Chapter 14

14

I was led down a hall and guided into a bedroom, but I honestly wasn't paying much attention. Then the door shut, and all exterior sound ceased. I blinked in surprise, frowning at the door.

"Soundproofing barrier," Stan explained. "You looked like you needed some quiet."

"It's...a lot," I admitted. "I had an idea of what it was like down here from things Gabe had told me, but this? This is chaos."

"It's not always this bad," he promised me, sitting on the bed and patting the space next to him invitingly. I dropped down next to him, then fell onto my back, sighing at the softness of the bed.

"Better?" Stan asked, amused.

I grunted a response and shut my eyes. A gentle hand smoothed my hair back, and I smiled.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and I could feel the tension in my body slithering away.

"Is there anything you'd like to know?" Stan eventually asked. "I love your brother, but he sometimes has no concept of moderation. I promise I'll keep my answers short and simple."

"Oh bless you," I breathed. "Do you mind telling me about Jesus? The real Jesus, not the guy in the Bible." I was quickly gaining a burning desire to know what all the church had gotten wrong about him, because while I was expecting a good man, I hadn't necessarily expected such a laid-back, normal one.

"He was a revolutionary," Stan answered immediately. "He did everything he could to better society and was eventually literally crucified for it. But he was just a man. He's only the son of a god in the same way you are, no more."

"And his resurrection?"

"He wasn't dead at that point. He was in a coma. He woke from the coma long enough to tell his loved ones to forgive the people who'd done what they did to him, then passed away. Jesus wasn't worshiped as a literal son of God during his lifetime. The people loved him because he tried to tackle the social woes of the day. He tried to do something about corruption, greed, and poverty. I'm sure you know how the rich and powerful react when said wealth and power are in jeopardy."

I thought about that momentarily, then opened my eyes to look at my brother-in-law. "Somehow, that makes his story even more poignant. He was a regular guy, but he touched so many lives." I frowned, a thought occurring to me that soured the whole thing. "And instead of taking the lessons we should have from him, the church uses him for their own power and greed. That's disgusting."

"Not all churches are corrupt," Stan assured me. "But you're not wrong. His message was lost to most of them ages ago. The question is, what will you take away from his story?"

I hummed thoughtfully, mulling that over. "Well," I said slowly, "I can still have faith in him and what he stands for as a human being, not a divine entity."

Stan smiled at me. "You can," he assured me. "Your spirituality, whatever form it takes, is up to you. But I do recommend you leave worshiping him behind. How would you feel if people started a religion that involved worshiping you for doing what you thought was right?"

He had a good point, and I could see a lot of introspection in my future. "What about you?" I asked. "What do demons believe?"

Stan chuckled at that. "Well, we believe what we see for ourselves. Which makes sense, considering we work with gods. Historically speaking, at least a portion of humans have always seemed to need a belief system that assures them of where they came from, how they got there, and where they're going when they die. Not knowing can be terrifying. For some reason, no matter the belief system, humanity seems to need to tell other belief systems who's right and who's wrong. Funny how it turns out that they're kind of all correct, given that all of the gods are here. I mean, even Cthulhu has his realm, though I'm just as glad he stays there."

I started to ask who Cthulhu was but thought better of it. Despite being naturally white as a ghost, Stan was looking a little pale at the mention of whoever that was, even for him. "So there's no religion in Heaven or Hell?"

Stan thought about that for a moment, humming thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to say no, but only because once people get here, they lose their need for knowing what happens. They find their answers. In a way, the afterlife is a place of knowledge because of this. That's not to say that people don't retain some form of spirituality, but religion itself tends to lose meaning when you've met the object of your worship at the local diner." He paused, grinning at me. "For the record, Jesus loves blueberry pancakes."

I laughed in surprise, then turned to look as the door opened. Tempest slunk into the room, Gabe behind him. The hellhound jumped onto the bed and lay beside me, dropping his massive furry head on my stomach. I obligingly ran my fingers through his mane, surprised at how soft it turned out to be, and he sighed happily.

"Everyone's gone," Gabe assured us. "Beelzebub called, he's got Abby, and she's safe. As I'd guessed, the grands will be back tomorrow afternoon, and Jesus says to tell you again that you're a good boy and to make sure you've got his number in your phone when we pick one up for you. He says to message or call him any time."

Somehow, that just made me feel like weeping. Abby was safe. I could relax. Also, there was something about hearing, 'Hey, you're in the underworld, and the guy you grew up worshiping is real, and by the way, he thinks you're a good person and wants to be texting buddies,' that was more than a little insane.

"Are you hungry?" Gabe asked. "Yes, we have pizza, but we can do something else if that doesn't sound good. Gabriel introduced me to an amazing Greek place. Run by former members of Hestia's temple, even."

