Chapter Text
On a normal, peaceful day. Right around noon, where most of the Dropscythe household falls to peace brought by stomachs needing to be filled- a disciplinarian and his puppy stand in a kitchen. It had become somewhat of a routine, for Doppio and Doom to take over the kitchen and cook for the rest of the family. It’d been more of a... learning experience, frankly- mostly because Doppio’s culinary skills are somewhat left to be desired and Doom... just can’t cook. At all.
And when presented with the perfect opportunity for both of them to improve in that department while feeding the rest of them and spending some quality time together… how could they possibly pass it up?
“Be careful with that egg, okay Doom?” Doppio’s voice calls out, fluffy ears perking up in acknowledgement as the egg cupped within the reaper’s claw is handled with the slightest more care- Doom wouldn’t want to accidentally break it and leave egg shells scattered in the omelette. He now understands from experience- those do not taste very good. Nor do they feel good to chew on, honestly. Why must eggs have shells? It would be so much easier to cook them if they didn’t. Much easier for chicks to hatch from them as well- he can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must have been for those poor scythekicks.
The hybrid’s senses prickle , alerting him that something- someone is behind him. But Doom does not startle, all too familiar with the presence to do anything but relax and let it happen, the weight of a body pressing against his back comforting, as fluffy magenta hair tickles the side of his face, “Hmm… looking good so far!!” Doppio exclaims, having leaned over the other’s shoulders (on his tippy toes, he’s certain) to observe the magnificent work Doom is doing. The praise only further confirms it- Doom might not have been particularly good at cooking in the past, but now he’s able to not only help make some simple meals, and also not burn the kitchen down in the process. He’s truly come far.
The reaper’s tail wags in excitement, Doom tilting his head until the two were basically pressing cheeks together, “Am I doing a good job Doppio?” he asks, not simply out of wanting validation and making sure he is doing good- but also to subtly nudge the other into giving him the praise he always yearns for. Pressing his elbow into Doppio’s gut completely by accident, the reaper takes a few steps to the side until the two were now face to face- before leaning down ever so slightly, his tail high in the air as he waits for his silent request to be granted.
Doom’s ear flicks as it registers the sound of gentle snickering, before a hand-! finally plops inbetween his now flattened ears, making space for the other to run his fingers through identical magenta hair without trouble. “Yeah! A lot better than last time, that’s for sure. You’re doing great.” Doppio says, and the reaper’s metaphorical heart soars, his tail wagging with such intensity he’s surprised it hasn’t knocked over some utensils at this point- and when a second hand comes to ruffle his hair almost aggressively and most definitely messing up his hair, accompanied by that stupid wushuwushuwushu sound the other always makes when petting his head- the wagging only increases in speed.
Once Doppio had seemingly decided he’s done enough petting, and pulled his hands away from the reaper’s head- Doom didn’t hesitate to shake his head (much like a dog, he thinks with delight), a built in instinct he couldn’t resist despite the knowledge it would not help him in the slightest. Looking at Doppio once more, the hybrid finds the other to already be looking at him, expression softened by something inexplicable and indiscernible to him. Is there something on his face, he wonders? “Aw, your hair’s all messy now.” Ah. If Doom paints an image of someone with strands of hair poking in all kinds of directions, then it’s no wonder why Doppio is looking at him so... weirdly.
Still, the reaper huffs, setting down the egg he’d been holding onto this entire time for fear of breaking it, before gently shaking his head to the side once more. “And whose fault is that Doppio?” to point out his now less than desirable hairstyle as if the observation didn’t come from the very culprit of such a follicle crime… the disciplinarian’s courage knows no bounds, it seems. That, and his impudence.
The reaper watches as lips form into a gentle pout, muscular arms crossing as Doppio argues, “But you’re so cute Doom!! You can’t expect me to not mess your hair…” and though Doom tries his very hardest to not show how pleased he is by the compliment easily offered to him, especially towards a facet of himself he is more than proud of- his tail betrays him all the same, wagging with an eagerness that does not show on his face. Traitor.
Still. “You’ve ruined my hair.” Doom points out, a frown adorning his face as he thinks about that fact- he puts quite a lot of effort into grooming both his fur and his hair, and now all that effort has been completely ruined. He cannot even fix such an affront, as his paws have been dirtied by touching all kinds of ingredients and touching his hair with them would be more than unsanitary- and Doom does not have the time to grab a brush either. He is doomed. Fated to look like this forevermore and- “I look like an idiot . A fool. Like those baby birds you soak with water that look all poofy and weird when you dry them . People are gonna think I can’t do my hair Doppio. They’re going to make fun of me and I’m going to cry.”
An incredulous wheeze of cry-?! leaves the other’s mouth, one Doom chooses to ignore just as he ignores the other’s miserable attempt at restraining his laughter, (what Doppio finds so humorous about this, he does not know. He finds it offensive all the same.) pressing a knuckle against his mouth as though it would hide the shimmering grin that glows on his face, “Okaaay okaaay, I’m sooorryyyy. Lemme make it up to you then.” Doppio takes a few steps forward, lifting both of his arms until he was now cupping the reaper’s face gently, “Cmere.” is the soft murmur offered to Doom- who this time, does not require any further nudging to know what’s coming next.
As easily as breathing, the two lean further into each other’s personal space- until such a thing is shoved to the side in favor of leaning in closer, closer, closer… and with but a little push, two sets of lips interlock as if they were always meant to be one. Doom’s entire body finds itself filled with silky strands of affection, a gentle warmth seeping and buzzing within him until it finds the very core of what makes up the reaper’s soul and settles there.
There are simply no amount of words that could describe how happy, how at peace such an action makes him feel. Doom’s tail is thumping with such an aggression it keeps bumping against the sides of the kitchen counters- which, actually hurts quite a bit actually- but how could it ever be stopped when Doom is so very pleased? Filled with a never ending stream of affection that wraps around all that he is?
Doppio holds his face with such care, kisses him with clear affection, clear love that shows through his every movement- it makes the reaper’s stomach flutter with something he isn’t quite sure how to describe, makes him want to do things he’s never wanted in all his millenniums of existence. Doom wants to be of use to the other, to make Doppio’s life easier by virtue of being here and help him with any kind of tasks- wants to shower him with spoils, love, and affection, Doom.... Doom wishes he could touch Doppio. Much like the other is currently rubbing his thumbs in a circular motion within the hybrid’s cheek as he deepens the kiss, Doom wishes he could return the favor, show him the extent of his love towards the ex-delinquent, like the other does countless times again, and again, and again.
