wearing my second uniform.

 

Normally servers wore a regular pair of black jeans and a “Snakes Lounge” embroidered shirt, but on certain days we wore the “Snake Charmer” outfits. They were a garish pair of tights, and a leather harness. Not a lot was left to the imagination, and it attracted lots of the hornier old men in. Of course, the bar wasn’t just a bar, it was also a poker room. The back rooms, behind the stage and in the same hallway the performers got ready, was a pair of dully lit and dusty rooms that would hold Poker games, run for the local street gang leader, and drug runners. They’d trade cash, drugs, weapons, anything they wanted to sell but couldn’t get off their hands legally. We’d bring drinks and food in for them while they played, and we normally got some hefty tips. It wasn’t ideal, but it paid the bills so I wasn’t going to sit there and complain. The bar was only 2 blocks away, but with how busy the roads were, you weren’t getting anywhere fast.

 

Despite downtown being mostly taken up by drug addicts, dealers, the homeless and the poor, it was also a link between the various parts of town. Roads ran through it that led to the docks, the municipal complexes, the projects, and the highway. The roads in the downtown area were busy as hell and were tremendously crowded. The sidewalks were cluttered with people getting from home to work and with homeless people begging for change and food. It wasn’t smart to walk that way late at night, especially with the Scorpions taking territorial imperative of downtown as well as the docks on the northside of town.

 

The alleys weren’t safe either, but they were at least empty, quiet. Rat City wasn’t far from here, just 3 blocks south in the Projects alleys, but you could find the homeless that couldn’t fit there flooding into the downtown alleys here and there, Seemed Spawn didn’t mind taking a detour this way once and awhile cause dead gang members and drug dealers were turning up a little more frequently. The guys who attacked me that night were found dead in a dumpster not far from my place, ripped to pieces and left almost unrecognizable. Spawn must have done a number on them, cause they went unidentified until about a week later.

 

Eventually, my cab dropped me off and I got home, taking the elevator up to the 4th floor. The elevator wasn’t like the ones you find in office buildings, it was a big metal half open box that you could see all the chains and gears on. It was shitty and broke down often, forcing you to take the stairs. I got lucky this time, because it worked the whole way up, but I take the stairs often just to avoid the hassle of having to deal with the old hunk of junk.

 

When I got in the house, I realized how damn cold it was. I forgot it’s the middle of fall, coming up on winter, so the apartments were frigid. I turned the space heater on and heated up some leftovers. It was just a slice of pizza I had from a few days ago, but it was better than nothing. The fridge was mostly empty then, due to me putting off food shopping. As of right now, there were 2 eggs, a bottle of water, questionably old bread, a half drank bottle of wine, and an apple. The pizza box in there was empty now, I was just too lazy to take it out, that's a morning thing.

 

My apartment was pretty small. A simple bathroom with a sink, tub and toilet, a closet in the hall, a living room that was half room half kitchen, and then a bedroom only slightly bigger than the closet. The building also had a communal laundry room in the basement that everyone used and hated. The machines were old as dirt and were closer to the not working side of the spectrum than the working side. They got my clothes cleaned, so I wasn't going to bitch about it. My living room was a decent little comfort space for someone as low income as me, with a couch, small coffee table, a decent tube TV and a VCR on the bookshelf next to it. The bookshelf didn’t actually have that much reading material, rather it had a decent number of tapes I’d accumulated over the years. Mostly horror stuff but there was a good variety if you took a closer look. The coffee table was a little wooden one adorned with scratches and cuts from being put through years of abuse at my grandma's place. She had donated some of her furniture (her table, bookshelf, nightstand, and most of her kitchen supplies) when she moved into a nursing home, funded by my mom.

 

Eventually, I decided to call it a night after I watched a few episodes of X Files my neighbor taped for me. He had cable and would lend me movies and shows he recorded so I didn’t have to rent the tapes from the video store. I got into bed and fell asleep shortly after.

 

BANG

 

What the fuck was that. It was 2:27 AM, and there was a bang from outside. It didn’t sound like a gunshot, more like metallic objects crashing, so maybe a car accident? I made my way to the window, only to see a figure on the fire escape, a shadow shaking back and forth outside the window leading to the metal staircase. The figure eventually fell backward and leaned, arms clutching its side, on the railing. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and inched toward the window, the knife ready to attack. I slowly put my hand to the blinds, pulling a small bit down to see outside onto the fire escape.

 

Spawn.

 

It was Spawn, hunched over and holding his left side. There was something protruding from him, which he was holding with both hands, trying to keep steady. There was a viscous green liquid leaking from him and pouring onto the black steel of the fire escape, illuminating it, and lighting up the small area. He was covered from the waist down on his left side in the green liquid, with it pooling at his feet. Finally, I ran to the closet and retrieved a towel and a first aid kit, then opened the window, with him barely able to look up. He shot me a look and I could tell he wasn’t going to say anything. I knew why he was here.

 

I grabbed him around the shoulders, leading him inside and propping him up on the side of the couch. The green liquid dripped on the carpet in thick sheets and had stained it deep. I’m guessing it won’t be an easy cleaning job. As he leaned back, he grunted and pawed at the couch, leaving green stains on that as well. His hands had taken a lot of the liquid and were coated in it, leaving marks and stains on every surface he touched. The carpet and couch had both been drenched in it, even as he lay there propped back first on the base of the couch, head leaned back on the cushions. I cleaned him with a towel in places I needed to examine, and I quickly saw the issue here.

 

Embedded in his side was a Dagger, waved and thorny. The blade was mostly stuck in him but had wave patterns and small thorns like a porcupine's spines. There was a golden substance coating the blade, as well as its handle. The handle had an ornate pattern etched into it, as well as massive golden spikes protruding from it. The tips of the Spikes were coated in a darker green liquid and noting the massive holes and tears in Spawn's hands, it seems as if he tried to take the blade out himself and essentially shredded his hands to pieces. As I cleaned the area around his blade, with my first aid kit in hand, he grabbed my wrist and mumbled something inaudible. Eventually I got close enough to vaguely hear what he was saying.

 

“The blade….” He was barely able to sputter out, weak and potentially dying. I could tell exactly what he was insinuating from his tone. He wanted me to take the blade out of him.

 

‘No, I can't’ If I do, you'll bleed out!” I had a first aid kit, but I’m not a surgeon! If I ripped it out, he’s going to bleed out for sure. (I presume the green stuff is blood, I have no clue what the hell it could even be otherwise.)

 

“Just… do it.” He moved his hand down my arm from my wrist to my palm and grasped it. He looked me in the eyes as he grabbed my hand, firming his grip as he assured me what to do.

 

“Ok.” I was hesitant but I knew that I trusted him on what to do in this situation.

 

As I inspected the blade, I saw the exact pattern where a hand could weave between the spikes so as not to cut into the skin. The spikes were meticulously placed so that someone could wield it as an offensive weapon but turn it into what it’s being used for now easily. I grasped the dagger with one hand and held his soaked hand in the other. With a pull that used force I never knew I had; the blade ripped out as he screamed in agony. The barbs on the blade ripped skin and tissue from his torso, and I could hear it scrape bone as he writhed in pain. The blade took a sizable chunk of flesh and sat with it, leaving a gory pile of meat on the floor that seared as it created an awful burning smell. Smoke emanated from it, and the blade eventually turned clean as the small gory bits burned to nothing and ash, assimilating into the pool of “blood” that had completely drenched the carpet.

 

As he gasped with resolve that the blade was removed, he immediately grasped his side again, giving a yell that was sure to wake the neighbors. Did that work? The blade was out but, now what? Did I need to sew him up?

 

He had laid down on the floor and was now intensely breathing in and out, staring at me. I moved my kneeled stance to cross over to him, realizing the issue. I needed to clean the wound. The gold substance that coated the weapon had left residue in him, making small burns along his distorted flesh. I realized what had to be done now. It wasn't going to be pleasant for either of us, but if it means he doesn't die (again? Can that even happen?), then I’m willing.

 

I sifted through my first aid kit, looking through various medical utensils that had been packed with it when I got it from the pharmacy. Eventually, I found a pair of forceps, a scalpel and some antiseptic that will probably come in handy. I also grabbed a gauze pad and some medical thread that had the needle punctured through the top. I found a piece of cloth in there, presumably used to put in someone's mouth during a painful medical procedure.

 

“You want this?” I showed him the cloth and I guess my tone said all he needed.

 

“I don’t need it.”

 

“I’m going to start then. You ready?”

 

He said nothing, giving me a look that assured me he was ready.

 

“Ok.”

 

I placed the medical supplies on an unused ashtray I had under my coffee table. The ashtray was already soaked in “blood” despite not having been touched yet. I could only presume he bled on it when I was pulling the blade out. I inspected the massive wound closer and noticed that it wasn’t wide enough to open. He was shockingly quiet as I used the scalpel to make an incision on both sides of the wound, making it in the shape of a cross. I used the forceps to carefully move his flesh, only to be met with what I probably should have suspected. His insides were a mixture of different shades of green, being coated in his “blood” and being fairly close to normal human insides to my knowledge. I wasn’t a medical major in college, but I have taken a human anatomy course, which is pretty handy right now. I could see that embedded in his Ilium and Sigmoid Colon were some of the barbs from the blade, and his insides had a thick coating of the golden substance I needed to get out of there. I began removing the barbs that were stuck inside his Ilium, Taking the forceps, and slowly sliding them out. He made small grunting noises, but he was mostly silent.

 

“Does that hurt?”

 

Again, silence. He was concentrating on not feeling the pain.

