Eddie On A Cross: A Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction

Lean On Me

TW: substance abuse, mild description of non-con

Eddie opened his eyes and with horror he found himself back in that cellar. The smell of dampness and mold permeated the air, the cold penetrated his exposed and wounded skin, deep cuts that had been inflicted on him were promising serious illness and infections. His stomach was hurting with hunger and his mouth was so dry that it hurt with every movement: who knows how long it had been since he had eaten or drank.

He tried to get up and escape, but heavy rings on his wrists kept him chained to the wall, preventing him from doing so. The only light in the room came from the tiny barred window in the wall he was stuck to. Outside there were loud noises, like an outdoor party, and a great fanfare framed the voices of people enjoying themselves.

Eddie pulled himself together. Turning around, he stood on tiptoe and grabbed the bars to check what was happening outside. As he had already guessed, there was a big parade: confetti fell from the sky, glitter lit up people walking, and rainbow floats carried smiling, scantily dressed individuals shouting "Love Is Love," enraging conservatives.

Desperate, Eddie called for help. He begged for someone to call the police, the hospital, CPS... anyone to get him out of that nightmare, but no one answered his pleas. He stretched his hand as far out the window as he could, moving it in the hope that someone would notice it, but in the confusion he was just a small black dot in a sea of colors. He wept bitter tears as he realized that even this time no one would save him.

An all too familiar voice took him by surprise: «Still trying to escape, faggot?»

Eddie turned around sharply, only to be hit in the face by something. The pain jolted him awake, as he screamed.

He looked around: no cellar, no chains, he wasn't hurt... he was in hell, in his room at the Hazbin Hotel, completely safe.

His breathing was still heavy, his heart was pounding in his chest. Every detail of the dream felt so real. Eddie ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves. Still shaken, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, trudging like he'd been on a long run. Leaning over the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror: his gaze was desperate and furious at the same time, as if two people existed in him: a wretch who only wanted peace of mind and a wrathful who didn't understand why the nightmares still haunted him.

His days of imprisonment were long gone, he was in a safe environment with people who relied on him ... yet his mind kept torturing him, reopening wounds that he tried so hard to ignore, to forget. He looked at his right wrist, staring at one of the many scars that the hellfire never took away: the mark of one of the handcuffs that shackled him. As he looked at it, he still felt the coldness of the metal rubbing against his skin with every single movement, increasing the torment he was already enduring.

Anger and frustration boiled up inside him. Clenching his fist, Eddie struck the mirror, creating tragically picturesque veins. A few shards lodged lightly in his knuckles, causing him to bleed.

The physical pain was a blur compared to the emotional one, but at least it was tangible, real. Breathing deeply, Eddie watched the blood mingle with the pieces of glass. Perhaps, he thought, this was the only way to feel alive, to distract himself.

He turned his gaze to the mirror: the fragmented image of his face seemed a real representation of his shattered mind. He washed his face, hoping to wash away at least some of the discomfort he started the day with, and cleaned the wound on his hand. In a couple of hours it would have regenerated.

Leaving the bathroom, Eddie made his way to his desk, where his radio was placed. The only comfort he had, after the gym and physical pain, was music.