Unfortunately for the reaper and much too soon in his grand opinion- the kiss comes to a halt, Doppio taking but a single step backwards as to put space between the two of them, the reaper’s previously closed eyes fluttering open once he registered the loss of contact. “There. Are you happy now?” Doppio asks, as if Doom would be pleased with such an act of betrayal committed against his very person. Is he an idiot? Clearly, Doom has to make his needs crystal clear for his idiotic partner to understand.
Intent on getting another kiss from Doppio, the reaper demands, “No. I want another kiss.” leaning down once more towards the disciplinarian and intruding the other’s personal space that’s much unnecessary if Doom had anything to say about it- but when he’d finally gotten close enough that he could feel the other’s soft breaths against his lips, a hand comes to interrupt him and push his face away from his goal. How rude.
Doppio’s face glows as a chuckle leaves lips Doom was about to kiss, the sound alone making the reaper’s tail wag ever so slightly faster than its previous dormant state, “No can do, we have cooking to do you know that! Poco Pio’s gonna beat my ass if we stand around just- smooching instead of making lunch like promised.” like last time, goes unsaid. Whenever a mention of that incident is mentioned, Doom’s legs are filled with a phantom ache he would rather not experience again. Tiny Poco Pio may be, the violence that follows his fists and feet is something to be feared, even for someone like Doom.
Dejected by the rejection, Doom cannot help but droop in disappointment. He understands why, of course- but he cannot pretend to be happy about such a logical rebuttal either. The reaper must’ve been making quite the ‘kicked puppy’ face, because soon after fluffy ears flattened against his head, Doppio takes a step closer to tap the reaper’s nose with his own, before nuzzling him gently- just the way Doom had once expressed he likes. The hybrid cannot help but preen ever so slightly, the knowledge that the disciplinarian had paid attention to his words and remembered the best ways to make him happy filling him with a sense of satisfaction like no other.
“How about this.” Doppio starts, and Doom’s ears flick towards him, all of his attention dedicated to the next words uttered to the world, “If you manage to not break a single egg- not let any of the shell fall into the yolk, then we can kiss as much as you want, alright?” and- yes. Now, this, is a compromise Doom can work with. Pressing his cheek against the top of Doppio’s head in a movement filled with nothing but gratitude and affection, the reaper separates himself from the other and tries to not let his delight show too clearly in his body language. (Going from the widening smile on Doppio’s face, he is failing.)
Nodding once in confirmation, Doom schools his facial expression to be one of pure determination, and proclaims, “Okay. I will become the best at not breaking eggs. The Egg Cracker Master.” with as much seriousness as he can. This is serious business after all. Doom cannot afford to be taken as anything else but a Determined Man. Which is what he is. A very determined man.
Going by the unrestrained laughter escaping Doppio’s lips however, he does not take him as seriously as he should. But what does Doppio know, anyway? “Okay Doom, you go do that.” shaking his head in fond amusement, Doppio turns around, and goes back to arranging the salad for their lunch. Targeting all of his attention towards Doom’s next prey, two clawed hands come to grasp a singular egg slowly, carefully. Doom is too familiar with the ease it takes to break an egg- but as to not let any shells fall into the metal bowl? Harder than one might think.
But Doom has never been one to back away from a challenge. No, it is the opposite, in fact. When faced with difficulties, when faced by something that cannot be overcome by simple sheer will and brute force- something in the reaper pulsates and thrives with exhilaration as every sense held within his vessel narrows onto this singular goal; crack an egg without letting any shell parts fall down. Each of Doom’s claws rest at the opposite sides of this egg, forearm quivering with the amount of effort and focus it requires for him to not let his sharp nails puncture the fragile little thing- it should only require the slightest bit of effort. Doom can do it. He can. He will crack the eggs, not make a mess, Doppio will praise him, maybe even pet his head and he’s going to get that promised kiss.
Doom carefully begins to apply force against the egg. Slowly, slowly, the threat of it shattering into a thousand pieces hanging menacingly over his head- beads of sweat begin to form onto pale skin, as the telltale sounds of crack... crack... of an egg about to reach its limit, go from shell to yolk- Doom is so close, he’s about to crack the egg open when-!
A voice breaks his focus, calling out “Ah, could you pass me the pepper please?” and Doom has no choice but to stop his careful motions, putting the egg back onto its container. Curse you, Doppio. A sigh of exasperation leaves the reaper- it’s... fine. Doom will prove to the world that he’s capable of doing something as simple as cracking an egg and do it flawlessly. Delaying the inevitable doesn’t change your fate, egg. It will be cracked. It’s only a matter of time.
Out of habit, the reaper’s head bobs up and down in a sign of affirmation- and when he realises that Doppio cannot see such an act, he instead settles on humming gently as emerald golden eyes glance over the entire kitchen, now where...? Until they settle onto a familiar glass container, filled to the brim with brown grains. Grabbing a hold of the object, Doom walks over to where Doppio seems to have almost finished his task of arranging the salad, and without a second thought, hands the shaker over.
“Thanks!” A hand for once not covered by its usual glove reaches out, fingers wrapping around the object he sought for, Doom watches as Doppio sets it against the counter in front of him- and task achieved, turns around to return to his original one. Except. Midway through turning around- the reaper... feels something. Something, that is pulling and tugging at his stomach, a foreboding sense of something indescribable and inevitable- almost like Fate itself had tied its grasp around the reaper and he hadn’t had any other choice than to stop… and turn around. And just as he does-
The sharp whistle of the wind. The sound of clothes rustling. A blur of colors- magenta, black, white and gold- a beat. Doom watches, almost in slow motion, as with an unexpected force, just like a puppet whose strings had been cut- Doppio’s body tilts.... and then slams onto the ground.
Doom blinks. (His fur stands on its ends, inexplicably.)
That… was quite the fall. “Doppio. Are you okay?” the reaper calls out, a hand almost reaching out to poke him as he’s certain it would annoy the other into action but- almost immediately, takes his hand back. Right. Doom has to be careful around Doppio, he cannot just.... reach out and touch him. Not when his hands are covered with the mark of Death, not when even the slightest brush of skin could do something irreversible. Doom cannot touch Doppio. No matter how much he may yearn to, no matter how much it tears him apart not to. (He has thought and thought and fantasied and dreamed of a moment that’ll never come to be- envisioned what Doppio’s skin could possibly feel like against his fingertips so many times he could almost feel its phantom sensation against them…. But those will only ever be fantasies. Should only ever remain fantasies. Because if they’re not....)