 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

 

I looked back down and kept removing them. There were a few penetrating the Sigmoid Colon, but it was few enough that I could simply remove them and use the scalpel to clear the golden substance. Eventually, after removing about 15 barbs, I had cleared them all and now I just needed the golden substance that was still in there. I began carefully scraping it away, taking it out in waves and wiping it with a towel. As I wiped away all of it from one spot, I was met with a very surprising, and confusing, event. A small green glow began happening around the areas the barbs were in that were now cleared of the substance. I watched as they sealed, healing him as I went. I realized not long after that he had a healing factor, and whatever this golden substance was, it was negating his ability. I’m taking an educated guess that it put him in a sort of stasis that makes him unable to regenerate or recover. After about 2 hours (it was now 4:39 AM), I had cleaned the entirety of the liquid from his insides and most of his skin. I just covered it up with a towel and, after about 10 minutes his side had sealed itself, looking like nothing had happened at all.

 

Spawn had passed out on the ground during surgery at around the hour mark and was presumably exhausted from healing such a heavy wound. It seems like his healing factor takes energy from him, and he also lost a very copious amount of “blood.” I attempted to move him onto the couch, but he weighed at least 400lbs. He had to; I couldn’t even get him to budge. After washing up and cleaning the utensils, I realized that the “blood” had faded from the carpet and couch, which was a pleasant surprise. Less cleaning for me.

 

The dagger, which was bone dry now, was positioned on the table, and moved so no one stabbed themselves on it. I now sat on the couch, just staring at him, pondering what had just happened.

 

A dead man, who is what I could only describe as a superhero, was now passed out on my floor after I just performed surgery on him. I looked at him as he rested motionlessly. It didn't seem like he was in any discomfort, and he probably didn’t dream, so he laid there stiff as a board. I watched him making sure he was ok, not taking my eyes off of him. At 5:00 AM I made my morning tea, Raspberry Zinger with a shit ton of sugar. I sat down and continued watching him until he woke up at 5:34 AM. When he woke up, he immediately shot up, holding himself up with his arms behind his back, taking a long scan of the apartment.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“My apartment.”

 

“What the fuck did you do to me.”

 

Did he not remember? I questioned what to say as he looked at the blade that was on the table.

 

“Ferrea Binding. You have it.”

 

“Yeah, it was stuck about 12 inches deep into you. I took it out and made sure you didn’t die. Well, die again.”

 

“That wasn’t going to kill me.”

 

‘Seemed like it could. You were in rough fucking shape when you got here.”

 

He said nothing at that, and stood up, looking at the now rising sun and back to me. He looked exhausted, covered in dirt and soot. I hadn’t noticed under all the “blood,” but he was filthy.

 

“What CAN kill you?”

 

“Being slain by a consecrated weapon. That's what she tried to do, but she failed. Hunted me, stuck me with Ferrea Binding, but I got away. She’s still looking for me.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Tiffany. A bounty hunter sent from Heaven.”

 

“Heaven? Like the place?”

 

He stared at me. Of course The place.

 

“You’ve got to go soon don't you.”

 

“I don’t mess around with daylight.”

 

“You wanna stay here? Just to wait her out?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ok. I’ll be here if you need me”

 

Silence.

 

“Be Safe. Please.”

 

“I don’t make promises.”

 

With that he leapt out the window and down the fire escape. I watched him as he disappeared down the alley, gone into the shadows of early morning.

Chapter 3: Connection

Luigi's, the local pizza place, was pretty well known for their fantastic pies. My favorite was the margherita, but I also had a soft spot for their pepperoni and sausage, as well as their Hawaiian (although I take off the ham and eat it with just bacon, cheese and pineapple.) The pies were exceptionally greasy and if you put a napkin on top of one, it would make it look like it disappeared. Of course, this gave the pizzas an edge on anything you'd find outside the area, since the greasiness gave it its flavor. If you even walked by the storefront, you could smell the cooking crust and tomato sauce since they left the door open, except in the snow. The outside was really stereotypical for an italian joint, a green red and white awning over the door that had “LUIGI'S” printed in big, curly font. The design faded from the sun, so the red and the green were really pale, and the lettering for the name were somewhat curled in places from the heat. The front window had a big, gaudy decal of a bulbous bellied Italian man throwing a pizza in the air with one hand and holding a big pizza cutter in the other. Above him was a separate fonted “Luigi’s” than the one on the awning. This decal was definitely newer and had replaced one that had peeled off based on the dirt outline on the window. There were designs of cartoon pizzas spattered on the window, as well as fliers advertising various events around the city that had been taped up but never taken down. There were a bunch of different concert ads, an ad for the local elementary school play, and a couple for garage sales happening in the residential part of the projects.

The projects were a bunch of cheap apartment buildings they were installing in old lots, and a few dinky homes they made a neighborhood out of. It was the ghetto, to be completely honest, and wasn’t really the safest part of town. With the Scorpions being so prevalent in the junkie houses, it wasn’t exactly somewhere people chose to live. The Scorpions have been oppressive as hell recently, and were making themselves known much more than they had been when they didn’t basically rule entire districts. The loading docks were their territory, with all the warehouses in the vicinity being filled with drugs, weapons, and their numerous members. If you wandered into the docks without being a member of the Scorpions or one of their buyers, you were toast. They kill you and dump your body in a back alley, no question. There were rumors the police were being paid off or were affiliated with them in some way, but no one had any proof. There was a police presence in that scratch of blocks, but they rarely caught Scorpions'. I think that speaks for itself, with just how many of those scumbags there were. Finding no Scorpions near the docks was like missing a clown at a circus, it just wasn’t heard of. The Scorpions were absolutely branching out beyond just the Bay area, and were starting to move to the residential zone, taking old houses leftover after drug busts and shootouts for hideouts. I know for a fact Spawn was doing the same, picking off members and making himself a very dangerous presence in the alleys and on the rooftops. The local news stations and papers were in a frenzy because frankly, he was killing the Scorpions off faster than they could report about it. Bodies have been found on rooftops, in dumpsters, even a few were found hanging from light poles by chains, cold and dead. The body count was 24 last time I checked, but it had surely gone up since then. My only concern was that there was a far greater amount of Scorpions than Spawns. There was only 1 Spawn, but warehouses and drug dens filled with the roaches. They were growing and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them, at least right now. The police were no help. Spawn was just outnumbered. Of course he’s tough as nails, but that didn't account for the fact he wasn’t invulnerable. He had a healing factor, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel pain. I wish I could help, but frankly, I’d be dead right now if I did.

I have some really light combat training, and I can fire a gun, but I’m not exactly a superhero. I get surrounded by loaded guns and I'm obviously a goner. The night I was attacked I wasn’t ready, and If I had tried to break free, I was going to be stuck like a pig. I’m glad Spawn was there to throw me a bone, cause frankly, I wasn’t going to get out of that situation alive if he wasn’t there. I hate sounding like a Damsel in Distress, but I’m no liar, I would have died and no one would have missed me. I have a brother and sister. Dan’s a big shot lawyer in Washington and Leslie is an architect living in the UK. Dad died years ago and Mom died when I was 17. I went to live with my aunt for a bit before moving out and going to college on a writing scholarship. I took a shot at being a romance novel writer and it didn’t work out. I took up a job at the local gay bar and here we are.

From the window in my apartment, you could see the skyline of the city. It looked gorgeous on days like these, with the pinks and oranges blending as the sun set. The fire escape I sat on was made of solid black painted steel, and was pretty sturdy for such a shitty building. There was no trace of last week's medical drama, and the only remnant of that was one of the bent railings that Spawn presumably warped when landing to ask for help. It was insane to me that he was strong enough to bend solid steel, but after seeing what he had survived, I wasn’t remotely surprised. What I saw of him that night was immense to say the least. Any normal human would have been dead about 20 pints of blood before he even passed out. At that rate I’m not even sure he passed out from blood loss. My speculation was that he went into a hibernation state to regenerate, due to his body taking too much damage for his healing factor to process all at once. His internal organs were wrecked by the barbs of the blade, and had been leaking his green blood everywhere. If he was even remotely mortal, he'd at the least never walk again. At worst, he wouldn't have survived the initial stab. Spawn is resilient as hell, from what I can gather. He’s the closest thing to a god I’ve ever seen, with such immense feats of strength and endurance being inhuman. Between the chains I watched him eject the first time we met, to the power he showed during surgery. He was incredible. An absolute powerhouse if nothing else.

Thinking back on that whole situation as I ate the dripping slice of pizza, I looked off into the sunset and watched as the city moved from orange and pink, to blacks and grays. The street lights made no difference to the piercing blackness of the night sky, adorned with stars and the rainbow lights of satellites. The green color of the satellite west of my apartment reminded me of Spawn’s blood, splattered everywhere. The carpet and couch (shitty futon) soaked with it. I’m just glad there was no cleanup, since it all disappeared. I remember the moment I lost all fear, and it was something I never could have expected frankly. Spawn grabbing my hand with his pitch black claw, and looking me in the eyes with his neon green voids. Him holding my hand and trusting me to save him left me touched and confused, and that feeling still lingers now. I have no clue why he chose me to save him. I could only imagine I never will, with how secretive he is. I barely knew anything about him. His name is Spawn, he’s dead, and he comes from hell. That’s about it. He’s not exactly very social really. For being someone that can survive being stabbed by a heavenly dagger and can bend metal with his bare hands, he’s kind of awkward and really self serious. Maybe I can try and help him with that. Lighten him up a little.

As I sat, legs dangling in the air and arms wrapped around the black railing, I heard a familiar landing above me. Chains jangled and fabric flew as he gripped onto the railing above me.

“Feeling any better?” I said, mouth full of pizza.

“Never hurt in the first place.”

“Oh that is such capital B Bullshit, you looked like a corpse last time I saw you.”

“That’s because I AM a corpse.”

“You get my point.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Don’t concern yourself with how I am. I’ll be fine. It’s not really your business anyway.”

