Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Here ya go, son.” Blitzø takes the small stack of photos held out to him, heart clenching uncomfortably at hearing that voice call him son again after so many years. His father’s hands are just as big as they used to be, but old and weathered with age. The veins stick out more prominently, dark spots speckled across his red skin— Completely unscathed from the fire Blitzø had caused all those years ago, but still unable to escape the fate that finds all of them at the end of their years.

“I got more of ‘em around here somewhere,” Cash hacks grossly, thumping his hand against his chest as if to beat the coughing fit out of himself. “And some other things of your mama’s you can have when I finally kick the bucket.” The old man finally finishes after he can breathe again. 

He’s definitely sick, Blitzø can see it in the heaviness around his eyes and the weakness in the way he holds himself that Blitzø never saw as a child. How such a heavy smoker and raging alcoholic like Cash made it this long beats Blitzø. For a long time he was hoping the addictions would come for his dad sooner, felt like it was unfair the man who treats his life and everyone else’s with such little respect somehow got to outlive mama’s. 

But Blitzø has looked down the bottom of a bottle one too many times, has picked up similar addictions and habits like his father to know first hand it’s not really about respect when it comes to yourself. It comes from somewhere darker, somewhere much more painful. To spend years blurred by constant alcohol and anger only to look in the mirror one day to see his father staring back at him was and still is a hard truth to swallow. The tricklings of empathy Blitzø can start to feel for the man, understanding, terrifies him and probably always will. 

“Thanks…” Blitzø says slowly, flipping through the faded photographs clenched tightly in his hands. They hurt to look at, to hold and see what their life used to be like. The ones with Fizz’s red face and huge horns don’t hit him in the gut the same way anymore, but the pictures with mama and Barb hurt. 

“I miss that woman every day, how she fell for a guy like me I’ll never be able to tell ya!” Cash chuckles, turning to look at the dresser covered in a few of his mother’s old trinkets and objects that had managed to escape in a way she hadn’t. The shrine to Tilla is broken up by empty cigarette cartons and drained cans of shitty beer, there’s a bottle of moonshine there almost empty that Blitzø wages will not live past tonight. 

His dad’s messy, the apartment he walked into to see the dying man looking more like a hoarding situation than anything livable. It makes him cringe, seeing all the fast food wrappers, empty boxes of beer cluttering up the place and parts for projects left for some arbitrary point in time of later, makes a deep shame run through him as he can’t stop comparing it to his own van. The only reason his apartment has a clean floor at this point in his life is for Loona, because he refuses to ever show his daughter the similarities he’s inherited from his father.

“Yeah, me too. Mama was really great.” Blitzø agrees softly, biting his tongue from saying he agrees with both parts of Cash’s statement. Seeing him again has been hard, but it’s clear Cash is actually trying like Fizzarolli said, so it’s easier to swallow back barbs he wants to dig into his father with in favor of keeping their uneasy peace.

It’s too much all of a sudden, all the emotions running through Blitzø tangling up all messy and painfully, that staying here any longer would have him crying in front of his father— the absolute last person he ever wants to do that in front of. 

“Listen, I gotta run.” Blitzø says a little louder, putting a firmness in his words that he will be leaving regardless of what Cash tries to say.

“Ah yeah, I get it, sonny.” His dad shuffles over to the old and battered armchair in front of his shitty tv, the only places untouched by his clutter. “Can’t stick around your old man too long, you got a whole life now.” 

The easy way Cash backs down, is willing to let him go so easily looking so small and tired in that lonely chair surrounded by his trash makes Blitzø sad for his father in a way he doesn’t like. The way he can’t see the monster haunting his nightmares anymore, only a man beaten down by the world and left to die alone with only his memories and the roaches in his walls for company. Something sticks in Blitzø’s throat, painfully wondering if one day he’ll be in the exact same position— Like father, like son.

“Y’know, Fizz convinced me to come,” Blitzø admits, allowing their conversation to last a little longer, offering up some comfort to the old man that his favorite son was still on his side. 

”He’s your dad Blitzø, he’s not always been perfect but he’s trying now. So that has to count for something right? I know how much he’s always meant to you.”

Blitzø smiles a bit remembering the soft words handed to him after he had gone to the jester confused and lost over his father reaching back out to him after all these years.

“He said I should see you, give ya a chance instead of blowing you off to die alone.”

“Ha! I believe that.” Cash laughs, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as his expression turns into something fond over the detail Blitzø threw him about their family’s former star, “That boy always was my good kid.” 

Blitzø frowns a little bit, decades old feelings and insecurities dragged up by that innocuous sentence dripped from his father’s fangs, the reminder that Blitzø was never his good kid no matter how desperately he tried to be. 

“How’s he doin’ anyways,” Cash continues, completely ignorant of Blitzø’s difficult feelings over the way Cash has always talked about him in comparison to Fizzarolli. “Haven’t talked to him in a little while. Saw that last pageant though, phew.” The old man whistles through his fangs.

“Yeah, no, he’s doing good.” Blitzø says, the conversation shifting to how much happier Fizzarolli has been recently soothing some of his own hurt. He loves Fizz so much, to see him content and relaxed makes his world keep spinning, like Blitzø isn’t constantly drowning anymore. “Retired, but still does some things on the side to keep him busy. He’s a lot better now.” 

“Oh, that boy will never stop workin’.” Cash nods thoughtfully, “Can’t sit still for the life of him, always had that attitude of being a real go-getter.” 

“Well, he has Asmodeus now. Big guy takes care of him, makes sure he’s taking it easy.” Blitzø smiles softly thinking about the two. He can’t quite say that he loves Asmodeus, at least not yet, but hell does he respect the guy, loves what Oz does for Fizz. 

“Hah! Now that is crazy. Sheesh, our boy baggin’ a Deadly Sin like that.” Cash laughs again, snickering a little bit. “But if any of them were gonna fall for that clown it would be Asmodeus, eh?”

“What?” Blitzø asks, blinking suddenly as something ugly niggles at his gut. “What do you mean?”

“Oh please,” Cash chuckles, leaning back to settle deeper into his chair, “You and I both know how pretty that boy’s always been. Only makes sense he’d do so well in Lust.” 

“Pretty?” Blitzø asks, uncomfortable at the way his father says it so plainly, that maybe Blitzø is the weird one for finding something unnerving in those words.

“Of course. I got an eye for talent, you know that.” Cash crows, lifting one of his claws to tap on the side of his beak knowingly, “I was the ringmaster after all. That was part of the job, son. You would’a known that if you’d stuck around instead of burnin’ it all up, but you still seemed to have picked up a bit of that skill from me anyways.”

The shift from Fizz to the fire refocuses Blitzø away from this uneasy feeling to slide back into a deeply seated shame. That was supposed to be his job, was actually a little excited to inherit the title towards his later teen years. But it all went up in flames, just like so much of Blitzø’s life, and it was a dream that died alongside his mama and so, so many other things in that fire. 

“Anyways, I’m happy for you, kid.” Cash’s admission rips Blitzø out of whatever spiral he was headed down, completely floored by the genuine inflection in his dad’s voice. The old man purses his lips, staring at his son for a long enough pause to be noticeable before continuing, “You seem to have made a good life for yourself even without takin’ over the family business. You woulda been real good at it, you’re your papa’s boy after all. But I’m proud of you anyways.”

“Thanks, dad…” Blitzø says hesitantly, a little embarrassed at how the praise is able to genuinely get to him— That he’s still been searching all this time for Cash’s approval. He knows it shouldn’t, that he’s falling into this nostalgic trauma trap, but it feels so good to hear it after all this time. 

He is proud of his life now, it’s not perfect, sure. It’s not even great most of the time, but it’s getting better, and Blitzø has worked so damn hard to get to where he is. To where he has people that care about him, and he believes it enough to be able to look at a picture of himself and not want to tear everything apart. Feel worthy enough to find a will to fight off the vile self-hatred burning him alive like those sickly green flames did to Fizz’s limbs or his mother’s life. 

“Look, I really gotta go now,” Blitzø says awkwardly, shifting his weight across his boots as his hand jumps into his pocket to clench at his keys nervously. This is way too much, all of this suddenly overwhelming in a way that makes Blitzø feel nauseous. The small boy from the circus trapped inside of him that always sought out his father’s acceptance slips through though, his eyes widening as he looks at his dad hoping for the old man to understand. 

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here, no reason to be holed up with an old fart like me too long.” The easy way dad brushes him off, letting him slip away without a fight feels like it should’ve made the hurricane of emotions ripping Blitzø’s insides apart easier, but for some reason it just makes it worse. Why is he so lenient, so understanding? Why is he so hard to despise now? “Take those pictures with ya though, Satan knows you always were a sentimental boy.”

Blitzø hastily shoves the photos in the inside pocket of his coat before turning on his heel to make it back to the door and down to his van to teleport back to the safety of Fizz’s arms in Asmodeus’ big fancy tower when he freezes, claws wrapped around the doorknob. Turning his upper body just enough to look back at the man he’s idolized and feared in equal measures. 