Blinking out of his reverie, Doom finds that even though he had lost himself to his own thoughts- in the time it had taken him to snap out of it, Doppio… hadn’t moved from his spot. “Doppio.” the hybrid calls out once more, wondering what exactly was the hold up. Seeing Doppio just… laying there, completely silent is kind of freaking him out, actually. Usually, within a matter of seconds, Doppio would be sitting up, scratching his head (he did bump his head rather painfully, if only going by the loud THUNK sound that had resonated within the kitchen when his head slammed against the kitchen counter) and complaining about how much it had hurt and- probably ask Doom to kiss his ‘boo boo’s away like the childish man he is. So surely, it wouldn’t take too long before such a prediction came true?
……He still isn’t moving. “...Doppio?” concerns begins to bleed within the words, something cold and merciless wrapping around the reaper’s neck as he wonders- had the other hit his head so hard he’d just… passed out? That, at least would explain the lack of complaint on Doppio’s part- but though it would make sense, it is still quite troubling. Doom isn’t sure how to treat such cases- is not familiar with such ailments as a being such a he would never do something as undignified as just... crumbling against the floor like that. Cogs tweak and turn as Doom tries to think of a solution that would help with this sudden problem... and then it hits him. Maybe a good kick to the head would help? If nothing else, it would at least succeed in waking Doppio up from his surprising slumber, and they could go from there. Nodding to himself, preening with the knowledge that once again, Doom had proven he is clearly the smartest within this entire household- the reaper kneels down in front of the prone figure, the muscles in his legs tensing up as he prepares to deliver a swift kick to Doppio’s head.....
And then he sees it. (...no.) The tiniest black spot, unclear and meaningless to many- but all too recognisable to the Reaper. (no, no, no-) Etched across clear skin, an echo of the blotches of darkness that dance along Doom’s very own skin. (no nO NO NO NO NO- ) Sat onto Doppio’s skin is.... (it can’t be. It can’t be it can’t it can’t please no- )
…..Doom’s fingers are tingling.
For a moment, nothing but loud, deafening silence remains as Doom stares, and stares and- and he- no. Doppio cannot be- how could-? Stomach tied in knots, Doom’s entire body shakes and trembles and quivers as the weight of actions not meant crashes onto him- beads of sweat trickle down a rapidly paling face as the reaper slowly slides down the floor, shapes blurring out of his fading vision and he all but collapses in front of Doppio’s- his.... dear Gods. No. No no he cannot be right about this he cannot, Doom has to be wrong please let him be wrong-!
Dry lips part once, and then twice, his partner’s name about to be called out- except. Except except except- what point would there be? Doom stares at the prone figure of his lover and wonders- to which audience would he even speak to? What use are words spoken when none could hear them? What is the point when Doppio is- when- the Reaper’s breath hitches as a kaleidoscope of sensations tear him apart in one fell swoop, agony spreading within his weeping, empty soul- the world blurring as the colors bleed out of the world in favor of monochrome as his chest roars with a cacophony of emotions-
Tension presses deep against the Reaper’s mind, desperate thoughts swirling with panic that increases for each and every time he does so much as blink- one of Doom’s hand reaches out, in an attempt to verify the horrifying realisation that is painted in front of him, with a scarlet red so deep is threatens to swallow him whole- but just as his claws are about to get a few inches close to Doppio’s personal bubble, bone deep, instinctual cold terror overwhelms all of his nerves and senses, the Reaper flinching back almost immediately because- he cannot, cannot touch Doppio. It’s something he has trained himself to avoid, ignoring every part of his soul that yearns to touch the other properly, with his own two hands, to be so careful that his hands never, never ever touches Doppio’s skin- but-!
But such a worry does not matter anymore because Doppio is- but he can’t be, could not possibly- Doom refuses to entertain such an idea- but this scent is unmistakable, Doom has bathed in its essence for far too many eons to not recognise it, to not understand, not know the gravity of which sin he had just committed what has he done how could he have allowed this to - Doom feels lightheaded for reasons he could not even begin to guess, all of his insides squeezing with such a force he’d think they were trying to- to… much like Doppio is- but no, Doom refuses such a notion because, because Doppio is light incarnated, he is sunshine and shimmers with his every movement, with his every word and every smile and so how could it ever dim and go out? How could the Sun disappear and leave the rest of the world to freeze in an Universe that is all but glacial without its presence? Such a notion is nonsensical. Completely and utterly incomprehensible. And yet....
Widened eyes dart all across Doppio’s body with a fright like none felt before, searching, hoping, praying for any signs of life, the Reaper’s body stumbling forward- crawling with none of the grace his movements usually exude, nothing but animalistic, primal fear strangling him as he hovers over Doppio- a loud ringing being all he can hear outside of something similar enough to a heart beating, one that does not belong to him- with such a speed that he would worry of a heart attack were he not immortal, Doom thinks with hysteria because he may be immortal but Doppio is not and so-!
Tear ducts burn much to the contrast of how the rest of Doom’s body is freezing cold, the signs of his true nature as a Reaper all too clear as body warmth is not something a being from the Underworld has ever had to worry about- the rest of the world feels just as cold however, none of its usual warmth present as Doom’s mind tries to comprehend, to understand - and it is as his eyes fall onto Doppio’s frozen still face that it realises..... this is all Doom’s fault.
A mirthless chuckle born out of delirium and desperation leaves numb lips- it’s all his fault, isn’t it? If Doom had been more careful, had the insight that passing over an object would result in higher chances for their skin to touch, if he’d been smarter, better, if only-! The room spins and blurs as the hybrid’s claws come to clutch at his own arms in a pathetic replica of a hug like he’d once heard Doppio say it helps with panic- except it does not. All it does is increase the sense of claustrophobia seeping through his mind as everything closes in on him and Doom- Doom cannot breathe, he can’t breathe- succeeds only in small wheezes of air as he tries to breathe in, breathe in, the lack of air only aiding to the increasing lightheadedness that makes his head spin - except he doesn’t even need to breathe, does he? The only reason he did was because of Doppio’s body (that was living and now isn’t because he’s- he’s-!) is mortal, and as a being occupying it, inhabiting it like a parasite- Doom had needed to learn how to replicate human behavior to not hurt Doppio’s body, to keep him alive- and were that not the case, the Reaper probably would do it anyway because he’d always liked feeling closer to those humans he cherishes so much, but now....