“Hey I didn’t invite you over at 2 in the morning to play Operation tough guy. You took that upon yourself. Not that I mind, I just figured I’d point it out.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“I took a course in anatomy in my Sophomore year of college. I also had more adrenaline in me than a speed junkie. I knew you needed me and I wasn’t about to let you croak.”

“It was impressive.”

“Thanks, I’m surprised I performed so well under pressure. I was so nervous.”

Silence.

 

“Can you hop down here with me? I want to see you.”

I heard a whoosh, and then the clang of a chain hitting metal. I heard as a hiss indicated he was ejecting a chain from his cloak, and I unfurled myself from the railing as I turned to face him. He was hanging upside down like a spider from a web. His cloak defied gravity, staying upright and flapping in the wind as the city night blew past us. He had his typical angry eyed expression I had gotten so used to. As I got closer I looked into his eyes and just stared. The neon green spots where his eyes should be looked brilliant up close, having a fire-like movement, and having hundreds of shades of green moving inside of them. They had a depth that you couldn’t see from afar, and they brandished a faint glow that made them pierce through shadows. They were completely foreign, not of this world at all. There was nothing on this planet that had such a look to it, and I couldn’t even begin to describe what they looked like with the naked eye. The fire in them was gorgeous, but I really had no words that fit just right.

“You know you have beautiful eyes…” I moved my hand up to touch the side of his face. He didn't stop me.

“I…. I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything, just relax.”

He hung silently, as I touched the side of his mask. It had a certain leathery texture to it, and I could feel his burned skin underneath. It was bumpy and rigid, like someone with a lot of acne, or a tree made of flesh.

“What did this to you?” I realized I didn’t give much information, but I think my cadence said it all, because he had no follow up questions.

“Jason Wynn, my old boss. Burned me and left me for dead.”

“And you came back from that? Died and got back up like a zombie?”

“No.” He stopped there initially, hesitating. I could see as his eyes moved that he was deciding whether he should tell me what he wanted to say or not. “I died. I was brought back from Hell by a demon, Malebolgia, and I was resurrected.”

“Malebolgia?”

”A demon from hell. He promised I could see Wanda… but…” He didn’t finish the sentence. I could hear the pain in his voice. It was the first time I heard real sadness in him.

“Wanda was your wife, wasn't she?”

“How did you…?”

“I’ve heard men speak about losing wives, husbands, kids. The pain has a specific sound. Once you hear those stories enough, you know it too well.”

“She’s gone.”

“Wanda was your wife. Before you died?”

He said nothing, I could see him thinking about it, thoughts spinning in his head and he looked to the ground. He was motionless at first, and then let go of his chain.

With that he dropped from the upside down position he was in previously, and dropped to the fire escape I sat on, clanging his massive spike adorned boot on the ground as he fell to his knees, and then sat beside me. He leaned on the brick and covered his face with his black clawed hand. He was holding his face and shaking. I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he grabbed my hand before I could. He held my hand in an iron grip, and didn’t let go. As I kneeled next to him, he continued holding his face with his right hand, shaking vigorously as he held back tears. Eventually, the iron grip he had on my hand turned into him holding it with his, grasping around my palm and not letting go. I moved to put my hand on his shoulder, and this time he didn’t stop me. I could barely make out his words, as he muttered under his breath,

“Wanda…. I’m sorry….”

I couldn’t even comprehend the pain he was in. When I lost my mom, it wasn’t something I particularly cared about in all honesty. She meant nothing to me. But losing the person I loved? Finding them gone after I was promised I could see them again, it must have been soul shattering.
As he curled into himself, shuddering and holding my hand, I maneuvered myself to hug his arm. He wasn’t stopping me. Eventually, we settled as he stared into the night, silently as I rested my head on his shoulder. I held his arm tight and we wordlessly agreed to leave the conversation there and just enjoy this time of peace. No crime or injuries, just the silence of the night and the cold wind of the fall. I was surprised he was comfortable with this due to how closed off he was, but I'm better off not asking questions. He’s not doing well and needs help, someone has to do it. Just because he’s superhuman doesn’t mean he lacks feelings. It was unfair he had to suffer alone for so long. He’s not human but he’s close enough, close enough for me to understand that he 's just as broken and vulnerable as any human. Being able to bend metal doesn’t mean anything when you lose someone so precious.

Eventually, I realized that I had fallen asleep on him, and as the morning sun rose he had disappeared. Gone without a trace. I questioned if I was dreaming, but the familiar scent of burned flesh stuck to my clothes assured me that he had been here. I got up and crawled through my window, laying down on my couch and looking out the window, admiring the sunrise as I went back to sleep, the scent of smoke wafting from my shirt and reminding me of him.

Notes:

Chapter was mostly fluff/ exposition to be honest. Just wanted some spawn trauma shit lol.

Chapter 4: Blizzard

Hot showers in the early morning really set the mood for the day, at least if you ask me. The steam and heat wakes you up and releases tension, eroding the morning grime off and shedding you a new clean layer of yourself, ready for the day. It’s that sort of feeling that never gets old, like buying yourself something nice or finding out you don’t have to go to work due in part to the blizzard outside. As you can tell I am one happy clam today.

Walking through my apartment in my towel, I had on the latest episode of “Xena: Warrior Princess” and made my morning tea, basking in the fact that I just got a paid day off. The blizzard forced the shithole I call a living to close for the remainder of the weekend, not that we’d get any business with weather like this. I got the call right at the crack of dawn, and I just decided to use my paid day off, or what most people use as a sick day, to take the weekend off and rake in the dough regardless. Not a lot of dough mind you, I’m a waiter at a bar not a lawyer. The best news of all, to me at least, was that Spawn was kicking the Scorpions gang's teeth in. left and right, dead body after mutilated corpse was showing up in every back alley this side of the city. It’s gotten to the point that the news stations and papers can’t keep up, giving lists of the casualties rather than any proper report on each individual one. My count as of now is around 78 bodies, but the news says 80. Based on the pictures lovingly provided by the seediest news journalists on the stories, I figured two of the “corpses” weren’t really dead. Spawn liked to leave guys to tell a message, warn the others. Based on the fact the wounds didn’t look fatal, I’ll stick to my count of 78.

I haven't seen Spawn since late November. It was now reaching late December, close to Christmas, and I haven’t seen him in the flesh since, not up close and personal at least. Of course I’ve seen him stalk me every once and awhile, watching me from a smokestack or rooftop far away. He’ll swing by the building adjacent to my apartment, just to see the lights on and book it. It’s cute really, that he keeps an eye on me. He thinks I don’t see him, but I do. In the reflections of windows or in flashes of lighting, I’ll see his spiked and massive silhouette perched like a gargoyle, neon green eyes piercing through the dark. We have an unspoken bond now, after I did that impromptu surgery and he shared his story. I’ve already seen more of him than most, a fact I hold dear. I haven’t told a soul about him or what has happened. It’s far too precious to me to share, to anyone.

My affection for him is endlessly confusing. Realistically, I’m catching feelings for a corpse. A dead man in a superhero getup who saves poor guys getting mugged in rainy alleys. It was all absurd really, but it’s the life I live. I don’t mind much, in my defense. Despite the absurdity, this is what life is now and I just need to suck it up and take it on the chin. Spawn is one of those kinds of guys who swears up and down he doesn't need help, but he’s hurting. It sounds corny, but he’s been through more than anyone should. I know who he was in a previous life, Al Simmons.

Al Simmons was a decorated and well known assassin, after death at least. As a member of the CIA, his backstory was completely untraceable pre-death. Lots of stricken names and missing dates. His death was well reported on in leaked official CIA documents, and a few nights of research later, I’ve got more than enough info to deduce that not only is Spawn Al Simmons, but also that Al Simmons was a grimy piece of shit. Shocking that our pure of heart hero Hellspawn used to be a bad guy, but yeah it’s true. He was a monster really. Killed more than a couple people that probably didn’t deserve it. But that doesn’t matter now. Not to me. Mr. Simmons might have been a slimy bastard, but Spawn is a hero as far as I’m concerned. He keeps this side of the city safe, and has been more than kind enough to me to see he’s changed. He’s a different man now and that’s final.

As the episode wound to a close, I threw on a sweater and some pajama pants, ejecting the tape, popping it back in the sleeve and resting it on top of the VCR. The house was quiet, only the sound of flurrying winds howling. The space heater was on full blast keeping the small apartment warm enough to be bearable, and I just kept falling back to Spawn. He was on my mind as I thought about him, in the cold. He’s dead, so he probably doesn’t FEEL the cold, but that doesn’t make snow any less sucky. Thinking over my knowledge of him, his status as a walking corpse leaves me with some serious considerations. Something I learned while doing the operation was that he needs to breathe, exemplified by him having labored breathing from having his side open. He’s got a few human needs, not many but they're exploitable. It worries me to think someone could use them against him, if I was sharp enough to deduce this, someone far more intelligent than myself would have no issue with it. It was a reminder that my life was filled with danger now that I’m a direct associate of his, something I’d have to get used to.

Spawn may also be psychic, because just as the thoughts of him flooded my head, I heard the loud crash of chains connecting to my fire escape. With the backdrop of the blizzard, and the distortion of my sheer curtains, the visual of him hunched over my railing looked as if he was Krampus, waiting for me to punish me for my sins. He was grappled onto the railing he previously bent, splayed like a spider on a tensile web. For someone so heavy and bulky, he was shockingly agile.

“Are you coming in, or are you going to stay out there and freeze your crispy butt off?”
With that, I heard the window open and a loud clang as he crawled in, trailing snow on the floor.

“Your suit can’t plow snow can it?”

“No, It can’t.”

“Bummer.”

I heard him shuffle around, shaking snow off onto the carpet, mostly out of his cape. It wasn’t nearly as massive and billowing as normal, retracted to form a calf length height, accommodating my smaller room compared to the open air of the frozen tundra roofs.

