Chapter Text
An absolute unit of a man steps out from a cab on a pleasant evening, tiredly handing the driver a few extra bills as thanks for driving so far from the airport.
The mission had gone… less than ideally. The cultists were, in fact, not up to anything actually mystical in nature, but damn if weeding them out wasn’t like getting rid of a cockroach infestation. Every time he thought he was done, another batch would come crawling out of the woodworks. Really, he couldn’t believe just how many he had to deal with. He was pretty sure that a Lovecraft novel setting wouldn’t have so many damn cultists. It didn’t help that they caught onto him out early on, which led to a whole heap of consequences that made the whole thing take even more time. All-in-all, it turned a two month (at most!) job into a four-month long slog. The extra pay he was getting for it was not enough to make up for that.
Shaking himself out of his musings, the Helltaker turned his tired gaze upon his home and saw… absolutely nothing of note. Everything was just as he left it, much to his surprise. He would’ve expected a couple new windows, at the very least. A small smile tugged at his lips. Knew you had it in you, buddy .
Approaching the front door, he idly noted the faint orange glow poking out from between the living room curtains, and a quick glance around gave the impression that all the other lights in the house were out. Movie night, maybe? The Helltaker couldn't think of any other reason everyone would be in the living room all at once. Exhausted as he was, if the whole house was gathered in one place and not at each other’s throats, he was going to stay up and enjoy it while it lasted. Hopefully something good was on.
The foggy beginnings of a plan began to form as he fumbled with his keys. He’d creep up through the entryway, and glance in to see what they were watching. Assuming he didn’t get spotted, he’d stand around and savor the moment for a while, before picking a good spot in the movie to pipe up with a witty quip and grab everyone’s attention. Sure, he’d almost certainly be tackled to the ground by Cerberus with enough force to knock him out, but that’d just give him a head start on catching up on sleep. Azazel could just heal any resulting brain damage, anyways. That, of course, was not quite the way it worked, but the Helltaker was far too tired to care.
Softly opening and closing the door, the Helltaker let himself take in a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of his home. Straining his ears to pick up on what the gang was watching, he heard… nothing? No, wait, there is something. A pair of voices. One masculine - obviously Zach, even at such a faint volume. Another feminine, definitely one of the girls, but too quiet for him to pick out exactly who. Were they the only ones in the house?
Curiosity piqued, the Helltaker took a couple steps forward… only to pause as a louder noise reached his ears: music . Drums, guitar, and brass filled the house.
He lost himself in the sweet music of Santana for a minute. Closing his eyes, he nodded along with the beat and hummed along with the lyrics. Hearing Rob Thomas sing so passionately about his love brought his thoughts to all the wonderful lovers he himself was returning to, and his mouth slowly formed into a goofy grin. The Helltaker even started to (poorly) play the air guitar, movements sluggish yet enthusiastic.
As the song went on, the Helltaker slowly drifted toward his living room, still almost entirely lost in the music. Were his mind not clouded with drowsiness, his earlier curiosity would’ve been even greater, and some dots may have been connected. Alas, in his drowsy state, the man who went through Hell itself strolled into the living room with nary an idea of what he would find.
Automatically, his head swiveled towards the source of the music, and found a rather expensive-looking Bluetooth speaker set on one of the end tables. As he tried and failed to recall when he had got it, he noticed a pair of jeans-clad legs hanging off the adjacent couch. Looking over, he saw that the feet that belonged to said legs were clad in Zach’s favorite novelty pizza socks. Letting his gaze move up to the couch’s cushion, the Helltaker was greeted not by the sight of his son’s upper lower body, but by an entire pale, shapely, stocking-clad leg. He could also see two hands: the larger, more masculine one was resting upon a generously round buttock attached to said leg; while the slenderer one fiddled with the button and zipper on the aforementioned jeans. Next came two torsos, and the sight of Zach’s uncovered scars managed to get a raised eyebrow out of his father; that was… unusual for him. Idly, the Helltaker also noted how his son’s other hand was slowly sliding up under the plain white shirt his partner wore, making its way towards a noticeable bustline. Now almost at the apex of his climb, he could finally gaze upon the visage of his son: eyes closed, cheeks blushing slightly, the one as-of-yet unseen hand gently gripping the back of his head, and mouth firmly latched upon a slender neck. And finally, at the peak of this two-person mountain (it was a poor metaphor, the Helltaker knew this, but his mind was too busy blue screening to find a better one) sat the face of none other than Zdrada, the Bitch Demon herself. She too had shut her eyes, and on her lips sat the gentlest, happiest smile the Helltaker had ever seen on her.
Taking stock of his mental facilities, the Helltaker quickly came to the conclusion that the events unfolding in front of him utterly decimated most of his capacity for the higher thinking required to be considered sentient. On a baser level, his fight-or-flight instinct generally leaned towards the latter; any anger at the sight of one of his mates in the embrace of another male was drowned out by the fear of creating an incredibly awkward situation or seeing something that he truly did not wish to. Decision made, the Helltaker stealthily backed away.
His breath caught in his throat as the couple slowly reopened their eyes. Thankfully the two seemed to still be lost in their own little world. With their gazes locked on one another, there was still a brief moment before they noticed the hulking presence in the room with them. In order to hasten his escape, the Helltaker quickened his backward stride. Unfortunately, one detail he had overlooked in his tired state was the t-shirt laying on the floor, no doubt flung away in the heat of the moment. And thus, he was unprepared when his foot fell upon a surface with far less friction than he expected. In his haste, he could not compensate for this change, and thus with a curse his leg flew out from under him and he crashed down upon his back.
Sadly, he failed to knock himself out with his fall. Briefly, he contemplated pretending as if he did exactly that, but the sheer awkwardness of the situation threatened to damage his psyche irrevocably should he not take action. Picking his head up, the Helltaker met two wide-eyed stares with a nervous smile. Time to fall back on the original plan to keep things from getting even more uncomfortable.
Alright brain, I know you’re not doing too hot, but I’m gonna need a real zinger right about now.
“So… you two come here often?”
…Nailed it.