Doom’s frame shudders with such a force he could not even attempt to stop them- not that he can bother to think about doing so because the only thoughts running through his head are that it’s all his fault. And Doom knows, that regret is unnecessary. He knows he knows he knows, is all too familiar with the kind of grief loss brings, has seen its impact shatter others in ways some have simply never recovered from- he knows that spending time agonising over the what ifs and if onlys would only bring him more pain- but Doppio is gone and so nothing else matters.
Everything outside of Doppio has blurred to such a degree Doom is not quite sure if it comes from the consequences of his grief, or the tears flowing out of his eyes. It does not matter. The Reaper has to force himself to continue when trembling hands reach out for Doppio’s body, has to swallow down the terror that flows within his veins as he chokes on yet another sob, (Doom is so scared, still so scared of touching him but what does it even matter anymore?) two hands taking hold of a face that still feels warm to the touch, cupping it carefully, gently- (his eyes are still open dear gods) Doom stares at the one person that has completed his existence like none ever have before… and mourns.
In a replica of what the other had done to him but a few moments prior, two thumbs rub against Doppio’s cheeks in a circular motion, taking great care to pay mind to his sharp claws so Doom does not hurt him- but. What is the point of such an action when life no longer breathes in his other? When he will never know joy nor sadness, neither pain nor the soul shattering grief that tears the Reaper to ribbons and shreds? Why do any of his actions hold meaning if there is no one to witness his care, the emotions buried underneath them?
Doppio Dropscythe is dead.
And it’s all his fault.
Dissonance. Like a clock that had been miscalibrated, like a metronome unable to synchronise to a beat, like chords playing all at once with no care for sensible melodies. Static buzzes and eats away at whatever it is that reality was made out of, reduced to distanced sensations and shattered perception that cannot even decipher any kind of stimuli from any kind of outside force.
The world is empty. cold. meaningless.
Doom has not been able to move from his position, crumpled onto the floor for what has felt like an Eternity. Mere seconds could have passed, or perhaps hours, days, months. It doesn’t matter. Time has no meaning to a being that will never run out of it, when the only person who’s time could have possibly mattered had been cut short by hands that only cause Destruction. When the world shattering anguish accompanied by frightening terror locking all of his limbs into a mockery of a rock had run out- in its place, came nothing but numb grief and soul crushing guilt.
The Reaper had killed Doppio. There are simply no other ways to put it, no point in sugar coating such a heinous crime, not when he is undeserving of any kind of mercy. Doom killed Doppio, with his own two hands, like he’d always feared he would, almost like a prophecy had come true after all this time- and nothing could change that fact. Doppio’s demise had been caused by nothing but Doom’s carelessness, his stupidity, and Doom would have to continue to exist in a world without his other half, in a world that feels as equally as dead as his lover.
Doom can do nothing but stare, faced by the consequences of his own actions- and weep. For whom does he cry, he wonders? What worth are the tears of a murderer? Why does he grieve when he had been the one to end a life he had cherished more than anything else within the entire Universe? Doom does not know. He does not stop crying, either. Cannot cease the flow of tears that cascade down a face he had but stolen from another, a face equally as lifeless as.....
Half lidded yellowish green eyes stare at Doppio, searching, searching for any sign of life… but he finds none. Doom stares, and only finds Death. Doppio’s body is stiff, limbs bent in ways one whom possesses consciousness could never replicate without much pain- and it would make sense, right? Dead bodies cannot feel pain. Dead bodies cannot feel, anything. Dead bodies, are just that. Dead. And yet- even though Doom is all too familiar with the signs of Death, even though his very existence had been made to recognise such things, despite knowing these signs so well it comes to him as easily as humans breathe.... he cannot link such a state to the existence known as Doppio Dropscythe.
How could he? When Doppio’s every movements, every breaths are filled with such life and energetic love for life that it steals the breath out of the Reaper- when Doppio has taught him life and how to truly live and not just exist, to enjoy the little things; the flavor of a warm meal shared with others, the rewarding joy that comes after completing a task, what it feels like to be around others and enjoy company- the wonders of love and affection flowing through him, simple moments of peaceful silence when walking through a park, bantering with others- all things that Doom would have never known about life, if not for Doppio’s help, never could have imagined how intrinsic such moments were to not just exist but to live and thrive- and now.... there may have been more things Doppio had wanted to teach Doom, to share with him, experience with him- all things, that he will never know. For the rest of Time, Doom will have to exist knowing that all of that had been abruptly stopped- because of him.
Doom stares, eyes almost unseeing and yet bearing witness to all too much- how no breaths escape lungs he knows no longer filter air, how none of Doppio’s fingers move from their uncomfortable position laying onto the floor, unknowing that one could sprain a wrist like this because Doppio is dead and such worries will never have any sort of value- how magenta streaked hair lays scattered across the floor, messy and tangled and Doom knows that if Doppio were alive still, he would have hated that, hated having knots into hair he’d put so much effort growing to such a length- Doom stares at the painting filled with nothing but the grim loud echo of Death and he knows he knows and grieves.
....Still, it cannot stay this way. The Reaper moves, crawling forward at the pace his counterpart most likely would have called ‘as slow as a snail’ but what use would hurry be when nothing ever moves? When time itself stands still, unyielding and merciless as Doppio’s clock ceases to tick, its hands crushed by ones that had wished to do nothing but cherish? Doom crawls, until he is sat at Doppio’s side, knees digging into it in such a way that would have once gotten him scolded but now no longer matters- and his hands reach out.
It is not the first time the hybrid finds himself doing so- not just in general, when the Reaper aches to touch and show how much he cares to someone who makes his life all the brighter with his mere existence- but in this very moment. Many-a times, Doom had attempted to reach out and touch Doppio’s still body, if only to change the other’s position so he is no longer staring at a mockery of Doppio’s vitality and the other would finally be shown the respect he deserves- but each and every time he had attempted to do so... he found himself frozen. Choking, on fear that had his body shivering, on grief that reached into the depths of his chest and squeezed because- just by having his hand hovering over Doppio’s body, he could sense the other’s body heat- heat, that lowered with each and every time Doom’s hand reaches out, as if any remains of life that could possibly exist within the other were squashed all the more by the very hands that had killed Doppio and he just- couldn’t. Not when the very thought of ruining more of someone so precious to him makes something in the Reaper shatter and break.