“It’s like an oven in here.”

“Would you prefer to be in the cold?”

“No.”

“So why are you here?”

“I don’t want to be out there right now.”

I didn’t expect such a blunt answer, but I respected the direct approach.

“I’m glad you know you can stay here.”

No response, just silence as he adjusted his various cuffs and belts to get the snow out all all the crevices, soaking my carpet even more.

“When you're done getting adjusted, do you want something to eat or drink?”

“Yes.”

“What would you like?”

“Do you have….”

He hesitated, stopping himself from finishing. His tone indicated embarrassment over asking for food. He doesn’t get hungry, but tasting something every so often probably feels nice when you don’t ever eat. Nice change of pace.

“Nevermind.”

He finished, dismissing himself from saying anymore.

“Hey…’ I walked over and placed a dry towel over his wet slicked shoulder, letting him dry himself off before he settled down. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed to ask for anything with me. I’m happy to make you anything you like. I just went food shopping, I have plenty to share.” I tried to put on my best comforting tone. It wasn’t really my default, so I don’t know how sincere it came off, I meant it sincerely though, I know that for sure.
After hearing that he inspected his gloved hand, rubbing his finger down his palm and upper wrist. I could feel him gazing at me as I shuffled things in the cabinet, looking through old bags of chips and a few stale bags of crackers that made their way to the back, coated with dust.

“Do you have any coffee?” His tone was low, barely audible. If it were any quieter I don’t think it would have registered at all.

“Maybe, let me check. Might have a leftover packet or two of instant shit.”

“That’s fine.”

I found a yellow packet of instant coffee from when my sister visited, and prepared him a cup. He drank it black (because of course he did) and I set it down on the coffee table, in front of him. After drying off, he had made a spot for himself on the couch, sitting stiffly as if he had never felt comfort before. He was clearly not super comfortable sitting down, but he made an effort to not look completely awkward. He had his arm relaxed on the skimpy arm rest and had his legs splayed out slightly to fit his legs between the table and the couch. As I sat down next to him wrapping a blanket around myself, I sipped my tea silently as he stared at the cup of coffee.

“Are you letting it get cold on purpose?”

That clued him in that he should probably drink it before it sank to room temperature, and he turned away as his mask peeled itself carefully so as not to show his skin. He took the steaming cup to his lips, sipped it, and placed it back down, mouth no longer showing. It looked like he could move his mask's composition at will, interesting.

“Why don’t you show anything?”
The vagueness of that question didn’t please him, and he just gave me a light glare, as if to say “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

He’s far more blunt than I give him credit for.

“I mean your skin. You know I’ve seen it. I don’t mind.”

“It’s repulsive. You don’t want to see it.”

Hearing that, I could tell he had some serious image issues. Maybe I could help that. I shuffled my body over to him, to which he withdrew to the corner slightly. Part of showing him I was comfortable with him was BEING comfortable with him.
I placed my hand on his thigh, lightly enough to not startle him, but with enough force to tell him I'm not afraid. He tensed as I touched him, but that didn’t stop me. Not for a second.

“Spawn, I’m not disgusted by you. At all. If I were you wouldn’t be here, but here you are, on my couch drinking coffee I made for you myself. I’m not trying to pressure you at all, but just because life outside is unsafe, doesn’t mean you can’t feel ok being in here. You ever need to go somewhere to recover or just take a breather, stop by. You're welcome with me anytime, I promise. “

He sat for a moment, looking at me, directly in the eyes. The tenseness in him subsided slightly, and eventually I settled down next to him, nestled in a blanket. We weren’t touching, but we were close enough he could feel my body heat, and I could feel him lacking his. It was like sitting next to a ghost.

“Matthew, why don’t you fear me?”

“Why would I?”

“I’m a monster, an abomination.”

‘Not to me. To me…’ I grabbed his massive arm, waiting for him to pull away. He didn’t. ‘You’re perfect.”

I wrapped his hulking arm around me, resting his hand on my forearm and pushing the side of my head into his shoulder. He didn’t make an attempt to move, so I just assumed he was fine with it. As I got adjusted, he tightened his grip on my forearm and lightly dug his clawed fingers into my arm. Not enough to hurt me or make me bleed, but just enough to assert to me that he was fine like this and wanted to keep it wherever this was at.

As the night went on, far after sunset, we sat in silence listening to the howl of wind. His coffee sat on the table, cold as his skin, but it didn’t matter. This moment was serene, more so than any other night since we had met. He was in total calm, holding me to his chest and closing his eyes. He wasn't asleep, but just like myself was enjoying this moment of comfort. After months of taking down gang members one after another, he deserved the rest.

Eventually, I had begun inspecting his hand, looking at the odd substance that covered him. It was slick and wasn’t uncomfortable to rest on, and his hands were completely covered up, no skin showing at all. As I looked over the gloved hand, I broke the silence.

“How long have you been like this?”

“Longer than you can imagine. “

‘I see.” I let those words echo in my head as I formed a response. “That must be lonely.”

 

“It is.”

“Do you mind it?”

“Sometimes.”

“I hate being alone. It drives me crazy.”

After that, he said nothing and simply pulled me closer, his cape now wrapping around me to form another blanket. It wasn’t particularly warm to be honest, but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless. It was with him embracing me more tightly than before that I now noticed his physique properly. My head was resting on one of his pecs, and he had abs showing through his skin tight suit. It was far more revealing than you’d ever notice considering his cape was wrapping him or he was in the shadows and smoke. It was certainly not unappealing, and his outfit was certainly not leaving much to the imagination. Not even his lower half was covered much, revealing a shocking amount of detail on his legs, as they too were massive. The only thing I refrained from looking at was something I’d rather not have an image of in my head, not yet at least. It was far too early, and if he was really psychic, I’d rather prefer he didn’t see my dirty thoughts.

When I eventually woke up, I was once again left alone with an empty place where I was resting on Spawn, and a small sadness in my heart he was gone. His spot wasn’t warm, but he left an imprint in the couch that was almost double my size. His coffee was gone, to which I realized not too soon after that he bothered to dump it out and even rinse it, leaving it on the drying rack. After putting the now dry cup back in the cabinet, I noticed a note written and stuck to the window.

You don’t have to be alone. Not anymore. - S.

Notes:

Sorry I've been gone so long! Got busy with work and school, but here it is, Chapter 4 ready to go!

Chapter 5: Invasion

The morning after Spawn had visited, the blizzard had slowed down and work was back on. The streets had been salted and swept of any snow, although the cold wasn’t going away any time soon. The air was still filled with specks of snow and it was definitely below zero, but that didn’t mean the city could just stop, everyone still had to go to work and keep society going like any other non freezing day of the year. The entire city had been dead silent just one day before, with a torrent of ice cold wind blowing everywhere, but now cars were back on the street and this stand still of time was over. One little moment of peace, gone.

As I looked in the full body mirror in the living room. My clothes were just my regular uniform, although I was ready to throw on my winter coat any second now. Looking closer at myself, I noticed I had circles under my eyes. Deep and dark, They made my eyes look somewhat hollow. I guess I haven't been sleeping much recently. The gang activity was moving even closer to this side of the city, and just walking to work was so unsafe. Spawn has been doing all he can, but he’s just one guy. Although he had been dissuading them, the drug running they did wasn’t halted, not in the slightest. The drug problem was getting so much worse, and the amount of heroin and meth being dealt was faster than the police could intercept. You couldn’t go two seconds without seeing a drugged out junkie roaming the street or sleeping in an alley. It was almost dystopian now, with the city in such shambles. It’s not as if there was much that could be done, not by me of course.

Spawn was really the only hope to save what little there is to salvage, but even with the unending faith I have in him; I fear it may not be enough, their forces are just too strong. In between weapons dealing and drug running, the Scorpions weren’t even trying to hide anymore, they did as they pleased. They were so flagrant these days, that I have a running theory that the pigs are in on it with them, or at least being bribed. There's no way they can get away with as much as they could without some sort of help from someone higher up.

As I pondered all this, blankly staring at my own reflection, a sharp loud knock came from the front door. It broke the silence and snapped me back to reality. I can’t imagine who would be there waiting, but the only answer I had was maybe my landlord here to collect rent. I wasn’t behind, so that couldn’t be it, but that’s all I had. With a painted over peephole, I had no way to actually know who it was, so I called out “Who is it?”.

Nothing. Silence. I waited for a response but nothing came. Finally, out of sheer curiosity I opened it anyway. A massive mistake.

The second the door opened I was grabbed by the shoulder and pushed into my apartment by a man that was maybe double my size, probably more. I felt as a handgun was pressed to my stomach, and I heard the door slam behind us. He had closed the door with a swift kick. I scrambled as he threw me to the ground violently. I tried to turn over but before I could move an inch all his weight was pressed on top of me and I was pinned down. The gun was back to being held to my stomach and he crouched over me breathing heavily. I was being held down between the couch and the coffee table, his legs straddled around me so I couldn’t move. I was effectively immobilized, and at the mercy of his trigger finger.

“Don’t move or I’ll splatter you bitch!” He screamed through his bandana. It was wrapped around his mouth, concealing most of his face. He had dirty blonde hair that hung down and dangled above my face. From what I could see he had a pale complexion with massive brown eyes. They were bloodshot, and peering at me with unbreaking anger. He pushed the gun harder into my stomach causing me to involuntarily scream. I didn’t mean to, but I shouted and could feel a hot tear run down the side of my head.

I barely mustered out “Why are you.. Doing this.” it sounded cliche, but I was so genuinely terrified it was all I could really say. My mind was working in overdrive desperately hoping I wasn’t going to die in this shitty apartment, and leave everything I had to this creeps devices. I thought of a billion different scenarios in just a few seconds, but none of them got me out of here alive.

“You know him, the guy with the chains.”

