Rating: E 18+ (scenes of a sexual nature ~ canon typical violence ~ rated E for latter chapters)
Pairings: Simon Lewis x Jace (insert chosen last name here) / minor Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane / minor Simon Lewis x others / Jace x Clary mentioned
Summary:“You should ask him out.” Jace choked on his water, eyes going wide as he spluttered and coughed. “What?” he managed to croak out, turning to look at Izzy like she had gone crazy and for all he knew she might have, considering the utter gibberish she was speaking. Sighing she rolled her eyes, “Simon, you should ask him out on a date instead of pining over him like some love struck idiot.”
Jace scowled, turning away from her and stalking down the hall in an attempt to get away from her and the ridiculous conversation. “I’m not pining,” he mumbled under his breath. He wasn’t pining. He didn’t do pining, no he was the one people pined over, not the other way round. And anyway, he didn’t want to date Simon. He just wanted to have sex with him, vigorously and often as well as maintain their current friendship. That wasn’t dating, it was friends with benefits except Simon didn’t do stuff like that. He was Mr. Relationship and Jace, wasn’t.
He woke up slowly. It felt like swimming through a fog, his limbs heavy, and every part of him aching, but finally he managed to reach the surface and blink open his eyes, confused for a moment why it was so dark, before he registered the soft fabric pressing against his head. That’s right, he’d flopped face down onto the couch. Evidently, he’d been so out of it he hadn’t shifted at all in his sleep, which was… unusual.
Because usually his “sleep” wasn’t all that restful to begin with.
Then he registered the soft humming coming from the kitchen, and the tension he wasn’t even aware of having leaked out of his shoulders, his breath coming easier at the simple sound that broadcast Patton’s presence to the ship. He managed to sit up, yawning and stretching until his shoulders popped, feeling immensely better than he had been as he stood, shuffling his way into the kitchen, keeping a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He tried to talk, but his voice came out as a dry croak. Still, that got Patton’s attention, who spun around, face lighting up, before creasing with worry.
“Kiddo? You ok?” He swallowed hard, clearing his throat, not managing to speak, instead instantly bursting into tears, Patton’s eyes going wide. “Virgil!” Patton chirped in alarm, pulling him into a seat at the table, hopping onto the table himself, to be at Virgil’s eye level, not that he could currently meet his eyes. Virgil’s arms were resting on the table, his head buried against them, shoulders shaking from the force of his sobs. He didn’t know what to do, besides run his little paws through Virgil’s hair, cooing softly.
“S-orry… I don’t kn-ow why… I’m f-f-fine….” Virgil gasped out, not even crying anymore, just fighting for air.
“you’re not fine. We all know you’re not fine, Virgil. It’s ok to be not ok.” He shakes his head, finally emerging from his arms, Patton stifling a trill of alarm at how dark and… and empty, Virgil’s eyes look. The same look Virgil had given him the first time the smugglers had returned him to the cell, right before he passed out, and it scared him. “please, Virgil. Just… whatever it is, let us help you.” Patton pleaded, reaching out slowly, wiping away his tears, pressing his fluffy little forehead against Virgil’s, nuzzling against him.
“Logan says you’re not eating enough.” He started gently. “Is that right?” Hesitantly, Virgil nodded.
“yeah.” He whispers.
“ok. Why is that, kiddo?”
“I don’t… I don’t want to waste your food, your supplies. I already take up so much space and I don’t… deserve it. I don’t do anything to deserve it. T-to deserve this. I’m used to n-not eating, anyways.”
“And you aren’t sleeping enough?”
“I can’t. I… I can’t, I close my eyes, and I’m right back there, I’m there and it’s so real, and I can’t stop myself, and I h-hurt-“ He breaks off, shaking. “I hurt you. And if it’s a night you’re not w-with me, I can’t r-rest until I see you, because I know it isn’t but it feels so real, I h-have to make sure it isn’t r-real.”
“How much are you supposed to sleep and eat, in a day, Virg?” Patton asked softly, and he drew away, running his hands through his hair with a heavy sigh, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.
“Supposed to get at least eight hours of sleep a night. And… eating probably four times what I am now. But I’m usually too anxious to eat, anyway. It just… just comes back up.” Patton made a small clicking noise, that meant worry, and Virgil flinched. “I’m sorry.” Patton shook his head, resting a hand on Virgil’s arm.
“there’s nothing to be sorry for. I wish you’d told us sooner, before it got this bad, but I understand why you didn’t. I know how hard it is, to trust us with information about yourself. I know you worry, what we could do with it, do to you. And none of us fault you for it, honey.” Virgil looked to be on the edge of tears again, as he looked back down at Patton before looking away once more.
“I want to. I… just… I’m scared, Patton.” Patton’s heart broke a little at how small Virgil sounded, his voice wavering.
“I know, Virg-“
“no, I… I’m scared because I… I still keep thinking… I… what if this isn’t real? It’s all… all just part of a new game, their last hoorah before…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t stop… it’s just… like this is a dream and when I wake up, it’ll be on the table, or-.” He whispered, cutting himself off, though clearly what hadn’t been said was the worst of the possibilities, based on his face. Patton ruffled his feathers. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to help Virgil, and he didn’t have time, right now, to focus on whatever the human wasn’t telling him.
“I’m scared too, sometimes. It’s… it’s easier for me, cause I’ve known Logan and Roman so long, and I have you, too. I feel safe, with all of you around. But… but sometimes I can still feel their hands on my feathers, I can hear them, I need the light on, to sleep, otherwise I panic and forget where I am.”
“patton… why didn’t you say?”
“Because you have enough on your shoulders, and I have Logan and Roman to help carry the burden on my mine. You don’t need to go through this alone, Virgil. We all will help. We all want to. You just have to start letting us. Start… talking, to us, and stop trying to pretend that everything is ok, because it isn’t. Nothing is, nothing about what happened to you, or me, is ok. Do you understand that, Virgil?” Virgil’s breath hitched, and his gaze stared firmly at the floor, refusing to answer. “virgil. You didn’t deserve it. You know that, right?” He tried again, voice a squeak as Virgil again refused to look at him.
“I must have. I… why me, then? If I didn’t deserve it then…” Patton practically vibrated with indignant rage, stomping his foot in frustration, making Virgil jerk, startled eyes finally meeting his.
“You will not bad talk yourself on this ship, mister! You are kind and compassionate and wonderful! And sometimes the universe is just… just… fucked!” Virgil’s eyes widened at Patton swearing, using an earth curse word he’d muttered a couple times and had to, red faced, explain to him. “sometimes it’s just random and bad things happen to good people. And you’re a good people, Virgil. You’re one of the best people.” And Virgil was crying again, silent tears dripping down his face, and then he was folding over from the force of them, huddled into a ball on the chair, breaking again for an entirely different reason, because for the first time he was letting himself start to believe that what had happened wasn’t entirely his fault, his tears only growing as Patton stayed, though he couldn’t shake the shame and disgust at himself that coiled in his gut, because if Patton knew, if they knew what he’d had to do to survive, there was no way they would ever trust him. And he knew, he was going to have to tell them, or the guilt would eat him alive.
…
Logan was surprised, to hear voices coming from the kitchen. It was nearing the night cycle, and he’d realized he hadn’t eaten much of anything, all day, any kind of meal schedule having fallen apart with the recent ocurrances, and he hadn’t heard Roman come out of his room, yet.
He stopped when he rounded the corner, freezing for a moment, before tucking his arms carefully behind him, having promised Virgil he would only mind weave in his presence if given permission, as it unsettled him to have information about himself recorded.
Because that was, Virgil, sitting at the kitchen island, a softly steaming mug held lightly between his hands, a slight upturn to his lips as Patton chattered about everything and nothing in particular, just filling the air with words and chirps, though Virgil seemed to be following easily, having no trouble understanding the occasional words in Patton’s native tongue. He noticed, too, a plate set aside, that looked to have the remains of toast with jam and a more than half empty bowl of porridge, which is more than Virgil usually ate at a meal, in an entire day, sometimes. Especially important since he was already weakened from his illness and still very much recovering. Then he gently cleared his throat, making his presence known, not missing how Virgil flinched, jerking to look his way, relaxing mostly, not completely, upon realizing who it was.
“Virgil. It is a relief to see you up and about. I’m also glad to see Patton coaxed you into eating a decent amount.” Virgil’s cheeks reddened slightly at that, a human sign of embarrassment, and internally, Logan winced. He hadn’t meant to offend, and he couldn’t afford to lose progress.
“yeah. He’s, um, going to help. Try and get me on a normal diet, I guess. You were right, about the not eating enough or getting enough nutrient, thing. So.” Virgil shrugged, face still red, though he didn’t seem upset, and Logan relaxed.
“That is good. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask you about your normal diet back on earth, so I know better what nutrients, exactly, you’ve been lacking and the best way to go about reintroducing you to stable meals. We will have to go slowly, too much food or too much richness will only make you sick, at first.” Virgil nodded.
“I know. We learned a little about it, health and nutrition and stuff, in school. The food pyramid and all that.” Logan’s brow creased and he tilted his head, thinking.
“I am unclear what stacking food into a tower has to do with proper calorie intake.” Virgil huffed, amusement crinkling his eyes, and Logan relaxed further, chancing a small smile back. The action still felt unnatural, like he was threatening a friend, but Virgil’s own upturn of the lips banished that thought quickly.
“The… the sleep, thing, might be a problem, though. I… I don’t know how to fix that.” Virgil mumbled.
“Well, we can start with what the problem is.”
“Nightmares. Vivid ones.” Patton answered for Virgil, who had paled slightly at the mere mention of ‘problem’.
“I see. Nightmares, which are the result of your years of trauma and abuse. Do they center on any particular thing?” Virgil paled further, and Logan could see his breath coming in slightly faster gasps. “You do not need to answer, Virgil. I understand it is difficult.” Virgil took a few deep breaths in and out, though his hands gripped the edge of the table hard.
“It’s ok. I just…” Virgil glanced at Patton, then away, fast enough he almost missed it, and his brow furrowed further. Patton was the one Virgil was understandably the most at ease and trusting with, if it was something he didn’t wish to discuss in front of Patton… it must be deeply unpleasant, and something the ampen didn’t already know, or he wouldn’t be so afraid to share it.
“Patton. Can you check on Roman? He could use your emotional intelligence right now.” Patton looked at him in confusion at the abrupt change of topic, before looking back to Virgil, who sighed, smiling softly.
“It’s ok. Go see him.” Patton hesitated, but finally relented, giving Virgil a quick hug before letting him set him on the floor, stopping beside Logan.
“be careful with him. I just started getting through, Lo.” Patton pleaded softly, and Logan nodded.
“I promise, Patton.” He waited until Patton had vanished down the hall, before turning his attention back to Virgil, noticing how he had hunched in on himself slightly, shoulders tense, as if waiting for an impending strike. Carefully, he slid into the seat opposite the human, examining him with worry, though he looked better than he had.
“Virgil? What is it?” He asked softly, after a few long moments of silence. Virgil took a deep, shuddering breath.
“There's… something else. That i… it wasn’t just…” he took another deep breath, and Logan hesitantly rested a hand lightly atop Virgil’s, making sure he knew he could pull away. He didn’t, instead looking up at him, though his hair nearly obscured his eyes.
“it’s bad, lo… I can’t…”
“It’s ok, Virgil. Take your time.”
“I can show you. It’s… I can’t… it hurts.” Virgil whispered, and he could see his eyes glazing over, could see Virgil slipping away. He squeezed his hand lightly, trying to help center him. He only took a moment to decide, knowing whatever it was wouldn’t be pleasant, but he needed to know if he wanted to help, and he was prepared, this time, he could steel himself against it.
“Alright. Show me.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and out, initiating the Vidi.
The arena, blood on his hands, of all different colors, teeth bared, trying, begging, the other aliens to stop, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but they don’t understand or don’t believe him, and then they’re lunging and instinct takes over, and when he blinks, it’s to a puddle of pepto pink ichor and a mangled body in his hands.
…
The cell, he’s back in the cell, and they’re coming, and he wasn’t ready and Patton isn’t hiding and the door opens, and he lunges, biting, scratching, kicking, screaming, the stun batons sending lightning through his veins, spasming his muscles, and he was aware of Patton’s scream, as he’s dragged away, his pretty blood splattering across the floor, and he’s beaten, shocked, kicked, all the while hearing Patton’s anguish as his feathers were stripped from him all over again, only this time, when they throw Patton back in his cell, his eyes are empty and blank, his body broken and still, and there’s nothing left of the chirping little ampen, and there’s nothing left of himself, as he loses his mind, ripping and tearing through the wall, tearing everything in his path to shreds until a blaster goes off and shoots a hole clean through his chest.
…
He’s running. He’s on an alien planet, and he’s running, and he can hear them behind him, they’re catching up, as he tears through the brush and the trees, leading them away, away, away, from camp, and he staggers as a dart hits his neck, the world spinning on it’s axis as he goes down hard. He can feel the chains being shackled around him, the collar fastened onto his neck, and he can’t even breathe, as electricity burns his skin, from the collar, sends him into unconsciousness, and when he wakes, he’s back in the cell. And the nightmare restarts.
…
“no…” He’s walking home, it’s late, the streetlights on, as he slinks through the shortcut through the park. He hates it, but it’s the fastest way home, and he’s never had any trouble, though he’s heard stories of people getting jumped.
“No…” He winces, at a sharp pain in his neck, for a moment thinking he’d been stung by a bee or a wasp, but when he reaches to feel, a small dart comes away in his hand. He stares at it, befuddled, before he feels another sting, stumbling against a tree as the world starts to tilt, trying to stay upright. Cloaked figures, shrouded figures, language he doesn’t know, and he tried to call out for help, tried to get away, but another wash of dizziness stole his breath, and he fainted.
When he woke up, he was on the ship, in the cell.
“NO!” He jolted upright, pulse racing, breath caught in his throat, the cell, the ship, he was on the ship, needle, needle in his arm, what were they taking this time? What else could they take, they were going to sell him for parts, maybe this was finally to off him for the scientists, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, weak, disoriented, maybe the tranq patch had worn off early, maybe he had a chance to get away, maybe-
A hand, a scaled hand came into view, and he hissed, scrambling backwards, falling off the edge of the furniture he was on. One second it was the sterile room, the iron bed, the suited figures, then it was a couch, smooth walls, soft light. His vision flicked between the two and he couldn’t figure out which was the truth and which was the lie, the suited figures turning towards him, batons out, crackling with energy, the scaled figure trying to reach out, trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t and it burned, and he was dying, he was sure this is what dying felt like, as he scrambled further back, further away, hissing again as the tug pulled the needle out of his arm, pressing his hoodie sleeve against it to stop the bleeding, but the red, red, red, brought him right back, and it was everywhere, and there was too much, and it wasn’t all his, the bodies scattered across the floor, the colors blending like some macabre watercolor painting, swirling and blending and mixing and-
Touch. Touch against his shoulder. He’d curled into a ball, hands over his ears, forehead touching the floor, making himself as small as possible, trying to hide, but the noise was everywhere and they’d found him and he was going to die, going to be sold off for parts and he was so stupid-
Then the touch moved, a small, so small, hand slipping under his chin, gently tilting his head up, feathers tickling his skin, as he met those big, doe eyes. Feathers. Blue. Antennae, moth like. Fluffy. Safe.
Safe?
“Breathe, Virgil. Can you do that? In… out…” the words sounded so far away, and not quite in sync with the mouth movements, but he tried to follow them, tried to understand, tried to copy his movements. “good, kiddo. You’re doing good. Do you know who I am?” The feathery being asked, and his mind stalled. It must have shown on his face, because the being’s dropped, expression sad, and he hated that look on Patton’s face-
“Patton!” He rasped, voice barely a whisper, throat dry and sore, not helped from the hyperventilating he’d just been doing, from the panic attack. “Patton…” his eyes welled up, and he opened his arms, Patton flying into them without a second thought, hugging him as wide as he could around his chest, Virgil careful as he held him, letting his face rest against his soft feathers, mumbling an apology about getting them wet, met with Patton’s relieved little choked laugh.
He was shaking, he couldn’t stop shaking, the room still flickering, time and space folding in on itself, and it was making him dizzy.
Then Patton started doing the chirp, coo, pattern, vibrating against his chest, grounding him as he struggled to get his breathing under control, to force his mind to the present, but it wouldn’t stop slipping.
“s-sorry… I… I’m so-rry…”
“Shhh, you’re ok, kiddo, it’s ok.” He just shook his head, chest constricting, choking on the air, it burned in his lungs and made him want to scream, just to relieve some of the pressure, but there wasn’t enough air.
“virgil. Can you tell me, five things you can see? Take your time.” Logan, crouched down a fair distance away, to give him space.
“Y-you… patton… R-roman… the… the couch and the… the… n-needle" his breath caught again, his panic flaring, eating him up.
“Alright, good, stay with me, Virgil. Four things you can feel.”
“Pa-tton. My hoodie… the fl-floor. B-andages?” he asked, realizing his arms were carefully wrapped in them.
“you hurt yourself. Nothing serious, it’s alright. Three things you can hear.” He managed a deep breath in, forcing air in and out to answer.
“Chirp/coo.” He said, smiling slightly at Patton’s added little trill. “my h-eart, my voice.” He answered, focusing on the feeling of his hands against his hoodie, Patton’s warmth against him.
“Excellent. Two things you can smell?”
“Metal… myself" he wrinkled his nose slightly, smelling his own sweat.
“Last one, one thing you can taste.” Logan’s steady voice, and he thought for a moment.
“Copper.” He answered, looking up, finally, meeting Logan’s eyes for a brief moment, before his gaze flicked to Roman, who stood frozen by the couch, scales half raised in alarm, but also… worry?
“Virgil. How are you feeling?” Logan asked, snapping him back to attention, realizing he’d started to drift.
“um. Sore. Achy. Tired.” He answered, head thumping back against the wall, hissing as it hurt more than expected.
“I was going to warn you about that. We found you fallen over, unconscious on the bathroom floor, bleeding from your head. You’ve been severely ill, and mostly fitfully unconscious, for nearly seven days.” Logan explained.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were so sick!?” Patton scolded, though his voice was gentle.
“i… I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve been sick before. It’s… its fine.”
“no, it isn’t. Virgil. You are severely underweight and malnourished and sleep deprived, all factors that compromise your immune system making it more difficult to fight off disease and you very nearly died because you seemingly cannot comprehend that you are an important member of this crew and we will gladly help if you just ask for it!” He flinched at Logan shouting, his hands clenched into fists. He’d never heard Logan raise his voice, didn’t even know he could, but his mind snagged on what Logan had just said, and he shook his head.
“I… but I’m not. Important. You’re…a family. I’m just a tag along, because you were basically guilted into taking me with. You don’t… want me, here, and that’s fine, I wouldn’t want me here either, so the least I can do is take up the least space and use the least stuff and make myself as little of a nuisance as possible because then maybe I’ll get to stay longer before you get sick of me and kick me off.” Usually he wouldn’t be this candid, but he was tired, and he felt floaty and not all there, his normal anxiety not holding him back.
“Virgil… that’s not true.” Roman added, Virgil’s bitter laugh echoing harshly through the space.
“Sure it isn’t. You’ve made it clear, what you think of me. And you know what? I’m terrified, constantly, that you might be right. Sooner or later I’m going to hurt someone. It’s… it’s the only thing I’m good at, hurting people. Sometimes I think I should just bail, just leave a note and run, before I hurt anyone. Before I ruin it all. Before I ruin this… this amazing little family, you guys have.”