“Would you want me to come back again sometime?” He asks, feeling so small in the moment, like he’s 9 and begging for praise that the juggling act he’d practiced so hard on was good enough for that night’s show. 

“Oh,” Cash says, the surprise in his voice kills Blitzø a little bit. The way the old man gasps the word, looking up at Blitzø with a fondness he’s only ever seen reserved for Fizzarolli on his best days. “Yeah, if you want to, kid. I’d appreciate the company if you got time for a dead man like me.” 

“Okay,” Blitzø says, suddenly trying to fight back the tears burning behind his eyes. This was way harder than he imagined— Way better than he imagined which added so much more to the difficulty than Blitzø could have ever thought possible. “I might come back then. Uh— Okay yeah, I’m just gonna go. Bye, papa.” 

“Bye, kiddo.” Cash’s voice follows Blitzø out the door, making the tears he’s been fighting back finally slip out of his face away from where his father can see. The hallway of his dad’s shitty rundown apartment blurs through the moisture, his mind slipping a little outside of his skull as he makes his way back down to his van in the parking lot on auto pilot. 

The visit hit him so much harder than he mentally prepared for. It’s a mild shock when he suddenly realizes he’s back in his shitty, messy, crap covered van, hands in his lap pathetically as he stares out of the windshield with tears drying on his cheeks. 

It fucking sucks, Blitzø squirms when he finally notices just how long he’s been an empty shell haunting his own damn car crying over his pathetic asshole father. Finally yanking his keys out of his pocket, Blitzø snarls to himself as he jams them into the ignition, shoving his foot down on the clutch with more force than necessary. He shoves the parking break into releasing and sloppily rips the gearshift into reverse, or at least tries to. When the van barely lurches before stalling out, Blitzø can’t stop himself from screaming. 

“Satan fucking dammit!” He yells, directing all his anger into how stupidly he put his van into the wrong gear, and choking the engine like a basic ass bitch who just got their driver’s license. Blitzø punches his dashboard violently, growling low in his chest as his vision fogs from an anger that burns so bright to distract him from his own horrible heart. 

Blitzø collapses against the steering wheel, a sob ripped out of his chest, suddenly flooded with embarrassment over his outlash. He thought he had been getting better, not as violent, not like him anymore, things have been getting better. Then his dad comes back into his life and winds him up so easily like none of Blitzø’s progress even matters. 

The worst part is that Blitzø doesn’t even have a real reason to feel this tore up. Objectively the conversation with Cash went good, better than good! They didn’t yell, Cash barely made any digs at him, the fucker had even forked up pictures of their family to take home with him. A peace offering if Blitzø has ever seen one, one that makes him frantic with nervous energy because he took it— He took that damn peace offering but there’s still so many unsaid things between them. Blitzø wants a relationship with Cash so bad, but there’s so much hurt buried underneath their foundation that being so pathetically willing to pave over it makes him feel like an idiot. 

His phone buzzes to life in his pocket, the little sound of sleighbells jingling over Blitzø’s harsh panting. Blitzø leans up, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes as he digs his phone out, fuck he needed this. 

Blitzø’s heart melts a bit at the text notification waiting on his homescreen, quickly followed by another one and another, the triple texting endearing to him like nothing else.

>> Love you :} 

>> You’re coming back here after right?

>> We can watch a movie

>>Spirit 🐴🐴🐴🏇🐴 ?

Blitzø smiles softly, anger and self hatred lifting just enough from feeling like the end of the world by the sweet messages. Christ, he loves Fizzarolli more than anything. There’s something that makes him feel giddy and like a teenager all over again that Fizz just sends him shit like this now. That he actually has him back, can make sure they’ll never be apart ever again even if it kills him this time. 

ye b ther n a min bb<<

The spam of heart emojis he gets sent back gives him the strength to shift his car into reverse in a more controlled manner, foot lifting off the clutch and having the van roll out of the parking spot. Blitzø debates actually driving back to Lust. It’s not exactly a short drive with his dad living in some shitheap all the way down in Greed, but sometimes Blitzø needs the traditional transportation time to clear his head. Soothe himself through the pavement under his tires with the radio silent so his thoughts can fill the space. 

But he’s honestly feeling done with retrospection and emotions that aren’t guaranteed to be good ones right now, suddenly aching to feel the way Fizz’s smaller body folds against his and just hold him. Rubbing the crystal on his gauntlet, the portal splits open, swallowing up his van and spitting it directly into the parking spot dubbed as his underneath Asmodeus’ tower. 

Crawling out of his car and slamming the door shut, something makes him grow a little soft around the edges that there’s just a place for his van set aside at Ozzie’s place now. That Blitzø can come here whenever he wants and the two always welcome him with open arms and genuine care. 

Blitzø quickly scuttles his way through the lobby and up the central elevators that have locked permissions to access the penthouse consuming the top floors of this giant phallic skyscraper. Another thing that almost has Blitzø almost blushing— He’s one of maybe three hellborns just allowed to come up here without notice or an escort. They care about him— They really do, and Blitzø wants to cry all over again like a little baby but for the opposite reasons as the meltdown in his van. 

He’s always wanted to be a part of Fizz’s life, never stopped even once, and these are such physical reminders Fizz wants that too. 

Stepping into the couple’s dazzling sanctuary, Blitzø looks around for the jester. He catches a glimpse of him through the walkway to their living room, a little sliver of Fizzarolli’s jester hat dangling over one of the arms of his and Asmodeus’ giant leather couch. 

Blitzø grins slyly, suddenly feeling himself chub up a bit in his pants. The relief of sex is something he’s always found escapism in, but with Fizzarolli it’s even sweeter. Also the clown is gorgeous, hot in all kinds of crazy ways, and the thought of getting his dick wet instead of crying about his dad who used to knock the shit out of him instead of being all nice like he was today sounds so much better.

Blitzø lifts his weight off his heels, taking advantage of the way Fizzarolli hasn’t seemed to hear their front door open. Using all the stealth picked up over the years through necessity, Blitzø slides his way into the living room, tail wiggling behind him excitedly like a puppy chasing a lure. He sneaks behind the enormous Sin sized couch to the other side where making the jump onto it is more manageable, the armrest still feet off the ground but nowhere near as tall as the backrest. 

A little bit of that circus performer still beaten into his bones leaks out of him as he jumps over the armrest, grinning wildly when Fizz suddenly jumps violently and drops the tablet in his hands. 

“Holy shit—”

“Hello, gorgeous.” Blitzø purrs, shit eating smirk tight over his fangs as he looks Fizzarolli up and down. The jester looks cute and casual, one of those days where he’s still in one of his nightgowns and not dressing to go anywhere further than the comfort of his and his big chicken’s home.

“Fuck, you asshole!” Fizz slaps playfully at Blitzø’s chest as the larger imp crawls over him, laughing in a way that has Blitzø’s heart twisting up all funny. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“You like a little bit of thrill, don’t lie.” Blitzø purrs, laying the charm on thick. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he tosses them to land loudly on the coffee table to scoop up later. He reaches a hand down to slide the tablet out of where it’s fallen into Fizz’s lap to clatter loudly against the floor, uncaring if it breaks. The former superstar and his giant chicken have plenty of money for a new one anyways and Blitzø desperately needs to feel like he’s not drowning right now. 

“Oh, I definitely do.” Fizzarolli matches him, arms coming up to twine around his neck, gasping softly when Blitzø buries his face against the jester’s pale throat. His hips even buck up a little bit, the little slut that he is. Blitzø loves it, eating it up as he rakes his fangs over the skin beneath them, needing to just disappear into the one consistency he’s ever had—His insane love for this one clown.

“Ah— Blitzø, hold on.” Fizz whines, head still tilting back to give Blitzø better access to his neck despite his protests. “How’d it go?”

Blitzø grumbles, placing a wet kiss over one of his jugulars before relenting and pulling back a little bit to look into the jester’s eyes. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now, Fizz.” He admits softly. The vulnerability that comes naturally around Fizzarolli makes the admission so much easier than if it had been anyone else, but it’s still hard to say.

Fizz smiles, looking a little forlorn at him as his hands slide up to cradle Blitzø’s cheeks. “Okay, that’s fine. Just tell me if it went alright, please?” 

Fuck, the way Fizzarolli sounds so sincere, is probably one of two people still alive who knows just how deep his emotions with his father run hits him hard. Blitzø has already wanted to cry multiple times today, but the way Fizz genuinely cares makes him want to bawl like a baby. Which is very not hot, and so far away from what Blitzø wants right now.

“It went fine.” Blitzø breathes, leaning down to knock their foreheads together, clenching his eyes shut tightly. The feeling of Fizzarolli’s robotic arms around him and gentle acceptance helps the tension bleed out of him. “We can talk about it later. I can’t think about it right now, went good though. Just need you ‘s all.” 

