#dndads 2x31

[satanickpanick]

“It was nothing personal, Normal.”

Catchy one-liners were kinda Hermie’s thing. Quips were masks, cheesy pickups were shields, and answering a question with a question was as good as a magic forcefield. Hermie was a master deflector, even when he could admit that mayyybe he should’ve been a little bit more serious. Moments like this, when his sort-of-best-friend-practically-blood-rival-totally-not-crush caught him red- (or, perhaps, green-and-white-) handed in the act of finally, finally taking what he’d come for.

Teeny the Teen had achieved almost godlike status by the time Hermie had set out on his mission. A relic of immense social power, its foam head and sweat-stained jersey were the stuff of legends at Chaperell. At least since Hermie’s eighth-grade visits to the CHS theatre department’s special behind-the-scenes performances, and very evidently far, far into the past, Teeny had been coveted for his heritage at San Dimas Public, and his longstanding rivalry with CHS. The funny thing was that the closer Hermie’d got to his goal, the deeper he’d gotten into the… everything that he had been totally unprepared to face in his subterfuge, the more he’d forgotten about Teeny. The idol that was the mascot had taken a backseat to actual idols, new worlds, new wounds, new friends- and to the man who wore the suit. He’d been poisoned, burned, fireballed, ignored… and he’d made friends, he thought. Real friends, sort of, despite- well, everything. Taylor at least thought he was a worthy (ha) sidekick, and Normal- Normal encouraged him. He sided with him, he spoke to him like an equal. That was more than Hermie could say about his colleagues in both CHS and SDPHS theatre. And- well, Normal had thought that the Hermie he’d pecked on the cheek in Hell had been real. That had been nice to think about, just a little. And when it came down to it, Normal was always the first to say hey, let’s see what Hermie thinks! or where did Hermie go?

Ah, the Romeo and Juliet, the Musical, Abridged of it all, Hermie thought as he landed assfirst, cushioned by Teeny’s head, in Sparrow Oak-Swallows-Garcia’s hydrangeas. Two high schools, both alike in dignity, in fair San Dimas-Earth-Faerun-Hell where we lay our scene… Fuck, he was in wayyyyy too deep. How was he supposed to recover from this? How was he supposed to go back to CHS, where he’d be a hero- but alone? He’d fooled himself, when he’d started this particular piece of chicanery, that things would be different when he returned to his home turf with Teeny the Teen held high. That he’d be Hermie the Worthy, the hero, the star. But he’d had some time to reflect, to change, to figure out who he was- and it wasn’t that.

It really wasn’t. And well- seniors were gonna senior. They weren’t gonna respect him any more than they respected each other. How was he supposed to go back to the way things used to be, now that he’d literally been to Hell and back? He couldn’t, not after what he’d seen and done, alongside the enemy, at that. He hugged the mascot (that smells distinctly, nastily, comfortingly of Normal) (Normal who definitely found his school ID and definitely hated his guts for this) close.

No, it wasn’t personal. Not at first.

But what was he supposed to do now?