His eyes slipped closed, against his will, exhaustion weighing him down, settling into his bones from the panic attacks. “I w-want it so badly, it h-urts sometimes, but I can’t… I know I can’t have it. Be part of it. Know I’ll just… just be in the way.” He mumbled, not even sure if he was speaking aloud, anymore.
“Virg… we’ll talk about this later, ok? Just… can you make it back to the couch? You need more sleep.” Patton asked, moving off his chest. He nodded, managing to peel his eyes open, stumble to his feet, collapsing face down on the couch before blacking out as soon as his head hit the cushions.
…
“Well. His fever’s broken. There’s no point using these, any further.” Logan, trying to keep his voice steady as he packed up the IV line and supplies, considering hurling the needle out the airlock, just to spite the universe for forcing him to use it.
“I… I need to go. Think. About… things…” Roman poorly explained, darting from the room, as Patton sighed, feathers fluffing and resettling, worried gaze flicking between the doorway Roman had vanished down, Logan storing the medical supplies, and Virgil, face down on the couch. His forehead was a lot cooler, now, and his breathing finally seemed to be normal, deep, steady breaths. His eyes weren’t twitching in his sleep either, a good sign, Patton had learned early on that eye twitches meant bad dreams, nightmares. That was when he would curl up around Virgil’s head and churr softly, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest, that he used to soothe kits, but it also seemed to do the trick on the human. Most of the ampen soothing methods did, which he would have once considered odd, since they relied on empathy to work. But if anything, Virgil had too much empathy, his words playing back in Patton’s mind.
“He thinks we don’t care. We don’t… don’t consider him family, why would he… after everything, still think that?” Patton asked softly, looking up at Logan’s sigh.
“He’s been hurt, Patton. Deeply, psychologically, hurt. He’s so used to being in fight or flight mode, that is all his body knows how to do. His body, his mind, it doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend, safety. And after… after what he went through, how they demeaned him and treated him like a wild animal, like a… a specimen, it’s no wonder that he struggles to comprehend his own self worth, lacks any sense of self esteem or importance. He had to fight every day just to survive, just to keep you safe, and though I am thankful for it, it likely has contributed to his fear of himself. He knows how easily he could hurt any one of us.”
“He won’t though! He’d rather tear himself apart than hurt any of us.” Patton protested.
“I know, Patton. But he clearly doesn’t. He doesn’t take care of himself, he doesn’t trust himself, Patton, and until he starts doing that, understanding that he is wanted and loved and safe, I’m afraid he won’t take care of himself.”
“Then we’ll make sure he does. I will physically fight him.” Patton muttered, determination clear in every bristling feather, and Logan chuckled slightly, shaking his head.
“I would enjoy watching you take down a human, Patton, especially since Virgil would let you, but violence is not going to help in this situation.”
“Still. If he won’t take care of himself, I’m going to make him take care of himself.” He ruffled Patton’s head as he passed the couch, barely containing his smile at the small squeak the motion illicited, stopping at a small tug of his hand.
“Lo? Thank you. For getting him through.” He softened, looking back at Patton, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Of course, Patton. Get some more sleep, now that he’s safe, won’t you?” Patton nodded, drawing away and circling a couple times before settling down curled around Virgil’s head, careful to keep a layer of blanket between them, so he wouldn’t accidentally siphon off energy in his sleep. Virgil needed all of it he could get.
Patton cocked his head, a slight frown on his face. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he eased Virgil off of his lap, careful not to wake him as he stood. He rubbed his arms, feeling almost chilled, a shiver running down his spine. Something was wrong.
“Lo? Ro?” He called, and instantly, they appeared from in the kitchen, loosening a bit of the worry growing in his chest, safety in numbers, but something was still niggling at him, eating at his mind, screaming danger.
“Patton. Breathe.” Logan, gently squeezing his shoulders.
“something is wrong.” He answered, panic rising.
“Patton, your eyes…” Roman gasped. He spun, gasping as he saw his reflection, his eyes glowing a dim red. The strange panic pulsed harder, and he flinched, shoving the others down behind him, just as the glass windows of the living room shattered.
His instincts took over, the alarm cry of danger screaming in his head, rushing in his bones, and he growled. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt his family again.
He snarled as he leapt into the fray, not bothering with weapons, his nails sharpening into claws, his fangs bared and ready to tear, as he immediately pounced on one of the assailants, rolling across the floor in a bloody scrap.
Roman had his katana drawn, trying to fend off the attackers, Logan at his back with his crescent moon blades, Patton darting between them all with his extra speed, blocking the hits the others couldn’t see coming, keeping them away from the couch, away from Virgil, whom they seemed to hone in on.
There were so many of them, too many of them, and they were faltering. Roman had a slash across his cheek, Logan was bleeding from his arm. Patton was scraped and bruised, still snarling and spitting furious, like an angry alley cat, trying to defend all three of his family members, unable to keep up, unable to stop one from getting through his line of defense, eyes locking on Virgil as one of the attacking vampires reached him, a scream building in his throat.
Then there was a brilliant burst of black violet light that threw them all off their feet. Patton blinked furiously, breath freezing at the sight before him.
Virgil was standing, eyes a deep, electric storm violet that covered the whites. The light sparked from his hands, wreathed up his arms, wove around him almost like a cloak. The power was so black it was white, shifting between the two, lightning crashing against his skin, the power radiating out from him, his entire being aglow with it. The other attacking vampires hissed, focusing on their target, leaving the others alone. A smile split Virgil’s face, a cold, cruel thing, that made Patton shiver.
“You’ve made a mistake.” Virgil’s voice was an echoing boom, thunder crashing, rattling window panes, shaking the earth, a powerful reverb to it that had all of them wincing as it echoed in their mind.
In an instant, Virgil’s hands twisted in a complicated pattern, glowing circles and runes appearing in the air before him, drawn with his fingers, then he threw his arms wide and the spell circle blew wide, encompassing all the charging vampires, enveloping them in devouring darkness. Their screams were the only sound to the room as they dissolved into smoke, and with a flick of his fingers, the dark spell was gone, along with the attackers. Then Virgil turned to the three of them, his eyes still burning nearly black, novas of light crackling across his skin. Roman shoved to his feet, katana drawn, standing guard before Patton and Logan.
“It’s not safe here.” Virgil’s voice still boomed as he held out a hand, and Roman hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Virgil, but this was scaring him. This wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before, and he wouldn’t let anyone, even Virgil, harm the others.
“Roman. It’s ok.” Patton murmured, gently pushing down his hand holding the sword, stepping around him, taking Virgil’s outstretched hand. “I trust you.” He whispered to Virgil, noting the slight smile that played at Virgil’s lips.
“I know, baby bat. Thank you.” Virgil replied, squeezing his hand, before looking back up at the others. Logan was next, hesitantly placing a hand on his arm, Roman following suit with a huff.
Virgil closed his eyes, weaving another spell circle in the air, one more complicated than Logan had ever studied, then the world blurred like a wet water color painting, shifting and spinning around them, slowly resettling until it was solid again, and they were in a completely different place.
“And I thought I was one for dramatic entrances.” A low whistle was accompanied with the words, and the group spun to face the small table against the wall, Remy leaning back in it, a smirk on his face, that slowly faded as he noticed the sparking light emanating from Virgil, expression shifting to shock as Virgil turned to look at him, eyes nearly black as coals, his veins pulsing with dark light.
“they found us. Didn’t know where else to go. Keep… keep them safe…” Virgil swayed on his feet, and Remy swore, barely managing to catch Virgil in his arms as the magic instantly vanished, the black leaking from his eyes as they rolled back and he slumped unconscious, skin ashen.
“Shit, Anx, you really know do know how to make an entrance.” Remy whispered, watching with baited breath as Virgil groaned, eyes blearily blinking open. He tsked scoldingly.
“Did you have a stroke and forget the first lesson of magic, you moron?!” Remy shook him lightly, and Virgil hissed, rolling his eyes.
“Be careful what you cast-“
“If it’s too much it’ll draw from your lifeforce itself.” Remy chorused with him, glaring down at him angrily.
“Cool. Now bitch, explain.”
“attacked in our house. Pack of ‘em. Was… was the only option.” Virgil mumbled, eyes slipping shut once more.
“Nuh uh, babe, not on my watch.” Remy muttered, silver light enveloping him for a moment, channeling his own magic into Virgil. Almost instantly, Virgil’s complexion evened out, his breathing steady, and the glow faded from Remy. Virgil didn’t open his eyes, but he stirred slightly, letting out a deep breath and relaxing in Remy’s arms, the pained tension leaving his body. It was a deep, restful sleep of recovery, Remy had made sure of that. It was his specialty, after all.
He took a deep breath, then turned his attention to the others, scowling as he saw Patton, standing with Roman and Logan.
“Someone wanna explain why you all showed up with my half dead adopted brother and him?” Remy asked accusingly, glaring at Patton, who waved nervously. Roman opened his mouth, but Logan stepped forwards first, eyes narrowed.
“Actually, I would say that it was you who led trouble to us. Given that Virgil has been dormant in his role as Anxiety, and you have been searching for Deceit, it seems probable that you were tailed when you paid us a visit, thereby leading your enemies to our doorstep. The only reason we got out is because he used magic more powerful and complex than any I’ve read about.” Remy softened, looking back down at Virgil.
“Of course he did. It takes a ton of magic to teleport two people, let alone three, including yourself. No wonder it pulled at his life force.” Remy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I was being careful.” He muttered, pushing back Virgil’s hair, before lifting him with a sigh and depositing him on the couch. In a literal blink of an eye, Patton was there, Virgil’s head in his lap. “He’ll be all right in a bit, just needs some, well, sleep. Remy smirked slightly, pushing up his dark glasses.
“So what do we do? He said the house isn’t safe anymore, those vamps are probably watching it. So now what?” Roman asked, pacing, eyes never leaving Remy, full of distrust.
“They seemed to be targeting Virgil specifically, and if it’s true they did indeed follow you to our location, it stands to reason they are after ‘the coven’ as you referred to it. It seems our goals now align. If we wish for these vampires to leave us alone, we must find their leader, and therefore find Deceit. Whether we like it or not, we must now work together.” Logan stated, standing near the arm of the couch, hands clasped behind him. Roman scowled, not halting in his pacing.
“You think I like it either, pretty boy? The last thing I wanted was your pet vampire in my secret hideout.” Roman growled, katana half drawn, silver light sparking on Remy’s hands.
“Say that again, I dare you.” Roman hissed out.
“Gladly, bitch-“
“Enough, you two. Just… enough. I get it. You don’t like me, don’t trust me, don’t want me here. I… I get it. But I’m not leaving. He’s part of my family, and I will do anything to protect him. So can we skip the hating me part, and focus on the problem?” Patton said, voice tired instead of biting, as he looked between Remy and Roman. Remy bit his tongue, looking hard at Patton for a moment, before sighing.
“Alright. Alright, fine, fine, for now. Once we figure this out, I make no promises.” Roman hissed again, cut off by Patton’s glare.
“I’ll just have to change your mind about me by then! Now, what do you know?”
…
He was exhausted. He was slumped against the wall, crouched uncomfortably, his restraints biting into his skin, keeping him from any kind of sleeping position. Every time he drifted off, the collar dug into his neck, jerking him awake. He was stained with blood, but his eyes were still defiant as he heard footsteps approaching, glaring up at the vampire who stopped before him.
“Well. That certainly went interesting. Seems I underestimated your little Virgil. He’s a slippery little shadow, I’ll give him that.” He smirked, relief filling his chest, Virgil got away. He’d always been smart, been strong, the strongest of the three of them, really.
“If you were smart you’d let him go. He’s capable of far more than you can imagine.” He kept his voice even, making sure the exhaustion didn’t give him away, keeping his cool façade intact, as the vampire grinned, fangs showing.
“Oh, but so am I. Something interesting happened, when my followers stormed their house. See, I expected four hunters. I didn’t expect three hunters and one very protective vampire. Wouldn’t you know, my coven turned a human a few months back, and got chased off before they could drag him back to the nest. What a lovely coincidence!” The vampire clapped his hands, green eyes flashing as his heart sunk.
He knows what that means. If vampires from this clan turned Virgil’s friend, and this vampire is the leader of the clan, then Virgil is in grave danger. He can see through Virgil’s friend’s eyes, can listen through his ears, can get inside his head and control him like a thrall, if he’s close enough. There’s an enemy on the inside, and no one, including Virgil’s vampire, knows it.
“Oh, don’t look so glum! You’ll get to see each other again soon, won’t that be great? Now, I’ve gotta go prepare my next move, but don’t you worry about a thing, pet. I’ll be back to play with you soon.” The vampire patted his cheek, making him wince, before he sauntered away, whistling, leaving him shaking.
He closed his eyes against the wash of helpless hopelessness filling him from the inside out. There’s nothing he can do.
He sunk down into his apathy, shutting himself off from the pain, from any emotion, because there is nothing, nothing he can do.
Warning for some disturbing imagery/body horror this chapter. Virgil’s having nightmares.
…
Fear.
Pounding, aching fear.
Shadowy figures surrounded him, discussing him in words he could almost hear, hushed voices he could almost understand, and it grated at him, it hurt his ears. He tried to cover them, but found he couldn’t move, not a muscle, his eyes were open but he couldn’t even blink, his fingers wouldn’t even twitch, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but despite his panic his breathing remained steady and even. The shadows moved closer, their whispers growing louder, echoing in his head, screaming tempests against his ear drums, and he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, but it just grew louder, and louder, and then it was the suited beings again, holding a scalpel, and he screamed, as his chest was sliced open, the flesh peeled away to reveal the organs beneath, his heart visible through the blood leaking from him, and he realized though he was screaming in his mind, he wasn’t making any sound, his vocal chords as paralyzed as the rest of him, and he couldn’t look away, as they started ripping out his insides, tearing him apart, the pain splintering through his being, blacking out his vision, and he tried, he tried desperately to writhe and claw and fight his way free, but couldn’t even lift his head, and he was aware of them adding new parts, shoving metal and wires and circuit boards into him, the pop and crackle of electricity against his skin shocking him, sending him into spasms that somehow defied whatever drug they’d given him, back arching at the intense, radiating heat flowing up his spine, and he finally did break free, break out of whatever drug they’d used, a keening, desperate wail shoving past his lips as he shoved himself off the table, as he snarled and clawed and bit and slashed, anything, everything, to get free, until he’d fought off the beings, his breathing ragged and uneven as he looked at the monster they’d made him, all mechanical parts and twisted limbs, broken bones and spasming muscle.
“Virgil?” Suddenly a shadow Logan was there, looking down at him, head tilted and eyes empty, hands strangely still, assessing him like the specimen he was and he shuddered, twitching uncontrollably.
“No. That isn’t Virgil.” Patton, voice hollow, and he screamed again, because his feathers were torn from his body, bent and broken nibs trickling blood down his wings, though he didn’t seem to care. “Virgil wouldn’t do this to me. And he did.” He shook his head, trying to deny it, but memories rushed back, his hands, moving against his will, the metal twisting around his bones, jerking him around like a marionette, Patton, begging, pleading, but he couldn’t stop, the single thought in his mind echoing destroy, destroy, destroy. His hands, ripping handfuls of feathers, feathers flying around the room, getting stuck in his grinning teeth, his manic laugh, his twisted soul.
“No… nonononono…” He curled tight on the ground, ignoring the fire racing through him, the intense, burning, heat, trying to make sense of this, of anything, noticing for the first time his hands were stained red, seeing Patton’s agonized face in his head, his hands on his throat, pressing down, down down-
“Virgil!” Roman’s voice rocked his world, and suddenly his eyes snapped open, hissing at the sudden brightness, too confused to understand anything, vision blurry, from tears, he realized, his breathing stuttering in and out, barely enough to keep from passing out, his throat tight, barely a pinhole of space for air to wheeze in and out of, his chest felt so tight, so constricted, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was hot, why was he so hot, the wires, the wires twisting through his veins, no, he had to get them out, they would make him hurt them, hurt Patton, he couldn’t hurt Patton!
He started scratching at himself, clawing at himself frantically, uncaring of the wetness slipping down his face, he had to stop it, he couldn’t-
Bloody feathers, crushed neck, broken wings, shattered body, he couldn’t-
Hands. Hands on him. He hissed, growled, tried to shove them away, but he was weak, so weak, he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, and they were stopping him, and he was going to hurt everyone, he had to let go, he had to stop himself, he was just a monster, just a toy, just a broken sack of bits and pieces that didn’t even fit together right anymore, why couldn’t they just let him stop?
“please. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t, i… i…” He doubled over, curled into a ball, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, feeling as if he was shattering into a thousand pieces, broken and stomped on and wrecked.
“kiddo. I need you to breath.” He flinched back, away from Patton, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head frantically, as he scooted away, the grip on his hands letting him go.
“n-no… no! I’ll h-hurt y-y-you they’ll m-make me h-h-hurt-“ he broke off, running out of air, all of it dedicated to keeping the spots in his vision from growing larger, from taking over and plunging him into black.
“virgil. You have never, never ever, hurt me. And they can’t hurt us, anymore. Do you remember that? We’re safe now, remember? You broke us out of there, and kept us safe. You’re safe, Virgil. We’re safe. We’re ok. We’re ok.” Patton repeated softly, using the gentle chirp of his native tongue, ruffling encouragingly when Virgil finally looked up at him, struggling for a few moments, before tentatively chirping it back.
“We’re… we’re… ok.” He echoed slowly, tongue thick in his mouth, head pounding, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything, but he forced his mind to remember, to remember what he was missing, flashes of a slim, multi armed figure, of a bulky, scaled one, of a… a ship, and he managed a slightly larger, shaky breath.
“M-Mindscape?” He managed, and Patton nodded, eyes soft with worry.
“That’s right, kiddo. You got sick, do you remember that?” He remembered feeling not great, but that was normal. He remembered being dizzy, but that was all. He shook his head, feeling confused again, feeling slow and tired and hazy.
“That’s ok, Virgil. I just wanna help, ok? Will you let me do that?” Patton asked, taking a small step closer. “Will you let me help?” His gaze flicked to the others in the room, pulling at a dull memory, at familiarity, he knew them, knew them and they didn’t spark… fear. Not quite. But the scaled one’s gaze was sharp and angry, and the crystal one’s gaze was sharp and piercing, and both sent unease tingling down his spine. But Patton was asking, and he trusted Patton, and if Patton trusted them, then they couldn’t be bad.
“O-o-Ok.” He managed, letting out a soft sigh when Patton closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his leg, and instantly, the fight and stress drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut.
“You’re gonna be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Then nothing.
…
“He’s hotter, Lo.” Patton said, voice shaking, as he felt Virgil’s forehead. Sweat coated his skin, and he was panting for breath, shaking, obviously in pain, not just from the lines of red up and down his arms, where he’d started clawing at himself, before Roman stopped him. “he’s getting worse.“
“We need to get him to drink. He’s severely dehydrated. I… hate to suggest this, but IVs may be the best option here. I know, it will cause added emotional strain, but his body does not have the strength or resources right now to fight off this illness. And I’d rather have him be upset or afraid than… than dead.” His words caused Patton to draw in his feathers, shrinking to nearly half his normal size, and he buried his face against Virgil’s side. Roman’s scales shifted, scraping against each other as they flattened, conflicting emotions racing through him.
He didn’t like Virgil. Didn’t trust him, wouldn’t have him here, if it had been up to him, but the thought of him… dying, still sent a spike of unease through him, one he could pretend was just for Patton, who was so attached to Virgil.
“ok. If it’s the only way, ok.”