“Ugh, forgot how strong Cash’s cologne is.” Fizz mutters, face scrunching up as his nose wrinkles cutely. “You absolutely just came from his apartment.” 

“Tell me about it.” Blitzø laughs, the shame he felt at the actual state of his dad’s place burning back to life as he tries to smother it quickly. “He still smokes the same brand of cigs too.”

“Yeah, but those aren’t half bad.” Fizz kisses the side of his face softly, “We used to smoke those all the time, remember?” 

“Fuck, I used to smoke them until they made me dizzy just to seem cool infront of you,” Blitzø chuckles softly, an authentic and embarrassing story slipping out of his mouth over how pathetic he used to be over Fizz— Still is in all actuality. 

Fizzarolli giggles, his beak breaking out into the prettiest grin that just makes Blitzø’s heart melt into his boots. “I still remember how you choked on one of them the first time.”

“I was a badass, okay.” Blitzø flushes darkly, burying his face back into Fizz’s neck to hide. “Please, just want to fuck you right now.” He begs again, thighs slotting up underneath Fizz’s to rock his hips against the jester’s, Fizzarolli’s nightgown sliding around his waist and leaving his little panties on display.

“I already said you could, butthead.” Fizz chides playfully, Blitzø able to feel his robotic claws digging into the back of his jacket. Blitzø keens, pressing his weight harder into Fizz while rocking his hips up again and grinding his clothed cock hard against the flimsy fabric of Fizz’s underwear. 

“Fuck, thank Satan— Need your puss so bad right now, Fizz. It’ll fix everything.” Blitzø almost babbles, fingers flying down to scramble with the fly of his pants, unzipping them and fishing his cock out through the fly of his boxers. He guides it underneath one of the seams of Fizz’s panties, nudging against the lips of his cunt like he’s some desperate teenager again.

“Wait—” Fizz breathes, confusing Blitzø a little as he pulls back to look at the clown underneath him, dick hard and leaking in one of his fists. “Take your clothes off first.”

Blitzø laughs a little, smiling at the pretty thing beneath him all flushed and shy looking, those pink irises heavily lidded as they gaze up at him. “Fuck no, not when you’re lookin’ at me like that, baby.” 

Blitzø growls playfully, leaning down to bury himself in Fizzarolli again, licking a stripe up his neck, “Need to fuck you now, we can get all intimate and undressed later.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever you need from me,” Fizz responds, sounding a little breathless for how early it is in their trip to bone town. “Love you, Blitzo.”

The slip into Blitzø’s birth name isn’t anything quite new or exactly unexpected, the jester having done it before. Blitzø doesn’t really have a problem hearing it when it’s Fizz, but it’s usually not when they’re just fooling around on the couch and shoving their fuck parts together like horned up teens.

It throws absolutely no red flags up for Blitzø, finding himself purring at the name actually. Fizz usually only slides back into his deadname when things get soft and sweet, as if some sort of spoken conviction for the bond they’ve carried all these years. “Yeah, your Blitzo, Fizzie.” 

Fizzarolli’s chest shudders underneath him, something that would almost sound painful if Blitzø hasn’t heard just how noisy and desperate the jester can get during sex— He sounds like he’s dying sometimes, to the point Blitzø has gotten scared before and Asmodeus had to calm him down. Reassuring him Fizzarolli is just that vocal and pathetic around a cock, especially one as good as the Deadly Sin’s or Blitzø’s. Blitzø had wanted to die from the implied praise that his homegrown dick could be anything comparable to Asmodeus let alone can make Fizz sound like that.

Blitzø’s cock finally catches on the entrance of Fizz’s cunt, the head sliding in enough to have the larger imp groaning and brain slipping into the physical pleasure to drown out how loud his thoughts have been today. His hips jerk, fucking more of his dick inside the clown, cursing at how good it feels. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“Yeah?” Fizzarolli whimpers, clenching around him and those robotic hands that were only weakly clenching into his jacket suddenly dig in deep. Those claws sink deep enough they light sparks of pain up along Blitzø’s back, the imp hissing loudly at the sensation as he jerks up. 

His huge horns tower over them, the lighting throughout the living room have grown dim during their flirting and prefucking. The shadows have grown to stretch much deeper and more dramatic from the sunset, obscuring things while giving too much attention to others. Blitzø looks down at Fizz’s chest heaving underneath his little nightgown, the light playing off the mounds of his tits looking so– “Pretty, Christ, Fizz— You’re so fucking pretty.” 

Blitzø’s eyes lift up just enough to try and capture Fizzarolli’s, the yellow and red of his eyes beginning to glow in the increasing darkness. The face he sees though is nothing like what he expects.

Fizz gasps loudly, his eyes widening frantically as his hands whir from their grip around Blitzø to push at his chest frantically, “Stop—” he breathes quietly, whispered so lowly Blitzø almost doesn’t catch it. 

Blitzø jerks, head rearing up in shock that he’s suddenly done something wrong, “Fizz?”

“No— no, no, no stop,” Fizz mumbles slowly getting louder, seeming to look past the man over top of him, like the lights are on but nobody’s home all of a sudden. His pussy clenches around him as Fizzarolli’s body lights up with tension, Blitzø hissing and immediately flooding with guilt over how good it feels, although the pleasure is quickly seeping out of his body and being replaced with panic.

“Fizzie, what’s wrong?” Blitzø asks frantically, reaching a hand up to hold against the jester’s little cheek. That’s when everything fucking snaps.  

”Daddy—” Fizzarolli jerks hard, bucking up against Blitzø over top of him as he pushes hard. “It hurts, please, stop!” He practically shrieks, Blitzø easily allowing himself to be shoved onto his ass against the couch, watching stricken as Fizzarolli scrambles off the leather and bolts to the bathroom at the other side of the room. 

“Fizz!” Blitzø screams, arm stretching out after the clown, falling flat on his face as he chases after him. When he manages to get to the bathroom, the door is already solidly shut. The click of the lock turning is loud enough to ring through Blitzø’s ears.

He doesn’t care though, like an idiot that will try anything even in the face of a hopeless outcome. He stretches his hand up to clench around the door handle frantically, pulling desperately in an attempt to get the thing open. The metal remains unmoving under his strength, uncaring about how tormented Blitzø is over Fizzarolli running away from him, how it scares the absolute shit out of the larger imp.

“Fizz, please.” He begs, his voice pitching up nervously as he cries through the solidcore door. No sound responds to him, not even a muffled movement from the other side to give him any sort of feedback— Fuck Asmodeus and his expensively well made ass doors. 

Asmodeus, his skull suddenly hisses, violently recalling the way Fizzarolli cried for him as he ran away. As much as Blitzø has played the ‘daddy’ role for others, that’s never been a name Fizz has wailed for him, their dynamic much different than the one Fizz shares with his husband. 

Blitzø’s claws scramble into the pocket of the jeans still plastered to his legs, ripping his phone out to call the big man himself. If anyone can fix this, whatever it is that Blitzø did, it will be Asmodeus. 

The phone makes it barely to the second ring, Blitzø’s hands shaking nervously as he holds it against his face when the Sin picks up.

“Hey, baby—” The warm tone bleeds through the speaker, and Blitzø for a split second wants so badly to let those soothing, dulcet tones wash over him. But he’s not the one who needs to feel better right now, no matter how much he feels like he’s inches away from breaking apart.

“Ozzie, you need to get up here now.” Blitzø chokes, not even realizing there were tears building behind his eyes once again until he has to force his voice out around the frog in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Asmodeus’ voice shifts into something darker, more concerned but heavy in a way Blitzø has never really heard before. It makes him shudder, as if he can feel the beast buried beneath the man over one simple phone call. 

“It’s Fizz— I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.” Blitzø gasps, frantically looking back at the door and testing it one more time to no avail. “We were fucking then something went wrong and he asked for you—” 

His rambling explanation gets cut off abruptly by blue flames licking up the floor in front of him. The vibrant blue portal bursts up, splitting violently as the blazes spit into each direction in a way Blitzø has never seen before. The man stepping through the portal is also one he almost doesn’t recognize.

Blitzø has seen Ozzie’s magic, has met the man and his cock more times than he can count on his hands and hooves at this point. But this is something else, a force of nature. 

“Where is he?” The Sin asks lowly, a barely contained growl lacing his words. Blitzø presses his back against the door, holding his phone now to his chest and briefly remembering his fly is still undone and his cock is just loose in the wind in front of this big scary man.

“Bathroom,” Blitzø explains nervously, not sure if he should fix his whole pants situation to save his dignity or if not drawing any attention to it will make this situation better. “Behind me, he’s not saying anything. I don’t know what happened, I swear, I never meant to hurt him.” Blitzø begs Asmodeus to understand, to spare him despite the jolt that runs through him that he might deserve Fizzarolli’s big Sinly husband smiting him forever. He can make his peace with that, it would be one of the better ways to go. 

Asmodeus remains silent as he stalks up the door, testing the handle for himself before knocking softly on the wood. “Froggie, you in there?”