This was about Spawn. They knew we were involved. I had no idea how but they traced him back to me.

“He came here last night didn’t he… Didn’t he!” With that he slammed my head into the floor and slammed the gun into my head, forcing my sight sideways. The gun was placed squarely on my right temple, and my vision was blurred from tears. I was barely able to comprehend anything he was saying after that. He kept screaming in my face but none of it registered in my mind. A wash of fear and panic made my brain go fuzzy, and I had nothing I could even think about other than not dying. Keeping myself alive for even just one other brief moment.

Through my blurred vision and panic I saw it, a scalpel. Hidden under the couch, right in my reach was a scalpel. I guess I had dropped it after Spawn’s little incident, not that that mattered right now. I didn’t question why fate gave me a chance, I just acted. My arms were paralyzed with fear, planted on the ground above my head, but I slowly moved them downwards and tried not to let him realize what I was doing. I began muttering “Please don’t kill me…” over and over as he started laughing viciously. He was enjoying making me scared and threatening me. Let's see how he likes being threatened.

In one motion, I grabbed the gun and pulled it to the left, in between my face and the couch. He fired, making a massive bang right in front of my face. It blinded me, but I had already grabbed the scalpel. I was holding it, but I just couldn't see! I made a random slice above me in hopes I hit him, it was my only shot.

As I sliced above my heard, I heard a loud shriek in my right ear, and felt a warm drop hit my cheek. As my vision came back, I saw him blindly stumbling back holding the pistol in one hand and his face in the other. His hand was leaking blood, and he stopped moving to glare at me.
His one eye darted to me and I saw the other, red and black with blood spewing from his wound. My one slice had ruined his left eye, and he was stumbling around trying to get his balance. He still held the gun, but he could barely aim it. After I had gotten to my feet, I heard loud footsteps darting at me, and I turned my head as fast as I could to see him just an inch away, about to slam into me. I tried to move but I wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed me and chucked me in the mirror, my head slamming into the glass. My vision was so blurred I could vaguely make out him taking a second to bend over the kitchen counter in pain. Blood was adorning the floor, and he quickly noticed I was up again.

As I had gotten up, scalpel in hand, he raised his gun and shot 3 shots. One whizzed past my head, hitting something glass behind me. I heard the shatter, but I couldn’t be bothered to figure out if it were the mirror or the window. The second went by my ear and caused me to stumble trying to get away. I was moving towards him as fast as I could, but the third had stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t figure out where it hit, until I felt a searing pain in my leg.

I fell to one knee, and my right hand grasped my leg. I could feel an indent in the side of my thigh. The bullet had grazed my leg and I was leaking blood everywhere. The scalpel was still in my left hand, and with adrenaline I didn’t think was possible I just kept moving. I got back up off my knee as he stopped shooting, and charged at him. He broke his neck trying to look at me and was clearly shocked I had moved as quickly and viscously as I did.

The pain wasn’t even a concern anymore, I was just in survival mode. Not a second thought was given to the fact I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I’m not going to die, not like this.

Catching him off guard, I threw the scalpel to my right hand and quickly made a slicing motion where my eyes vaguely thought his neck was. My vision was so impaired by adrenaline and panic that I could just barely make him out, but after a second I watched as he grasped his neck and began making sputtering sounds. He dropped the gun out of shock, and began stumbling into the middle of the room, slamming into the bookshelf before finally collapsing to the ground. He kept kicking, for a second, but quickly stopped moving.

After the adrenaline rush I was working with wore off, I fell to my knees and slid down the wall. I stared at him, not breaking my line of sight as blood pooled from his corpse. He had left a trail of it leading up to where he collapsed, but that didn’t really matter to me. I could immediately feel an icy hot pain in my leg as I remember that I was bleeding. I looked down and was greeted with a soaked leg. I could feel the warm liquid dripping down my leg and onto my calf, making a small puddle under my foot. I scrambled to the kitchen, barely doing a limp, and swung open the cabinets under the sink. I was leaving a complete mess on the floor, but I couldn’t even begin to give a shit.

I frantically threw bottles of cleaner out of the way before finding the first aid kit. I figured it would have been good to keep one after the whole surgery thing, and I guess I was right. I could barely see, but I haphazardly started wrapping my leg in gauze to stop the bleeding. It hurt like a total bitch, but frankly that was the least of my concerns. My head felt so light I could barely keep it up, and as my vision darkened, I heard my door open and 5 or 6 people run in. One of them was standing over me, but right as he started speaking, I passed out, falling over completely and slamming on the kitchen floor.

Notes:

Chapter 6 should be out soon! Keep a lookout!

Chapter 6: Help

Notes:

Chapter 6 is out now! Find out what happened to Matthew after his attack at the hands of the Scorpion gang!

When my eyes opened, everything was blinding white. Walls, ceiling, windows, all blinding ivory. I felt like I was in heaven, no detail in any one thing, all just a blur. I could make out the faint darkness of a figure, something or… someone.

“Oh you’re awake!”

It was a woman, I had never seen her before. She was a bit plain looking, brown hair and brown eyes. White nurses scrubs, nothing exceptional.

“Do you feel ok? You’ve been out for a bit”

I tried to speak, and nothing but a dry cough came out. My throat was bone dry.

“Oh um…” She looked around for a second, like she forgot something, and then moved out of view. I couldn’t really move my head much, and my legs felt numb, so I was effectively immobile. I had no clue where she went, but I heard footsteps echoing. I was still in a haze from whatever drugs they gave me.

“Here.” She shoved a straw near my mouth, and poked it through my lips. I drank a little and coughed again. I felt like I had some sort of sand in my throat but I sputtered out “Fuck”. I didn’t even realize I had just said that until I saw a sour look on her face, and it dawned on me that she thought I was mad. I sort of was, I have no idea what's going on. With that, she left the room and I heard her yell something vaguely down the hall (I think? I couldn’t really see anything but she definitely wasn’t in the room anymore)

After a moment of waiting, a doctor and cop came in. The cop I recognized, he was the one that was in my apartment before I passed out.

‘Mr. Morrison, hello.” The cop said. I could kind of see the doctor behind him, scribbling something on something, my vision didn’t extend far enough to see.

“Hi.” I rasped out. Even after the water, my throat was dry, so I just pushed to keep talking. “What’s going on?” The cop looked puzzled, as if to say “You don’t remember?” and to that, I do. I remember being shot, and I remember killing the person in my house. I remember the gun touching my stomach and the heat of it when it went off right next to my face. I especially remember having my head slammed into a mirror. I didn’t forget anything.

“Well you were attacked in your home by a Scorpion, a member of that gang. I have no clue what business he had in your home, but he was dead when we got there. You were shot through the leg, so we brought you here to patch you up. You were bleeding something awful, and you looked even worse. Doctor James here got you nice and cleaned up, but you won't be able to walk for a bit, that bullet ripped up your leg bad.” I guess the doctor didn’t have much to add, because he stayed silent the whole time, just looking at me, then back at whatever he was writing every once and a while. I guess my silence spoke pretty loud, cause the cop kept talking.

“Look son, we’re gonna have to have a word with you if that’s ok, bought what went down the other day. Think you’re up to it?”

“What? No, I have nothing to say I-’ Before I could say much of anything to dispute the question, a loud crackling sound made itself very well heard and made my ears sting. The loud sound fizzled away quickly after the cop picked up his radio and was spoken to. The volume was to low for me to hear much, but the cop just gave some affirmation to the person on the other end, then looked at me.

“Mr. Morrison, I’m gonna need you to excuse me. Got an emergency down stairs, but I’ll be back up soon. Don’t go anywhere.” Hilarious. Like I could even if I wanted to.

The doctor nodded at the officer and then watched him as he ran out of the room, footsteps slamming as he booked it down the hall. The doctor left the sheet he was writing on in a basket at the foot of my bed. He silently checked my IV, and just as silently exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Now that I was alone, I got a second to actually think about everything that had happened. The break in, the fight, it all just kept ping ponging around my brain. Why did he want me? What did he think I know or think I saw? Just because I know Spawn doesn’t mean I have any business with the Scorpions. I guess I’m an accomplice by proxy. Just knowing him is the danger, and now I’m even more on their shitlist. Killing in self defense is something I never thought I’d have to do again, but here we are now. Again. Killing to get by. My dad was the first time I’ve ever felt real fear, and nothings ever been as scary since, not even the break in.

I’ll never forget that knife raised above me, shimmering in the moonlight bathing my room. I remember feeling my bed fall under the weight of him over me, legs around my torso pinning me down. I don’t know why he did it, what could have compelled him, but it was all happening again. I jammed my finger in his eye and he fell off the bed, taking the lamp with him. The glass smashing and the knife clanging played all over again. He howled in pain, holding his eye and kicking his legs wildly as blood streaked down his face. I tried to run but he grabbed me, tripping me. Luckily I had grabbed the knife just in time and stabbed him, right through the neck.

People don’t realize how different they look caked in blood until it happens. Peering at yourself in the reflection stained red with the sins of man. The blood had painted my face with vengeance and hate, and I lost myself. Looking at my uncanny reflection, I saw someone. But not me. Not Matt. I saw a different person, someone who had no qualms saving themself by shedding blood. Desperate and scared, but hardened. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now.

“That’s a shitty thing isn’t it? Having to kill to survive?” That first night I had met him, in that damp nasty alley, it replayed in my mind. My stained soul, tarnished with blood on my hands. He saw that and still chose to protect me. Why? I don’t deserve salvation or a savior. I don’t deserve to be spared. I deserve death. Our roles should be swapped. I should be the one burned and forced to suffer, and he should live his life, happy and comfortable.

His wife, Wanda. She lost him and he lost her, but only one has to suffer for eternity. She won’t have to live knowing she’ll never love again.

