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Skeppy taps his fingers together anxiously. Bad rests a hand on his head, something that would usually make him faux annoyed but currently just makes him relax a little, thankful for the grounding.
He knows that realistically, he could just tell Bad that he’s not doing great, and the demon would be fawning over him, coddling him in blankets and turning on all the lights and wrapping him in soft pastel blankets that look nothing like obsidian walls, but he doesn’t want to say anything. Maybe it’s because he was the one who suggested this, maybe it’s because he doesn’t want Bad to have to take care of him more than he already does, but either way he’s content (well, not content, but he’ll live through it) just curling closer into Bad’s side and focusing on the bright light of the TV.
It’s a cheesy type of horror movie, one that makes him feel like he’s losing brain cells just by witnessing it, but there's a scene on it that they keep going back to , and it just bugs him.
There's something about the little dark room filled with broken glass that makes him want to throw up. It takes him a good minute before realizing that oh, that happened to me. His second thought is do I need to put this guy on my kinlist .
He vocalizes the second one, because of course he does. "Heh, kinnie moment."
Bad lets out a startled laugh. "What?"
"The room." He says, and Bad's expression immediately softens into something more worried than confused.
"You know we can turn it off, right?"
Skeppy dismisses him and the steady growing panic in his lungs, "No, it's fine. You wanted to watch this, I don't wanna ruin it for you."
Bad opens his mouth to say something, but the guy on TV starts talking again, so he closes it and just wraps his tail around Skeppy's leg with a huff. It's a nice way to say 'I'm here', and Skeppy fiddles with the tip of it when the character starts burning alive.
Fun.
He ignores the panic burning his lungs. He's fine. Bad is here, and he's nowhere near that fucking hallway and that tiny cage and that green bastard. He's fine. (It hurts. It burns his lungs, turns them to dust, and then moves onto his gut, making it crumble away and leaving only charring in its wake.)
His bones hurt.
Bad mumbles his name, noticing him squirm slightly, “Geppy? You okay?”
Dream grabs his arm and throws him in the box. He can’t sit down. He can’t move. ‘Just another trophy’, Dream calls him. He means something to Bad, and that’s all. Respect is something that Skeppy considers a luxury, now- he’s an object, an attachment, less important than discs surrounded by gold and only slightly superior to a chest full of diamonds.
“Hurts,” He hears himself say. He’s shaking. “Bad? Are you here?”
“I’m here, crystal.”
A hand threads through his hair, and he tenses, before melting against Bad’s side, the low rumble from deep in the demon’s chest bringing him back to the present. He flushes blue, “Sorry.”
(The fire is cold, like hellfire. It freezes through his bones next- they blacken and char, and then crumble to dust inside of him. He wonders if they’re still there. He can’t see his bones, so are they still there? He can’t see his gut, so is it still there? He can’t see his lungs, so are they still there?
The urge to tear off his skin and find out whether they are or not is ever-present, thrumming through his veins. He catches a glimpse of Bad’s face, and decides to hold off until another day.)
“Don’t apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Bad scratches at the chunk of crystal that grows from his skull in place of his left ear, and Skeppy leans into it, eyes still slightly guilty. “Do you want me to turn the lights on?”
“Please.”
The lights strung around the room flicker on, painting the plain white walls with rainbow light. They’re Christmas decorations, probably from last year, and half of the lights themselves are broken, but Skeppy couldn’t be more thankful for the dim light that shows him the lack of obsidian walls and blackstone floors.
A blanket is strung around him, and through the fuzz that has taken over his brain he feels so, so warm. He’s not cold anymore.
Claws tap on the same crystal they did before, pitter-pattering a little tune, and the sensation is barely noticeable, but it makes a dull sound and tickles in a weird way that makes him want to sneeze.
He lets out a little laugh when Bad pokes the base of the gem, and then swats his hand away. It returns to running through his hair, and he hears Bad give a little huff of amusement above him. Although he’s not sure when the movie got turned off, he’s grateful for the quiet sound of the baking show that’s been put on in its stead.
“Any better?”
Skeppy shudders out another breath. It’s not often that he says it, but all of a sudden he’s been hit with a wave of pure appreciation, raw adoration for his best friend. His partner in crime. His Bad.
“Skeppy?”
His face stings. He rubs at it, and his hand comes away wet.
“Geppy?”
Oh. He’s crying.
Bad frets over him, brushing the tears from his face and brushing his hair from his eyes and hugging him close, and he just sits there for a second until the tears finally stop. It doesn’t take long- he’s learned to power through feeling overwhelmed, but he’s always been vulnerable around Bad, so he lets saltwater run down his face until it can’t anymore.
“Love you,” It comes out shaky and quiet, and he tenses when it does. Some part of him expects disgust. He’s not sure why.
The rumbling in Bad’s chest starts back up, and when Skeppy looks up to his face he’s smiling softly, “Aww, love you too, crystal. You should rest, though, I’m sure you’re tired after all that.”
“Nooooooo, I wanna stay up. We can watch-” He squints with tired eyes at the name of the baking show, “The Great British Bakeoff? What, do they just make scones and tea?”
He gives a faux-shocked sound, “You’ve never seen the British Bake Off?”
“Isn’t it something that old people watch? Are you old, Bad? Do you need life insurance?” He taunts jokingly, narrowing his eyes up at Bad challengingly.
Bad stares at him, deadpan, “Geppy I’m two thousand and five years old.”
“Ah,” Skeppy nods, “A senior citizen, then.”
The contestants on TV keep talking about their pineapple upside-down cakes (which Skeppy doesn’t really understand- why would you put cake upside down?) and he feels his eyes drift closed, even as he continues to tease Bad about being old and grey. And then Bad tells him that he’s practically a toddler in demon years, so he changes course into cooing at him tiredly. Bad protests through it all, but they’re both smiling, and he traces shapes into the tip of the wiry tail still wrapped around his leg, and Skeppy realizes with a start just before he drifts off that this is the safest he’s ever felt.