When silence only greets them, Blitzø can’t help the panic lighting up his skin, “Ozzie, I didn’t mean it I swear, I—”

“Baby, calm down for me,” Asmodeus soothes, turning to him and his face lifting a little out of that dark expression from earlier. Ram is still giving him dirty looks but Bull looks a little puppy-eyed in a way that helps Blitzø trust the softness handed to him. “Breathe and tell me what happened, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, okay, I can do that.” Blitzø nods shakily, finding himself subconsciously seeking out any trace in Asmodeus’ expression he’s doing good, that he’s not burned all of this down like he always does. When the Sin kneels down in front of him, cutting their size difference in half and looking at him on more equal footing, Blitzø can feel some of his sanity return back to him— that he’s not a complete disaster. 

“We started fucking,” Blitzø explains, his voice breathy and heavy from how messed up his lungs are working right now.

“You’ve already said,” Asmodeus reminds him, “That’s not where this started though, what was before that?” 

“Why does that matter?” Blitzø asks somewhat frantically, feeling his palms raking over his face frustratedly. The panic over himself is quickly fading away in favor of focusing on the jester he drove away, the one Asmodeus is currently not breaking down the door to save like he should. “Fizz is in there, and you have to get him out, he asked for you.” 

“Because I need to know what I’m workin’ with, Blitzø.” Asmodeus explains, the edges of his mane flaring up into faint sparks that give away his thinly veiled frustration. “I’m not barging through that door without getting a feel for what’s behind it. Fizz put a boundary up, and I don’t know if I need to cross it until knowing what happened.”   

Blitzø stares at him, trying to wrap his head around the way this huge, massive, larger than any of their lives, Sin refuses to force himself onto a situation when so easily could. The respect this man has for the little clown locked away in the bathroom still kind of shakes Blitzø’s foundational understandings of relationships. But he thinks he gets it, at least enough to try wracking his brain with the Embodiment of Lust.

“Okay,” He starts, voice trembling before he gnashes his fangs together, staring hard into the Sin’s glowing green eyes and forcing himself to get a fucking grip. “Okay, I went to visit my dad today. Think you knew about that, yeah? Fizz told me to go, so he probably told you about it because you two are a couple of fucking gossips.”

“Mm, he briefly mentioned it,” Asmodeus concedes, “No real details, and I didn’t pry for the sake of your privacy.”

“Oh– Uh– Well, the details don’t really matter anyways.” Blitzø waves it off, trying to get his focus onto Fizzarolli and what happened when he got back to the tower. “Big guy, I’m not really sure what the fuck happened.” 

“Talk it out, honey.” Fuck Oz for being so nice, honestly. Blitzø frowns a bit at his patience, his personality being so violently the opposite from his.

“Dad’s always been a shitbag, wasn’t feeling too great after I saw him, I guess?” Blitzø continues again, “Just wanted to get down and dirty with some clown time, if you catch my drift?” 

Silence greets him, but the Sin nods in confirmation for him to keep going.

“Alright, so we started boning on the couch—”

“Positions, words, I need you to be more descriptive, Blitzø.”

“Fuck— I was on top of him okay,” Blitzø hastily fills in, eyes shutting as he wracks his brain for more subtle things about the whole meltdown. “He asked me to take my clothes off, but I didn’t think it was a big deal we all fuck all the time like that? Y’know like a kink thing?” 

“Mm, I agree, that’s not strange.” Asmodeus says almost sounding soothing, for what reason Blitzø is unsure, he’s not the one freaking the fuck out right now. “States of undress aren’t one of his triggers.”

“Huh?” Blitzø suddenly looks up at the Sin, eyes wide as a whole new vein of panic tries to wrap around his heart. “Triggers? For what?

“In hindsight we should have talked about them earlier,” Asmodeus sighs, leaning back and looking almost a little embarrassed. It’s scary to see such a foundational ruler of Hell hesitant and unsure like this.

 “I believed I could mediate it myself and save Fizzarolli from that conversation with you for a little while.” The king’s eyes narrow, sliding back to Blitzø, “The time should have been sooner, but unfortunately we’ll have to keep it postponed for now in favor of the more current issue. Keep going, you’re doing good, Blitzø.” 

“Right, okay…” Blitzø claws come up to his chest, digging them into the lapels of his jacket and soothing himself with the sensory under his hands. “I just, kinda fucked him? Y’know, with my dick. Then something happened, he got spooked, I don’t know! I tried to ask what was wrong, then he was acting all weird and pushing me off, saying stop and—”

The leather beneath his fingers suddenly feels ice cold, the blood in his veins feeling like fire, and the panic he felt before suddenly being the calm before the storm that Blitzø can taste before his brain fully catches up with everything. 

“He said daddy,” Blitzø stares blankly ahead as the admission slips from his fangs, “You’re not daddy—” 

“Blitzø?” 

“You’re not—” A lit burner feels like it’s slid beneath his hooves, the clothes wrapped around him too tight and reeking, smelling like him . “You’re not daddy.” Blitzø gasps again, hands quickly scrambling to rip his jacket off and every other article of clothing that could have carried that scent with him back to Fizzarolli. 

Blitzø bolts to the trashcan in the kitchen, tripping over his own two legs as he fumbles to get his jeans off, completely ignoring the way Asmodeus calls after him. He’s not daddy, Asmodeus was never daddy— The man Fizzarolli saw when he said that wasn’t Blitzø either, but they sure look a hell of a lot alike. 

Blitzø frantically shoves all his clothes save for his gauntlets into the bin, hands trembling as they hold the lid shut desperately. He’s shaking now, vibrating out of his skin, eyes so wide they feel as if they’ll fall out of his skull if he blinks wrong. Oh, fuck, he’s going to be sick. 

“Blitzø, what’s wrong!” Asmodeus asks, suddenly way too close in Blitzø’s personal space, looking painfully concerned but Blitzø is too busy handling the second largest crisis of his life to notice— Comparing the fire to this is unfair and almost impossible. But this is so, so fucking bad. So terrible in a way that makes Blitzø want to set himself ablaze all over again, burning new scars into his skin as a way to carry his new miseries with him as reminders for the rest of his life.

“It’s my dad—” Blitzø tries to choke out through how badly his chest heaves for air right now as he bears down on the trash can, almost falling into the thing when his hands slip and the lid swings the wrong way. “He said I smelled like him, said it hurt— It’s papa—” 

There’s a large gloved hand reaching for him out of his peripheral that makes him jolt, twisting to stare wildly at the Sin, tail lashing out defensively, “Don’t fucking touch me. It was my dad, he didn’t see me, he saw him. Fuck, papa said he was pretty, said you would fall for Fizz out of all the Sins— Said he was his good kid— ”

“I still don’t understand.” Oz says somewhat panicked and desperate, looking absolutely pathetic in his inability to do anything.

“Cash raped him,” Blitzø whispers, eyes unfocusing as the realization fully sets in. The horrible, ugly truth slapping him harder across the face than his father ever did with his hand. “My father raped him, and I never knew. We were just kids—” Blitzø isn’t sure if that last line is an excuse for his lifelong ignorance or to truly lay out how horrifying this is. Maybe a bit of both if Blitzø were to be selfishly honest. 

Before Asmodeus can even get a word out, Blitzø’s stomach turns over violently. The imp scrambles to knock the swinging lid of the couple’s obnoxiously magenta trashcan to the floor, palms gripping at the edges of the lip frantically as his insides rush out of his throat. He vomits ugly and hard over all his clothes that smell just like the monster he’d seen earlier, ruining them even further with the sick of his own remorse. 

Asmodeus’ hands come to hover awkwardly over his back, the almost contact lighting the spines on the back of Blitzø’s neck like beacons of his fear. The clear concern is comforting, the obvious body language of how the man craves to soothe him but doesn’t know how without crossing any of his boundaries is something Blitzø has never encountered much in his life. 

Another wave of nausea hits him, choking bile into the bin against his will, shoulders heaving as he gags around the stomach acid bubbling up his throat. He hacks loudly, panting as if he’s just run a marathon after the second round hits him, drool spilling down his chin as he stares blankly into the bin. 

Looking down at the mess, the one he’s made with aid of his own father hardens something inside of him. The feeling is strong enough to temporarily shut down his own panic, storing it away for later when Fizz isn’t the one in the desperate need of comfort. 

The hand without the crystal lifts up to wipe the bile from his lips, his shoulders squaring painfully but full of a false confidence he needs to mask all of this right now. A hideous chuckle wracks through his chest, feeling like a monster himself for making such a noise right now, but it’s a mask he’s clung to for years when trying to hide his pain. 

“That’s not your Fizzarolli in there,” Blitzø explains somberly, brain clicking too many things together too quickly to fully explain to the Sin. “I think I can try again to get him out.” 

“Blitzø, are you sure—”

“Blitzø doesn’t exist right now,” The imp cuts him off, finally turning his head to look at the king again, so many systems shutting down right now including the ones that want to panic over how upset the Sin looks. “Not to him, anyways.” 