Spawn, or Al, was the only person I cared about anymore. I had no one else left to be there for. I don’t need someone, but he does. That’s my motivation, to be his person. The one he can rely on. He needed it. After he told me about his wife, he admitted he was lonely. He didn’t mean to of course, but it was so obvious it hurt. He was lonely and lost, in a world that he has no business protecting. Why he fought to save the people of this dank, depraved world I don’t know, but I do know I’ll be right there beside him however I can.

As all these thoughts bellowed in my mind, I was snapped back to reality by… an alarm? A shrill piercing sound came off alarms on the wall and the lights went out, bathing the room in the red of the alarm lights. I had zero clue what was happening until I heard shouts and screams, people evacuating? Why? What the hell is going on? As the sirens went off, I could barely make out some deep shouts from down the hall.

“Get him! He's in the room at the end there!” I peered at the door and moved my attention to the sign on the wall. It was a mini map of the hospital, and highlighted the room you were in in a deep color. Mine was the one at the end! Shit, they're here for me!

I tried to get up but my legs were asleep! I couldn’t run, what the hell could I do? I looked at my arms and saw IVs hooked up to me. This was going to hurt so bad.

I chucked myself off the bed onto the floor, ripping out my IVs. I screamed, and desperately hoped that the alarms drowned out the sound. I used what little strength I had to push myself under the bed, and watched as small dribbles of blood caked my arm. I was bleeding bad, but I couldn’t even begin to focus on that right now, there were so many more important things to panic about. I heard the door shake to my right and some indistinct yelling came from the other end. Two or three guys were all yelling at once, so whatever they were saying homogenized into one loud mess of voices.

Finally, after some strong kicking at the door it swung open and made a loud crash as it impacted the wall. I couldn’t see anything beyond the sheets on the floor hanging off the bed, but I could hear to my right footsteps dissipate all around the room. The men slammed cabinets and moved curtains, until one of them said confused “Where the fuck did he go?”

After a silence, one of them moved from the foot of the bed to the side by the window, opposite the door. He cocked his gun and kicked the bed slightly, rattling it. I was sweating so bad I could feel the moisture leaving my body. They were going to kill me, I was so fucking screwed.

Finally, as I watched the hand of the man grab the sheet from below, I heard the loud sound of glass shattering. What the hell? What was that?

As that sound rang out, a loud impact hit the floor and chains jingled. I couldn’t see a thing, but I heard some indistinct shouts of pain and confusion as chains rattled everywhere. All around the bed I could hear sounds of insertion and excision, squishy and wet. Chains continued to rumble as the men howled in horrible pain. I saw blood hitting the floor all around the bed. I couldn’t make out any sounds after that, complete silence.

Finally, I heard footsteps move towards the bed, some creaks, and finally, as I turned onto my back, I saw the bed rise and be slammed on its side.

Looking down at me was Spawn, caked in a sheet of blood and his neon green eyes piercing the red light of the room. I moved my head to see body parts strewn across the room and blood stains painting the walls. He had ripped every last man in there to shreds. It was a total bloodbath. He stared at me in silence, before finally picking me up bridal style. I was in disbelief, but regardless I draped my arms around his neck and held on tight. I watched as he jumped back through the shattered window onto the roof. It was snowing, and absolutely freezing at that. I was made acutely aware of the fact I was only wearing a hospital gown due to the cold blowing all over my barely clothed body.

He held me tighter with one arm and dropped my still numb legs. They dangled as he spewed a chain from his arm, latched onto the building and he leaped off, swinging from the hospital roof effortlessly. Instinctively I shoved my face into the nape of his neck and closed my eyes. I felt the cold air envelop me as he swung through the air, miles off the ground. We bobbed and weaved between buildings and over roofs as he swung towards the heavens, taking us up so high I could barely see the ground. I wasn’t scared, I knew he had me and I was safe.

Finally I heard the impact of him hitting a wood floor. I looked up and saw a massive bell, green with rust. Where was I?

He placed me on the wooden ground for me to see the massive bell and stone arches of a bell tower through the open hatch in the ceiling.. It was clearly apparent to me based on the view out the dirty window next to me we were in the bell tower of the St. Jeromes Catholic Church. I walk by it on the way to work, it’s only a few blocks away from my apartment. He crouched down in front of me and stared at me in silence. I think he was processing what just happened.

“You ok?” He said so quietly I barely heard it.

“I’m.. ok . Just a little rattled.” I didn’t have much to say. I have no idea why he brought me here and he’s asking ME questions? “Spawn… why did you bring me here?”

“It’s the only safe place I could think of. Your apartment is very much a crime scene, and you can’t stay at that hospital. Obviously.” He said it all matter of factly, as if this wasn’t flipping my life on its head. I was cold on the floor, but at least the bell tower wasn’t totally exposed to the elements. It was basically a wooden room with small dusty windows adorning the walls. The ceiling was open in the middle, with a wooden hatch that could access the stone platform the bell was hung above.

The room itself was fairly small. There was a dirty green cloth chair that looked like it was made to last, sturdy and solid oak. Next to it was a small stained glass lamp with a rose pattern imprinted on it, coloring the room in different shades of red, green and pink. Finally, a small bed and nightstand that look well worn. The sheets on the bed were somewhat cleaned, still had cobwebs but it was something. The blue floral pattern on it had faded from years of use, but it wasn't totally indistinguishable. All things considered it was a rather cozy little room, for what it was.

“Here.” Spawn whispered as he picked me up and placed me on the bed. He sit at the end and looked at me. “Can you walk?”

‘Not yet, whatever they gave me is still numbing my legs. I can probably bear the pain, but I can’t even feel my legs right now. Let alone walk.”

“Shit. That’s not what I wanted to hear.’ He got up and looked out the window briefly, thinking quietly. His cape was fully retracted. Leaving his back looking bare. I was used to the long flowing cape, so it was a novel sight. His chains rattled as he paced, looking pensively around the room.

“Do you need anything from your apartment?” He asked me, retracting his cape from the back of his costume.

“ Um well, some warm clothes would be nice. Its… kinda cold up here.”

“Yeah sure. I’ll be back soon.”

“Stay safe, please?”

“I will.”

He opened up the hatch and leaped out of the hole, slamming it shut with a chain on the way out. I felt bad about not saying thank you, but he shouldn’t be gone long. With that, I started dozing off staring out the window at the snow speckled sky.

What a crazy fucking life I lead.

Chapter 7: Captivated

The sound that woke me up was an ear splitting slam, like dropping an anvil on a ton of bricks. Lone and behold, it was Spawn, holding his cape like a sack and standing still, illuminated by the marrow white light of winter. The hatch above his head was open, leaking light through the ceiling and brightening the muggy, dark room. Snow was falling through the hole, descending around him and searing in small bursts of steam as they hit his skin. His body temperature must be warmer than usual, as when we were on the couch he was mostly cold, very corpse-esque. It made me question how he operated, what his body was like. Was he even still organic matter? He still had internal organs, and that green ectoplasm looking stuff was his blood, but what was making him so warm? So many questions and oh so few answers.

As I stared at him, he walked towards the bed and dropped a cape worth of stuff on the sheets. At first I didn’t really register it, but after inspecting the cloth and boxes closer it was things from my apartment. His cape was deceptively small looking, because there was a metric ass ton of stuff. Plenty of food, drinks and snacks to keep a person fed for a week or two, and clothes right from my dresser. He had gotten a bunch of t-shirts, my winter coat, and a blanket from my couch, along with basically every other article of clothing I could hope to need.

“How did you get all this? Isn’t my place a crime scene?” I asked, digging through the pile.
“I have my ways, it’s easier to sneak past that shit excuse for a police force than you'd think.” He closed the hatch and began rifling through the drawers, as if he didn’t presumably know the contents.
“I’ll take it, I was freezing my ass off up here.”
“What, you want a penthouse instead?”
“Um well…” I didn’t finish my sentence, because I didn’t know what he really wanted me to say. Was that a joke?
“That was a joke.” Why do I even try?
“Don’t quit your day job.”

As he tossed random weird objects out of the drawers, I inspected them, having no clue what they even really do. Some looked like ancient artifacts, a few unique weapons came out too. A knife, a massive axe, some daggers. A bottle of some strange thick blue liquid was tossed on the small armchair, sloshing as it hit the cushion.
“Hey what is this?” I held up the bottle, looking for a label but failing to find one.
“Nothing. Don’t touch it.”
“Ok then.”

I quickly came to the conclusion that it was smarter not to question Spawn too much. His stuff was just way too weird for me, maybe one day I’ll learn about his arsenal, but that wasn’t today.

“Um thanks for grabbing my stuff. It was sweet of you.” I looked for a warm shirt to wear and some comfy pants, mostly just to keep myself from freezing to death. Spawn might not get cold, but I sure do.

He didn’t respond to my gratitude immediately, taking a second to think about what he was going to say.
“It’s nothing.” That’s it, short and sweet.
"No it’s not, you didn’t have to, but you did anyways.”
“You looked cold, I could take it back…” He grumbled that last part, clearly annoyed I was showing such innate gratitude. I decided to stop pressing my luck, rather taking to just changing out of my bloody hospital gown. Honestly, it was sorta gross I slept in that, but it’s not like I had another option. At this point, it feels like being covered in blood is some sort of fucked up hobby of mine.

“Hey um, is the church open? I wanted to change but..”
“Ladders broken.”
“I see.”

“Mind if I change in here?”
That got his attention. He stayed silent, contemplating his answer carefully.
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Ok then.”