But even as the sorrow digs its sharp claws within Doom’s metaphorical heart and tears into it- he can no longer stand to let this continue. And that is why Doom slowly, carefully, lets his palm rest against the fabric of Doppio’s clothes, against one of the limbs laid carelessly against the cold tile floor... and begins to rearrange them. It is not a pleasant affair. Doom’s entire body is wracked by goosebumps and cold sweat, shivers and sobs so intense they threaten to disturb his frail focus more than once- but he pushes through, nonetheless. Repositions Doppio’s body, lays him onto his back, crosses his arms against his chest, lays his head against his own thighs- until the illusion of rest was created, almost as if Doppio had simply requested a lap pillow from the Reaper, and had decided to take a nap there.
Only one thing breaks the illusion. As Doom hunches over, he finds he cannot stray his gaze away from Doppio’s face- once expressive and flushed with vitality, now pale, clammy, lifeless. Doppio’s entire face is limp, eyes wide and unseeing, the colors of his shimmering eyes having been sucked away by the cold touch of death, now unseeing and vacant- lips still parted as if he was about to say something before Doom’s carelessness brought an end to his time, and now he will never know what those words could have been because Doppio will never speak ever again and it’s all because of him it’s because of him-
Trembling hands hover over a face that still exudes warmth but lacks the comfort it usually brings- the body now colder than Doom has ever known the other to be, as yet another heave of grief takes a hold of the Reaper, droplets of salty water falling until they collide with Doppio’s face and- he can’t. He can’t. Pushing through the nauseating agony that wraps around all that makes him a person, Doom lays one of his hands against Doppio’s face... and slowly, gently… closes his eyes. (He cannot bear to witness Doppio in such a state. He cannot withstand looking at those eyes- once filled with life... now dull, soulless… empty.)
And when he straightens his spine out again, the Reaper finds that he can feel nothing but disgust. Disgust, at the ease by which he can touch Doppio’s body. He had yearned for a moment like this for so long, and yet- his desires had done nothing but ruin Doppio’s life. The only reason he could touch him, was because he had killed him. How fitting.
Doom had brought the end of the love of his life… and he can do nothing but weep.
An unknown amount of time trickles by. How much, Doom does not know- does not care, either. Could not bring himself to care, even if he tried. Lost within the numbness that had spread down to his very core, he finds it very difficult to care about- anything, really. The encompassing, engulfing devastation the only thing left out of his weeping soul, for he had cried and sobbed and wailed for so long, the tears manifested out of his pain that had been trickling down his face endlessly much like the flow of a river- eventually, stopped as well.
And so, Doom was left with nothing but numbness.
...Doppio’s body feels cold in his arms. It is pointless to keep it here, Doom knows. No amount of hugging will ever amount to anything, will change anything. Doppio is dead. He does not move, will not move, ever again. Cradling a corpse has no meaning. It doesn’t make him feel better. It does not comfort him.
And yet, Doom does not let go. Cannot let go. Not now. Maybe not ever.
In the few moments where Doom hadn’t sunk deep into the depths of a sea of tar and pain, he found himself talking to Doppio- or, rather, to himself. Not in the hope that his other would hear, corpses do not hear because they are not living after all- but because his vocal chords, Doom’s voice, something that originally belonged to Doppio, is all that remains of him. It is the only way he could ever hear it ever again, the only chance he has to hear it again before The End.
Doom is fated to disappear, soon enough. Whether it takes seconds, minutes, hours or days- his time in the mortal realm is now limited. Doppio had been his anchor to the world, a sort of avatar that would let Doom’s soul inhabit it and be able to walk within humans, to perhaps be a part of them… and now that Doppio is gone, Doom no longer possesses any mortal form to materialise himself, will soon no longer have any physical form to interact with the world.
This form too, will disappear. Like bubbles slowly floating in the wind- before a pop... Doom’s form will slowly begin to dissipate, disappear... until he too, becomes yet another soul lost to the river of souls. Until he finds his way back to the familiarity of the Underworld, fated to resume his duty as a Reaper. Every living piece of Doppio would be lost, by then. Not a single living thing would be left.
Doom will walk the mortal realm without any capacity to interact with it... not unlike a soul lost within the flow of time... until he finds another body to walk within human kind. But how could he? When all he leaves behind his wake is death and suffering? What other form could ever fit his soul when Doppio’s had become but a second home to him? How could he dare sully this realm knowing he has shattered one of his bonds with a being so very precious to him because of his carelessness? How could he ever look at himself in the mirror if Doppio wouldn’t be one of his reflections? Scattered pieces of a bigger puzzle inbetween beings, until they all connect and slot together as one?
He couldn’t. Would not know what to do with an existence that had robbed itself of people closest to him. Dull gradient eyes widen as a question comes to mind- Doom had.... killed, Doppio. There does not reside a single universe in which the Reaper thinks Poco Pio would not have sensed the approaching End, would have not known the death that had devoured Doppio’s soul... so why then, has the other not come? If Poco Pio had been aware of the sentence of Death that had fallen onto Doppio’s neck, surely he would have come running? And once he’d realised exactly by which hand the other’s life had ended... Doom does not doubt for a single second that Poco Pio would have torn him to shreds. Would have found ways to make him feel his wrath in ways the Reaper could not even conceptualise- he would not be surprised if the small menace would find a way to kill Doom, immortal he may be. So why....
.....Ah... right. Of course. Doom had been a fool, yet again. Anguish tears into his entire being once more as the truth comes to light- Doppio and Poco Pio are two beings linked as a singular soul, two parts of a bigger whole. Doom had been made aware of that the very moment they had met, when he had tied his own soul within their bond. He is all too aware of how entangled the two’s existence are within one another, of what would happen if one of two were to cross the boundary that ties life and death, to cross into the unknown. And since Doppio is gone...
Poco Pio… must be dead as well.
....somehow, he thought the realisation would make him happier.
.........Doom just feels empty.
...How strange. Doom has thought about this moment time, and time, and time again- has wished for such a fate to fall onto the other equally as many times as he has wished for Poco Pio’s doom, since the very moment he had discovered the new sensation of hating someone with one’s entire body and soul- and yet.... now that the moment has come...... Doom does not celebrate. No joy fills his body, no fireworks erupt within his mind- Doom realises that Poco Pio is dead... and yet. He cannot find it in himself to do anything but grieve.
