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Grappling Hook knew it by heart. Ever since they were just firstly spawned they had been always taught: nothing will last forever. You will have to face fate at some point in your life and learn to let go. Like every normal mentor would teach—a golden rule that couldn’t be broken even if you tried to cut it to shreds out of anger.
They wished with all the power in their gear that rule wasn’t made of something so pure, something so universal. Something that you could hold in the palms of your hand and lift it up the sky, watching its divine glow smile back down at you and hopefully make those emotions disappear. It was supposed to be a blessing, an artifact that everyone needed to become free from the cage of mental destruction.
Yet Hook just wasn’t able to reach that glittering key. That fortunate rule that would set them aflight from all the memories and all the horror that had torn their life apart. The cage was fine, too far settled into it to ever give a breakthrough a chance. The lies they told themselves had piled up to form a blanket that was too cozy to lose grip of.
“Y’ gotta let go.” They’d tell themselves, and then the thought of her sleek black horns and fancy clothing would come waltzing through her mind again. And again, and again, and again until they threw their head into their hands and wanted to sob. A never-ending cycle of wanting to see her again, just for once.
Hook wanted to see the one they remembered right in front of them. They wanted to perceive her figure—wrangling the vultures with precision yet a care that made their heart melt at the sight. She was swift with her words, silver-tongued and charming with every curt comment that slipped past her lips, whether tipsy or not. She’d stare at Hook with a smirk across her face, dark eyes the color of rich Lost Temple dirt until they finally wondered what her true intentions were. Soon they’d fold their fingers between the ones of hers and begin to dance—slow and steady, foreheads touching, sharing the warmth that radiated in synced heartbeats of time.
Oh, how they yearned just to hear her footsteps clack softly against hardwood floors as they moved together. The soft giggles elicting from each other's throats as they slipped into a daze that felt like nobody else was there. Only eyes for each other, motions in harmony, invincible in the middle of their embrace.
And after the flames had risen and split them apart, Hook still believed that their relationship would burn out bright. They held onto that idea like religion—unwilling to let go of it despite what comes their way, despite the scar on their cheek that still burned with the vigor of her.
All because they didn’t want to lose their everything.
They pulled a piece of paper out of their pants pocket and unfolded it carefully, the obsolete sheet of dirty, off-white paper actually framing something more than just a photo.
➴
Sunlight streamed into the dance hall in vanilla streaks, spilling heat against the warped, wooden floors. Chandeliers sparkled in faux-diamond and gold branches—a close-to-luxurious feel. Light caught on the fabric of fancy dresses as Inphernals moved, the sound of laughter and wine glasses clanking filling the space with a joy that could not be ignored. A soft, entertaining tune began to play upon the second floor, above where Grappling Hook was sitting at the bar—a random Inphernal playing a gentle serenade on a piano pouring the melody out through the hall.
They sat there, as if waiting for someone, the spurs on their boots spinning as they kicked their feet impatiently against the bar stool. They swirled a glass of red wine in their silk-gloved hand—cheap stuff, but enough to get the average Inphernal woozy after a few glasses too many. Hook stared out into the dance hall, eyeing those of all kinds move to the rhythm of the serenade coming in from above.
With a shift of their gaze they caught the sight of a black-horned Inphernal, dressed in a nice shirt and bandana and jeans tucked into boots. A wide-brimmed hat was snug between her horns, balanced perfectly on her head. She turned around to face Hook—her expression once full of snark suddenly turned carefree. Hook’e eyes glimmered, both from the chandelier and the sight of the Inphernal they were infatuated with.
Setting their glass of wine down, they allowed the black-horned Inphernal to approach them. Hook’s expression softened when she approached them with a wink, extending out her hand to possibly offer them onto the floor of the dance hall.
Her voice was smooth, like liquid silver. “Shall I have this dance?”
Hook hesitated for a moment, staring back at their glass of wine for a second before nodding avidly. They got up from their bar stool and placed their hand in hers, being dragged into the busy body of the dance hall like nothing else mattered.