I moved to the corner of the room by the hatch to the outside, so I wasn’t right in his eyeline. It’s not that I wanted him to see me change really, but I quickly made a note to myself that it’s good blackmail if he did see me. And I also just wouldn’t mind.
I stripped the bloody gown off myself, leaving me completely naked. It was cold as fuck in the room, and I quickly scampered to grab the underwear I desperately needed. As I finished sliding them on, I caught him looking at me subtly while he hastily shoved my clothes in the drawer. He didn’t think I saw, but for someone as good at being stealthy as he is, he’s not nearly as slick as he thinks.
Standing vulnerable in my underwear made me realize that I didn’t feel nervous or intimidated by him at all. I didn’t think him sneaking a peek at me would be reassuring, but it was honestly kind of adorable that he even wanted to see me like that. For someone so brooding and gruff, it definitely made me feel more close to him knowing that he thinks of me that way. .
After that brief moment, I took my sweet time putting my sweatpants and sweater on, sort of relishing that he was nervous around me for once. I could tell by his not subtle at all body language he was flustered seeing me so exposed. He tensed up his broad, football player shoulders and unnaturally pushed his head farther into what he was doing. It made him look a little silly, being so overly conscious of his ever so present humanity.
Finally dressed in decent clothes, I took a second to admire HIS form. He didn’t notice I was looking, too deep in inspecting his weapons, so it was a good chance to sneak a peek. His cape was retracted, so his whole figure was visible. It hadn’t dawned on me, but he was in immaculate shape for a dead guy. He was absolutely jacked, muscles stacked on muscles. His arms were the size of my head, and his thighs were pumpkin crushers without a doubt. I figured breaking the silence (and making my move) wasn’t such a bad idea right about now.
“Do you work out?” I realized how utterly awkward that sounded coming out of my mouth, but it’s not like I could take it back, so I ran with it.
“No. Why.” He said it as less of a question and as more of a demand.
“Well it’s just, y'know for a reanimated technically demon you’re in pretty good shape.
“ I guess.”
Nothing. Great I fucked it up.
“You’re in good shape too.”
OH. So he does know the game I’m playing. It totally caught me off guard because I could physically feel my face light on fire with nerves.
“Th-thanks…” I stuttered out a barely coherent word as he chuckled slightly, clearly happy he turned the tables on me so thoroughly. Normally I'm not this much of a pussy around guys, I can usually keep my cool without too much effort, but his cadence complimenting me gave off this tone like he knew EXACTLY what it would make me feel. And if he thinks it made me feel a certain way, he wouldn’t be wrong.
Finally, after a second I sat on the bed opposite him in the chair. He was admiring his comically large axe, polishing the head with his leathery finger.
“Thank you for saving my life. That heroic entrance back at the hospital saved my butt big time.”
“Don’t mention it,” He stared at his reflection in the axe head, mine reflected in the other side. ‘It’s what I do.”
“How’d you know I was there? Are you psychic or…?”
“No, I went to your apartment. It was a crime scene, so I made sure you were ok.”
“Yeah but… I was out for a few days at the hospital. How’d you know I was there still?” Some puzzle pieces fell into place, and I made a leap in logic I think I had the scent of from the very beginning.
“You were there the whole time weren’t you, watching me. That’s how you knew to bust in when you did.” With that he was silent. I think his lack of words spoke louder than any at all. He knew I had figured him out. He had been there, watching over me. He only got involved with the hospital siege when I was attacked, I’d assume. He crashed through the window at basically the perfect time. Either he had impeccable timing, or he was there from the very start waiting to strike. Either way, color me touched. He’s like my guardian angel at this point, keeping me an inch away from death whenever he can. If he weren’t here, I’d be dead two times over now. He really is a hero.

“Um Spawn?”
“What.”
“Can I call you Al?”
We sat in total dead silence for a moment. It was an uncomfortable wait, and he was clearly taken aback at my bluntness.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Ok, thank you.”
I had figured I was already pushing enough buttons. No reason to keep making him squirm, being drenched in all this sweet banter he so loved to deflect. This conversation was clearly not what he had expected I’d talk about, because he was a little stunned I even had the balls to ask that at all. I waited for him to rescind his blessing but it never happened. He kept on cleaning his axe and I kept sitting there, head in hands thinking about how far we've come at this point.
If you had asked me on that night in the alley if I ever expected I’d be sitting opposite a dead man I was desperately falling for, I wouldn’t have believed you, but here I was. Dressed in cozy clothes he personally grabbed from my home, sitting in comfortable silence as he sat back and relaxed for a moment. I assumed he was cleaning his axe for very near future use, so I simply enjoyed the silence of him admiring his polishing work as he prepared to go out and turn some gang members into tomato paste.
The howling of the wind reminded me all too quickly that it was in fact cold and that I wasn’t in fact covered in blankets. My leg was beginning to hurt as the painkillers I was on wore off, so I resigned to cover myself in the throw blanket Al had grabbed me. I snuggled in, warming myself up as he got up, cape fluttering behind him. He put his massive claw on my shoulder, making sure I was aware of his presence.
“I’m leaving.”
“Ok, be safe.”
“No promises”
Just as quickly as he got up he was also gone, presumably swinging between buildings and leaving me here to rest. And that I did, ending off my day thinking about how I was forever in his debt for keeping me alive all this time.

Chapter 8: Trilogy

Spawn and I’s last conversation really left me dazed, like I was in some weird alternate reality. I was confused and just a little shaken by what life had become in just a short amount of time. One day I was working minimum wage and the next I was doing surgery on a superhero. It’s not as if I minded really, It’s a damn sight more interesting that’s for sure.

As I waited for Spawn to return I stared out the dirty window of the bell tower, admiring the sight from this high up. The sky was amber orange, radiating with light that looked heavenly. I watched as the sun rose, promising another day with its light. The chill of the early morning winter came through the unfinished walls of the bell tower, and it reminded me that I was alone. Again. Spawn came and went at his leisure and I was stuck here.

Because boredom fucking kills me, I needed something to do. Something even remotely more interesting than stare out the window all day.
Spawn had said the ladder down to the storage room in the Church was broken, and checking that myself, he was right. The ladder's top 3 rungs were all smashed, making it basically impossible to climb back up if I got down. I needed to improvise if I wanted to see what was down there. Based on the old calendar Spawn had pinned to the wall, It was presumably a Saturday. This means the building is empty and I could explore at my leisure.

Looking around the room was easier due to the bright sun lighting up the room. Due to the dinky lamp in the corner, the room was practically pitch black at night. One thing I had taken notice of was a small cubby hole in the corner, isolated from everything else. It had the same texture and finish as the bare wood wall so I just assumed it was exclusively for junk storage. Checking it, I was right, and it was mostly garbage there. Old instruments, a couple of ancient Christmas decorations caked in dust and some old plywood presumably left over from the renovations to the upper level of the church.

In the very back of the cubby, hidden under a Santa blow mold, was a rope. It was scraggly and most definitely older than me. I wiggled my way back there and grabbed it, coming out caked in dust. I shed my robe like a cocoon and it made a puff of dust as it hit the hardwood floor. I was just in my pajamas but it shouldn’t matter since no ones actually in the church.

Fastening the rope to a wooden beam parallel to the floor hatch was easier than expected. I’m kinda bad at tying knots, but it didn’t really budge when I pulled so I wasn’t particularly worried about its integrity. Throwing the rope down the hole, I saw it slam to the floor and jolt a few decorations on a dresser near it. It was decently heavy so I guess that's sorta to be expected.
As I climbed down the rope slowly, making sure not to stress my wound too much, I observed the room I overlooked. It wasn’t anything too crazy, It was just an old office. The wall had a few jutting out steps to get to the hatch, but just like Spawn said, they were all broken. I could only assume it was from age, the whole room looked like a time capsule.

From the furniture it was pretty easy to tell its age, the walls were wood paneled and there was a shag carpet for flooring. All things considered, it was pretty cozy minus the dist. It was coating just about every surface and pointed me to the fact this room hadn’t been used since dinosaurs walked the planet. Observing closer, there was an ancient computer on the tan metal desk. It had to be at least 3 decades old. Out of curiosity, I tried turning it on but nothing happened. Taking a cursory look at the computer tower, it looked like a rodent had gnawed through the cable and gotten a bad shock, as its tiny skeleton was right on top of an exposed power cable. Hope it was a good snack, it literally killed the guy.

The dresser the rope had fallen near was pretty standard church stuff, nothing special. Had a few religious texts and a big thick bible in between 2 book ends. The ends were made of granite and featured two god- looking guys holding the books as if they were carrying something immensely heavy. I think it’s supposed to be Atlas, the Greek god who carried the world. It wasn’t super clear, but that was my best guess. I tried opening the drawers but they were locked pretty tight. There were small skeleton key holes on every drawer, all locked. I didn’t think breaking them was a particularly good idea, so I just left it alone for now. There were a few bookshelves, also lined with religious texts and small statues of different religious figures. One of Jesus, on the crucifix, and another of Mary holding a baby jesus. In between these two was a more grim statue, one of Mary Magdalene being stoned to death. Who would decorate their office with this stuff, especially at a church? I mean, I’m one for eccentric design philosophies, but this seems a bit extreme.

Nothing else in the room caught my eye particularly. Overall it wasn’t incredibly exciting. Besides a few trinkets here and there nothing stood out. I was sorta curious why everything was locked up so damn tight. It was like Fort Knox in here, nothing was open if it had a lock on it. I would be lying if I said it didn’t spark my curiosity. Going to open the door, I was met with a just as sturdily locked exit, with the knob not budging an inch. What was with this room? It’s like a prison. It felt more than a little claustrophobic. The windows were boarded shut to, so it was dark besides the light from the hatch. There was plenty because it was still early day, but It’s not going to be like that forever.

Searching every nook and cranny, I was pleasantly surprised by a draft coming from behind an old cabinet. Peeking behind, I saw an ever so slight bit of light making its way through some slats. It was heavy, so it took a bit to move (It was especially a bitch with my wound. Ow) but I got there eventually. Moving it over revealed a vent, caked in a disgustingly thick layer of dust. It was larger than you’d expect, about the size of a short person. Interesting.