Blitzø spits into the bin one more time, clenching his eyes tightly, desperately not wanting to let go of the lifeline he’s found in gripping the trash can. “He called me Blitzo. That’s— That’s probably who he’s looking for.” 

It’s a strange clash in his skull between his insecurities of not being enough for Fizzarolli, and this inherent truth that’s been baked into muscle memory how Blitzo is the one the jester always ran to for comfort. Having to shelve his damning issues of self worth to step up and realize he’s the person Fizz can trust to fix this is hard, and doesn’t quite make sense in his head. 

But things making sense doesn’t matter right now, because everything has just been turned upside down within the matter of a few hours. There’s no room for self doubt, not in this fight or flight mode Blitzø has pumping through his veins that reminds him so vividly of being almost two decades younger and so incredibly desperate when Cash raised a fist to him. 

Blitzø finally chokes up his deathgrip on the trashcan, swallowing hard before turning to stalk back to the locked bathroom door. 

“Hold on, baby.” Asmodeus calls after him softly, the sound of fabric rustling that has Blitzø turning to look over his shoulder at the Sin. The huge man is slipping his vest off, stepping forward to lower on one knee and slip the comically oversized thing over Blitzø’s shoulders. 

The imp stares at him somewhat blankly for a moment, Asmodeus seeming to ignore him as he gently takes one of his wrists to feed through an armhole of the vest off his back. “He’s not gonna want to see you naked.”

Blitzø blinks almost dumbly before jumping and sliding his other arm through the other hole on his own volition. Oz is probably right, but there’s a confidence in the way the Sin explains himself that gives Blitzø the niggling this isn’t just a guess— It’s a learned tactic. The implications of that have the corners of Blitzø’s mouth twisting wearily. “And you know that how?”

“Not now.” Asmodeus tells him, the big man himself looking as tired as Blitzø feels. “We’ll all talk about it soon, but this ain’t the right time. Just focus on getting our Fizzie out, yeah?”

Blitzø swallows and nods, not having the words to respond beyond that. Blitzø clutches the vest shut and heads back to his mission, the hem dragging on the floor as if he’s a child wearing his father’s clothes. 

Turning his back once he gets to the door, Blitzø falls to his ass ignoring the jolt of pain sliding up his spine. The spade of his tail slips under the door, waving lowly on the other side. There's no swish of a tent curtain, or kicked up dirt this time, but Blitzø can feel himself slipping into the familiarity of the situation only this time with a sickening amount of awareness. 

One of his hands drops to the floor, fingers sticking underneath the crack and clicking his claws playfully on the tile. “Hey, Fizzie. C’mere, got something to tell ya.” 

The silence that follows isn’t exactly unexpected but it still has Blitzø shutting his eyes tightly and gritting his teeth, horns clicking quietly as his head falls back against the solid wood. “C’mon Fizz. I’ve been workin’ on some great jokes, you’ll want to hear them. Where does a horse go when it’s sick?” 

Still nothing, but there’s a rustling of the air brushing against his spade. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get himself to keep going. 

“The horsepital.” Blitzø chuckles weakly, almost wanting to cry when he feels the warmth of Fizz’s own tail ghost across his for a second. “Wait, I got another one for you. What kind of bread does a horse eat?” 

There’s suddenly the cool metal of Fizzarolli’s fingers sliding between his. It’s not enough to be considered holding hands, but enough to force Blitzø’s tapping to stop. “You should know this one already, you’re better at this joke stuff. And don’t say wheat bread, they hate that shit.” Those robotic fingers squeeze tightly around his but it’s still not enough. “Fine, it’s thoroughbred. Get it? Because that’s a type of horse?”

Only more silence follows, and Blitzø feels frustrated. Not frustrated at Fizzarolli, he’s never been able to feel that when they’ve sat like this before, it’s always directed at himself. “Listen Fizz, I’m not going to stop until you let me in. You know how annoying I am. Should I try some knock knock jokes? Okay, knock knock—” 

The feeling of Fizz against his fingers and tail lifts away. It makes Blitzø feel so defeated, wanting to cry before the click of that lock is heard again and the door supporting his weight is suddenly pulling out from underneath him. Before he can fall back and crack his horns against the cold tiles of Asmodeus’ bathroom, he’s being dragged into the space, stumbling to get back onto his hooves in the process. 

“Those are so bad, Blitzo.” Fizzarolli says pathetically, gripping the lapels of Asmodeus’ vest swallowing Blitzø. He looks terrible, frantic and panicked in a way that has Blitzø’s heart falling to pieces.

“No, no! They’re good, listen just ask who’s there—”

“He’s gonna be mad,” Fizz whispers, cutting him off and eyes a little wider and rounder than Blitzø is used to seeing on this white face. The expression is something more recognizable on the one that was less scarred and more innocent. “Mr Buckzo’s gonna be mad, I ran away from practice.”

“No he’s not, Fizz. He’s not here, he can’t—“ Blitzø chokes on the words, that he’s going to say this horrible truth he’s about to say out loud again, “He’s not gonna touch you anymore, rolli-poly.” The decades-old nickname falls out of his mouth almost unexpectedly, one he hasn’t used in years. 

“He is, he is—” 

“No, shh, he’s not here, c’mon. Where are you Fizz?” Blitzø pleads, stepping slowly a little more into the jester’s space. 

“I don’t—” Fizz responds almost frantically. Fully seeing and experiencing the way Fizz has dissolved into this scared boy is almost as heartbreaking as the realization of why this has happened. 

“It’s not the circus.” Blitzø tries to explain calmly, failing a little bit with how choked up his own voice is. “You’re at home. Ozzie’s house, remember?”

“But he was there.” Fizz sounds so scared when he lays the bombshell on Blitzø that confirms when he fucked the love of his life on that couch he bolted because he didn’t see Blitzø.  

“No, he wasn’t. We aren’t there anymore.” Blitzø slowly reaches forward to wrap his arms around Fizzarolli’s waist, tucking him to his side as he moves them gently back in the room. Fizzarolli’s tail quickly wraps around one of his thighs, so tight it almost hurts. “Look, I’ll prove it.” 

It’s a little stupid, but it’s the quickest thing Blitzø can think of, maneuvering the jester over to the fucking toilet, raising his spade to flush the damn thing. “See, what’s that?”

“Toilet.” Fizz answers, sounding small as his huge pink eyes watch the water swirl down the basin. 

“Yeah, and what didn’t we have at the circus?”

“Toilet?”

“Yup. Check this shit out, full plumbing.” Blitzø continues, shifting them a little and using his tail again to turn one of the taps on the sink. The sound of water rushing out of the faucet fills the room, and Fizz’s face seems to relax just a little bit. “So, where are you?”

“Not…” Fizzarolli says slowly, face scrunching as if he’s trying to put it all back together. “The circus.”

“Correct!” Blitzø cheers, although it's soft in a way that won't spook the jester with any sudden loudness. Fizzarolli’s hands clench around Asmodeus’ vest again, the smaller imp frowning further. “Doin’ great, Fizzie.”

“Blitzo, what are you wearing?” 

“It’s a little big. Maybe even a little ugly— Don’t tell Oz I said that.” Blitzø says as playfully as he can manage. “You recognize it, you’re almost there. You love this thing, c’mon.”

Blitzø looks down to watch those metal palms flatten against the expensive detailing on Asmodeus’ signature style, the white striping looking so stark against his black hands. The larger imp lifts his eyes just enough to see a realization run across Fizz’s face that fills him with relief. 

“Ozzie—” The jester breathes, looking a little wondered before Blitzø is pushed back so quickly it makes his head spin and lose his grip on Fizz. When Blitzø can catch his footing, whipping his head up to the other imp, Fizzarolli’s eyes blown so wide it makes Blitzø terrified. There’s a fresh round of tears shining brightly against the neon of his eyes in the lights. His hands are collapsed in front of his beak, tail wrapped tightly round the full length of his legs as his whole being screams panic. 

“No— No, no no, you were never supposed to know,” He gasps, graveled voice sounding so ruined. “You weren’t supposed to know, nobody was, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no—” Blitzø jumps forward to get his arms around the jester again when he begins to shake, breathing pitching up all ugly and frantic in a way that scares him. The larger imp tucks Fizzarolli against his front desperately, ignoring how his own hands shake as he grasps at his lifelong friend’s waist and uses the other to tuck the clown’s face against his neck. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for, Fizz.” 

The tears against his throat are hot, almost scalding with the pain that burns them to their boiling point. Fizzarolli gasps muffled apologies into his skin, shaking like a leaf as Blitzø traps them together. He has half a mind to let go, suddenly remembering the way Oz had been so hesitant around him and touching earlier, but the feeling of Fizz’s claws reaching up to dig into his back stops him. 

The sink still pours water, drowned out by Fizzarolli’s panic now. From where they’re situated in front of the thing, Blitzø stares at the outpour, a resolution building inside him the water flows. Looking up into the mirror above the countertop, Blitzø finally gets an eyeful of the two of them clinging to each other. 