While being pulled into the chaos, Hook piped up, “Scythe, my dearest, are y’ sure y’know how to dance properly?”
Scythe, who scoffed playfully at Hook’s question, shot them a look of earnest. “Please. Of course I know how. I won’t step on yer toes again.”
“We’ll see ‘bout that.”
The dance started out sloppily and uneasy, with Hook trying to catch their balance as Scythe tried to begin a good pace. They stumbled here and there, falling back on the spurs of their boots and trying not to bring down the lifted spirits of the other dancing Inphernals that surrounded them in the hall.
“Easy, sugar,” Scythe said, tersely elegant. “Don’t want’cha steppin’ on my toes, either.” Scythe lifted her arm up, still having Hook’s hand in hers, bringing them close to her. Hook, who had finally gotten used to being dragged around at the moment, stepped forward cautiously so the brims of each other’s hats brushed against each other.
Hook took their left leg and stepped to the side, and Scythe copied it. Soon their movements synced as they began a leisuring dance, inching closer to each other until the brims of their hats gave into friction and tilted up, allowing their foreheads to touch. Hook suddenly felt as if everyone around them had disappeared—just them and their lover alone waltzing to the slow serenade spewing from the pianist above.
A firm, warm hand rested on Hook’s lower lip, their eyes fluttering in subtle shock. Every detail became intricate and meant something that hadn’t had a meaning before. Scythe’s voice was deep and soft-spoken, almost soothing. It was as soft as the smile that she gave. “I always took ya for somethin’ more than a vulture wrangler.”
“...Then whad’dya take me as?” Hook asked curiously despite how flat their tone was, trying to keep their composure flat and face not so bright.
“Just… more than what y’ are. Yer special t’ me. I could dance through acid rain with y’ and not get harmed.” Scythe’s hand traveled from their lower lip and down their shirt, toying with each button until it rested at their hip. She guided them slowly, even though their movements were in a definite harmony.
Hook took advantage and spun Scythe around, eliciting a light-hearted laugh that made Hook’s whole body seem to feel like they were floating. Their fingers danced with each other as Scythe did a three-sixty, then leaned back for a dip—Hook following the flow of her motions and leaning forward to not let her fall. And, as if on cue, the serenade above was beginning to end, so they brought her back up and leaned in for one final kiss to complete their dance.
Her lips were soft and tasted of that same cheap wine—she must have been drinking the same stuff that Hook was having earlier. Hook melted into the kiss so easily, they could have dissolved into their lover if they wanted to. The serenade ended once they pulled apart, and a couple appreciative applauses came from random Inphernals who had been watching from the crowd.
And all they exchanged were a simple “I love ya,” before heading back to the bar to go share another few glasses of cheap wine. The warmth of Scythe in that moment made them shiver, feeling her callused hands, dirtied from years of wrangling, scratched against the soft fabric of Hook’s silk gloves.
➴
Little did Grappling Hook know that warmth would soon not be from Scythe’s presence, but from the fire that tore their relationship apart. They sat in their tent, staring at a black and white picture of them and the one they once loved, young and sleek and not devoted to the one thing that Hook hated. The Church.
The flames had already done the damage—Hook had tried to save her from all the horror, but it had only earned each other exchanged scratches on each other’s faces and a lot of tears that turned hot from the burning chaos. Scythe was gone—swallowed by the propaganda of the Church of the True Eye and taken by the fire. She was not the Scythe that Hook remembered. She was a cult member. A fraud. An Inphernal that Hook could no longer call their lover—someone devoted to somebody else.
They stared down at the photo like she was really there, and spoke, voice wobbly as if they were about to cry. “I wonder if y’ still love dancin’.”
They took one more painful look at the photo again before ripping the photo in half, taking the half with their lover in it and stomping it into the dirt with their boot.
Scythe had only left Hook with one reminder—the one that they had been taught since they were a young Spawn: nothing will last forever. You will have to face fate at some point in your life and learn to let go.
If only they could see her again—not the Scythe rebuilt by the Church, but the one that Hook cherished and loved.
If only they never had to say goodbye.