"Ancient Greek goddess of the hearth," Stan murmured before I could ask who she was, and I nodded in thanks.

"There's any number of places we could order from," my brother continued. "I mean, it's Hell. Gluttony is one of the deadly sins and all that."

"Only because Heaven's still mad about us having better sushi options," Stan supplied. "But I think you're overwhelming Zeke. Let's ask one question at a time. Does pizza sound good?"

Bless him for breaking things down into manageable portions when my brain was still overloaded. "Not really," I admitted. "It seems awfully heavy and greasy." Not that I'd had much of it in my life, and what I'd had probably wasn't good quality, but... "Honestly, I kind of want pancakes now that you've mentioned them."

We ended up ordering from a pancake house they were familiar with. Gabe suggested I order something he called Dutch babies, at which point I must have made a face because he quickly explained that no actual babies were involved. Considering where we were, that was a bit of a relief.

Stan offered to go pick up the food. I had no idea if the place just didn't do delivery or if he was trying to get Gabe and me the opportunity to talk. Either way, my brother looked at me when the front door closed and asked, "So, want to play a video game?"

Unsurprisingly, I hadn't had much opportunity to play games beyond what was acceptable at school, all of which were also found acceptable by the church. This meant they weren't very much fun, truth be told, so I was delighted when my brother introduced me to a cartoonish-looking racing game. He promised not to sabotage me until I was used to the controls, which I appreciated. Then I immediately drove off the track on my own, making him howl with laughter, the jerk.

I'd almost gotten the hang of it by the time Stan came back, and he promised to introduce me to something called The Sims, at which point Gabe groaned that he'd never see me again because I'd be playing for hours at a time.

"It'll give him something to do while we're at work if he doesn't want to go in with us," he pointed out. "Or even if he does. He can play it on my laptop in the break room."

Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to them at that point because the smell coming from the bags Stan had with him was amazing. The fact that he'd needed five bags made me worry a little, and the amount of containers he pulled out of each one was even worse. "Just how much are you expecting me to eat?" I asked, bewildered.

"Your brother is a walking stomach," Stan said, laughing when Gabe chucked a throw pillow at him. "If we can't finish it, it'll go in the fridge. Also, while you may still be alive, things work differently here, and you're part demon."

"Oh, good, he can experience the joys of having a half-demon metabolism," Gabe said with a snort. "As if just being a teenage boy wasn't enough to wipe out an entire fridge's worth of food in one go."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Gabe raised an eyebrow at me. "Turns out that us human/demon hybrids have a nasty case of the munchies," he told me. "The first few months I was here, I was waiting to turn into a blimp since I was eating so much. Then, I met a couple of the other few hybrids. They theorize that our human and demon aspects don't totally mesh, and our bodies need way more fuel to compensate."

I'd always figured my constant hunger was because my parents weren't particularly concerned whether their less-favored children were eating enough or not and because they loved withholding meals as punishment. Who knew my bloodline might have something to do with it, too? Regardless of the reason, I put away far more food than I'd expected, and by the time we were all done, there were no leftovers. I was half awake and dozing on the couch, more full than I'd ever been in my life, and thrilled for it. I half-heartedly offered to help clean up, but Gabe and Stan both waved off that suggestion, telling me to relax.

I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, there was a blanket over me, the living room was clean, and I was alone. I could hear the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, though, so at least I knew people were near. I closed my eyes, intending to nod off again, but the voices grew clearer as if the speakers had stepped closer, and I couldn't help but overhear.

"—believe what those assholes have done to him. They beat him, starved him, broke him, deprived him of any real happiness..."

"I know. But he'll be okay. He has us now."

"I love the hell out of that kid, and I'm so fucking proud to be his brother, but I swear to fucking god, if I get my hands on his goddamn psycho parents..."

Gabe swore a lot, I noted to myself as tears welled up in my eyes at his words.

"He'll be okay. I promise. We just need to give him time to decompress and settle in right now. He's overwhelmed and out of sorts, which is perfectly understandable. He's had the belief system he grew up with turned on its head, and yes, it may have been his decision, but he's stuck in Hell for the next few weeks until he's of legal age. At least he didn't have to die to get here like you did, but it's still a lot."

"I know," Gabe answered, his voice husky. Was he crying? He couldn't be. But... "It's just..." He sniffled, and I opened my eyes, surprised. He was crying. "I only had to deal with that fucking cunt until Grandma kicked her out of our lives, and he's had to live with her and his equally evil father with no one to have his back, and it's just..."

His words trailed off, and he sniffled again. I couldn't take it. I threw off the blanket and rushed to the kitchen, practically launching myself at him before burying my face in his shoulder.

"Zeke, what?—"

"I love you too, you know," I mumbled.

"I should have protected you," Gabe said, his voice breaking.

I let out a wet laugh. "You didn't even know about me."