He disinfected and bandaged Virgil’s arms first, before letting Roman shift him back onto the couch, fetching the medical supplies and hooking up the bags. Finally, he was standing over Virgil with the IV line in hand. All he had to do was insert it. He found himself incredibly resistant, now, to the idea, now that he actually was doing this, mind flashing to the moments he’d seen in the vidi, the pain and agony that had accompanied nearly every experience with a needle, but this was different. This was to help.
So he swiftly located the vein on the human’s wrist, slipping the needle in and securing it with gauze and tape, relieved when Virgil did no more than moan slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. He doubted the reaction would be so placid when he actually woke up to find a needle in his arm, but that was a future worry.
“Alright. That should help hydrate him, as well as give him some of the basic nutrients he is sorely lacking in, as well as some very moderate medicines. I doubt anything we have would do him any harm, but I don’t want to take chances and accidentally make things worse. Patton… you need to sleep.” He added, looking at the disheveled ampen, who shook his head.
“No, no, no! I have to stay! What if he wakes up?”
“He won’t for a few hours, at the very least, which is long enough for you to get some sleep. You haven’t slept since we found him.”
“Well neither have you! You’ve been pacing yourself silly!” He sighed, shoulders slumping.
“Alright. You’re right. If Roman stays on watch and promises to get us if anything changes, will you come rest with me?” he asked, knowing Patton wouldn’t turn down that offer, not with how rarely he was willing to offer tactile comfort, but they could both use some, right now.
“Ro? I know you don’t like him, but-”
“I’ll take care of him. I promise, Patton.” Roman swore, kneeling down so Patton could hug him, smiling as he butted against the underside of his chin, before stepping back, chirping an ampen thanks, hesitantly following Logan down the hall and into his room, Roman hearing the door slide shut.
He let out a low breath, scales flattening as he tried to calm himself, staring down at Virgil’s unconscious form.
“I don’t know what to make of you. I will never say this out loud again, but you terrify me. And I will not lose another family, to humans. But… every time you panic or lose control or lash out, it’s always at yourself. It’s always to protect Patton. You always choose to harm yourself over any of us, but you’re still a human, a death worlder, a dangerous, violent, creature.” He said, though it sounded much less convincing now, that it usually did in his arguments with Logan or his silent fuming.
Virgil moved slightly, his breath hitching, and his face creased, as if sensing Roman’s displeasure.
“no… please… m-mom…” Virgil mumbled, trying to reach out to something that wasn’t there, something only in his mind, and after a moment, Roman realized Virgil was crying, curling tighter.
He’d known Virgil had been stolen off his planet, but he’d never thought about the implications of it. He hadn’t considered that Virgil had clan, would have a mother or a father, that he’d lost everything, to aliens, without even having a chance to fight to keep it.
Roman knew how it felt, to lose everything, in the blink of an eye.
“and then you go and say something like that.” He sighed, shifting into the chair left beside the couch, hesitantly reaching out to brush back the human’s hair, mimicking the motion he’d seen Patton do countless times, to soothe or relax the human, surprised as Virgil instantly settled, a shaky breath escaping him before his body seemed to go lax once more, leaning into his touch.
“this doesn’t mean I like you. It’s only because I promised Patton.” He grumbled, not moving away, despite himself.
Set in @delimeful ’s wonderful WIBAR AU. Virgil gets sick, and the others struggle to help him, not only with his illness, but the clear underlying emotional issues.
Logan was reading, absently twirling his fingers and hands as he studied, recording information, though he was certain most of it would prove false, as it was the little that was reported about humans. Most were comparable to ghost stories or urban legends, but there were a few that seemed more credible, that he hoped would give some more insight into humans in general.
Roman was off working out somewhere, sparring, he insisted it was just to keep sharp, but they all knew it was because he didn’t trust the human on board not to go feral and kill them any second, despite Virgil’s rather shy and withdrawn personality. Still, at least he was getting his aggression out elsewhere, and not by actually fighting or snarking at the true object of his emotions. He was doing better, still, Logan would give him that, but there was a long way to go.
He could hear Patton pitter pattering about in the kitchen, chirping and warbling to himself, making his lips twitch up into a smile. It had been far too quiet, without the little Ampen aboard, too much silence to drown in. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d grown accustomed to, hearing Patton hum and chirp and sing all day. Now it was also a relief, a steady reminder their friend was back home, safe and sound, and he frowned again, thinking of how close they had come to losing him for good. That they would have, had it not been for Virgil.
Speaking of…
“Patton?” He asked, stepping into the kitchen, the Ampen stopping his trilling as he set the kettle on the stove, giving him one of his warm, happy smiles, that seemed to actually light up the room.
“Yeah, Lo? Everything ok?” Patton’s antennae twitched slightly, and he focused back on the present.
“Yes, I believe so, I was simply wondering if you’d seen Virgil today. He is usually awake by now. I was hoping to discuss some… perhaps sensitive topics, that I picked up on during our vidi.”
It was true. He hadn’t seen much, with how fast it had all turned, and spiraled out of hand, and though Virgil and him had been having question and answer sessions, the ones he really wanted to ask seemed more… personal. So, he’d kept them to himself, and simply continued his observations, and studied up on the information available to him.
And what he’d noticed was… concerning, to say the least. He was certain the human wasn’t sleeping enough. Unlike most species, humans could run on limited sleep for an extended period of time, but he was slowly becoming aware that just because humans had the capability to do something, didn’t mean it was natural or good for them to do it. They could survive grievous injuries that would have killed any other species, but it came at great physical and mental cost. They could survive intense radiation, but they would sicken slowly and die. They could imbibe substances that a single sip would be deadly to himself, but even in small amounts, it inhibited a human’s survival instincts and weakened them.
So just because Virgil was running on, at his best guess, four to five hours of sleep a day, didn’t mean that was anywhere near the healthy range of a human’s normal requirements. He’d noticed some of the side effects so commonly, he’d thought they simply were how humans were, until the Vidi gave him glimpses at others, who lacked the bags under their eyes, the deep bruising, that Virgil always had. Virgil was often unsteady on his feet, “light headed” he called it, he often stared out into space for minutes at a time, without registering anything that was said or happening around him, he ran into things, doorframes, corners of furniture, he stumbled and often had to lean against something to regain his balance.
The other issue was his diet. Logan was absolutely certain that Virgil was not eating nor drinking enough. With his permission, he’d taken his heart rate, he’d calculated how many calories his body must burn, at the least, throughout a day. With no physical activity, no exertion, the very base level of sleep, Virgil was missing at least hundreds, if not nearly a thousand, necessary calories, and that was if he were in a relaxed state, which he never was. The human was endlessly jumpy and frightened and twitchy, and he had admitted that his heart rate was much higher than it should be, most of the time, due to his constant state of high alert. But despite this, he ate nearly the least at meals, always pushing food around his place, making excuses to take small portions, at least half the time Logan was certain he hadn’t eaten at all until he was forced to at their daily dinner together, and only then because he didn’t want to upset Patton. Based on his limited understanding, Virgil was immensely underweight and incredibly sleep deprived, both dangerously unhealthy states for humans.
“oh! I peeked in on him a bit ago. He’d just woke up, said he was going to take a shower. I’m kinda surprised he isn’t out here yet.” Patton frowned, his feathers fluffing in distress.
“I see. I’ll go check on him, Patton. Save me a cup?” He smiles as Patton’s face lights up again, only half surprised as Patton jumps at him, hugging him. He carefully supports the Ampen, holding him close, allowing his head to rest against Patton’s small, fluffy shoulder.
“Thanks, Lo. For looking out for him.” Patton mumbled, as Logan let him go, setting him back down on the counter.
“Of course, Patton. It’s the least I can do. He deserves to not only be safe, but feel safe. I am happy to help make that happen.” Patton’s feathers pulsed his trademark light blue, a sign of happiness, that made Logan’s hands flutter, trying to record the warmth in his chest, as he turns away.
…
He woke up with a groan, pushing the cupboard door open, jumping as his door opened, hitting his head against the back of the cupboard at the sudden movement, breath speeding wildly, before he registered Patton’s head poking in, concerned eyes on him.
“Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. Everything ok?” He sighed, but pushed back his exhaustion, summoning a small smile, making it as reassuring and genuine as possible, not difficult, faced with a small ball of fluff.
“I’m alright, Pat. Just catching up on some zee’s. Was gonna go shower.” Patton nodded, hopping into his arms for a quick snuggle, before chirping a happy goodbye and vanishing out the door.
He slumped back against the pylon behind him with another groan, rubbing his hands across his face, then up into his hair, wincing as he felt his hair stick straight up, matted with sweat. He’d stayed in bed far later than usual, but he hadn’t slept more. The night had been plagued with nightmares and sleep paralysis, filling him with terror so deep he couldn’t even scream, could merely panic until he passed out once more, tossing and turning restlessly.
He felt shivery, cold, and his head spun just a bit as he stood, his stomach turning at the motion, vertigo rocking him as he leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to get his bearings.
“fine. I’m fine.” He muttered, taking a few deep breaths in and out, before making his way to the door, listening for a few moments to make sure he couldn’t hear Roman anywhere nearby, he didn’t think he could handle the Crav’n in his current state.
Which was normal and healthy and perfectly fine. He had to be fine.
He made it to the bathroom with minimal stumbling, his vision barely swimming in and out, as he stripped, and turned on the water, hot enough it would probably burn any other members of their little band, but he just sighed in relief as he stepped in, letting the water run over him, soothe the aches building in his muscles. He let out a sigh, halfheartedly scrubbing at his hair, zoning out as he watched the steam.
As he watched, it seemed to form a shape, to swirl into a nebulous form, and his breathing stuttered, heart stopping, as he stared in fear at the suited figure, one of his captors, a needle stabbing down towards him, and he flinched back, the world blurring and swirling and fading out around him, static roaring through his ears, his heart racing as static filled his vision as well. Distantly, he heard knocks, someone maybe calling his name, then he felt his legs give out, his head hit something hard, and the world went black.
…
“Virgil? Are you alright?” He heard a loud thump, a crash, and his eyes widened, knocking again. “Virgil? If you do not answer me, I am going to enter. Virgil!” Nothing. He threw open the door, breath catching, freezing in place at the sight.
Virgil was sprawled across the bathroom floor, unconscious. His breathing seemed somewhat labored and shallow, and he could hear the slight wheeze to it from the doorway. What caught his eye first were the endless collection of scars, all across his body, covering nearly every inch of his skin, and it turned his stomach, it made him sick, the level of trauma and abuse Virgil must have endured. He’d known it wasn’t good, known he’d been a lab rat, an experiment, a being to harvest then sell off the parts once he was drained dry, but knowing it and seeing the scars, the marks of old burns from the stun batons, was something else entirely. And nothing Virgil had said had indicated the violence against him to be to this extent. He felt another surge of appreciation, for Virgil having protected Patton.
The second thing, that finally forced him into motion, was the small pool of red forming around the human’s head, likely where the back of his skull had impacted with the floor. Quickly, he grabbed a towel from off the rack, and rolled Virgil onto his side, wiping away the blood from his neck and hair, to see where to apply the pressure. He breathed a sigh of relief as he located the wound, surprisingly small, given the amount of blood loss, and he was confident a few moments of pressure would easily stop it.
“ROMAN!” He shouted with all his might, voice shaking and unsteady, hearing the crashing footsteps of the Crav’n immediately, the being sliding into the doorway mere moments later, scales raised to their extremes, teeth bared, ready to fight, no doubt hoping for an excuse to fight the human.
“Logan? What’s-“ Patton darts in around Roman’s legs, eyes widening as he instantly is at Virgil’s side, trembling, eyes wide as saucers.
“I need help. Roman, he’s heavy, I need-“
“Ok. Ok, teach, I got you. Let’s get him dressed, then I’ll move him to the couch. What’s… what happened?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I knocked and heard a crash, when I entered, he was like this. I suspect it has something to do with his malnutrition and sleep deprivation.” He answered, focusing on carefully pulling Virgil’s hoodie over his head, hands clenching sharply as one brushes his forehead. “he’s burning up.”
“That’s what happens when he’s… when he’s sick. Humans get all hot and shivery and sometimes their stomach hurts and they can’t eat. But that only happened on the… on the ship. When… when it was really bad.” His voice wavered, feathers flattening.
“I would suspect that he has been feeling ill for a couple of days now, if it’s grown severe enough to make him pass out. His normal temperature is around 98.6 to 99, I would estimate his to be closer to one hundred and three. Has he seemed off to you, Patton?”
“He’s spent less time with me. Less time out of his room. I thought he just needed some space, but… but he was trying to hide he was sick, wasn’t he?”
“Why would he do that? Did he think we’d just abandon him like some deathworlder would an injured comrade?” Roman snorted disdainfully, helping pull pants onto the human, though Patton could see the concern hiding behind his outrage.
“Contrarily, he probably didn’t want to be a burden. To use up more of our resources and time. He constantly sees himself as lesser, as the least important of the group, therefore the one who should take up the least space, least time, least amount of food. Surely, you’ve noticed, Roman.”
“I…hadn’t. I’ll take him now, Pat.” He mumbled softly, gently shooing him back as he scooped Virgil into his arms, surprised at how light the human was, his head lolling limply against his chest, his cheeks flushed, while the rest of his face was even paler than usual. He could feel the frantically rapid beat of his heart, his eyes flicking uneasily under their lids, and his scales flattened in concern. As much as he didn’t trust the human, he didn’t want to see him hurting, either. And if what Logan said was true, Virgil had not only been hurting, but hurting himself, out of, what? Loyalty? Worry? He just couldn’t get a handle on him.
Then again, he hadn’t tried very hard to get to know him, or to give him a chance. But there was something in seeing him so vulnerable, without the usual piercing stare and silent slink, that made him soften a bit, made him remember that despite being one of the most fearsome creatures in the universe, that Virgil was essentially a child, by human standards. He was so thin, too. He could count his bones, under that hoodie. No wonder he was always cold, he had no layer of fat on his bones.
And those scars…
Well. It was enough to almost make him rethink his view on Virgil, at least, as he laid him down on the couch in the common area, Patton immediately taking a seat by his head, brushing his hands soothingly through Virgil’s hair, as the human shook, muttering something in his sleep that was undecipherable, though the tone of fear was impossible to miss, as his hand clenched against the fabric.
“We need to break his fever. Blankets, Roman? I’ll get you a washcloth and water for his forehead, Patton. If he wakes, he is likely to be disoriented or possibly even hallucinate, because of the fever. However, I have no doubt he will calm immensely upon registering your presence. You are… his lifeline, Patton.” Patton nodded, continuing to focus on Virgil, doing the coo chirp pattern used to soothe babies, one of the first things Virgil had mimicked back to him, back on that awful ship.
“He’ll… he’ll be ok, right? He just needs some sleep and he’ll be okay?” His voice trembled, and Logan’s hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting as he looked for the right words to say.
“I don’t know. There’s so little information, Patton, I keep looking and there’s just… not enough, to help him, in any meaningful way. There’s no way of knowing if this is just a ‘flu’ or if it is something more severe. I know his heart rate is high and his breathing rasping, but I don’t know if that’s the result of the illness or simply stress, I would give him medicine, but I don’t know what he can have, what would be helpful, and I don’t know what to do if it’s something we aren’t equipped to handle!” He exploded, pacing the floor somewhat frantically, hands flailing wildly, wincing as one smacked the wall. “I don’t know what to do, but wait.” He said, softer, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his hand, looking up as Roman came to stand before him, gently patting one of his arms.
“It’s ok, Lo. No one expects you to have all the answers. We know you’ll do your best. You always do.” Logan nodded, pulling himself together somewhat, striding off to the kitchen, Roman heading down the hall to raid the extra blankets from the closets.
“you’ll be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Patton murmured, nuzzling against Virgil’s cheek, giggling as Virgil mumbles again, leaning into his touch, hand unclenching, face relaxing minutely. When Logan came back, he huffed fondly, Patton curled up against Virgil’s shoulder, just a ball of puffed up blue feathers, pulsing soothingly.
He aches. Every bone and muscle and sinew seems to throb with pain, and he hisses, hearing the soft papery sound of his scales brushing against each other, coiling and shifting groggily as he forces his eyes open.
“Jan? You with us?” He blinks, at the blurry form of Remus, hovering over him, managing a nod, though his eyes are already drifting shut. It must be bad, if he’s shifted himself, though he doesn’t remember anything happening.
“Oh, snakey, you just hang in there, ok? We’re taking care of you.” He feels a hand brush through his hair, leaning into it as he drifts off again.
…
The fire. The fire is back.
It’s scorching heat, up his tail, writhing around his arms, smoke wrapping around his throat, forcing itself into his lungs, and he gasps for air, trying to escape, trying to flee, but his wrists are bound, he’s tied on a stake while the pyre rages around him, the flames licking at his scales, and he bares his teeth, lunging away, lunging towards one of the figures dancing in the flames, stealing his air, and he hears a yelp, as his fangs sink into something, before being shoved off, shoved away, growling as his arms are pinned, a weight on his tail, and he can’t get it off, he thrashes, but he can’t get it off, can’t get free, no matter how hard he hisses and spits and writhes.
“JANUS!” The voice breaks through, just barely, just enough to make him hesitate, to stop, surprise washing over him, though his fangs are still bared, still ready to bite. “Janus. Breathe. It’s ok, it’s just me, just Virgil, you’re ok, please, just breathe.” He inhales sharply, deeply, gasping, he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Finally his vision clears, after several long moments, locking on Virgil’s purple eyes, pale face, messier than usual makeup. He’s panting slightly, sitting atop him, atop his tail, pinning his wrists to the ground, concern and fear playing across his features.
“V-Vee?” Virgil’s face softens, and he nods, eyes searching his face.
“It’s me, Jan. It’s ok. You had a nightmare and started panicking, lashing out. I’m gonna let you up now, ok? Unless you wanna have a go at Remus, too, he deserves it, probably.” He huffs at that, as Virgil releases him, helps him to sit.
“Oooh, could you crush me? Maybe I should make a giant snake to constrict me! Do you think my ribs would crack, and explode through my chest, and my beating heart would be visible before I’m devoured whole by its giant maw?”
“wonderful, Remus, thank you for that lovely vision.” He replies, earning a laugh from Remus, a lopsided grin from Virgil.
Then Virgil hisses in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut, hand fisting into the fabric of his hoodie.
“Vee?” Remus asks, worry tinging his tone, and Janus’s eyes widen, noticing the pinprick beads of red against Virgil’s neck for the first time, the trickle of blood running down in rivulets, realizing what must have happened.
“I bit you.” He whispers, as Virgil shakes, doubling over. “I bit you!”
“Fine… I’ll be fine…” He gasps out, voice shaking, echoing with tempest tongue as his shadows darken, lengthen.
“Kiddos? You ok? I heard a ruckus?” Patton asks, popping into the room, instantly hurrying to Virgil’s side.
“Virg?” His voice is soft, but Virgil flinches, eyes darting up to look at him, and he yelps, stumbling backwards. The whites of Virgil’s eyes have turned black, his usually dark eyes a near glowing neon violet. Underneath are six more eyes in total, dark, shiny things. As he watches, his canines lengthen into fangs.
“nononono…” Virgil mumbles, and he almost reaches out again, then Virgil’s head flies back in a silent scream, eyes blazing with light, dark fire exploding out of him, writhing around him, and eight, long, spindly apendages sprout from his back, then the darkness releases Virgil, and he sprawls across the ground, trembling, from pain, exhaustion, or fear, Patton can’t tell, maybe a bit of all of them.
“Virgil-“ Before he can get more out of his mouth, Virgil lurches to his feet, to his eight black legs, eyes wide and shaking, and he bolts, flashing past Patton so fast he’s barely even a blur, vanishing through the door to his room, leaving the rest of them in a stunned silence.