The way Fizzarolli trembles under his arms, curled so small in his hold as Blitzø frantically grips him, it sets something final in his skull. How many times have they done this before, Blitzø thinking it was just Fizz’s panic over perfection sending his brain into a spiral? How many times has Blitzø been useless, ignorant to the real problem underlying all of their misery and never did a fucking thing? 

Blitzø watches his eyes grow hard in the mirror— The way his huge horns curve over his back, his cheeks sharp under his skin, and the terrifying anger shining through his expression. It’s all so similar to the monster that ruined them, ruined him, Fizz, touched things he never should have in ways that inflicted pain long past their physical moment of contact. 

The realization that he has always been his father’s only son is harrowing, but it hardens his heart in a way he will never be able to return from. Before he was just a frightened boy in the circus, but now he’s different. He’s a grown man, sharpened like a blade grinded against this callous stone that’s been his life. He can make this end now, because he’s a killer.

“Let's get you out of here.” Blitzø mumbles, thanking his stars how Fizzarolli nods against his neck and allows Blitzø to pull him out of the bathroom. 

Asmodeus is waiting for them anxiously just outside the door, almost unthinking in his knee jerk reaction to take Fizzarolli from Blitzø’s arms when the imp pushes him in the Sin’s direction. Oz scoops him up quickly, tucking the jester that looks so fucking small in his arms against his chest. 

He presses his dark blue beak to Fizz’s forehead, the small imp leaning into it as bleeding relief in a way that makes Blitzø’s weighted down heart feel a fraction lighter. Blitzø can taste the anxiety on the Sin of Lust because he feels it in his own veins. It’s strange to feel such comradery with someone over a shared love, but it’s so calming that there’s someone who can be there for Fizz with the same love and devotion Blitzø feels— If anyone deserves it, it’s Fizzarolli.

Once he can see Fizzarolli will be taken care of, Blitzø turns on his heel to stalk back towards the couch grabbing the duffle bag he’d dropped next to it this morning, shedding the Deadly Sin’s vest along the way. It sickens him to think of how he’d needed Fizz’s support and pep talk to go see his father, the jester for some incredulous reason jazzing up his own rekindled soulmate to go favorably meet the man that had taken a piece of his soul away. 

Fizz had just watched him go with a smile to the man of his nightmares, cheering him on and the promise of comfort and love when Blitzø returned back to him. Bile rushes into the back of his throat he’s forced to choke down as he unzips the bag and starts ripping his packed clothes out of it. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli have both offered him room in their stupidly large closet for clothes, but Blitzø has always been too ashamed to admit splitting half his wardrobe in two places wouldn’t be manageable. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes and sometimes has to fish for quarters in the couch or his van just to get Loona’s through the laundromat. 

They’re so kind to him, have given him nothing but genuine acceptance and care and Blitzø brought home the smell of the man that hurt Fizzarolli in more ways than imaginable. But he can fix this— at least make sure that monster can never haunt them past their memories again.

“Where are you going?” Fizzarolli croaks pathetically as Blitzø slides on his change of clothes, Blitzø feeling a vibrant urge to tear his shirt to shreds when it gets stuck on his horns. Once he pulls the neck around his head, he slips his gun harness around his shoulders before sliding one of his leather jackets on. 

“Out.” He responds flatly, reaching back into the bag one more time to grab his favored pistol. When he presses the mag release to drop the thing out of the handle, making sure it’s loaded, Fizzarolli yelps. How ironic that the only reason Blitzø didn’t carry it on him today like he normally would is because he didn’t want the temptation to use it in case things went south in that shitbombed apartment.

Satisfied it’s fully loaded as it usually is, Blitzø clicks the mag back into the pistol slipping it into the harness under his jacket. It wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t though, he only needs one bullet to make it count today. 

“Blitzø, no!” Fizzarolli shrieks, squirming suddenly in Asmodeus’ arms who only tightens them around him. Blitzø looks over at the couple, only giving a second of his time to Fizz’s struggling before he’s locking with those endless green eyes hollowed into Asmodeus’ skull. The Sin nods, visibly choking up on his grip around the jester as a silent approval. 

“He’s your dad!” Has them both ripped out of their wordless conversation. Asmodeus’ face continues to look forward, hardening in a way that would almost scare Blitzø if he had no context. But he does despite how much he wishes he didn’t. When Blitzø looks at Fizz, the jester looks frantic, his eyes blown and round in all kinds of different ways. “You can’t kill him.” 

It feels like a harder slap in the face than Cash ever managed to land. Fizzarolli is sitting here barely out of having a breakdown almost two decades later over this monster, and is still trying to convince Blitzø to not rip him apart. Blitzø has always known his people pleasing has run deep, but to know it is this deep is terrifying— What Cash hasn’t just done to his body but his mentality, his mind that still looks at the world with this view Blitzø’s own father forced on the young jester.

“I’m ending it, that fucker doesn’t deserve to live anymore.” Blitzø tells him, face maybe looking as crazed as he feels. “He should’ve been dead 15 years ago when I killed everyone else.”

Grabbing his keys off the coffee table, Blitzø clenches them in his hand so hard they bite into his skin. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“What? No, Blitzø!” Fizzarolli panics, looking up at his big Sin desperately. “Ozzie, stop him!” 

“Fizzarolli, I do not think you understand how angry I am right now.” The sin growls, tucking his tiny jester closer to his huge chest possessively. “It wouldn’t matter if I let Blitzø go or not, that man’s life would be ending tonight, because I would do it myself. But I won’t take that from Blitzø.” 

“Oz!”

“Thanks, big guy,” Blitzø says, meaning every ounce of gratitude he can convey in that short sentence. It’s a sad thing to be bonding over their shared hatred of a man that’s hurt Fizzarolli, but if there isn’t some incredible relief that Asmodeus agrees with him, understands. It allows him the freedom to trust Oz, deferring Fizzarolli’s care to the other man while Blitzø handles this huge problem crawling under his skin. 

“You both are insane!” Is the last thing Blitzø hears before rubbing against the crystal on his wrist and teleporting down to his van. It tugs at his heart how Fizzarolli is so twisted up that he’s been pleading on Cash’s behalf. But it’s unfortunately not the most shocking thing, this situation feeling like a much more intense series of events as the time Asmodeus called him feeling at wits end over how Fizz just won’t listen to how horrible Mammon, another looming abusive figure in his life, truly was. 

Blitzø’s previously shaky hands are steady now as he opens the door of his van. He doesn’t fumble or falter with getting his keys in the ignition or the vehicle in gear like earlier. He’s a man on a mission and it somehow calms his brain into this steady hum purely focused on vindication. 

He could use his crystal from the big fancy man upstairs to zap himself straight to the poison, but he’s so worked up. The temptation of driving there the old fashioned way is too good to pass up. It’s soothing, it gives him time to think and ruminate, to beat himself up in his own skull. 

Getting out of Lust’s dense city streets is obnoxious, every red light filling him with more rage than he thought. The wait on the elevator is even worse, each passing second of stillness simmering the impatience in his blood. It leaves him with his thoughts and regrets, but there’s just something not good enough about teleporting to the man himself and getting all of this over with in a rush. 

Maybe it’s the performer born into him, part of the life he was raised on, but the show is part of the fun. An ending pulled too early is such a waste, ironic considering Blitzø wishes Cash’s curtain had been called years ago. But they’ve waited this long. To let the story not play out in all its climatic glory, all in the name of one of the main cast hanging on the edge of his seat is just bad theater. 

The open highway between the center of Greed to the outskirt city of that crappy apartment blurs into nothing, Blitzø not even able to feel the gas pedal under his boot. The weight of his pistol tucked against his chest, and the purr of the engine underneath him is cathartic. 

He’s in a fury induced haze, everything happening on autopilot until his phone rings loudly in the cup holder from where he dumped it earlier. Blitzø barely glances at it, firmly ignoring the damn thing because it’s not a ringtone for anyone worth having a special little jingle. Blitzø grips the steering wheel tighter when whatever fuckface calls back immediately. 

Blitzø should just turn the fucking thing off, maybe even throw it out of the window and worry about it later. But fuck, does his anger burn through him, building up so vividly that the urge to scream down someone’s throat sounds way too appealing right now. 

Grabbing his phone out of the cup holder he picks up, a growl rumbling through his chest as he holds the thing to his face. 

“What!” He barks loudly, way too loudly probably. 

“Hey dickwad, where are you?”

The voice on the other end of the line startles him so bad he swerves into the next lane of traffic, pissing off at least two other people enough to honk at him. 

“Barb?” He breathes, the anger is still there but the shock smothers it hard for a moment, “Is that you?”

“Unfortunately,” She quips sarcastically over the phone, but Blitzø can vividly picture her eyes rolling back at him.

“Why are you calling me?” Blitzø asks, eyes rounded and floored to actually hear his sister’s voice through his phone on her own volition. 