After searching the room and finding nothing to get the screws that held it on the wall loose, I resorted to drastic measures. If I get my ass kicked by a super zombie, I guess it’s on me. Searching through Spawns drawer, I didn’t find anything particularly of note. A few enchanted blades and some weird bottles of liquid didn’t seem particularly helpful to me, I needed tools. Thinking of it though, maybe one of those blades COULD be of use.

Taking the blade in my waistband down the rope, I stuck it in the top right screw and twisted it. To my pleasant surprise, it came off like a charm. You’d expect an old vent to be more sturdy than that, but hey I’ll take my luck where I can get it. After taking off a few more screws, I looked in the old dingy vent and realized it was actually pretty short. It was hard to see with how small the slats were and how much dust was on the grate, but it only extended about a wall's length. I crawled through and realized the grate opposite it was also bolted on. I had no way of loosening it from inside, so I just resorted to the good old fashioned kicking method. I noticed how flimsy the grate was when I removed it so I figured a kick or two would get it loose. Good thing I guessed right.

After popping it off the wall and placing it aside, I stopped out into what looked like a small communion room. There was a cheap white plastic table in the middle of the room with a doily like placemat in the middle. There was a ring of wooden chairs placed around it and pamphlets with religious ads were sprawled across it. This room looked mostly untouched too. The door to the office I was in wasn’t even there when I looked where it should be. In front of it was a bookshelf that was way too heavy to move, it was solid hardwood. It was flat against the wall, which meant that door must have been bricked off at some point. The room was unremarkable to say the least, the only thing of note being a small hallway at the opposite end of the room of the bookshelf. It led to 2 separate doors, although one was boarded up pretty tight. I didn’t have anything to open it, so I just hoped there was a hammer or something around here. I looked through cupboards in the communion room but nothing special either, mostly just old books and church service supplies.

Heading down the hall, I jostled the knob of the non boarded door and was greeted with a working door. Finally, Opening it, I wasn’t really sure what I expected but it definitely wasn’t a classroom. It was all sorts of messy, desks randomly placed around the room and the chalkboard on the floor, dismounted from the wall. There were papers, writing utensils and popsicle sticks littered everywhere. What DID stick out to me specifically was a very conveniently placed hammer, slammed into the top of one of the wooden desks by the claw. It was old as hell and rusted really badly, but it was mostly intact. Prying out of the desk wasn’t too much of an issue and the wooden grip was shockingly sturdy for something seeming so old. I was excited to actually be getting somewhere with this, since there was basically nothing of interest here. SO far this church has basically been abandoned rooms and dust. It was way less fun to explore than I thought.

Prying the nails out of the wooden planks over the door wasn’t exactly easy. It took some elbow grease and a kick to the wall out of frustration, but eventually all of the planks were removed. This door opened just fine too, and was made of incredibly sturdy oak. It was really beautifully made, with extremely detailed wood grain.

Something felt weird about this room the second the door opened. It was a bedroom. There was a tiny mattress on a metal bed frame in the corner that was similar to the one in the belltower. It must have been part of a set, because the backboard of this one lined up perfectly to make a sun and moon pattern. Mine had the sun, and this one was the moon. The room wasn’t too decorated, just a dresser and bookshelf or two. The bookshelf was lined with religious texts and… CIA books? Looking closer, they were CIA training books, annotated all to hell with post its and highlighters. Now this was something weird.

Looking closer at some things, I realized the dresser top drawer is actually code based. A five letter one. I think I might know what it was, but I’ll leave it for last. The only other thing to note in the room was an old picture. It was really severely burned right down the middle, just leaving a woman showing. She was clad in a white wedding gown, low cut and frilly. It had a little pink flower clipped to it and she had her hair rolled up in a gorgeous styling, arching over her forehead. She was stunning and it looked like she wasn’t even wearing any makeup. The frame was practically falling apart, so I slipped the photo out and flipped it over. There was a message written in sharpie on the back.

Wanda and Al wedding day! -1992

I knew it. This was his room. The books were a strong hint, but this was a dead giveaway. The lock code was Wanda. Luckily, my hunch was right. It opened when I spun the dials to spell her name. Sliding it open I only found a few things. A newspaper from 1998 reading “Botswana factory explosion: One pronounced dead at scene!” It was Al pictured there, as a human. He was handsome as hell, even in a crappy military photo. He had the same devilishly good looks as he had now. Another photo of him was in the drawer, one of him and his parents when he was younger. The last thing I found was a skeleton key. It was at the very back of the drawer, but it was there nonetheless. The only thing particularly interesting about it was the size of it. It was tiny, probably not able to open a door. Maybe it could open a dresser drawer?
Opening the drawer was a bit of a pain. The lock was old and finicky, and I had never really used a skeleton key before. Once I got it to work, the drawer opened just fine. Ok, big time score here. Lets hope its cash. Sliding it open was… guns? Lots of guns. All different kinds. I wasn’t really familiar with guns, but these all looked ancient. At least from the 90s. I think I have enough evidence to see what's really going on here.

Two or three hours later, I made my way to the chapel of the church. I was dressed in proper clothes and had a bag of all of my findings in the abandoned section of the church with me. I left a note for Spawn in the clock tower asking for him to meet me in the chapel. It was only a matter of time before he arrived.

The chapel was massive, having infinitely tall ceilings I couldn't even see the top of. The darkness in the rafters didn’t make it any less ominous, it was like an inky black void. The only thing visible from here were gargoyles placed around the trim of the ceiling, overlooking the pews and stage. The church's main stage was made entirely of stone and granite, minus the wooden cross adorning the wall. It stretched all the way into the inky blackness of the ceiling. How they got that up there in the first place, god only knows I suppose.

The walls were lined with vividly colored stained glass windows, refracting rainbow streams across the dimly lit chapel. Brilliant rays of light shone on the white granite of the stage, accentuating the stand at which a priest or pastor would stand to preach. A massive bible was placed on a wooden stand, and candles adorned the outer edges of the stage area. Red and purple candles were on candelabras and tables, ready to be lit to illuminate the holy area.

Above the pews was a medieval style candle chandelier, built into the ceiling and able to be raised or lowered with a metal chain pulley just next to the confessionals in the corner.

Opposite the stage and at the end of the pews were the massive dark oak doors. They were adorned with red and blue stained glass panels that made them reflect a diamond pattern onto the red carpet in front of them.

After a long bout of waiting, I heard the jingling chains echo through the chapel and watched him descend down from the darkness of the rafters.

His cape billowed into a massive swath, filling the entire ceiling area before retracting into his back on impact with the granite stage floor. Show off.

“You must have recovered pretty fast to make down here 2 days after you fucked up that leg.”
“I manage.”
“You’re quieter than usual. Why did you want me to meet you here” He wasn’t asking me, he was demanding I tell him.

“ I have something for you. Something of interest.” I dropped a folder onto the stand and he picked it up, looking at it.

He read it, looking at the information. It was the news article, wedding photo and family photo. He was stunned, completely speechless. He stared at the images with deep intent and didn’t even move his head. I knew what was going on here, he had repressed memories.

‘The night we spoke on the fire escape, you said your wife Wanda was dead. That she was gone. But that’s not right, is it Al?’ He did not look up. ‘I looked into Wanda, did some digging. Al SImmons is shockingly easy to track, but Wanda Blake? Not so much.’ He was still in a trance staring at the photos.” Good thing I’m good at research. Wanda Blake (Or Wanda Simmons Blake if we’re being petty) is almost untraceable. Almost. She’s actually in witness protection, to my knowledge.”

“What.”

 

“She witnessed a murder done by the boss of the Scorpions, Grasso Mammon. Watched him burn a man alive, based on her testimony. She’s in hiding now, but not dead.”

“Where did you find these pictures.. These were…” He sounded confused

“In this church. Took some detective work, but they’re here aren't they? How?”

“I don’t…”

“Spawn, I think there's something you’re missing here. Memories or something. You thought Wanda was dead and all of these things, they’re yours. From your last life.”

“That’s impossible, I lived with Wanda when I died”

“Who said you were human?”

“I… what?”

I think I’ve got it now, just have to make a stretch and put the pieces into place.

“Spawn, what year is it?”
“1999”

“No. That’s wrong. It’s 2005”

He stared at me, waiting for my input.

“I think I’ve got this figured out… lets see’ I sat down on the chair opposite him on the stage, illuminated by the red stained glass behind me, and started “What if this right now, as we speak, isn’t your second life. It’s your third. Think about it, why would you think it was 1999? You're 6 years behind. Because you died again, and something resurrected you. You thought this was the life where you initially died and became Spawn, but that wouldn't make sense either. Why did you think Wanda was dead?”

“I don’t.. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know because it’s not real. Something planted a memory in you after resurrecting you, to control you. It made you think Wanda was dead to keep you at bay emotionally. If what you love is gone, why would you fight his control? He’s got you under his thumb. You died in 1999 and were brought back differently than last time, with fake memories and no recollection of the last life you had, where you stayed in this church after your death. That’s why your belongings were here without you knowing. You brought me here because this was your safe haven, wasn’t it? Those memories aren’t totally lost.”

He didn’t say a word. He just stared in silence at the granite floor.

“Who’s he?”

“Malebolgia of course. Who else? The one that brought you back, the first time.”

This made him tilt his head up, to look me in the eyes. His bright neon green eyes were a dim pine green, barely distinguishable from little black holes. I put my arm on his shoulder, then the other shoulder, and finally I pulled him in for an embrace. He was sitting, head stuffed in my side as he stayed completely silent.

“I’ll help you fix this Al, that I promise.”

Notes:

So, I'm not really that big of a spawn fan in all honesty, I'm much more interested in the character than the deep lore. If you are a fan and I get something wrong, message me and I'd be happy to edit the story.