“Fuck a duck.” Remus mutters, eyes wide, staring after him for a second, before bolting to his feet and charging up the stairs, slamming the door to his own room, surprising and confusing Patton further, before his attention turns to Janus, who’s own face is pale, brows drawn.
“So. Um. What… just… happened?” He squeaks out, trying to keep from straight up panicking. Janus lets out a long sigh, head thumping back against the couch cushions.
“I had a nightmare. I lashed out. And I… bit him.”
“Oh. So… is that why he turned into… that?” Janus groans, tail twisting with uncertainty.
“Yes. And no. My bite reveals things. The absolute truth of what… who… someone is. And the more you fight the venom, the more it hurts, until it forces you to change into your truest reflection, reveals you fully. Which is exactly what it did, to Virgil. It revealed the truth he’s been so carefully hiding.” Patton tilted his head, thinking over the implications, before his mouth formed a silent ‘o’, realization washing over him.
“his animal. He’s… a spider?” Janus nods, closing his eyes in confirmation. “oh. Oh no. Oh, no wonder he was so scared! Oh, he probably thinks I’ll be scared of him, doesn’t he? Knowing him, he probably thinks I’ll hate him and never want to see him again! Oh, this is not good!”
“He’ll be long gone in the imagination by now, Remus’s side. He is exceptionally excellent at hiding. Remember to look up.” He mumbles, exhaustion washing over him.
“Lo, Ro!” Patton calls, the two of them rising up moments later. “Logan, I need you to stay with him, ok? His fever just broke, so Janus, try and stay awake for a bit, just to eat something, ok?” He nods, though the task seems impossible. “Roman, I need you with me. We’re going to the imagination.”
“Padre, I love taking you on quests, but is now really-“
“Remus’s side. We need to find Virgil, I’ll explain more as we move, let’s go!” Without further explanation, Patton pulled Roman up the stairs, leaving Logan and Janus alone.
“Well. That was… sudden. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Logan murmurs, turning his full attention back to Janus, who frowns slightly, eyes drifting back open, as he looks at himself, realizing his tail has shifted back, though he still has more scales than usual.
“Me too, apparently. Though I may have inadvertently thrown Virgil into a crisis.“
“So I gathered. How are you feeling? Any symptoms?” he shakes his head.
“no. Just… tired, I suppose.”
“Excellent. Then maybe you can inform me of why you didn’t tell anyone you were feeling ill, much less to the extent that you were.” He winces at the colder tone to Logan’s voice, though he can tell it’s out of worry.
“I… didn’t think to. I didn’t think you would want to be bothered, by me. I would have, truly, if I’d been aware how bad it was going to get.”
“You are not a bother, Janus, your health, both physical and mental, is important to me, as well as the rest of us. I would request you come to us, with any future problems, before you’re so fevered you’re hallucinating.” He huffs a small laugh at Logan’s dry tone, nodding once more.
“Will do, Logan. If that’s all settled, I believe someone promised food?”
Based on This Post by @fangirltothefullest (who is awesome and amazing, go follow). This was supposed to be a simple one shot, but as always, it’s really gotten away from me, so expect three to four chapters, instead.
The dark sides all have animal traits. But they also have hybrid forms. Something Patton, Logan, and Roman don’t realize until Janus isn’t able to help it.
….
He doesn’t feel quite right.
He brushes it off, at first, ignoring the slight chill that comes over him, every once in a while, the mild achiness to his bones, he ignores them all.
Then Patton comments on how his scales look pretty on his arms, when he’s doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, and he nearly drops the plate he’s washing, before he regains his composure, letting Patton think the slip was from the unexpected compliment, as he excuses himself.
He notices his fangs are longer, sharper, the next day, and his chills are stronger as well, he spends nearly the whole of it working at his desk, wrapped in a blanket, trying to ignore the pain taking up residence behind his temples, pounding dully against his skull, as he examines and rearranges the schedule to make sure everyone has at least a day of self care planned for the week, before sending it back to Logan for assessment. He won’t admit it out loud, but he rather enjoys the back and forth, the bargaining, the trade offs, it’s a bit of a game of wits, finding how it all can fit. But today it just makes him exhausted.
He makes an excuse, not to come out for supper that night, saying he’s tired and plans to turn in early, which is true, he just leaves out the reason, which would lead to Patton trying to take care of him, and the last thing he wants is to force pity from Patton, so he keeps his mouth shut.
…
He’s shaking. The world is swirling and writhing around him, shadows stretching and shifting around him, forming almost figures, eyes glaring at him accusingly, whispers menacing his ears, telling him how poorly of a job he’s really doing, and he grits his teeth and bears it, even as he feels himself shifting into something different, scales blooming across the entirety of his face, his arms, coiling in on himself, as his tail forms, a ball python’s markings, in deep blacks and hazardous yellows, marking him as the venomous creature he is.
He doesn’t want to be this monster, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the change, so he just hisses, cursing the world, burying himself in his tail so he doesn’t have to see anything, feel anything, outside his little bubble, though he can’t seem to stop shaking, no matter how tightly he curls.
…
He sees clawed hands tearing at him, shredding him to ribbons. Dark figures laughing as they rip him limb from limb. Violet eyes and neon green grinning, as they set him aflame, burning him to ash, and somehow, he can feel every second of it, taste the smoke on his tongue, convulsing and writhing as he tries to escape the smoke, but there’s nowhere, nowhere to go. Webs, pinning him down, eight eyes, eyes he knows so well, staring into his as the pincers bite into his neck, tentacles wrapping tight around his throat, lifting him off the ground, constricting him until he can’t breathe, until his own weight suffocates him-
Then suddenly it’s bright, far too bright, and he can’t see clearly, and he hears gasps, voices around him, hissing and flinching back at a touch to his forehead, slitted eyes flashing as his tail lashes, coiling.
“Leave me alone!” He growls, baring his fangs, his claws, ready to spring, even as the world spins and colors blend, everything shifting as if he’s looking through a fun house mirror.
“You’re burning up…”
“Calm down, Janus, let us help!” He hisses, drawing back further, heart pounding with fear, pulse racing with adrenaline, but everything is too much, too loud, too bright, and he can’t focus, can’t figure out where he is or what’s going on or who is speaking, past the pounding in his ears.
Then a hand comes into view, trying to reach him, and he snarls, letting the coils do their job, propelling himself forwards, pouncing, but the sudden movement sends a wash of lightheadedness through him, and the world goes dark.
“Janus! Janus, are you ok?!” He groans, barely managing to register the voice, barely managing to flick open his eyes for long enough to see a flash of deep blue, to realize someone has caught him, stopped him from falling.
“lo…gan?” He manages weakly, feeling the logical side let out a relieved breath, though he’s no less worried.
“Yes. You’ve got a severe fever, Janus, how long have you been sick?” His mind seems to be working at half speed, his tongue feels heavy and thick, and he barely manages a shrug.
“w-week?” He offers, already slipping away.
“Oh honey. We’re gonna take care of you, alright? You just get some rest, and when you wake up it’ll all be better.” He doesn’t trust that voice, not completely, but he knows in this case, it’s telling the truth, so he nods, shivering at the cold air on his scales, wishing for his heating pad, before he blacks out once more.
…
Logan lets out a low breath as Janus collapses in his arms, cheeks flushed, even through the scales now peppering both sides of his face, his pulse coming in odd unsteady beats, his breathing shallow and uneven. He’s ill, extremely ill, and he doesn’t know how none of them had noticed.
Then again, even after becoming accepted, Janus has always been the most aloof of all of them. Even now, they don’t really know much about him, he holds everything close to his chest. Which is maybe why Virgil and Remus are the only two who don’t look entirely surprised at the state of him.
That state being a half human, half snake, commonly known as a Naga, in folklore.
“We need to break the fever. Help me lift him, onto the couch?” Logan states, more than asks, and instantly, the twins are there, each taking half of his tail while Logan takes his torso, sliding him onto the couch, before wrapping him with blankets, trying to quell his incessant shivering, coiling tight, teeth chattering.
“Now what?” Roman asks, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Heated blankets, he has some, yes?” Remus nods.
“I’ll go get them.”
“Virgil.” He startles at Logan addressing him, his eyes had been locked on Janus’s form, huddled and so small, despite his large coils. He hadn’t realized his breath was starting speed, his heart starting pound. “Virgil, I need you to answer some questions for me. It could help in my treatment of him.” He nods, though his throat feels dry.
“He has shifted like this before?” He nods again, forcing himself to take a deep inhale and exhale.
“yeah. He doesn’t… he usually doesn’t. Doesn’t like to. But when he gets sick or hurt, he loses control, sometimes. Goes… goes into attack mode.” Logan nods.
“It makes sense, that as self preservation, he would have this kind of protective mechanism. Given his scales, I’m not surprised that he would take Naga form. And Remus has his tentacles, his half animal form being an octopus-“
“Kraken, dear Logic!” Remus trills, returning and tucking the heated blankets around Janus, making sure they aren’t set too high. They want a toasty snek, after all, not a toasted one. A minor distinction, but an important one, in this case.
“And Virgie here is-“ Instantly, the room grows ten degrees colder, the shadows lengthening, as it grows darker, all eyes turning back to Virgil, who is shaking his head, maybe just shaking in general.
“don’t. Remus, please… don’t.” Remus pouts, but instantly nods, coming over and rubbing his arms to dispel the chill, smiling as Virgil’s head thumps against his chest.
“Sorry, Vee. I forget what I’m not supposed to say and what I am. I didn’t mean to spill the beans.” He feels Virgil nod, knows he understands, he’s just scared and stressed right now, and so is he, it’s why his tongue nearly slipped. He has a bit more control than the others tend to think, at least when it comes to important things, secret things, like this.
“Virgil? You… you have animal traits too? That’s really cool, kiddo, why didn’t you tell us?” He winces at Patton’s question.
“you wouldn’t like them. Trust me, Pat, it’s better I just keep them tucked away, where they won’t cause any problems.” He mutters, a bit of fear curdling in his chest, at what he is, fear blooming at what they would do, if they knew.
If they knew his eyeshadow was to hide the three smaller eyes dotted underneath his normal ones, if they knew about his eight, spindly spiked legs, that could extend from his back, much like Remus’s tentacles, making him much faster and stronger than any of the rest of them, if they knew how quickly he could move, slinging web, how reflexive an action it once was, when he and Remus were young and would tussle, if they knew about his own deadly, venomous fangs, if they knew how when he was stressed, he still vanished into Remus’s imagination, to weave intricate webs, to put his hands to work so his mind would be silent.
“Virgil. I love you kiddo, no matter what, okay? Just remember that, if you ever do want to share. Whatever it is, it won’t change that.” He looks away, nodding once, though if Janus were in working order he’d call bullshit from a mile away, there were some things that they could grow to accept about him, yes, but his half spider form? Definitely not one of them, when even curtains with cartoony spiders warranted being called “creepy crawly death dealers” and getting attacked by Roman’s sword.
“So… now what do we do?” Roman asks breaking the silence.
“wait. He’ll shift back, once he’s feeling better, in control, again. Until then, we should all give him plenty of space, you three especially.” Virgil answers.
“Why is that?” Logan asks, and Remus grins.
“Janny’s got quite a nasty bite. Those fangs aren’t just for show!”
“He might lash out, is what he’s saying. And it’s better if no one is in reach when he does. Me and Re have a certain amount of immunity, to the venom, thanks to our… traits, but it would be really, really bad, for any of you. Plus, he isn’t used to you all being around yet, he’s less likely to lash out if it’s me or Remus, nearby.” Virgil explains, “you, um, you’ll trigger his fight reflex.” He doesn’t have to look up, to see the slightly hurt expression on Patton’s face.
“He doesn’t trust us yet.” Logan says softly, and Remus nods, though his face is tight, with a frown.
“That’s… understandable. We haven’t been the best of companions.” Roman murmurs, surprising both Remus and Virgil.
“He trusts you.” Remus states, looking firmly at Logan, who’s eyes widen in surprise, hand flying to adjust his glasses. “He doesn’t trust you.” Remus states, looking at Roman, who nods minutely, a brief look of regret flashing across his face. “And none of us trust you.” He turns his sharp gaze on Patton, who winces.
“Remus!” Virgil hisses, grabbing his arm.
“What? It’s true, otherwise you would have told them what you are, by now! Tell me, the reason you haven’t, isn’t exclusively to do with Patton.” He flinches, drawing back, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Patton’s face, though he hears the sharp inhale of breath. “Tell me you aren’t afraid, of what he will do.” He gasps, the air flooding out of him, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He opens his mouth, ready to deny it.
“I can’t.” he whispers instead, blanching at his own words, drawing further back, into himself. “I… I can’t.”
“that’s ok, kiddo.” Patton’s voice is soft, trembling, and he looks up in surprise, at the words, Patton taking a step closer, though still giving him his space. “It’s ok. I’ve hurt you, a lot, in the past, unintentionally, but I still hurt you. It’s ok, that you don’t feel comfortable telling me everything, telling me anything. I don’t expect you to. I don’t need you to. I’m happy to just be here, that you’ve let me have this much with you, and it’s ok, that you don’t entirely trust me. It’s ok, Virg.” His lip trembles, then he’s in Patton’s arms, head tucked against his shoulder. “we’re ok, kiddo.” Patton hugs him tightly, rubbing circles against his back, pretending not to notice the sniffling.
“Of course, Virgil. I’ll go get started on some soup and grilled cheese. Everyone needs to eat something, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some soup in him, too. Thank you, Remus. For being honest with me. It… it hurts, but I need to hear it, sometimes. It keeps me moving forwards. Keeps me getting… better.” Patton flashes him a small, tired smile, before ducking away, into the kitchen.
“I’ll go help. He gets shaky, when he’s worried, and he’ll nick himself cutting the vegtables, otherwise.” Roman mumbles, looking back at Remus, hesitating as if he wants to say something, before shaking his head and turning away, a rueful smile on his lips, a promise in his eyes, that they’ll talk later, when he knows what he wants to say.
“He… trusts me?” Remus rolls his eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch.
“Um, duh? You’re the only one who accepted all of us, right of the bat. Sure, you aren’t buddy buddy with us, but you also didn’t just dismiss us. You also listened to us, took us seriously, debated, not disagreeing just because of who we are. You treat us like… equals. That’s a rare thing, around here, Logan.”
“…oh. I… I see. Well. I will be keeping an eye on his temperature, checking in every few hours. If anything changes, fetch me immediately. I’ll get some cool water and towels, for his forehead. See if you can’t coax him into drinking something, as well, he’s likely severely dehydrated. I would suggest an IV, but I doubt his reaction to that would be ideal.”
“Ok. Sounds good, Lo. Thanks.” Logan nods once, before leaving, dropping off a bowl and towels, before vanishing once more. Virgil slumps to the ground, back resting against the couch cushions, hands buried in his face as he lets out a long, shaking breath, trying to stave off the panic creeping up his shoulders.
Remus frowns, brushing back Janus’s hair, dabbing the rag across his forehead, willing with all his might for the fever to go down, for his eyes to open, for him to smirk and say something bitingly sharp.
“Come on, DeeDee. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.” He whispers, eyes flicking to Virgil at the small snort from the emo, who shoves his hands up through his hair, leaving it messy and disheveled, his eyeshadow smeared across his face. If he looks hard enough, he can spot his dark little eyes, shiny, pure pitch little things, like reflective black buttons. “you know I’ve always found your little quirks cute, right?” He asks, not mentioning specifics just in case someone came by. Virgil lets out another short laugh, though the small smile stays on his face, as he shakes his head.
“I think you’re the only one who would describe them that way, Ree, but yeah. I know.” He mumbles, not protesting as Remus slips off the couch and onto the floor beside him, slowly and gently resting an arm around his shoulders. He scoots closer, tucking himself against Remus’s side, letting himself burrow into the warmth, safe and protected. “I’m scared.” Comes the low whisper, and Remus coos, turning to wrap his other arm around him in a warm hug.
“No, Joan… Listen, I’ll call you back, no, it’s fine, I’ve just started unpacking, you can come by later…” Logan watched warily as the new human shuffled boxes around, speaking ceaselessly to someone on his phone, occasionally laughing, reassuring the person that he was fine, the drive had gone well, making idle chatter.
It hadn’t been all that long. Merely three months, but he wasn’t all that surprised the house went so fast, to a first-time owner, as well, judging by the looks of the young man. No doubt at an insanely low price, thanks to the laws dictating they disclose any deaths on the property, Virgil’s having been so recent, as well. He was sure Virgil was lurking somewhere, watching all of this, or perhaps he was hiding somewhere.
They’d caught glimpses of him, here and there. Nothing much, just a flicker of shadows, a tinge of darkness, always out of the corner of the eye, always gone before they could say a single word, and it was driving all of them a bit mad.
Patton and Janus had tried everything, to get him to come out, to get him to come back, but to no avail. They still often spoke out loud, when doing things, now, holding conversations with the air, just in case Virgil was nearby, listening, reassuring him that they were there, if he needed anything, wanted anything, they were there for him. To his frustration, Logan had also started doing it, not noticing until someone called him out on it.
And Roman. Roman was worse off than the rest of them. He was miserable, he was apologizing endlessly, trying at every turn to seek him out, but if anything, that seemed to drive Virgil farther away, the sense of his presence dwindling, the paint on his door fading and chipping off, a sign that he hadn’t been in it at all, maybe since the last time they’d all seen him, which meant he wasn’t getting the rest he needed, either.
With a sigh, Logan shook himself out of his thoughts, swapping back over to the spirit plane.
“Well?” Roman asked, laying upside down on the couch.
“Young adult, thirty, brown hair, brown eyes, named Thomas. Seems nice enough.” He reported. “Didn’t seem to notice me at all, no mentions of cold spots, hearing my voice when I spoke, seems just as oblivious as the rest of them.” He commented, noticing the tenseness fading out of Patton and Janus’s shoulders, Remus’s grin growing feral.
“Good. I like a challenge.” He sighed, ignoring Remus’s commentary.
“And… any sign?” Patton asked hesitantly. He shook his head, eyes clouding with worry for a moment.
“No. I would have expected… something, but there was no hint of his presence. I don’t know… I hate not knowing things.” He muttered, falling onto the far end of the couch.
“I know, Lo, but we’ll figure this out.” Patton answered, though his own voice was tinged with disappointment.
There were some cases, rare cases, where humans could see ghosts, speak to them, as if they were just normal, still alive people. None of them had ever met someone like that, the most they got were amateur ghost hunters, in years the house sat empty, when it had still been an old plantation house, and even they weren’t very perceptive. Some humans were more sensitive, catching glimpses of things, picking up on words here or there, cold spots, hot spots, that was more common. They’d have to wait and see, if this one could pick up on any of that.
…
In hindsight, they maybe should have been more worried, when the human, Thomas’s, friend showed up, with a bottle of wine, a cactus as a housewarming gift, and a Ouija board.
But most of that stuff was just hocus pocus, as Logan said, which set Roman off, quoting what was apparently a Disney movie.
“Roman, I am begging you to shut up.” Janus moaned. “I am trying to watch these idiots.” Roman scowled, but ceased, watching the two humans laugh as they lit candles around the board, turning off the lights, to add to the atmosphere.
“What do they think candles are gonna do?” Remus asked, continuously blowing out the small flame as they tried to light the final one.
“Probably supposed to symbolize a portal to the afterlife, or something similarly ridiculous.” Logan scoffed, still watching their actions with interest.
“Ok, who should we try and talk to?” Thomas asked.
“Uhhh, Abraham Lincoln!” Joan responded, earning a startled laugh from Thomas.
“What? Why was that your go to?”
“I don’t know, it was the first famous dead person that came to mind! What was your plan, then?” Joan asked indignantly, though they were smirking too. Thomas shrugged.