Doom tightens his grasp around Doppio’s cold body, pressing his face against the crook of the other’s neck- somehow wishing a heartbeat could be felt against his nose.... and finds nothing but cold stillness. Right. Of course. Doom... should have known. Has known, but he discovers that hope is rather difficult to get rid of when it comes to wishing loved ones back. Tears he had thought had been burned out of him form within his eyes once more, the Reaper’s body quaking with a grief so intense he does not think he could handle it- he misses Doppio, Doppio, who had been alive not too long ago, who had laughed and smiled at someone who had yet not known he would become his executioner, who lived and laughed and deserved so much more than the fate befallen upon him, whom Doom would do anything to get back but knows will never happen- for the cogs of time and murky depths of Death do not often grant mercy, whether one is deserving of it, or not. Doppio, whom Doom had loved, loves still and will forever cherish, robbed of by his own hands- Doppio, who had an entire future waiting for him, cut short by one he’d trusted his heart to and- and-
It should have been him.
...It is a foolish thought to have. Doom is immortal, could never experience Death like mortals do- will only ever know it as a way to destroy one of his mortal forms but not as an end to his existence, and yet… he finds himself certain of such an opinion. Doppio, whom had not deserved to die so soon- should have lived, whereas Doom, who has lived centuries upon centuries, should have died. As simple as the sky’s color being blue (now muddled a monochrome grey) and a fork being found in the kitchen- (accompanied, by Doppio’s body.) such a fate would have been much more fitting for the Reaper.
Is this what it feels like, to yearn for death? Doom has never thought he would experience such a thing, but it seems whether alive or not, Doppio never ceases to make new feelings bloom within the hybrid. However, it remains a fact that Doom, is a being that cannot, and will never truly die. And thus, the only way to ever encounter Doppio’s soul ever again... would be to Guide him to the Afterlife. At the intersection between the realm of life and death, he could meet Doppio once more.
....would Doppio hate him, he wonders? Would he still give Doom the honor to guide his beautiful, bright and kind soul, to a realm that even he cannot access?
.......would Doom have the courage to do so?
He is not certain. He does not think so. To be so shameless as to face Doppio when he had been the one to end his life, because he had been careless, stupid and foolish to ever think he could touch the other without ruining him... Doom is many things, and though pride is something he takes great care to maintain- he could never... no. No, he could never do such a thing, not now, not in the future, potentially never. But could the Reaper bear to commit to such a choice? Abandon his Duty, his one chance to meet Doppio ever again, simply because he is too much of a coward to do so? Could he bear to truly let go of the other, knowing he would forever regret such a choice?
....He decides, that perhaps... it does not matter. Doom can leave such a choice... when grief is not tearing him apart, when existing in a world without Doppio becomes less painful. (Never painless. There exists no reality where parting with Doppio could bring him no pain. But perhaps....) As of right now... thinking is too painful. Remembering is too painful. Holding Doppio’s cold dead corpse, is too much for him to handle. Doom cannot let go, will never let go- but that does not mean he must be present. Closing heavy eyes that had not seen for quite a long time, blanketed by a pain greater than any kind of physical torment could ever fall upon him- Doom looks within the depths of blissful, agonising unconsciousness.... and lets go.
Perhaps... this is the only way he will ever achieve peace. Buried underneath the weight of his sin, to not be aware would be better than to be tortured by Knowledge. Doom wills himself to drown within the call of the Abyss....
But then.
Doom’s ears perk up at a familiar yet foreign sound. Unsung bell tolls of Doom, silent sirens of something unseen before- a pressure. Layers of stardust and galaxies crashing and creating something new, the Void and its Call reverberating through the Reaper’s very soul- something, coming undone, the Universe answering a plea. A rustle. Warmth, slowly seeping through his hands- a twitch, a beat. And then another. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Doom dares not hope. Hope is what would lead to further grief were he to entertain it and be proven wrong- but. But, but but he can hear it, his keen hearing would never mistake those beats as anything else- could never feel that rise of a chest pressing against his numb arms, as Doom stares and stares and maybe, just maybe…! Fervent movements fueled by trepidation as Doom carefully, carefully sets Doppio’s body (this body body body but not a corpse and this is- this is-) onto the ground and stumbles away, far far away so he could not bring further damage than he had already caused-
Doom does not hope but he wishes and prays and begs for the Worlds to listen and not present him with false hope- watches, as shades of grey, black and white slowly fade back into something brighter, colorful, better as fingers twitch and pale flesh flushes anew with blood that flows within veins that pulse, and- and-
A familiar voice. Ever so slightly scratchy, filled with a growl of discontent that is all too clear to the reaper, a voice he thought he would never hear ever again that comes from lips no longer tainted by death- “Ow.... yeesh, that hurt...!" Doppio speaks and at last, at long last- Doom can finally breathe. Relieved elation overflows out of his body as he watches Doppio move (because life breathes in him, because Death no longer has his soul within its cold clutches and Doppio is- Gods Above he’s- ) from his previously prone position until he is sat criss crossed onto the tiled floor, a hand ruffling through his hair as the disciplinarian groans, “Ack... man... that counter is ruthless! I could’ve busted my head open and died yknow?” Doom’s soul plunges within the depths of icy cold void.
No. No, it’s fine, Doppio had not meant it in the way Doom had interpreted his words, could not have meant them because- Doppio… does not know. That much is clear, when the ex-delinquent lifts his head to stare up at Doom with a familiar gaze filled with nothing but affection and care and all Doom can feel is nothing but freezing culpability because Doppio does not know he is staring at his executioner- “Oh- woah. You- are you okay Doom? You look kinda...” Doppio trails off, eyebrows furrowed as the arm previously rubbing at what Doom hopes will not become a concussion comes to lay within the other’s lap, cogs turning within the other’s head as he tries to puzzle what could possibly be bothering the reaper-
And how could he ever know? How could he not know? Which fate is more deserving to the reaper- to be rightfully hated for having committed a sin worse than any crime he could have possibly envisioned in his life, or to be tormented by a knowledge not shared with his other half, forced to pretend that he is not a wretched being that brings nothing but grief wherever he goes? Guilt and shame and grief and relief and joy all swirl within a stomach screaming to be emptied for cause of the nausea that overwhelms him, gentle butterflies coursing through his very veins and it is all so much, an impossible amount of emotions to ever possibly untangle or process- that Doom, simply blinks at the other....
And bursts into tears.