“Fizz told me you’re gonna kill dad, where are you?”

“I’m driving— wait, you still talk to Fizz?”

“Yeah, I still talk to Fizz because he’s not a complete jackass like you.” She explains flatly leaving Blitzø absolutely reeling at the information his best friend and sister have been in contact with each other this whole time. “He said you’re gonna go kill dad and called to try and get me to stop you.”

“You can fucking try but the man is going to be fucking dead and it’ll be with my gun.” Blitzø snarls nastily, the anger coming back full force. “He deserves it Barb, so I’d like to see you try and talk me down.”

“No, you idiot. Christ, shut up. I’m not stopping shit. You’re turning around and picking me up because I want to watch.” 

“Seriously?” Blitzø’s spirits lift just a bit out of the slog they’re tanked in. 

“Ugh, don’t do that, this isn’t a bonding moment for us.” Barb responds quickly, “This isn’t about you.”

“Yeah, yeah—” Blitzø pauses, the excitement sparking across his skin suddenly fading with the horrible realization of why she’s calling him hitting full force again. “Fuck, alright. You still got that crystal?”

“Yeah, why?” She asks while Blitzø is already veering his van dangerously across two lanes of traffic to hit an exit ramp. 

“Gonna stop at a gas station off the highway, I’ll send you the address, meet me there.” Blitzø explains to her in an authoritative voice that only comes out when business actually cuts it close with IMP. There’s some small, off brand gas station off the side of the highway that immediately greets him. Blitzø is already shifting his phone down to swipe to his gps and find the right location, sending it to Barb before he even parks the van messily, taking up two spots like an asshole.

The fact she’s not an actual contact in his phone has Blitzø growling, having to swipe between multiple tabs to enter the phone number he’s talking to into his messaging app. Eventually he gets it, feeling like the longest five seconds of his life. He’s still a little floored when the message says delivered quickly followed by a read receipt, Barbie actually interacting with him on her own will again. 

“Okay, hurry the fuck up.” Blitzø barks out, not even being able to finish his sentence before a portal splits open feet away. Barbie steps out of it, looking a little pissed as she holds up her phone and dramatically hits the end call button. 

Blitzø jumps to unlock the passenger door, his shitty van too old to have automatic locks. Claws fumbling around the handle, Blitzø swings the door open and shoves all the shit in the seat onto the pavement underneath the van uncaringly, too focused on making room for the sister that apparently wants in on his murder trip to dad’s house. 

“Ugh, your car’s a mess.” Barbie gripes, stepping in front of the door and looking down at her hooves stepping over the trash.

“Yeah, yeah. Bitch about it to me later, you getting in or not?” Blitzø barks, his violent anger still burning high enough to keep him from playing nice with her. In any other situation he would be embarrassed by her comment and his reaction to it, but its relevance is so buried underneath much more damning realizations. 

“Oh, chill the fuck out.” Barb snaps, grabbing the oh-shit handle in his van as she hikes herself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her loudly. “I said I was going with you, so let’s get this show on the road, fuckface.” 

Blitzø peels out of the gas station parking lot, tires skidding a little on the pavement as his driving coordination isn’t quite as perfect as usual. Blitzø cuts off a small sedan in his hurry to blow past the median and back onto the interstate. The ride is bumpy, Barb placing her palm on the headlining to steady herself through Blitzø’s reckless driving.

“You know I have a fucking crystal, I could just jump us there.” She offers, sounding angry as her horns click against the window from the sway of the van. 

“I got one too now, bitch.” Blitzø lifts his right arm off the gearshift almost proudly, waving it infront of her face before having to shift the car into a higher gear once they hit the highway again. “Feels like a cheat code though, needed to drive it out myself.”

“You always were fucking weird.” Barb responds, settling into her seat and finally looking around the car with disdain. Blitzø doesn’t even have to look at her face to know how hard she’s judging his shit heap right now, but he’ll feel embarrassed about it later. 

“You get your Fuck Gem from Fizz too?” Blitzø asks, suddenly clicking their newfound similarity together. 

“Why, did you?” 

“You think Oz would’ve signed off on my name if Fizz wasn’t the one to tell him to?” 

“Ha! Fuck, absolutely not, you’re so right.” Barb suddenly laughs, shocking Blitzø out of his focus on the road to look at her face. It’s been awhile since he’s seen her this close and in person. Not as long as it can be sometimes, but looking at her familiar smile makes breathing a little easier. That maybe he’s not fucking insane for wanting to commit patricide. “Damn, you really have come a long way with him, huh? That freaky Lust guy scares the shit out of me, but at least he’s always on Fizz’s side.” 

“You’ve met him?” Blitzø feels even more shock spilling into him that Barb seems to know Oz.

“Nah,” The negative answer somehow makes Blitzø feel better, not wanting to think too closely about how happy it makes him that he might just be a bit more special to the jester after all. He loves his sister, loves Fizzarolli, and some roundabout way kind of loves Asmodeus, but he’s still not a perfect person that’s without jealousy. “Just heard about him a lot. Fizz doesn’t shut up about him whenever we call. I don’t know a whole lot about his life, but I know enough from what he tells me.”

The excitement of Barb being in the van with him suddenly ebbs a little bit, Blitzø’s brain wandering to thoughts of how much else she knows. “Do you know why Fizz called you?” Blitzø asks tightly, hands choking up on the steering wheel.

“I can kinda guess.” Barb admits glancing over at him for a split second before turning her eyes to look out her window. “You guys have always been real gross, ugh, your crushes on each other were so fucking annoying.”

Blitzø flinches at the mention of his love being reciprocated by Fizz even when they were young little carnies dancing around each other. It’s been a hard pill to swallow, that everything went up in flames because of an insecurity that had no basis in reality.

“And you’ve never actually fought dad back before.” Barb finishes, expression grim as she looks forward bleakly. “Figured it was about that. ” 

“You—” Blitzø’s lizard brain works hard to piece through everything his sister has just said, able to get it back online just in time to not swerve onto the shoulder of the highway. “You knew?” Blitzø asks, grief bleeding into his voice over what feels like another betrayal. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, Blitzø.” Barb straightens, whipping her head to look at him angrily, a defensiveness lining her spine. “No, I didn’t know!” 

“Then what the fuck are you saying?” Blitzø yells back at her, unable to keep the lid on his ugliness tight enough to keep it from bleeding out. 

“I didn’t realize ‘till later! Okay, asshole?” Barbie almost screams before settling back into her seat, arm coming up to rest her elbow on the door and rest her hand in as she looks back out that fucking passenger window. “I had— Some kind of idea when we were kids, but I didn’t know what the fuck was going on until later. Didn’t even know it was dad until Fizz called today and I just kinda, y’know, put all the shit together.”

“How?” Blitzø asks quietly, mentally counting down the exit signs until the one that’ll drop them at their father’s apartment— They’re so close, so fucking close to all of this being over. 

“We were young,” Barb begins softly, much softer than Blitzø thinks he can ever remember. “Like, stupidly young. He used to come to me over shit that you and your fuck parts wouldn’t understand. I barely knew myself, but I was at least better than you in that aspect. Period shit, right?” 

“Sure.” Blitzø can feel his teeth grinding together nervously, not liking the setup of this story at all. 

“It was bad.” She pauses, Blitzø wanting to scream at her to keep going but biting his tongue. “He— There was a lot of blood, his hammock was like a helter skelter moment— said his stomach hurt a lot. I seriously had no idea what the fuck was going on, I went to mom. She took care of it.” 

Blitzø feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs at the mention of their mother, especially so heavily centered around Fizzarolli’s abuse. “Mama knew?” He asks brokenly.

“Oh, please.” Barb suddenly snaps at him, Blitzø a little off kilter from how angry she sounds again. “Don’t start spiraling about mama. What could she have done, Blitzø? Tell dad no? She was fucking sick and you’re fucking delusional if you can’t see how trapped all of us were there with that asshole!

“She did the best she could.” Barb turns to give him another hard look, waiting to see if Blitzø opens his mouth again. When Blitzø remains silent she scowls, but continues. “I didn’t think anything of it as a kid. Didn’t even really remember it until one of the girls in a halfway house went through the same thing. Made start thinkin’ again, realize Fizz had gotten knocked up real young. Thought it could’ve been anyone though, you never want to think it’s your own damn dad.” 

“Yeah,” Blitzø agrees weakly, because he knows the feeling vividly. It’s their father after all. “You did the best you could too, Barb.” The reassurance hangs in the air uncomfortably, Blitzø thought it might but something in him still felt compelled to say it. 

“Christ, I don’t want to get into this feelings bullshit.” Barbie shifts in her seat, leaning forward to start rummaging through his glove box. “You got a gun here or what, hotshot?” 