“Um. Hey. Anyone here who’s friendly and not, like, gonna go all Amityville horror on us, feel free to communicate with us, using this board.”
“Dude, they’re ghosts. How are they gonna know what Amityville horror is? Since when do ghosts watch movies?”
“I don’t know! You were trying to talk to good ‘ol Abe, I feel like you don’t have room to lecture here.” They both froze as the planchet moved. Not much, not far, but it had definitely moved.
“Did that just…”
“Hoooolly shiiit.” Joan whispered, wide eyes meeting Thomas’s. Neither of them had even had their hands near the board, much less touching the planchet.
In the ghostly realm, everyone’s eyes locked on Roman, who stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the planchet he’d bumped against while leaning in to examine the board, as easily moved as anything he summoned himself.
“Oops?” He said, shushing Logan as the two humans started speaking again.
“Ok, um, ok, that’s normal! We probably just bumped the table! Um, is… is anyone here, with us?” Thomas asked. Immediately the planchet started moving again, landing on ‘yes’.
“ROMAN! What do you think you’re doing?!” Janus hissed, and he wrung his hands.
“I-I don’t know! They asked! It seemed rude not to answer? I haven’t exactly been in this situation before, Jan!” He fired back, their own panicking mirroring the panic going on between Thomas and Joan.
“What do we have to lose?” Patton asked softly, getting everyone’s attention.
“I am unclear what you mean, Patton.” Logan said, gaze turning to him, where he sat, biting his lip, fiddling with his cardigan.
“I mean… by answering them. What do we have to lose? We’re all stuck here, anyway. It’s not like they can hurt us. And… we live here too! Shouldn’t we get to know our new roommates?” He asked, voice getting higher in pitch with each word, until he squeaked out his question.
“Who are you?” Came the question from the humans, from the board, and Roman hesitated, looking back at everybody, asking what he should do, the question evident in his eyes.
“Fine. Go ahead. Patton’s right, I suppose, there’s not much they can do, besides leave. But I will not be involved in this.” Janus sighed from the couch, retreating to his room, to avoid whatever action was coming next. Logan nodded.
“I second Janus’s sentiments. Pardon me.” With that, it was Roman, Patton and Remus, who tried to swipe the planchet, but failed, swiping right through it, letting out an annoyed squawk.
“What?! Why!?” He screeched, Roman grinning like an idiot.
“Their opening. They said…” He broke off laughing, “They said anyone who wasn’t gonna Amityville them, Ree you’re literally a poltergeist, that stupid line is keeping you from doing shit!” He laughed harder at Remus’s indignant expression, eyes flashing with ire.
“OH, they’re gonna regret that bullshit. Imma haunt them so hard it’s gonna feel like a-“
“Thank you, Remus, that’s enough!” Patton interrupted, not wanting to know the end of that sentence, and Remus vanished with a scowl and puff of black smoke. Roman rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the board, spelling out his name.
“R-o-m-a-n. Roman. Like, a Roman soldier? What would they be doing here?” Thomas asked.
“What would they be doing speaking English?” Joan piped in.
“Good lord, these two are slow.” Roman muttered, moving the planchet once more, Patton giggling at his remark.
“My name is Roman, you idiots.” He spelled out, “And I am not a roman.” The two humans stared at each other for a moment, before bursting into only slightly hysterical laughter.
“We just got called idiots… by a ghost! What even… how is this happening?” Thomas wheezed, trying to pull himself together, devolving into giggles every time he and Joan looked at each other.
“I mean, they’re not wrong!” Joan shot back, once they got their breathing back under control.
“How did you die?” Blurted Thomas, and Roman rolled his eyes.
“Oh my god, you can’t just ask people how they died!” Roman replied, enjoying the befuddlement on the two human’s faces.
“I’m… I might be wrong, but did it just make a mean girls reference?” Joan asked.
“Yes. And I use He/Him, thank you. If you must know, I was a civil war soldier. Fighting for the North, y’know, the right team? But my family were assholes and lived here so… here I am!” He answered.
“Oh, good. He’s anti-slavery and not a homophobe. Cool, cool, cool.”
“Is there anyone else, with you?” Joan asked, and Roman bit his lip, turning to Patton, who eagerly grabbed the planchet.
“Hey kiddos! I’m Patton!” His answer was met with instant bursts of laughter.
“Wow. Straight from civil war action to dad mode. Um. Hello, Patton. It’s… nice to meet the both of you? We’ve never really spoken to ghosts before. Uh, you guys…live here?” Thomas asked a bit nervously.
“Yuppers! But we’re all pretty friendly. Mostly. None of us are violent, or anything, though some can be a bit… startling at times.”
“That’s only a bit worrying. Oh god, now I’m gonna hear every noise and think it’s a ghost. Because it could be a literal ghost.” Thomas mumbles, shoving back his hair, Joan chuckling nervously.
“Yeah, good luck with that one, Thomas.” Joan answers, getting to their feet. “It’s late. I should probably be going.”
“What? No, uh uh, after this, you do not get to ditch me on my first night in a new house in a new town that you made me learn is actually haunted, though the ghosts do seem polite, no offense, guys, just a liiittle freaky.” Thomas said, gaze shifting to the board for a moment, and Patton laughed.
“He’s worried about us! That’s sweet!”
“He’s worried we’ll haunt his nightmares.” Roman muttered back, watching the humans argue back and forth, before finally agreeing.
“Alright. Uh, we’re gonna go to bed and try and sleep. So… talk to you later, I guess?”
“Yes please! This is fun!” Thomas chuckled a bit at that.
“I’m guessing that was Patton. Good night, Pat. Good night, Roman, who is not an actual Roman. Uhhh, you’re dismissed?”
“Are you a school teacher? ‘you’re dismissed. Get some style. Farewell, my fellow brother in arms, may your gay heart guide you true!” Roman replied, making them both break down into a giggling fit yet again, as they blew out the candles, setting aside the board as they got up to get ready to sleep, Patton and Roman returning to their own living room in the spirit world.
“Well, that was… interesting.” Roman said slowly.
“It was… a bit nice. Talking. To other live people.” Patton said softly, and Roman stopped, pulling Patton into a hug, which he easily melted into.
“yeah. It was. But it did still take quite a bit of energy. We should get some rest, as well.”
“I’m gonna stay out here for a little bit. Just… just in case.” Roman sighed softly, but nodded, stepping away.
“Alright. Rest well, Pat.”
…
He had been asleep for a few hours, when he blinked open his eyes at a small movement. All he caught was a deep shadow, tucking a blanket tight around him.
“Virg?” He asked softly, the shadow freezing, the room dropping in temperature with his fear, and he moved to hide away. “s okay, bud. I love you kiddo, okay? Jus want you to know.” He mumbled, smiling as his eyes drifted closed, pulling the blanket tighter with a soft sigh. “you can come talk to me, anytime. I won tell. Promise.” He felt a soft pat against his hand, then the shadow slipped away, though Patton was sure he felt a little better than before.
“Patton?” They both looked up at the sound of the door opening, Janus slipping inside, surveying the scene. Virgil was still curled against Patton, eyes red and hands a bit shaky, though he seemed alright otherwise.
“H-hi.“ Virgil managed, voice hoarse, though his sobs had died out hours ago.
“Virgil. How are you feeling, love?” Janus asked, voice warm with relief and concern.
“better. I think.” He mumbled, fidgeting with his hoodie strings, dark eyes barely visible from the depths of his hood. “which isn’t really saying much, considering anything is probably better than where I was.”
“Any progress is progress, darling. It doesn’t have to be a huge revelation, to be important. Sometimes, you hear something so often it becomes a fact of life in your head, regardless of the truth of the matter. Sometimes you just need to hear the opposite enough times from enough people to start believing in your own worth again.” Janus said, leaning in the doorway. Virgil huffed, looking away.
“you’re all so much… smarter, than me. No wonder I stayed with Him. I’m so… just… stupid.”
“You’re not, love. You’re not the only one, who died because of an unhealthy, abusive, relationship. You’re not the only one who loved someone who wasn’t good for you. If I seem smarter, it’s only because I’ve had longer to comes to terms with it. I’ve had the others, to help break down all of what was taught to me. There’s nothing stupid about it, Virgil. People like that… they know what they’re doing, when they manipulate you, and they’re damn good at it. It isn’t your fault, darling, and you aren’t stupid for it. You’re just… human.” Janus smiled wryly, and something about his words struck so close to home that Virgil almost burst into tears again, barely containing them with a deep breath and hard swallow.
“Do you wanna go properly meet Roman and Logan?” Patton asked softly, and Virgil seemed to shrink in on himself more.
“He’d add Remus to the group of people you need to ‘properly meet’, but you’ve met him at about his best.” Janus added dryly, half smirking in victory as Virgil let out a small, shaky laugh.
“ok. If… if you’re sure they don’t h-hate me. For h-hurting them. Hurting you.”
“They don’t, honey.” Patton reassured, kissing the top of his head, before helping him to his feet, Virgil a little wobbly, though he waved away Patton’s concern.
…
Roman was pacing the living room once more, unable to cease his motion or risk flying apart at the seams. He knew, it wasn’t Virgil’s fault, but that darkness, that power… it scared him.
And now Patton was alone with him, alone with the being that had very nearly sapped him dry. He was so conflicted. On the one hand, he felt sorry for Virgil, he had watched him, after all, they had, seen how he struggled with depression and anxiety, and on top of that an abusive relationship. He knew Virgil didn’t mean any harm, was extremely strong to have pulled back from the brink.
But the protective side of him was screaming that Patton was in danger, they were all in danger, as long as Virgil stuck around. At least Janus had left, a few minutes ago, to check on them.
“Roman. Would you please cease?” Logan asked, looking up from his book, frowning slightly at the noise of his pacing.
“How can you be so calm about this?” He asked, rounding on Logan, who merely raised a brow.
“Virgil has agreed to let Patton, at least, help him manage his issues, and Janus has personal experience recovering from the kind of trauma Virgil has endured. I am confident that we will not have another issue. Why are you still panicking?” Logan’s tone made him want to scream, so frustratingly even, and he threw up his hands.
“Why wouldn’t I be? He nearly destroyed us, Logan, and he wasn’t even trying! We both know he’s prone to fits of panic! What if during one of them he snaps, and hurts all of us? What if he loses control? It wasn’t even fully formed, and it nearly-“
“Roman-“
“And he wasn’t even trying, Logan! What happens if he decides to use it? He has almost as much power as Remus, what if he decides he wants the place to himself, what if he decides he’s tired of us, what if he decides to hurt you, or Patton, or Janus? He could end us, Logan, and I refuse to let that happen. I won’t sit idly by and let him tear all of this apart. We have to… to do something! Something to make sure he can’t!”
“Roman.” Janus’s voice, sharp and cold as ice, and it cut him to his very core. His eyes widened and he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what he would find when he turned around. He desperately met Logan’s eyes, who shook his head, disapproval written across his face. Slowly, he turned, taking it in one at a time.
Janus, face cold and eerily impassive, eyes burning a hole through him, with how hard and sharp his gaze was. Patton, mouth open in a silent O, turning to Virgil, who was squeezing his hand as if his afterlife depended on it.
And Virgil. Virgil was shaking like a leaf, face pale and eyes wide, starting to fizzle into darkness at the edges of his being.
“Virgil I-“ He took a step forwards, eyes wide and pleading, trying to meet Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry- That’s not-“ Virgil shook his head, stumbling back a step for his one forwards, arms wrapping around his middle.
“it’s fine. It’s… I g-get it, I…”
“Virgil. Please. It is alright. He was just worried.” Virgil laughed at Logan’s words, a harsh, gasping thing, that shook his thin frame harder.
“Right. Worried. Ab-out me. H-hurting you. All of y-you. And you know what? He’s right! I c-can’t control myself, I p-anic, I-“
“Darling.” He looked up at Janus, who was reaching out a beseeching hand, asking him, begging him, with his eyes to take it.
The moment seemed suspended in time.
Logan was watching him carefully, calculating odds in his head, he could see it. Roman was struggling for words, trying to find something to say, stance defensive. Patton was looking closely at him, eyes echoing Janus’s sentiment, warm and soft and kind. Janus was almost desperate, almost… afraid.
He could see it. He could see it in each of their eyes. No matter what they said, no matter how much they wanted to help him, wanted to trust him, each of them were afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do. Afraid of what he would do. That’s the only reason Patton and Janus were reaching out, the only reason Roman had stepped between him and the wraith, the only reason Logan had gathered the others to come help, the only reason Remus had let them all in.
Fear.
He was all too acquainted with fear. And for the first time, he wondered, what exactly that fear would lead them to do to him, if he lost control once more. He had the suddenly sinking feeling that he knew, that Roman, at least, wouldn’t hesitate, and Logan wouldn’t be far behind. They would do what they had to, to keep their family safe, and if it destroyed him, then that was the cost. He found he couldn’t blame them. Not when Patton and Janus were so… good.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Then he was gone.
…
“No!” Janus cried out, lunging forwards, but he wasn’t fast enough, his hand closed on empty air, and he spun, punching the wall with a curse, head hanging low as he tried to fight back the upwelling of emotions, the desperate crushing defeat filling his chest. “dammit.” He whispered, spinning at a hand on his shoulder.
“Dammit, Roman! He was listening, he was understanding, he was letting us in, and who are you, who are you to make him more afraid of himself than he already was? You think he doesn’t know, what he’s capable of? You think he doesn’t know what’s at stake? And you… You!” He growled, stalking forwards, not sure what he was moving towards, perhaps punching Roman in the face, but Remus caught his arm before he got there, and he hissed at him, trying to pull out of his grip.
“Janny. Don’t. It won’t fix anything. It’s not what you want.” He nearly pulls away, snarling, surprised as he finds himself folding against Remus instead, angry tears slipping down his face.
“we had him. we were so close, we had him.” He whispered, voice hoarse and drawn, as he felt Remus hug him tight.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… God, I’m sorry.” Roman, voice cracking, looking helplessly between Patton and Logan, shame and self loathing welling in his chest.
“I know. I know, kiddo. I know you’re just worried about us, and I understand. But… but you have to give him a chance. We almost had a chance.” Patton whispers the last sentence, his own tears slipping down his face. He had a feeling Virgil wouldn’t be so easy to find this time, that he’d hide away well and truly.
But at least they’d gotten through to him. At least he was thinking on it, on his relationship being unhealthy, at least he’d gotten that far. He hoped it was enough.
He slipped into awareness slowly. He was warm, comfortable, he felt… safe. The ever present haze of dread and fear and exhaustion was gone. He could hear voices, speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. He realized he was hearing them through a door, and managed to crack open his eyes.
A room. Not his. A bed. Also not his. The blanket was a soft baby blue color, fluffy and warm. The walls were a light cream, the ceiling painted with clouds that seemed to move slowly across it, and the whole space gave off an aura of soothing calm. He sat up, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders, wondering if he should get up, when the door opened.
He flinched at the noise, curling in on himself, tense as he heard footsteps across the floor, recoiling slightly at a touch of his shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, feeling himself shaking. “I t-told you to stay a-away. I’m sorry I-“
“Shhh. It’s okay, baby.”
“It’s not! It’s not. I j-just want it to end, why can’t it just end? Why…” he trailed off, feeling Patton shift closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, which he let stay, leaning slightly into it.
“Because some part of you wants to keep going. Some part of you wants to believe in yourself. I’m so proud of you, kiddo. I know it was hard, to stop that darkness. But you did, and I’m so proud.”
“What was that? Th-that th-thing? It w-was me, w-wasn’t it? I’m J-just a m-monster.”
“No. Honey, no, you aren’t a monster. The people who made that darkness, who fed it, who nurtured it until you believed every word it said, they are the monsters. Not you. Everyone’s ok. Everyone’s alright. We just… we need to work on some things, so that doesn’t happen again.”
“what would have happened? If I h-had let it, what would it have done?” Patton hesitated, and Virgil looked up at him, dark eyes burning with something almost akin to pain. “please. I need to know. I… need to understand, I don’t know anything about this, b-being this, and I c-can’t…”
“Ok. Logan might be better at explaining this, but I’ll try. So, there are different types of spirits. We’re ghosts. We’re human souls that, for some reason or another, haven’t moved on. We’re sentient and, with effort, can influence the physical world. Remus is a poltergeist. He’s not human, never has been. He’s a result of wild energies all swirling together, a manifestation of the universe’s chaos come to life. He can influence things in the physical world more easily, and isn’t bound to this location. He can go wherever he likes. There are also ghosts that appear on a schedule, same routine every time they appear. A woman walking down the stairs, vanishing around a corner at the stroke of ten, that kind of thing. Those are memories, impressions made on a space by some kind of high impact event. They aren’t sentient or aware, it’s just like watching a home video, a snapshot of a different time. Then… then there are corrupted souls.” Virgil was uncurling slightly, looking at him curiously now, listening intently.
“Corrupted souls?”
“Darkness takes over. They lose who they are. All they know is that they’re hurt and angry and someone needs to pay for it. It doesn’t matter who. They can drain the energy of other ghosts, effectively erasing their existences, they grow uncontrollably, destroying everything in their paths, until they burn themselves out. Usually, it takes years, decades, even, for a spirit to become so lost, to give themselves over to that darkness completely. And usually only then when they don’t have any other spirits around to keep them company. It’s when they start going mad from being alone for so long. But you… we were seconds away from losing you to it, kiddo. That’s what has us scared. That you already had so much of that darkness instilled in you.” Virgil shuddered, pulling away, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself
“I was doing that, to you. T-to all of you. Wasn’t I? Draining you all. I almost… I could’ve…” panic climbed his throat, choking him once more, and he could barely hold himself together.
“But you didn’t. That’s what matters, kiddo. You didn’t let it. Coming back from that, stopping that, is incredibly hard, but you did. You did, and that’s all that matters.” Virgil shook his head, shoving back his hair.
“what if it happens again? What… what if I can’t stop it?” He whispered.
“that’s not gonna happen. But you have to let us in, Virgil. You have to let us help, and be there for you, ok? That’s all I want. Is to be able to be there for you.” Patton held his nonexistent breath, pleading, praying, begging for Virgil to say yes, to let him help, because otherwise…
Otherwise they would lose him. Sooner or later, they would lose him.
“please?” he asked again, quietly, watching as Virgil slowly nodded.
“ok.” Then Virgil folded against him with a soft wail, and Patton embraced him, rocking him softly until he cried himself out, falling back asleep.
…
He felt more… himself, when he woke up next. The panic and fear were gone, his chest loose and not tangled up in knots. He felt… almost relaxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt any kind of unstressed or untensed.
He realized part of that might be because he could feel someone massaging his scalp, a kind of gentle touch he hadn’t felt in years, the kind he could barely remember feeling at all. It made him want to fall back asleep, to stay here in this warm, soft, bliss.
“mmm… Patton?” He murmured sleepily, blinking his eyes open. Usually, this much touch would make him afraid, set him on edge, but it felt… safe, coming from Patton, who was curled around him like a mother cat with her kitten.
“Hey, kiddo. Feeling better?” Patton asked, not stopping his gentle scritching.
“yeah. I… I think so.” He mumbled, moving to sit up, pulling away from Patton a bit, pulling his knees to his chest, biting his lip.
“That’s good. I want to talk to you, about something. But I don’t want you to get upset, and run away again.” Virgil tensed, but didn’t move, shaking as he pushed back his hair. “Virgil. It’s nothing bad, nothing to do with you. It’s… you remember, what I said that made you run, when Janus found you?” He asked softly, Virgil wincing, curling a bit tighter.
“yeah.” He mumbled, not offering more, refusing to look up at Patton.