Doppio startles, eyes widened not by death but by pure unfiltered shock- unknowing of the reason why Doom is shedding tears like someone grieving because he does not know, Doppio does not know- “WHA-?! Uh- um Doom no it’s, it’s okay- I, I don’t know why you’re crying but, oh god -” Doppio crawls close to Doom’s side until they are now face to face, the panic so strong that he is unaware of the way Doom ever so subtly shifts his body away from the other’s- two hands hovering over Doom’s soaked face as silent sobs wreck his body and Doppio is so very clearly at a loss on what to do, not even offering a hug like he usually would when Doom is distressed but it’s okay, because Doom doesn’t deserve to be touched after what he did- “Is it because I fell? Because I promise I’m okay, so- so don’t, don’t cry okay? I’m okay! Everything is-” and Doom cannot bear to listen to platitudes because- because-
“ Doppio...." the reaper chokes out a name he had not dared speak yet, his voice strangled by stunning amounts of emotions slamming against his head and mixing his insides like fruits blended into a smoothie- taking great care to move his hands away from the other, plopping them into his lap and covering them with his tail so the other could not even witness them-
“...Yea?” Doppio’s voice, slow and hesitant to respond- so very different from Doom’s very own, from its pitch to its quality, from the way Doppio articulates himself to the way he stumbles over words with no rhyme or reason that the reaper does not know how he could have possibly deluded himself into thinking they were anything remotely similar- but that is perfectly fine, more than fine- it is perfect because Doom being able to hear Doppio’s voice (and assuming he has not completely lost it) means that he’s okay, he’s okay and more than okay he’s-
“You’re… you’re alive.” Doom wants nothing more than to reach out and hug him close, make sure Doppio is real and feel his heartbeat against his own- but he cannot, will not, refuses. Not again. Not again not again never again. What if it was a fluke? What if Doom dares to touch Doppio once more and this time he’s gone for good? What if Doppio dies each and every time they touch, falling into the sea of souls before rising back up without even a clue as to what happened? ….he can’t risk it. Would never risk the other’s safety like this. It is not worth it. Doom would rather suffer a thousand fates worse than yearning and death than to let Doppio go through this ever again. Doom will never spend countless nights agonising over the ache that comes from not being able to connect with others in the same way they do with casual touch ever again because now that he has known and felt what it is like and has been shattered by the consequences that followed… Doom finds, that giving into his desires… is not worth it.
…Doppio is looking at him with such an incredulous, unbelieving and confused look that the reaper would not be surprised if the other would ask next ‘are you stupid?’ as he often does when confronted by things he does not understand. “...yyyyesss…? Of course I am?” Doppio says, letting his hands fall back into his lap as he tilts his head to the side, a habit Doom is certain the other had inherited directly from him, “What, did you think I died or something? Doom, I probably like- passed out for a second or two but I didn’t... ” and for a moment, Doppio seems to not know what to say, truly at a loss for words. And of course, how could he? Doppio does not know what has transpired. Doppio does not know of the sheer agony and joy that slithers and tugs within the reaper’s mind for every moment his gaze settles on a form he had thought would never move ever again, could never imagine the sorrow that fills the tears trickling down his face- how could he ever find the right thing to say? How could Doom do anything but weep?
Lifting a hand to his head once more, an awkward, hesitant laugh slips out of the disciplinarian as he scratches his head- “Ow... my head hurts a ton though... ” Doppio groans with a wince as his fingers brush against a forehead Doom had held not long ago with a delicate touch that ultimately did not matter because Doppio was dea- “...oh.” Blood. A bright, scarlet red that sticks to skin as Doom’s other half stares at his hand and his rotten ‘heart’ stutters, skips a beat and plummets- the rest of the world fading as his vision cannot help but narrow on the liquid that Doom had been taught, knows only leads to DEATH and he cannot- could not- no. not again. Not on his watch.
In a foolish moment of weakness, hands soaked with nothing but a curse move to reach out- but no, no has Doom not learnt his lesson? Stumbling to his feet in almost a drunken manner, the reaper scans the kitchen for anything that could help with Doppio’s wound, the world pulsating with frightened haste until gradient eyes fall onto a roll of absorbent paper towels, ripping one of them and falling to his knees once more. Ignoring the bewildered look sitting on Doppio’s face, the hybrid stretches his hand out, holding out the paper towel for the other to grab, undeserving of the grateful smile that blooms onto his most treasured companion as he utters a gentle “Thanks, Doom.” and just as Doppio’s hand is about to grab it, an overwhelming feeling of trepidation screams a warning at the reaper because Doppio’s hand is getting closer, and closer, and closer, his hand is so close too close to his own and they might just touch and Doom cannot have that, could never let such a thing happen ever again and so he just-
Flinches. Back. Lets the towel slowly flutter to the ground as a pressuring, ringing silence coats the entire room in blurry uncertainty. Doom’s entire body feels cold, coated with obsidian that crushes him as all the blood he could possibly possess evaporates from his skin, turning it a sickly, pale color as sweat begins to overflow out of his pores, his hands becoming clammy and he cannot stop shaking, shaking, shaking- and Doppio....
Doppio is staring at him. “...Doom? Are you-”
SLAM! Both mirrored halves startle as the sound of a door being carelessly thrown against a wall echoes within the entire arcade, with such a force Doom is almost certain that poor wall most definitely have a crack in it now- and when he turns around to investigate the source of such ruckus, “DOPPIO!!!” a familiar airy, high pitched voice bellows a scream that is filled with much more unfamiliar distress, followed by a small figure running, sprinting with a hurried pace that the small devil could never be caught committing to and yet- here Poco Pio stands, looking completely disheveled, sweat dripping from his pale skin as widened, almost horrified eyes search for Doppio’s startled figure with so much fear in them even Doom finds himself concerned because what could possibly scare Poco Pio when he is the most terrifying one out of all of them?
“Wh- Poco Pio?? What are you- OOF- ” Doppio does not even have the time to finish his sentence before a blur of movement fills the corner of the reaper’s vision and the disciplinarian is tackled into the ground- Poco Pio’s small stature wrapping his arms around the other’s waist with such a force Doom would worry it would break the other’s limbs were the little devil lacking in the strength department- “ OW- be careful Poco Pio! I just hit my head, I don’t need a....” Doppio begins to lecture the other as he rises from his sudden prone position into sitting up once more, but his playfully angry tone of voice fades into silence as Poco Pio does nothing except bury his face into the other’s chest, one of his ears pressed right over Doppio’s heart, Doom notices, and suddenly finds that he understands.