“Oh, I’ve got a gun, alright.” Blitzø smirks, lifting one of his hands off the wheel to open the side of jacket and flash the pistol under his arm. A road sign suddenly catches his eye, not having been able to pay attention to any of the exit markers during Barb’s confession. He suddenly veers the car, knocking his sister even more violently into the side of his van as he swerves. “And it looks like our stop has just arrived, how convenient!” 

“You motherfucker!” Barb opens her mouth to yell at him again, but shuts it when Blitzø slows the van almost seconds later, turning into the parking lot he’d pulled out of not even hours earlier. Their dad really does live in a shitshack, the noise pollution from the loud Greed highway absolutely a reason this place’s value is in the tank enough for someone like Cash to afford. 

“Fuck, I don’t know what I expected, but this is somehow worse than I thought.” Barb comments as Blitzø jerkily parks the van into a spot out front of where he knows the monster lives. The pavement is all bubbled up with cracks and overgrown roots, the lack of care tearing through the foundation of this hellhole almost poetically similar to their own childhoods. 

“Yeah, he’s a cheap son of a bitch, what’s new?” Blitzø asks sarcastically, throwing the vehicle into park and opening the door before even getting the keys out of the ignition. All those feelings of needing time to let this play out are suddenly gone, completely evaporated during their heavy conversation. 

Blitzø skitters to the other side of the van, grabbing Barb by her arm before she can barely get the door open, his impatience and anxiety at an apex that can’t fester any longer.

 “C’mon, it’s this one.” He explains, about to drag his sister to their mark’s doorstep before she shakes him off and just follows like a normal person. 

The door is just as weathered as he remembers it being earlier in the day, but somehow it feels grosser— steeped in something vile that sends Blitzø’s spines prickling uncomfortably. His face looks to his sister’s, needing to see how she takes this as someone who’s never been here before. Her expression is unreadable until she catches Blitzø staring and gives him a stoney look. “You doing this or not?” 

“You hate him right?” Blitzø suddenly feels himself asking, not quite knowing where the question came from— where the need for reassurance surged up. “He deserves to die?”

“If you don’t fucking kill him I’ll do it myself.” Barb snarls. “Then snuff your lights out too for being such a damn pussy about this.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s dad killing time.” Blitzø tries to cover his brief flash of vulnerability, lifting one of his hooves to slam against the door hard. The door gives way easier than Blitzø would have thought. Not in the sense it swings free, but it’s fucking hollowcore, which just screams shoddy Greed safety violations. His boot slides right through the facade of safety, kicking a hole into next to the door handle. 

He struggles a bit to get his foot back out, not the most coordinated or graced with elegance despite all his training on the trapeze and highwires back in the day. Barb rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t waste a second to slide her arm in that hole and turn the deadlock away from trapping their father’s door shut into the sturdier frame of the door. 

“What in the fuck!” Blitzø can hear Cash bark before Barb even swings open the door. The old man is rising out of the shitty armchair Blitzø had left him in, fury painted on his face at his entryway being busted down. 

“Christ, this is worse than your van, Blitzø.” Barb hisses when her hoof steps on a food wrapper littered inches in front of the door. 

Blitzø screws his eyes shut, hating the unsaid implication in her words of a shared similarity with their father. He quickly lets it go though, not willing to let his own self hatred get in the way of his mission. 

“The hell are you two doing here?” Cash snarls, looking increasingly pissed to see his only children barging into his garbage dump of a home unannounced. It is a surprise visit, and they did ruin his front door, but Blitzø still feels something whisper inside of him that no parent should ever be able to look at their children with such vitriol. “Haven’t seen you in a long time, Barb.”

“Yeah, wonder fucking why.” Barbie bites, arms crossing over her chest.

A fresh wave of anger pours over Blitzø, staring into the furious face of the man that has condemned them all to a life of pain. It doesn’t matter how long they’ll live, how far they’ll leave him behind, he’s stained everything he’s ever touched so deeply it’ll never truly wash out. But Blitzø can make sure he’s not able to live another second and bake more pain into their wounds. 

Blitzø steps forward, grabbing the old man by the front of his shirt. Being this close to him again, knowing what he knows now, able to smell exactly what Fizz had smelt on his skin, has him raising a fist to crack against his father’s face before even thinking. 

The bitch goes down quickly, Blitzø letting him drop back to collapse against his chair. Black blood begins to drip out of his nostril, a flash of surprise dancing across his features before they harden back into something ugly.

“How many times?” Blitzø asks, blinded by a sudden rage that can’t even let him think properly.

“How many times what, boy?” Cash questions back, glaring up at his only son towering over him. 

“Fizz.” Blitzø is barely able to bite out around the roar of emotions tearing through him. “How many times did you fuck Fizz, you piece of shit.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cash plays dumb, but Blitzø could see the quick flash of realization widen his eyes just a fraction, lift his brow just enough for Blitzø to feel sick all over again. 

“You touched him. You— Fucking, dammit! You raped him, I know you did, I fucking found out!” Blitzø barks, digging his pistol from beneath his jacket and pointing it down at the monster at his feet. “So, how many fucking times?”

“I don’t think you’d like the answer to that, son.” Cash says lowly, confirming nothing but everything all at once. The word son feels like it lights Blitzø on fire, burning hotter than the explosion that seared across his face years ago.

“Don’t fucking call me that! Don’t you dare call me your son, I will never be your fucking kid.” 

“Oh, please. I caught you sniffing around his dressing rooms. You fucked up a lot, Blitzo, but Fizzarolli was always one thing we could agree on. You’re no better than your old man. ”

“I am nothing like you!” Blitzø screams, tears finally breaking free to stream down his face. “I love him, you piece of shit!”

“Give me a fuckin’ break—”

“I’ve loved him my whole life, more than you ever could!” Blitzø yells, feeling his finger begging to tighten around the trigger. His hands are shaking now in a way it never does on a hit, or any other kill he’s set out to complete. “And I’m going to fucking kill you because of that.”

“And you’re just going to stand by while your brother makes a mess of our family again?” Cash huffs, eyes sliding away from his only son to fall on his other child standing behind him.

“Yup.” She says cooly, arms crossed tightly around her chest as she holds herself as tall as possible with her posture.

“Ah, I don’t know what happened to you Barb,” Cash snaps, frowning meanly. “I never had to worry about you as a kid.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should’ve!” Barb spits back, spade snapping against the wooden floors behind her, knocking an empty togo cup across the room. “Because I’m a real mess, Cash. You did this, not Blitzø. You’re the reason the daughter you always ignored is going to sit here and watch as her brother slides a bullet into your skull and shuts you up for good.” 

“You two have always been such fucking disappointments, y’know that?” Their old man snarls, “It’s no wonder Fizzarolli’s the only one out of the three of ya to even make somethin’ of himself.”

“Fucking shit, Blitzø! Just shut him up already!” Barb turns to look at her brother, eyes glowering at him hard. Blitzø closes his eyes, a tremble building up in his spine.

“Satan, you’re choking under the spotlight again, kid. The fuck is your probelm?” Cash bites out, rearing his head back with a gleam in his eyes of a man that can taste his fate but won’t go down without burning everything brighter as he goes. “You need your papa’s help like you always did?”

“Shut up!” Blitzø shrieks, the image of the man he used to idolize and worship so much, the one he allowed to hurt him and everyone he held most dear so deeply beginning to blur through his tears. His hand chokes up on the grip of his pistol, trembling hard as his sperm donor stares down the bottom of his barrel. 

There’s no fear in this monster’s eyes, nothing but that ugly glint Blitzø can remember so vividly without even being able to see clearly. He can visualize it perfectly from the memories of every time he felt his father’s hands break across his skin. 

“I may be your only son, but at least I feel remorse for the things I fucking do.” Blitzø growls, the resolve finally set to apply enough pressure on the trigger and end all of this. The shot is loud, ringing through his eardrums painfully, but the hurt is satisfying. It’s physical proof he’s done the job he set out to complete. 

The bullet lands solidly, Blitzø always the perfect marksman even with his hands shaking worse than the legs of a newborn fawn. It tears a hole straight through the stark brand inked on his father’s forehead that they all share. Blitzø wants to find joy in watching the light quickly leave from the old man’s eyes, the way his skull bleeds out into the upholstery of his lonely throne. He feels something but it’s not joy, vindication might come close, but it’s not a good feeling.

He stares blankly at the cooling body of his father. This man that had given him life but taken far more than that gift could have ever been worth. It’s over, it’s done, and Blitzø feels so close to a monster himself. 

“C’mon, Blitzø.” Barb tries to shake him from his stupor standing over their dead father. When her words don’t work she walks over to slide an arm around his shoulders. “It’s over, he’s gone. It’s time to leave him behind, okay?” 

Blitzø can barely hear her over the fog quickly filling up his skull, shoulders trembling hard underneath her arm as his brain is suddenly overloaded by the dam of emotions breaking free. His sister digs into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out his keys, the clinking of the metal sounding so far away.

“I’ll get you home, alright?” Barb says softly, beginning to lead her brother away from the corpse, from the despair of this entire apartment. “You did good, Blitzø.”