“Did you ever tell Him no?” That was not the question he was expecting, and he chewed on his lip. He didn’t know where Patton was taking this, just thinking about Him made him shake, but he somehow knew this was important.
“no. I never… I never could. He did so much for me. I had to, I… I owed him!” Patton hummed, nodding, not disagreeing.
“Okay. Did he ever tell you no?” He furrowed his brows, thinking.
“Well… yeah. I always asked for too much. I didn’t contribute, so I didn’t get a say, and that was… was fine, I guess.”
“Did he ever tell you yes?” Patton continued, forcing him to answer without any room for obfuscation.
“no.” He whispered.
“Okay. Did he let you go out with friends? Did he let you go out alone?”
“N-no. But that was to protect me. I’m always afraid, of getting jumped or something. He always wanted to know where I was, that I was safe.”
“Would he get mad, if he didn’t know?”
“yeah.”
“Did you know where he was, all of the time? Were you allowed to ask what he was doing, who he was with, who he was seeing, where he was spending time, anything at all?” Virgil hesitated again, clearly thinking, and Patton was hoping, praying this nonconfrontational approach would help Virgil start to understand.
“no.”
“Would he get mad, if you asked?” Virgil looked up at him, for the first time since the start of this, eyes confused and dark, as he nodded.
“so. Can I summarize? You were not allowed to refuse him anything. You were not allowed to anywhere without him. You were not allowed to see anyone without him. you were not allowed to have friends. You were not allowed to do things for yourself.” Virgil nodded again, foccused on Patton. “He was allowed to say no, said no to anything you asked for, for yourself. He was allowed to go out, and tell you nothing of where he’d been, or who he’d been with. He was allowed all the freedoms you were denied, and would get angry if you questioned him. Because that was asking why. And if you started asking why, you would see how unbalanced the scales were tipped. He would start to lose control. So he cut you off from friends, took away your hobbies, forced you to be completely dependent on him, until you believed his reasoning as to why, so you would stop asking that of yourself. That was manipulation. That was abuse.
Virgil, someone who loved you would never, not even jokingly, tell you to kill yourself. Not when they knew you were in a fragile enough mental state that you might actually do it. Someone who loved you wouldn’t have stopped you from doing the things you love. They would have enjoyed watching you do them, been happy because you were happy. Someone who loved you would have never said no without a reason. Would have some give and take, wouldn’t get furious to the point it scared you, for simply asking where they’d been that day. A person who loved you wouldn’t make you a prisoner of your own home, wouldn’t prey on your fears, wouldn’t take your freedom and self esteem away to make his own ego larger.
I know you might not believe me, at first. I know you might not believe me, ever, but just… just think about it, ok? Think about everything he demanded of you, then think of everything he ever denied you, and weigh them against each other. You’ll find the scales completely unbalanced. That is abuse. Manipulating you into hurting yourself? That is abuse. Okay?” He asked softly, surprised as Virgil barreled into him, easily accepting his hug, swaying him back and forth gently.
“ok.” Was the oh so quiet reply, too quiet, but Virgil hadn’t run, hadn’t left, was still there in his arms, shaking silently, and he rested his head atop Virgil’s, gently shushing him, rubbing his back, relief coursing through him. Virgil was thinking it over, at least, was willing to do that much, willing to listen, and hopefully, soon, he’d be willing to talk, as well. But it was a start. A very, very good start.
Summary: You are helped through Steve Rogers’ funeral.
Warnings: it sucks because it’s a funeral (?) and some language (Minors DNI)
The phone rings in your hotel room. Loudly. Louder than a fucking bomb going off, and you want to scream. It didn’t wake you. You’ve been staring at the wall, tucked under the covers for who knows how long.
Exasperated, you roll over to pick up the receiver, but say nothing.
“Hey,” Tony’s voice clips from the other end, “don’t hang up.”
After a long sigh, you wait, still saying nothing.
“Ok,” he sighs, too, “thank you. I just have a few things to say, and I’ll leave you alone.”
You sit up and place your feet on the rough carpet. Fancy hotels remind you of Steve. You made it all the way into a room at one place before freaking out, leaving, and finding close to, but not quite, the cheapest option you could find. You never thought you’d miss your mediocre apartment off of the HQ campus.
Tony finally accepts that you won’t be speaking to him. He’s used to having one-sided conversations. He’ll get over it.
“Romanoff will be over there in the morning with everything you need. Starts at 11. I’m hosting the reception after. It’s not here—” back on campus, you presume, since he clearly knows which room you are in within a building he doesn’t own and wouldn’t be caught dead in “—and if you wanted to speak, the priest is ready for that.”
Steve’s funeral. Tony Stark is talking to you about your husband’s fucking funeral. The fucking nightmare hasn’t fucking ended, and you can’t tell anyone how hollow you feel for not believing. You’re grieving but you’re not. It isn’t real. This cannot be real.
If the funeral is tomorrow then…you have been in this room for four days.
“Ok, so I don’t trust the menu of the room service there, and I’m ordering you some delivery. All I ask is that you open the door.”
He pauses, taking a few breaths to see if you’ll crack. “Fine, they’ll leave it at the door, but I think you should know that I can see if you bring it in. If you love and respect me, which is obviously extremely difficult to do—“ he fumbles and maybe puts his hand over whatever he’s speaking into “—Pep, I’m trying. Can you just—ok, yes—FINE. I am not threatening you to eat, but…”
His voice goes soft, paper-thin and wispy with a faint tinge of wetness. “Please eat. Cap will come back to haunt me if you don’t. Just please be ok.”
Your blood boils instantly. “Okay?! OKAY,Tony?!”
“Shit,” he yelps just before you slam the phone back down.
Tony just can’t help but poke the bear. He just is not capable of shutting the hell up. He’ll make decisions for you all day long. He’ll run circles around you and tell you you’re both exercising. He just can’t stop.
The loud ring explodes in the silence again. You could hang up on him a second time, since the first was remarkably satisfying in a way that only slapping Bucky has been recently, but you let it ring. You let the noise go and go until your eardrums ache like your heart.
Then it stops, and no one calls back.
* * *
Natasha arrives early. Really early. She seems to have guessed what state you’d be in when she arrived (and she didn’t need you to open the door, just walked right in before slipping some device down the side of her shoe). She drops a bag of uneaten food that was outside your door all night into the trash and places some boxes on the little desk in the corner.
This is the second time Nat has brought you a black dress. This is the second time you will wear said black dress in a hotel at some point. That is where the similarities end.
She coaxes you into the shower, talks you through the steps of shampooing, conditioning, washing your body, washing your face, drying off, and putting lotion on. She’s babying you from the other side of the bathroom door, but it’s also to keep you on pace. You’d be lost in memories of him and lose another four days if she didn’t.
She hands you panties and a bra, neither of which are yours, but they are clean and fit. You shouldn’t be surprised that a super spy would be able to find out your size, but you are.
Nat helps you into the dress, not because it’s tricky to put on, but because it’s the form of help she can offer. She zips you up, tugs at pieces here and there to get the garment seated just so, and then pulls out your necklace from beneath the neckline, smoothing the little, circular pendant with a bear down the bodice. Her smile is noticeably less convincing than Nat is capable of, but that seems…deliberate.
She moves a chair for you to sit. She dries your hair carefully before pinning it back. The style is classic and clean but reminds you of old-fashioned glamour. It reminds you of photos of Peggy Carter, though the comparison is a stretch, and you have to look away from the mirror.
Finally, Nat reallysmiles and opens the only remaining box.
She’s brought you donuts. She’s knows you love sweets. It’s maybe one of the very first things Steve ever knew about you, and they are fancy, covered in thick icing in cool designs. They smell warm even after all this primping.
It’s the strangest thing. The outrageous comfort this indulgence brings to you while it also breaks you into a million pieces. You’ve said a total of ten words to her this whole time, and then you eat donuts quietly with the Black Widow while tears stream down your face. Together, you kill a half-dozen easily, and Nat politely offers to have more brought up if you want.
You shake your head. She goes to refill your water and returns with two white pills in the other hand. You shake your head again. You hate taking pills. Steve would know not to offer them.
After finishing the water, Nat asks you to brush your teeth before she puts a touch of makeup on you. At least you don’t look like death warmed over when she’s finished. The best part, the part that will keep you separated from all this horror by the tiniest fraction, is the veil. It’s gossamer and reaches to your collarbone. It lays over and hides some of your perfectly styled hair, but you don’t care. It’s your shield today. Nat knows. You can tell that Nat understands what that means to you by just one shared look through the mirror.
Your mood makes it feel like torrential rain dampens the world around you, but it’s actually a partly cloudy day. It’s beautiful out. Steve would want to take a hike, to go sketch something pretty. Instead, you’re sitting in a folding chair with one leg sinking into soft grass, wobbling like Steve when he proposed.
The priest is just talking. You don’t care whether the words are comforting or dignified or even fucking English.
Natasha is seated beside you while your parents flank the other. She has not left your side since the hotel. Your mother puts her hand on your knee and squeezed who knows how many times while you compare every tiny detail to something about your life with Steve.
He comforted you at a funeral once, the same way, with a warm hand on your knee.
The wind flutters the veil, making the fabric stick to your wet cheek.
Bucky stands in military dress behind you. It’s not lost on you that the last time he wore such a uniform was you and Steve’s wedding, but he hands you a handkerchief from over your shoulder then sets his hand on you to steady the wobbling chair. Your staring at the photos they’ve printed and framed, propped on stands next to the prominently displayed shield. Steve would have appreciated that one of the photos is of him smiling. You think maybe Bucky or Tony had something to do with that. The other is a stalwart propaganda image of Cap with the cowl covering most of his head and face. That isn’t your husband; that man belonged to the nation, the world, the universe even. He was not yours. Somehow you feel a deep bitterness that the two images are side by side.
It’s the gun salute that jostles you back. You’re handed a flag that’s folded as neatly as Steve folded fitted bed sheets. The precision is pointless and stings to remember because you’ll never know how he did that now. Your hands are clasped so tightly in your lap that several fingers are numb, but you know they will shake if you try to relax them.
Bucky steps around from behind your chair to drop some dirt onto the lowered casket. You’re not even sure he’s in there since you refused to know anything about this whole charade. Because that’s what it feels like: a bad farse.
Time is lost on you.
Tony’s voice behind you asks the other mourners to leave without trying to speak to you. Bucky offers to take the flag from your lap, and you push it towards him without looking away from the hole in the ground. Nat doesn’t move from the chair beside you.
Just as the priest steps forward to say some more words of condolence you don’t care about, you’re up on your feet, heading straight for Cap’s shield mounted on a stand beside Cap’s photo, not Steve’s. Because they were different. Because Steve and Captain America may have been the same person, but only Steve Rogers could die. Cap cannot. The whole nation still has their symbol while you lose the only part of this whole damn thing that mattered to you.
One violently shaking hand reaches out to touch the cool, smooth metal. It’s so…thin. The whole façade is hollow, a vibranium illusion of strength and endurance. What good was the illusion? Who fucking cares about a symbol?
You move too quick to tell if the shaking continues. In one fluid motion, you grab one leg of the stand and topple the whole thing.
There’s a ruckus of shock behind you, where perhaps several people scramble to secure the shield that slides across the smooth blades of grass down a short slope, and why that small annoyance to others brings you a flicker of joy, you don’t know. It’s a drop of water in the magma of your anger.
So you walk away because that’s what you do when you’re upset. You walk. You can’t walk as fast as you would without these modest black heels Natasha stuck you in, but at least you’re moving. That’s what they all want, right? You’re supposed to move forward, to move on. Just the thought makes you furious. Your skin crawls with resistance to ever, ever forgetting because you will never forgive yourself if you do.
He’s gone. Steve’s gone. You can still hear the words as clearly as if Bucky repeated them now. The same kicking fury that pushed you to slap the bearer of bad news seizes your lungs and pulls.
For the first time, you scream, a crack of thunder so tortured that life halts around you. The birds stop. The bugs quiet. The mourners not yet gone freeze. Every single one. The second scream is wetter, hoarse, and full of devotion to your misery. The pain ripping through your throat starts the tears, but they don’t end with the physical pain.
Steve comforted you once at a funeral. You’d cried anyway. It’s only fair you fail to control yourself now. It’s only fair that if the world took the man you love that the world sees what it’s done. They don’t get composed. They don’t get serene. They don’t get poised. The world deserves the same turbulent destruction wracking your existence right now, but unlike your husband, you are not strong enough to force that on even one other soul.
When you open your eyes, Natasha and Bucky are there again, and your hands are already knotted tightly to their proffered arms. Nat soothingly repeats your name between simple statements.
“You don’t have to get up.”
“Take as long as you need.”
“We’re right here.”
There’s another uncontrollable surge that grips your lungs. The scream is broken up by shot-gun blast sobs and deep, choking breaths. There’s only one thought that comes to mind when Nat speaks to you.
“I can’t leave him,” you manage in a quiet, rough voice. “I can’t leave him.”
Your grip becomes hard and punishing, enough to make Natasha wince. Bucky’s metal forearm barely registers the pressure. He hands the folded flag over to Nat and slips the fingers of his now free hand between yours to release Nat.
“Never,” Bucky whispers.
He looks too flat. You want him to be wrecked. You want to see that you’re not alone in this pain, but the well-trained soldier remains inscrutable.
Some of them, these superheroes and experts within the Avengers, have the power to crack worlds and raise cities. They can force their will onto others. They can make people see what they want. You can’t do any of that. All you can do is lash out with your pain, and by god, you will wield your only weapon with a sharp a blade.
“You did this,” you spit in Bucky’s face. “This is your fault.”
His face turns stony, brow locked in a guilty v-shape, and that bastard nods at you. Bucky Barnes nods like it fixes something. He nods like acknowledging his failure after-the-fact helps you at all.
Your anger flairs, hurling fiery tentacles around like a kracken in your sea of sorrow, and your hands release him.
“Get away from me,” you hiss, steadying yourself to stand alone, because you are. You are alone. “I never want to see your face again.”
He’s just Barnes now, and as you turn, she’s just Romanoff. Your tie to the Avengers has been severed. You’re just as you were years ago, an employee on the fringes of their world, and it’s time to get back to work.
Hello, my fabulous friends! I’m so excited to introduce you to chapter two of my fake dating, modern au fic that will wrap up just in time for InuKag Week in June. You can read it on ao3 here. Have a great Sunday!
Warning: I do want to mention the brief subject of suicide and childhood bullying, but not details, just two mentions of a previous attempt.
Summary: Kagome and Inuyasha get to know each other. Inuyasha also learns of Kagome’s not so secret admirer.
Looking at the goofy, but cute selfie on her screen, Kagome couldn’t help but giggle. Inuyasha had sent her a picture of him and his adorable, fluffy dog, Ham, and she wondered if they were secretly related. Ham was shaped like a literal cloud, with the white hair to match and he had a crooked smile that seemed to resemble his owner’s. Saving the pic to her phone, she sent a quick text back and pocketed her cell.
Angels were, by definition, a calm, loving race. They were created to love each and every one of God’s creations unconditionally, even if they didn’t particularly want to. Aziraphale had always fit into this definition perfectly. The angel had never so much as slightly disliked someone, always seeing the best in all the people around him. That had led him to believe, this natural state of his was the only and best version of himself he could ever be, content and loving, gentle and kind. That was, until Gabriel had sent him on the mission.
Crowley had started sensing a different kind of energy in Aziraphale over the past weeks, but hadn’t openly questioned him about it; he had those phases sometimes. The angel seemed distant and disconnected most of the time, and, when they were actually engaged in conversation he appeared nervous, almost agitated. He had invited Aziraphale to dinner in the hopes of taking the angel’s mind off of whatever was bothering him, and it seemed to have worked until, hours later, they sat on the large, comfortable sofa in the back corner of the bookshop, wine glasses in hand, and the waves of concern emanating from the angel started washing over Crowley again.
His eyes were locked on Aziraphale, hidden behind his dark shades, observing how he nervously swished the wine around in his glass, the gold ring on his pinky clinking against the thin material over and over. His bowtie was crooked, his jacket long discarded on the armrest of another sofa, and his eyebrows were knitted together in obvious worry, his eyes distant and deep in thought.
"Angel.“ There was no reaction, not even the slightest movement of acknowledgement other than his chest slowly rising and falling with every shallow breath that he took. "Aziraphale.” He spoke a bit louder now, which made the blond jump slightly, locking his eyes on him immediately. “Oh dear, I apologise. What were you saying?” I’m worried about you, he wanted to say, how can I make you feel better? The angel’s gaze was troubled but inquisitive, and Crowley noticed he was clearly trying to mask his distraught condition from him. “What’s wrong?” “Wh-what? Nothing is wrong, darling, everything is completely and utterly alright. Do you want some more?” His shaking hand grabbed the open bottle of vintage wine from the round antique table in front of them, offering it to the demon. He shook his head softly, having to suppress a smile at the angel’s natural use of the word: darling. “I’ve known you for quite some time now, angel, I can tell, when you’re lying. Tell me, what’s going on?”
The blond put the dusty bottle and his half-full glass of wine down on the table and sat up straighter, his eyes firmly focused on his hands that were neatly folded in his lap now. His face was slightly flushed, Crowley couldn’t tell if it was from alcohol or tension, but he could feel the faint but quick vibrations of the angel’s heartbeat over the soft fabric of the sofa as he sighed deeply.
"I-I have to ask a favour of you, Crowley.“ "Oh?” The demon rose his head in surprise. “And you know, I don’t like doing this.” Crowley nodded, unable to hide the small self-assured grin that spread over his lips at the thought of Aziraphale needing his help. “What’s it to be, angel?”
“I - They… Well…” Crowley’s smile fell at the angel’s hesitation, his brows even more furrowed now while he still wouldn’t look up from his fidgety hands. “I…” He paused again and Crowley let go of the armrest he had been leaning onto, straightening up from his relaxed position. “Are you in trouble?” The angel flinched slightly at his inquiry, only very shortly glancing up at him. “No, no, I’m not, I don’t - I don’t think? Maybe… Maybe I am.” Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps, and the anxiety was clear in his following words. “What’s going on?” He felt his own heart beating faster now, not able to handle the thought of the angel in such danger that it would make him act as anxiously as this. “They sent me on a mission that I don’t think I can handle - at least not on my own.” Crowley nodded understandingly, wordlessly urging him on to continue talking. “There is this man, a human. He’s been under the watchful eye of Gabriel for a couple of years now, but something has changed recently. He - apparently he’s figured out how to use occult power for his own benefit.” “What?” That couldn’t be right. A human using occult powers, how was that even possible? “Yes, and I’m not the first angel they’re sending there to try and stop him… We’ve apparently lost 4 of our best.” After this statement, there was only silence filled with utter confusion in which Crowley tried to convey his best bewildered expression. The angel understood his silent question. “Hellfire. He conjures it like it’s nothing.” The shock threatened to overwhelm the demon, and he could only think and speak one thing.
"You can’t go there.“
He heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath and reached up to pull his own sunglasses off his face to look him straight in the eyes. His expression was apologetic and helpless, his eyes full of fear as he spoke dejectedly. "W-Well, I have to, it’s not like I have much of a choice." "You are going to die if you go. Permanently! Not some silly small discorporation, this is it. You will die!” “And I’ll fall if I don’t. I need your help.”
Falling isn’t that bad, he wanted to say, I’ll catch you, but he knew he would do absolutely anything in his power to keep the angel from meeting the same fate he himself had met so many millennia ago. Anything.
"Okay, I’m in.“
⁂
They had tracked the man down to a quiet little town in northern Scotland, and, upon doing so, had immediately gotten on the first train that sped through the murky afternoon towards Inverness.