“I- ...are you okay...?” unsure of what to make of Poco Pio’s strange behavior, Doppio’s arms slowly, gently wrap over Poco Pio’s shuddering figure and tugs him ever so slightly closer, “Man, you two are acting so weird...” is what the ex-delinquent ends up saying, gaze straying from the devil hugging him to the reaper still sobbing his eyes out. What an odd picture they must make, Doom thinks to himself with no humor. What about this could possibly be funny, after all? Doom may have a less than apt sense at knowing what others define humorous, or not- but he does not think anyone aware of the situation at hand would be capable of finding it in their hearts to laugh.
Lifting his head from the black compression shirt, Poco Pio glares at Doppio with such intensity that it steals the reaper’s breath away- “You- don’t ever, I- you-!” the demon stumbling over his words in a manner much unlike himself, heaving a single breath as he rapidly blinks at the other before tearing his gaze away from the disciplinarian, turning until his gaze settles directly on- “You.” ...Ah... Him. Doom does not think he has ever seen Poco Pio look at him with such seething rage until this very moment. With so much hatred, burning in his glowing eyes.
And Doom finds that he cannot blame the other. Bowing his head in anticipation, the reaper does nothing but wait in shameful hurt for the onslaught of insults he most definitely deserves- “You- you just-! You were just, why did you-?! How COULD-?" fluffy ears flatten further than they already had at the way Poco Pio’s voice catches in his throat, breaking and fading away until nothing but tense silence remains- and when the reaper has the audacity to raise his head back up, he finds that Poco Pio was now staring up at Doppio with an indiscernible expression- one that slowly begins to wither as the other’s eyebrows scrunch, “Y-You…” lips trembling as his breath hitches, and although it looks like the other had tried as much as he could to not break... Poco Pio ends up bursting into tears all the same, with a quiet, miserable whimper that reverberates within the reaper’s soul.
If Doppio had not been the incarnation of panic itself before now, he most definitely is now. “I-” an attempt at constructing a sentence leaves the disciplinarian, but when no words come to express his confusion, Doppio’s arms just silently tug Poco Pio closer- until the other was now sat in his lap, legs crossing together in a silent offer to fully support the tiny being’s weight. And since it was clear Doom’s lover would receive no answer from the crying demon in his arms, Doppio seemingly decided that Doom would be his next best guest- as if Doom could bear to let the truth slip from his lips, as if Doppio staring at the reaper with a sort of apprehension and incomprehension he cannot bear to witness was not simply more fuel for more tears to be ripped out of him.
For a moment that stretches into Eternity, no one says anything. Poco Pio most certainly tries- but his words are utterly unintelligible, the sobs wracking his body so intense the only thing Doom can make out are a mix of never again, insults directed at Doppio he’s certain the other doesn’t mean and pleas so genuine it tears him apart from the insides.
…Doom did this. Caused the anguish overwhelming Poco Pio’s tiny body, brought the very end of Doppio’s life. Had pushed his hand into the bonds that make them all family and torn it to shreds. How could he ever dare to yearn for touch when all that follows his own leads to destruction? How could he possibly fight back when Poco Pio’s insults change targets from Doppio to him, when he deserves so much more than that?
A panicked, nervous voice tears through the velvety coat of pain that bubbles and separates the reaper from these two- “Wuh- Why are you so mad Poco Pio??” is what Doppio asks, desperately trying to soothe the other by rubbing circles into the other’s back- to no avail, as the other simply cries harder, emotions too intense for a body as small as his- as Poco Pio glares up at the other with so much undignified intolerance, almost asking if the other was nothing but a bumbling idiot for asking him that-
“BECAUSE YOU- He, you-!” the small devil tries to explain himself, his expression contorting into misery yet again as his breath catches the moment he does, not even bothering to try again, all the tension seeping out of his body as Doppio hugs him tighter- and Doom... Doom had never thought he could loathe his own existence as much as he does in this very instant. When once he had sought nothing but Poco Pio’s misery, as vengeance for all the torment the other puts him through- faced with what it is like when the other is truly, genuinely suffering, the reaper wants nothing more than to hide.
“Well- okay just, just calm down, we can fix this just- just tell me-”
“He KILLED YOU Doppio!!!”
Silence.
Nothing remains.... other than silence. Doppio does not utter a single word, does not do anything outside of slowly lifting his head to look at Doom with an expression that begs for him to explain himself, to perhaps even deny Poco Pio’s words- but he cannot. Doom’s stomach is eating away at him, almost as intensely as the guilt that permeates through his very existence- dulled eyes almost unseeing as he watches Poco Pio wipe away the tears that continue to trickle down his face with a neverending intensity, “He-” words interrupted by a hiccup that makes the small devil’s body jolt and yet does not stop him- “You died and you don’t even realise it!!! STUPID! You’re so fucking dumb and- and-” Doom finds himself saddled with an ache to comfort the other, despite knowing that his care would most definitely be rejected- worse than rejected, would be spat on because the very cause of the suffering comes from no one but him-
Poco Pio glowers at the hybrid, nothing but cold fury pinning the reaper to the ground as he spits out the words “And it’s all his fault.” and Doom... Doom deserves this. Even though his ‘heart’ shatters for every word that comes out of Poco Pio’s mouth, even though tears bleed out of him like a weeping wound that could never be patched nor mended, the reaper can do nothing but think that he deserves this, deserves worse, deserves nothing.
Pushing himself off of Doppio, who had not been able to do anything but open and close his mouth not unlike a gaping fish, the little devil stands up, small steps resounding against every wall that makes up a room the reaper grows to hate with a burning passion- until he stops mere inches away from Doom’s crumpled form, staring down at him with such boiling, violent anger that he cannot do anything but stare as the other murmurs the words, “Go away.” his quiet, quivering voice slicing through Doom as his eyes widen- unable to mutter up a single sound as Poco Pio’s face contorts in further rage- a hand shooting out to grab at a teal jacket and tug, another pointing at the open door with aggression like Doom has never felt before- “I said go AWAY!! GO- you can go, go DIE for all I care!!! JUST. GO. GO!” Poco Pio hollers into his ears, filled with nothing but a staticky buzz because Doom is hated, hated as he should have been because he killed Doppio and Poco Pio with nothing but a single brush of skin just like he has always feared- he deserves the pain deserves the ache, Doom deserves this and yet cannot. take. it.
Stumbling to his feet- glossy dull eyes dart across the two figures that do nothing but stare at him with indiscernible expressions.... and unable to see any other option… Doom turns around… and flees.