"I should have, though. I should have known she might have had more kids, that she might be treating them as horribly as she treated me. I should have looked into her life and?—"

"Big brother," I interrupted, pulling back to put my hands on either side of his face. "You're protecting me now." I smiled at him, though it was probably weak. "So, for now, how about you spend a little more time teaching me how to play video games before sleep happens?"

Gabe sniffled again, but he nodded.

"Good. But can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Seriously, who is Danny Elfman?"

I ended up becoming a fan of Oingo Boingo.

I also ended up being bad at video games until Gabe loaded up something where I was stuck on an island with a bunch of animals for neighbors, and I had to build a house and collect things and some raccoon-looking guy kept ripping me off. Then a tarantula knocked me out, and at that point, Gabe suggested it was getting late and we should all consider a few hours of sleep.

"Will you be okay by yourself?" Stan asked, obviously worried. "We could all sleep out here if you'd rather."

Tempest barked softly, and Gabe looked down at him in obvious surprise. "Really? You're sure?"

Tempest huffed and nodded, grumbling out something else I couldn't understand. Gabe looked like he was going to start crying again.

"What did he say?" I asked.

Stan chuckled. "First, he said he'd stay with you if you didn't want everyone with you. Then he said that because you remind him of a child version of Gabe, he finds that he can't bear the thought of you suffering, so he'd be willing to spend a night away from Gabe if it meant you would be comforted."

"Tempest doesn't really like anyone," Gabe added. "I mean, he's okay with Stan, but he mostly just tolerates everyone around him except for Stef. So it's a big deal if he cares about your feelings, even if it's because you remind him of me."

"Wow," I said softly. I hadn't realized Tempest's willingness to be close to me was such a big deal. I held a hand out toward him, and he immediately moved closer so I could pet him. "Um, but you really wouldn't mind if we were all out here tonight?"

"Of course not," Gabe said immediately. "We've got a couple of air mattresses. The good ones that keep themselves inflated and aren't so low to the ground that you may as well be sleeping on the floor. They're also specifically made for those of us with pointy bits," he added, lifting his hands to wiggle his talon-tipped fingers at me, which made me laugh. "So if you hear a sudden rude noise like air rapidly leaving a balloon, that was probably Tem."

The hellhound gave him an insulted look.

"Hey, I'm not the one who ate an entire head of broccoli," my brother told him. "And at least if I had, I'm dead and unlikely to have digestive issues. You, my canine friend, had a goddamn green cloud trailing after you for a week."

"Well, he is a hellhound, after all," Stan remarked, looking like he was just barely holding back laughter. "He punishes the dead. You were punished for leaving the broccoli where it would tempt him."

I wasn't laughing. I may have been shaking from the force of holding back a chortle or two, and I may have had tears of amusement running down my face, but I definitely wasn't laughing. Out loud, anyway.

Gabe glanced my way and sighed. "Just let it out," he told me. "You'll strain something if you keep on like that."

By the time I'd finally pulled myself together, the air mattresses Gabe had mentioned were inflated, and the beds were made. I was still snickering when Stan found me a toothbrush and some spare sweatpants to sleep in—I'd packed things important to me in my backpack, but none of those things were clothes—and sent me off to get ready to sleep. When I returned, the lights were dimmed, and a fire was going in the fireplace. I appreciated not being left in complete darkness. I didn't expect to end up with nightmares or anything, not with how I dreamed, but the warm glow was comforting. I glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. It was three in the morning.

"Don't worry," Gabe told me, having seen where I was looking. "I won't wake you up until ten or so."

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it as I felt my body begin to relax. The mattress was soft and comfortable beneath me, and the blankets were plush and warm. The bed moved a little, and I opened my eyes to see Tempest lying beside me. He gave me a look that seemed to query whether it was okay if he slept next to me, and I reached up to pet him between the ears. He moved closer, snuggled tight against me, and my eyes drifted shut again. The last thought that floated through my mind before I was out was that Tempest's smell reminded me of spring.

I grinned when I found myself back in my dream house's familiar, run-down living room. Now that the worst was over, I felt an incredible relief that would have had me doing cartwheels down the hall if I knew how to do them and if I didn't think some parts of the floor might give me splinters. Sure, it would have been a dream, but I was positive even dream splinters hurt.

Instead, I let out a loud whoop of delight, knowing no one was there to wonder what I was yelling about, and grabbed the journal from its designated place on the mantle. I carried it to the conservatory and perched on the edge of the still-empty fountain, wondering what I'd see when I opened it.

I laughed when I saw what was written inside, but the sound quickly became choked, and I was soon bawling. It was a combination of mostly relief and joy, but there were also years of anxiety and grief over what my parents had turned out to be. I let it all out, and the tears dotted the page and the two words it contained.

Welcome home.