Crowley tried to relax as he let his eyes follow the beautiful landscapes that were quickly passing by the foggy window: serene lakes surrounded by old, enchanted forests that looked like they were taken straight out of a fairytale, high, well-formed mountains in the distance, some high enough so their peaks would just about vanish in the white of the lower-hanging early winter clouds and ruins of long-forgotten castles spread all through the countryside, abandoned and overgrown, some even completely reclaimed by nature.
It was all such a contrast to the busy city they spent most of their time in, the grey bustling atmosphere, the narrow streets, the small parks full of people and the feeling of eyes on you everywhere you went, even, or maybe especially, when you were a demon (or when your way of walking resembled a more flamboyant early 80s Mick Jagger performance).
The demon’s eyes wandered away from the window, over to Aziraphale, who sat opposite him. Would he want to stay in London forever? Crowley could barely imagine what it would be like for Aziraphale to live out here in the countryside, maybe for them both to live together. A small house with a big library for the angel, a cosy living room where they could spend their time together and maybe a bedroom, where they could - Crowley shook his head as he felt his cheeks blush slightly. Get your mind out of the gutter. He let his gaze drop down to Aziraphale’s hands. They were jittery, his knuckles pure white from gripping the thin old leatherbound book he had brought as hard as he could. The angel looked nervous, his eyes glowing in, what some might assume to be excitement, but the demon knew it was genuine fear.
"Hey.” Crowley spoke in the softest voice he could muster, and the angel’s head snapped to him immediately, his stunning eyes practically dripping with uncertainty. “Don’t worry too much, okay? We’ll be alright.” The blond’s eyebrows furrowed in a flash. “Oh, I don’t - ” “I know you do.” His previously exhausted expression shifted, and he gave Crowley a small smile, before turning his attention back to the outside.
“I just had a thought.” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale gave him a questioning look, his head slightly cocked to the side. “We can’t just show up there like this.” He gestured between them, and the angel’s expression morphed back into utter confusion. “Like what?” “Well, we don’t exactly blend in, you and I.” He looked almost offended now as he straightened his bowtie and his posture at the same time. “Oh don’t look at me that way, you know you’re still stuck in the 19th century.” “Nobody ever suspected me of anything!” “That’s because you’re an angel, you exude that innocent energy. He’s familiar with the occult and etherial, though, he’ll either be completely immune to your energy or, even worse, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. We can’t allow ourselves to attract attention through our clothes as well.” The angel’s eyes were understanding as he nodded slowly, and looked through him for a moment. “Oh dear. So, what do we do?” “I have an idea.” Might as well have some fun with it.
⁂
"I know you enjoy fashion, Crowley…" The angel hesitantly stuttered as he examined the ridiculous outfit Crowley had miracled onto him, and Crowley couldn’t prevent a burst of stifled laughter from escaping his mouth. He had put Aziraphale in a normal, well-tailored contemporary suit, that was, completely incidentally of course, entirely made out of different coloured neon fabrics that shone luminously against the angel’s pale skin and made him look more uncomfortable than the demon had ever seen him.
"I know you like to go with the trends, you go fast, that’s what you do,“ Crowley shuddered at the unintentional word choice, but the angel kept going, "but this is truly horrendous. I would rather wear nothing than any of these clothes!” The demon grinned as he felt a wave of warmth shoot through his entire body. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” “Crowley!” The angel blushed deeply and protectively rose a hand over his own chest. “I’m just joking, give me a second.”
He snapped his fingers again, and, as the angel emerged from the fading bright light that had surrounded both of them for a moment, Crowley’s throat went dry. He had, of course, chosen the outfit he saw before him, had actually thought it up right then and there, but to actually see the angel in it…
"How ‘bout that?“ His own voice sounded audibly strained, but he hoped Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, too busy looking down on himself in awe. Crowley knew he was one to prefer bright clothes and pastel colours, especially a good creme or beige - earth tones, generally, something that made him feel connected to Her every second of his existence. What he wore now was quite similar to the things he usually did, just a little more updated to the current fashion trends: the creme three-piece-suit a different fabric, a little tighter, more well-tailored, the pastel blue shirt underneath approximately six buttons less buttoned than usual, showing off just that perfect amount of light blond chest hair on the angel’s pale skin that made Crowley ache with want to reach out and run his fingers through it.
"Oh, this is - this is nice! Thank you. You think is more inconspicuous?” His fingers made quick work on buttoning up the shirt almost completely, leaving only the very top button undone. “Certainly.” Crowley straightened the cuffs of his new, almost-all-black suit he had miracled onto himself and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face into a slightly more gelled back style. Once the angel laid eyes on him as he answered, he only stared, and the demon wondered whether he had overdone it with the look before the angel spoke hesitantly. “You look… good.” He sounded so nice and genuine that Crowley felt himself blushing slightly, quickly turning away as casually as possible so it wasn’t obvious to the angel. “Shut up.”
⁂
It hadn’t taken them long to get there. Their train had miraculously skipped certain stops and, unbeknownst to Aziraphale, generally moved with a much higher tempo than trains usually did, thanks to Crowley. The driver of the cab they had taken upon arriving in Inverness had given them an ominous look before he sped away, leaving them behind at their destination: an old, worn down, abandoned factory.
"This isn’t what I expected.“
The seemingly once bright exterior was now completely covered in bright orange rust that shone even in the murky light of the cloudy day, and plants were overgrowing everything they could reach, from the ivy that wound its way up the high walls to the other wild plants pouring out of the broken windows and even through some parts where the roof had apparently given in.
"It’s so cliché, something’s definitely wrong here.” Crowley mumbled, and he noticed Aziraphale forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, it’s where my contact told me he was hiding.” They shrugged and started moving forward.
Getting inside proved difficult, and only after a while did they find an entryway through a large, collapsed gate Crowley held open for Aziraphale to slip through. Managing to push himself through the narrow gap, he immediately bumped into the angel, who had stopped cold right behind. “Crowley, stop.” A hand suddenly brushed against Crowley’s chest as Aziraphale blocked him from advancing past himself through the dimly lit corridor. He looked taken aback as he seemed to listen out for any kind of sound. Crowley interrupted him. “What, are you scared of a little darkness?” Swatting his hand away, he took another step forward before Aziraphale pulled him back again, and he was forced to come to a halt once more. “Crowley, I’m serious.” His warm fingers closed around the thin fabric of the demon’s shirt right over his chest, the other arm pushed before him almost protectively, holding him in place. Crowley stopped for a moment, feeling his heart speed up at their closeness, but when the blond showed no intention of moving, he brushed him off and walked past him nonchalantly, turning around only to throw a smirk back at the frightened angel before he turned a corner while talking. “I am too! Let’s find this idiot and put this behind us.”
Crowley heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath, but only for a moment before his loud footsteps drowned out any other sounds around him. “Look at this!” Before him, the corridor split into two different directions, creating a small gap in the wall in front of him, which held a medium size stone statue of some kind of winged creature, that sent him delving into memories.
"Hey, come look at this, it looks just like the statue from that church where I saved you, remember? Blasted Nazis.“ He smiled at the fond memories of his triumph, especially knowing that said statue had not only survived the heavy bombings of the Second World War, but now stood, safe and sound, in a corner of his flat.
Crowley liked to keep mementos, little souvenirs of important moments, just to make them even more memorable. He’d kept things all the way from the beginning, had, for instance, raised a tree from seeds he’d kept from Eden (in fact, many generations of said tree over the millennia, and currently had a very young one of them sitting on the windowsill of his bedroom, which was doing amazingly), or had kept his first up until his most recent attempts at fashionable sunglasses to hide his peculiar eyes from inquisitive humans - they always made them somewhat suspicious, and he didn’t exactly want to be mistaken for a witch again.
Being a big fan of art, he’d acquired paintings far beyond his favourite, the sketch of the Mona Lisa; he’d met many talented artists back in the day, had even gotten a portrait done of himself once, that he never felt narcissistic enough to actually display anywhere, not that it’d flatter his minimalist interior design. He’d kept letters, not all of them of course, but many from his earlier correspondence with Aziraphale, some from other old or new friends he’d made over the years, even some of his own he’d never been courageous enough to send, but, most importantly of all, he’d kept his one true love, his precious, treasured 1926 Bentley, and in perfect condition to. One true love, huh?
It was only when he ripped his gaze from the withered statue in front of him that he realised Aziraphale had not yet caught up with him. "Come on, hurry up, angel.” He called out into the darkness and listened for a response. Nothing. Not a shuffle, not a resonating step of shoes on the plain concrete flooring, just silence. “Angel?” Suddenly concerned, Crowley charged back around the corner into a, now, completely vacant corridor. No angel. “Aziraphale!”
There were only two ways he could have gone, either he had advanced past the corridor Crowley had taken, or turned back entirely. The demon favoured the latter and sprinted back outside as fast as he could. The dark clouds had opened up, and the harsh, cold raindrops hit his face immediately as he stepped outside, but he couldn’t spot his friend anywhere. Why would he have gone past him without saying anything? Why had he not heard him? Something must have happened, Crowley was sure of it.
He turned back to the corridor, advancing quickly but silently now, aware, that danger might be lurking much closer than he had previously thought.
When an angel is forced to lose its memory, there is close to nothing that can actually bring those memories back. The demon knew, but It’s not like he hadn’t tried to remind the angel; for centuries, Crowley, as he called himself now, had dropped subtle hints about his life before he fell or asked casual questions about Aziraphale’s existence before he was sent to Eden, but to no avail. He would either not remember anything, or, seldom, feel like he had forgotten something, as if it floated there in the back of his mind, but he could never quite grasp it.
As much as he missed the loving interactions they had shared in heaven, he was eternally grateful for the fact that, over the millennia, they had become friends again. Of course, Aziraphale had been hesitant befriending a demon, but they had met countless times over the years, both instructed by their respective head offices to stay down on earth and look out for each other’s actions while performing various duties, and, after a while, the angel had even started instigating their meetings, especially after the establishment of The Arrangement™. It had brought them closer together, which was all Crowley really cared about, but he also knew Hell would absolutely destroy him if they found out about any of it. He wasn’t afraid of Satan, or about what they would do to him - he was, however, scared of what they might try to do to the angel.
Indubitably, he knew heaven would not be generous or forgiving either if they found out, but against them, he could fight; he had hellfire and the rest of his demonic powers, but he had nothing on hell, nothing to defend himself with, nothing…
Until he had an idea.
⁂
1967
"You go too fast for me, Crowley.“
It had come as a surprise to him, Aziraphale’s presence in his car as he closed the door behind him, but not nearly as much as the angel’s following actions.
Crowley had known that he was playing with fire as he’d planned the heist from the church, but he’d known his cause was good - he needed the holy water to defend himself, more importantly, defend his angel. The plan had been done, thoroughly tested and thought through, the participants had all been clearly instructed and paid, and he would soon have had a way to fend off hell, should he ever have to (which, he had accepted, was just a matter of time). What he had not expected was the angel to intervene, at least not in this way.
His long, slender fingers closed around the tartan thermos, feeling the dangerous weight within. You go too fast for me. What did that even mean? Did he mean his driving, his racing tendencies whenever he rushed the Bentley through the crowded streets of London, or did he really mean what he thought he did? The gas pedal of the old car was pressed down to the floor as he flew across the busy crossroads, barely avoiding the busses that were passing in front of him. You go too fast for me. He couldn’t possibly be talking about them, could he? It had been thousands of years since the angel had first met him as a demon, thousands and thousands of years, how could he possibly go any slower?
Crowley wasn’t an angry being, not by default. He hadn’t turned into the vile, vengeful creature his fellow fallen angels had turned into, his mind had stayed in a similar place as it had always been in. Crowley could, however, get very angry when he was frustrated, and the thing that frustrated him most was his overly complicated relationship with Aziraphale.
The handle of the door to his apartment smashed into the wall behind it as the demon practically kicked it open, snapping his fingers to let it fall closed, leaving behind a massive hole in the wall.
"I know you said you were gonna test me! I know you did,” he shouted, his head angled upwards as his arms flailed uselessly next to him, “but this, this can’t be it! I can’t do this. He’s - it’s too much.” His closed eyes flashed with images of Aziraphale, his coy smiles, his fidgety hands, his blushing cheeks whenever he said something even slightly out of place, and his beautiful, glowing eyes…
"Test them, test me, give me war, give me difficult people, even angels to deal with, heaven, give me anybody else, not him, not -,“ he paused for a moment whilst his sweaty fingers closed around the bridge of his nose tightly, "not these… feelings.” He sank down on his throne, defeated and dejected as he leaned his head in his hands.
The silence in his apartment was overwhelming, no answer, no sign, there was nothing but almost painfully overbearing silence. Did he mean it? Was he going too fast? He mentally slapped himself. How could he have assumed, even after all these years, that an angel could seriously develop any kind of feelings towards a demon? He was surely just passing the time, happy to have at least some immortal company, even a demon would do for that. Just for that.
The only light source in the room suddenly flickered and caught Crowley’s attention, an antique silver desk lamp, a piece that had never really fit into the aesthetic of his dark, clean flat, with its playful swerving curves and elaborate adornments that would fit much better into a Rococo ballroom in 18th century France than in the demon’s gloomy apartment, but, of course, Aziraphale had given it to him as a gift, so he’d kept it around.
He rose his voice again, this time dripping with frustration: “What am I supposed to do here, huh? Give me a clue, because I’m bloody desperate.”
He flinched as the lightbulb exploded, tiny pieces of glass raining down onto the wooden table, his office now only lit up by the faint moonlight that crept through the big windows. His eyes snapped to the lit-up windowsill, the only thing the moonlight met directly, surrounding it with a mysterious glow. The dainty little plant he had kept there for the past couple of years, which had done wondrous things under Crowley’s special care, that had just a moment ago looked luscious and beautiful had now started wilting all of a sudden, quickly turning into a droopy dry mess.
Things like this happened more often than the demon would have liked to admit. Any time his emotions, mostly anger or sadness, threatened to overcome him, he noticed things happening around him that were vastly out of his control. It was mostly a case of objects vanishing, breaking, or, in this case, one of his favourite plants wilting away under his fingertips.
The demon’s eyes focused on the tartan thermos on the armrest in front of him. But he had helped him, nonetheless. The angel had given him something that would surely get him into big trouble if head office ever knew, he had disobeyed them to help Crowley. That had to mean something, right?
He jumped up, his head once more raised towards the high ceilings, as he spoke with determination: “I promise, if he ever says anything along those lines again, I’m gone. Off somewhere, where neither heaven nor hell can find me, without him.”
As he felt the tears form in his eyes, he sank back down on his throne, his face entirely hidden in his hands before he let the tears run freely.
"I promise.“
⁂
1978
If you’ve ever had a best friend, which, hopefully, you did, you know how difficult it is when certain situations force you not to talk to each other. It might be something as mundane as taking a test in school where the teacher forces you to be quiet, or it might be a serious argument you had, after which there’s just awkward silence between you and you both wish, the fight hadn’t happened.
Crowley had spent eleven years away from Aziraphale, keeping himself busy with any job hell could offer him, travelling as far away as he could from London, since every minute spent in the English capital alone was pure agony for him.
The flat he had moved into for the short times he did stay in London was a good one, one that he had now altered to look exactly like he wanted it to and very similar to his former one, but it certainly wasn’t the looks of it he wasn’t enjoying. It was the company (or lack thereof).
He knew the bookshop wasn’t too far away (one of the reasons he had left his previous flat), he knew he could just take a cab, take his Bentley or even walk over there, if the temptation ever got too much, but, as often as he struggled during sleepless nights in the dark apartment, he never gave in.
He probably didn’t even want to see him.
Over the millennia that Crowley had spent on earth, he had, much like Aziraphale had learned to indulge in food, slowly found the human practice of sleep more and more enticing, until he had almost made it into daily (or nightly) practice. It helped him structure his busy schedule, and actually relieved him immensely after the often long and rough days he had.
It was one of these typical late nights that he carefully parked the Bentley before wearily forcing himself up the four slides of stairs to burst into the dark but welcoming flat that awaited him. He hadn’t had the chance to process the fact that he had finally arrived home after about a month spent abroad, when he noticed a noise from his office, the recording of his own voice noisily resounding through the flat. ” - do it with style.“
He had owned the answering machine for a while, one of the earliest models of the invention, not ready to commit to the more modern machinery out there, but he hadn’t gotten a call in a long time now. Or had he? He wouldn’t have known, always gone, far away from home and, consequently, far away from his phone.
"Cr-Crowley? Good evening, this is Aziraphale. I suppose this will be another one of these blasted one-sided phone calls, but I really can’t stop calling you, I - I worry about… about you.” The angel’s voice was rough and troubled, and Crowley felt his heartbeat quicken instantly as he rushed into his office. Did he say he worried about him?
“As usual, I’ll start by saying: I hope you’re alright, and, if you are even getting these messages, I wish to tell you that I hope you’re good, you’re healthy and happy, wherever you are.” Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps as the angel spoke with such love and kindness, and he slowly took a few steps closer to the dusty black machine that stood on his even dustier wooden desk.
"Um… like every Saturday, I will be having my tea at the usual shop over by the theatre, and I’d love to invite you if you’re free…" There was a long pause and Crowley could practically hear the angel think. His hand was now hovering over the phone, so very close to picking up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not, while his breath was so obviously caught in his throat and he felt like he could burst into tears at any moment.
"Maybe not there, I know you’re not too big on their pancakes. I’ll go wherever you want, I’ll pay, just… just call me back, please. I haven’t seen you in years, Crowley, I miss… Just call me back.“ And with that, the line was dead.
Crowley let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, stumbling a few steps back into his bedroom. I miss… Had he missed him? The demon felt his face heat up in a blush as he let himself fall backwards into the pool of black silk that welcomed him lovingly.
He had missed him. Aziraphale had missed him. And Crowley would go and see him tomorrow.
⁂
It had been a very restless night for the demon, because, even though Crowley had been awfully tired from his long and exhausting trip, he hadn’t been this excited in a long time. He would see Aziraphale today. He had missed him.
His heart was racing as much as his mind as he strode down the familiar road. The people around him were in a rush, hurrying past him through the bleak morning mist, thick woollen collars folded up high against the cold. Crowley, however, did not feel the cold as he meandered through the crowds, though his reptilian skin usually shivered at the tiniest decrease of temperature, today was different; even if he had felt the cold creep through his thin, black jacket today, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, too caught up in his own thoughts.
He’d have to play it cool; behave, like this was totally casual, and in no way affected him as much as it actually did. He was a demon; he didn’t care.
He froze his face in a permanent, neutral expression, and, as he pushed his fairly new pair of sunglasses back up his nose and crossed the corner to the street, where his destination lay.
The little cafe had always stood out, that was why Aziraphale had fallen in love with it in the first place, its exterior a bright, sun-yellow against the street’s general austere appearance, its interior dark and cosy, much like the angel’s bookshop. The red leather benches were old and worn out, the dark wooden tables scuffed and scratched, but it gave the place the kind of gentle, comfortable atmosphere you would crave on a misty morning like this one. Golden lights shone from the high ceiling down onto the tables below as Crowley reached the large window and stopped, his eyes hurriedly scanning the shop until they landed on the angel.
He was dressed just like he always was, in bright, neutral colours, his light blue button-down slightly contrasting against his yellowish bowtie, topped off with his usual light brown vest and jacket. His blond hair was the same, maybe a tad longer than he had last seen it, as it curled down the angel’s temple.
Aziraphale was focussed on the celestial newspaper he was holding, the cup of tea in front of him steaming hot before he extended a skilled hand over it, effectively cooling the drink down to an enjoyable temperature and took a sip, a content smile spreading over his face as he returned to reading.
Crowley’s eyes changed focus, now meeting his own reflection in the polished glass. He looked absolutely miserable. His shoulder-length auburn hair was messy, his pale skin dull and dry, and his thin lips were curled downwards into a bitter frown. He didn’t deserve this. Aziraphale looked great, happy, even, in this new life without him. Who was he to come barging back into a life of perfection, just to ruin everything again with his demonic presence? Just to go too fast yet again?
This was a terrible idea, he thought as he turned his head to leave, his eyes stumbling across a small potted plant on the windowsill just behind the glass: a pretty plant with large luscious leaves and a big white blossom on its top. As his thoughts drowned him in the shattering truth that, after now, he would never see the angel again, the plant’s leaves suddenly drooped down, its blossom wilting instantaneously and unnaturally fast down into a brown, flaccid mess.
Not again. He groaned internally, his mind clouded with frustration when suddenly, the car alarm behind him went off in a roaring siren, making him flinch in surprise and then curse silently, as he shut it back down with a quick gesture. This happened way too often these days.
He turned himself around once more, as he realised his foolish mistake; a sudden loud car alarm in the peaceful silence of a calm street with few cafes?
Hoping, the guest he was trying to avoid hadn’t heard him or the noise he had caused, he slowly raised his head back up, immediately meeting the eyes of the blond angel inside.
His eyes were wide open, as was his mouth, and within mere moments he had dropped his newspaper on the table, knocked over his teacup that shattered loudly on the wooden floor (for once not apologized profusely), and merely bolted through the heavy door onto the street.
The demon had been paralyzed from the moment their eyes had met, only following the angel’s movements behind his dark glasses, until he stood before him.
"Crowley…” Aziraphale walked towards him in slow, hesitant steps, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening, as if he expected him to disappear within the blink of an eye. He was only about a step away from him when he stopped.
"Crowley, my dear… I - I haven’t seen you in so long, are you alright?“ The angel’s eyes were glossy and his cheeks blushed unmistakably as his warm hands found Crowley’s arm under his long sleeves and clung onto him. The demon found his voice only moments after, focussing hard on maintaining a stable exterior when all he wanted to do is throw his arms around the angel and hold him close.
"I’m good, angel, I’m good. Are you? You look… tired.” Aziraphale never let his eyes leave Crowley, absolutely fixated on him, his smooth lips now curved into a bright smile.
"I’m marvellous, darling, especially now that I know you’re not - you know, I was beginning to think you had… “ The angel’s eyes looked through him for a second as his smile vanished, replaced by a distant expression and the hand that still grabbed onto Crowley’s arm trembled briefly before he regained his composure and his expression morphed into a coy smile once more. "Nevermind that. Can I persuade you to a nice cup of coffee? It’s on me, whatever you’d like!”
Aziraphale didn’t give him time to answer as he slid his arm through Crowley’s and led him inside. The warmth enraptured him immediately, from the outside as well as from the inside, and Aziraphale showed him to the table he had just been sitting at before leaving him to get them something to drink.
The demon felt his heartbeat slow down a bit as he forced himself to calm down, strenuously focussing on the outside of the shop as he waited. He watched the people walking past the glass, businessmen and women rushing through the cold beginnings of winter, hoping to find warm refuge somewhere close-by, and he began lazily miracling feeding pigeons out of the way of recklessly fast drivers. A twinge shot through his heart. Too fast.
“So, eleven years…” The angel’s voice brought him back to reality, and he felt the heat of the cup of coffee in front of him before he even saw it. Bringing his skinny fingers around the porcelain, he felt himself calm down even more, now able to properly give his attention to the talking angel.
"What have you been up to?“ "You wouldn’t want to know,” he muttered, as his inner eye showed him glimpses of well-done demonic work. “Oh. So you’ve been busy.” “So you could say.” The angel’s smile turned a little colder, and Crowley felt as if someone grabbed his heart tightly and was threatening to rip it out of his chest if he didn’t make the angel smile again.
"I’m sorry I never called you back, I never really spent much time around here, and…" The words refused to come out of his mouth correctly, and he jumped on. “What have you been doing? Is the bookshop still standing?” “Oh, yes!” Aziraphale’s face lit up instantly. “It’s simply splendid, although, the other day, one crude woman actually insisted on buying a book! Can you believe that?” The angel took a sip of his hot tea, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “You know, usually, bookshops do those kinds of things, angel.” “I know, I know, but me?” “I know.”
Crowley’s heart picked up the pace again as his hand reached into the astral plane, pulling out the gift he had brought and placed it on the table between them. “For you…” he mumbled as he observed the angels pupils dilate at the look of the elegantly packaged present. His hand moved over it instinctively, his fingers brushing delicately over the thin paper.
"I know you collect these, found this on a recent trip and thought you’d like it.“ Crowley took an overly casual sip of coffee as the angel picked up the book to unwrap it slowly, a small blush already visible on his cheeks. "You…thank you, that’s really very nice of you.”
Bit by bit, he carefully removed the wrapping paper, as if ripping it would hurt it, and slowly uncovered the beautiful old clothbound book. “Wilde, this is Oscar Wilde!” The angel looked at Crowley in shock as he discarded the wrapping paper absentmindedly and a big blush spread over his face. Crowley smiled again, his heart suddenly warm. “You have to tell me more about him some time, I know you spent some time with him.” “Oh, I will… A First Edition, this is marvellous.” Aziraphale flashed him a loving smile, sending butterflies surging through Crowley’s stomach. The book laid on the table as the angel carefully let his hands run over the spine, his fingertips delicately running over the old pages.
"You didn’t read this, did you?“ There was a sudden hint of apprehension and fear in his voice that Crowley couldn’t quite interpret as he shook his head. "You know I don’t read, angel.” “Oh, well then.” He returned his attention to the book, his eyes again full of glee. Crowley made a mental note to come back to this topic sometime.
"I’ve wanted this edition since it came out, but it was never available here, how did you…?“ "I was there and I saw it.” The demon didn’t even think to mention the awful lot of trouble he’d had to get into to acquire the book. “No further questions. Thank you, Crowley, that is incredibly thoughtful. I’ll make sure it gets a splendid place in the collection.” Crowley chuckled darkly. “The shop, you mean?” The angel looked back at him like he’d gotten caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Yes, of course.”
The demon put down his now empty cup, placed his hands on the table and took in the moment. It was a practice he had adapted several millennia ago, a way of taking mental pictures to remember certain moments for posterity. Even though he would have never wanted to admit it, Crowley was a sappy person; he liked to wallow in memories often, enjoy the good times he’d had the pleasure of sharing with the angel.
Hugging the book to his chest with one arm, the angel’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes in pure enjoyment. Aziraphale seemed lost in thought as he brought his other hand downwards to rest on the table, his fingers softly brushing over the knuckles of the demon’s own hand on the table.
And his touch lingered for a second.
And Crowley felt happier than he had in a very long time.
Lucifer had changed. He was no longer the curious, broken being, that the fallen angel had come to sympathise with in heaven; he was angry, vengeful, evil, and so were all the others. A third of the angels had fallen with him, a third of God’s creatures banned from heaven to serve eternity in ‘hell’, a new, dark place very deep down.
It hadn’t been a shock to the nameless demon when Lucifer had called for him, just for the others to aggressively drag him through the dark and filthy corridors to find him in a big, dim room, sitting upon a makeshift throne. He looked different now, larger, his big, leathery wings spread over the dark throne behind him, the previously perfect, pale skin now dyed a dark red by the blood of the fallen.
"Satan, we’ve brought him, as you requested,“ croaked the demon who still had an iron grip on the nameless one’s aching shoulder. The fallen angel raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Satan? Well, that’s one hell of a name choice.” Satan raised his arm, gesturing to his men dismissively. They immediately let go of the black-winged creature, stumbling back in fear as he fell forwards, down to the ground onto his scuffed up arms, raising his head slightly to playfully bow at the being before him.
"My old friend, how have you been?“ Lucifer’s voice was no longer the smooth one of an angel, it was deep, and intimidating, like a combined roar of a dozen people shouting at once - a sound chilling down to the bone. "I’m good, really. No complaints here.” The nameless demon’s voice was smug and dripping with sarcasm as he stood up, brushing the dust and dirt from the black piece of cloth he was wearing.
Satan waved his arms towards the other present demons once more, all of them rushing out of the room obediently.
The dark, red eyes bore into his, and the red-winged creature slowly leaned forward on the throne, an intimidating grin on its face.
"I have a task for you, an important one. I know you’ll like it, even though you hate me for what I’ve done.“ "I don’t - ” “I know, what you think. I know, what you feel. I know you.” The nameless demon swallowed in fear before he realised: He had never been scared of Lucifer, nor was he now, when he had absolutely nothing to lose anymore. He would certainly prefer death, even a slow and painful over spending eternity down here with them, with Him. Not afraid to show him his mindset, he opened his mouth to throw some mocking sass at him, when Satan cut him off. “I want you to go back up there and make some trouble. I want you in Her oh-so-perfect world, and I want you to ruin it - for them and for Her.”
The fallen angel didn’t hear Satan’s maniacal laughter that followed his words, too caught up in his own thoughts. He could go back? Back to earth, back to the garden, he could go see his angel again, even if he wouldn’t remember him, could maybe even talk to him?
His overwhelming emotions left him sobbing internally, struggling to keep his cool exterior in front of the devil.
"Certainly. I will, Master,“ he muttered obediently, and Satan nodded, a grin still plastered on his face as he rose an arm towards him. "Oh, and another thing: You’ll need a body, a corporal one. Something inconspicuous.” He snapped his long, bony fingers that were extended towards the nameless demon, and without warning, he could feel himself discorporating, changing and reforming. It wasn’t painful, not the process at least, not until he suddenly solidified on the ground, in a new, smaller body and opened his eyes. His vision was different, much brighter but less clear, and he flinched as he saw a forked tongue flicker out before his eyes. His tongue, a snake’s tongue.
"What should I call you, my friend?“ "I already had a name,” he resented, his voice deeper and almost hissing as he spoke. “I know you did. It’s not yours to claim anymore, neither now nor ever again. Now, you’re just a pathetic, crawly being, that is finally going to corrupt Her greatest creation. Crawley, ha!” Satan slapped the stone armrest of his throne, the sharp claws of his right hand scraping off parts of rock as his ear-splitting laughter made the snake shiver in its newly formed body. “Well, Crawley, I trust you won’t disappoint me. It’s us against Her now. Do your worst.”
⁂
Crawley was an ethereal being reduced down to its basics, damned to serve Satan and hell for all eternity in doing whatever they asked of him. In his new form, he had to learn everything anew, how to move, how to talk; everything seemed different now. He was able to change his snake-like body back into something that very remotely resembled what he used to look like, at least looking vaguely humanoid with his scrawny build, bony face and fire-red hair. What he was never able to change, were the eyes, that were now his. Large, greenish-yellow irises, only split by the vertical slits of pupils that always stared back at him creepily from the broken mirror in his quarter (he had broken it in a fit of anger when he had first seen himself in his new form and never bothered to fix it).
The demon had learned very early on in his demonic existence that, even though he could suffer, and that to great lengths, he could not die (even if he wanted to), at least not through something in his control. It was an epiphany, really. He’d thought having fallen from God’s grace had been the end, but it had rather been the start of something entirely new. This wasn’t necessarily something great or even remotely good, but certainly something new that gave him a purpose, even though he detested it with every fibre of his being.
He hadn’t had a choice, really, when Satan sent him upwards from hell, burrowing through the holy ground as a dark, miserable snake until he eventually broke through the crusty surface of the garden. The earth opened above him with an audible crack, and the pleasantly warm soil slid across his scales with ease as the fresh air hit him like a hard slap in the face. He was back. He shook off the remains of dirt on his thin body, the once cosy grass burning against his soft underbelly as he crawled towards the woman. The sun heated up his scaly skin in seconds, and he let out a hiss of delight before he started whispering in Eve’s ear.
⁂
Tempting them really hadn’t been hard. Just suggesting the mere idea had intrigued her so much, that he didn’t even have to do anything more than watch the events unfold.
He was observing the two humans climbing through the small hole in the walls of the garden when he suddenly felt Aziraphale’s presence close-by, could sense his inner turmoil and nervousness. Instinctively, he started crawling up the rough, uneven walls of the garden until he found himself breathless as he reached the ledge right behind the angel’s white wings that rustled in the wind of an upcoming storm. A long feather of the tail ends of his wings brushed over the fallen one’s body as he slithered past him, turning his soul into a shivering mess.
It had been one of the hardest things Crawley had ever had to do, pretending he didn’t know the beautiful angel stood upon the gates of Eden, gazing into the seemingly endless desert before him.
He felt Aziraphale’s lingering stare on him as he assumed his new humanoid form, eyeing him up and down until his head snapped forwards quickly as soon as he laid eyes on the deep black wings the demon unfolded behind himself. He gave his best to not look at Aziraphale but could see him out of the corner of his eye: a divine image of an angel, white wings and soft fabric fluttering around him. He couldn’t help but notice him anxiously clutching the golden ring on his little finger (which Crawley had gifted him early on in their friendship during his angelic existence), in fact, clutching it so hard that his knuckles were pure white from the pressure.
Crawley stretched his wings out comfortably in the upcoming breeze, felt the cold, refreshing wind brush through his long, red curls and stared out into the desert. There was nothing there but light brown dunes for as far as the eye could see, only contrasted by the silhouettes of two humans fearfully striding through the new lands.
The demon took a deep breath, forcing himself to look forward, as he finally broke the silence. “Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”
He felt the angel’s gaze back on him as he spoke, his following nervous chuckle sending sharp daggers through his heart as he struggled to casually look in the other direction.
"Sorry, what was that?“
Turning his head towards the angel, he felt his heart speed up immediately, Aziraphale’s hesitant gaze on him nervous and confused until their eyes met. For Crawley, it felt like fireworks exploding beneath his skin, a sort of happiness spreading through him he had thought he could never feel again after the fall. The angel still looked the same, and yet somehow different. His hair was the same, light shade of blond, but more messy and ruffled, his eyes still the same shade he had never seen anywhere else before, a divine combination of green and blue with golden specs scattered throughout, and yet, they looked different.
Crawley would only a long time later realise, that this had not to do with Aziraphale’s exterior at all, but it was the way he was looking at him in obliviousness that felt so strangely unfamiliar; he hadn’t recognised him.
As their eyes met and all these thoughts shot through Crawley’s head at light speed, he saw the angel flinch slightly, his expression almost shocked for a fraction of a second. His eyes. Of course, he had expected this. Many times before had he stared at his own reflection, oftentimes in horror and disgust, but to see his angel so shocked by them somehow hurt even more.
He felt embarrassed, and it became increasingly hard to keep up his cool exterior. "I said: Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” “Yes, yes. It did, rather.” Aziraphale nodded, looking back and forth between him and Adam and Eve slowly advancing through the sand. “Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” Crawley turned slightly towards the angel as he spoke, the corners of his lips curling upwards slightly as he took in his confused, almost offended facial expression.
"First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.“ The blond was now seemingly almost at a loss for words, only pulling himself together a few moments later, puffing up his chest slightly. "Well, it must be bad,” he muttered, his eyes now closed as if trying to remember a name he once knew and had now forgotten, as if feeling it just on the tip of his tongue. He really didn’t remember him.
"Crawley.“ The demon interrupted, thanked with a court nod. "Crawley…” He gave him a brief smile, keeping his eyes on him. “Otherwise,” he murmured, pausing again for a deep intake of breath, his voice now a little softer as he raised his chin proudly, “you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” He was fidgeting with his ring again, and his wings twitched slightly as he spoke.
"Oh, they just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble’.“ "Well, obviously. You’re a demon,” Aziraphale replied softly, “it’s what you do.” The angel’s eyes drifted back to the demon’s black wings, then to the small snake tattoo on his temple. Crawley was overwhelmed once more, for different reasons now.
An angel talking to a demon was something, he had expected to be different. He had expected a general kind of condescending attitude, not necessarily arrogant but certainly somewhat biased. This was not that; the way the angel was treating him was the definition of kindness, with no implied judgement whatsoever. It was almost like he was saying: “It’s what you do, and what you have to do, no judgement here; I know you have to, and you’re doing a marvellous job at it.”
Another long pause seemed to make Aziraphale uncomfortable as he started shifting his weight from one foot to another, however, now more confident in his words and actions, Crawley kept going. “Not very subtle of the Almighty, though.” The angel’s attention was back on him. “Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a 'Don’t Touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” The angel’s eyes widened at his words, nervously flickering towards the light blue sky above, then the dark clouds in the distance. “Makes you wonder what God’s really planning,” Crawley added bluntly, so the angel focused back on him entirely.
"Best not to speculate,“ he responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he nodded at the demon, wordlessly nudging him to stop. "It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable.” Crawley’s lips quivered with unspoken words, his eyebrows now raised in question. “The Great Plan’s ineffable?” he questioned, the angel’s eyes now lighting up as he stood a little straighter. “Exactly."
Crawley took in the Aziraphale’s posture, his eyes gliding over his body, landing at his hands once more, this time in bewilderment. "It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words,” the angel continued proudly, as Crawley’s gaze lingered on his hands where fidgety fingers were still turning and twisting the golden ring. Something was different, something was missing, something - oh. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”
The angel looked incredibly nervous all of a sudden, his eyes flickering back and forth, settling down on his feet, avoiding eye contact altogether. “Uh…” “You did! It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” The demon kept digging as his gaze left the blond’s hands, sliding back to his highly uncomfortable facial expression. “Uh…” he stuttered again, his voice quieter and avoiding as he shook his head slightly. Or had it been taken away after the fall? Maybe talking about it would remind him that there had been something before this, something between them…
"Lost it already, have you?“ Crawley grinned, the situation reminding him of the teasing conversations they had had back in the day about the angel’s clumsiness. Aziraphale’s head was still pointed to the ground as he blushed heavily, turning his head the other way, his voice almost inaudible as he answered. "Gave it away."
"You what?!” Crawley raised his eyebrows in surprise, his heart skipping a beat as the angel met his gaze with a tormented expression. “I gave it away…” His eyes were full of worry and concern, and Crawley couldn’t help but smile as the angel kept talking. “There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already. And I said, 'Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’” Aziraphale inhaled deeply, pausing as if giving Crawley time to interject, but the demon was at a loss for words.
The angel had directly disobeyed God. He had been so worried about the two outcasts and their future, that he had promptly, and without asking for permission, given away the only material thing She had ever given him.
"I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,“ Aziraphale uttered, staring upon the humans once more. Crawley was still lost in thought. He hadn’t wanted them to be defenceless and suffer needlessly, so he’d just given it away. How could a single creature be so unalterably kind? He recomposed himself.
"Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Their eyes were glued to each other as they spoke, Aziraphale’s face suddenly overcome by an even bigger blush, his eyes full of relief as a hesitant smile played around his features. “Oh, oh thank - oh, thank you. Oh, it’s been bothering me.” His lips curled upwards in a genuine smile that sent butterflies surging through Crawley’s stomach, interrupted by a lion’s roar.
Another one of the garden’s inhabitants had made it outside of Eden’s guarding walls and was now viciously attacking Adam, who had shoved Eve behind him protectively.
"I’ve been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole 'eat the apple’ business?“ Crawly admitted, just as Adam swung the angel’s flaming sword towards the lion. "A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” His eyes swung back to Aziraphale’s coy smile that suddenly fell as Adam dealt a fatal blow on the lion. The change of his expression went straight to his heart, and he felt overcome by the sudden desire to make him smile again, just somehow… “It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one."
He forced himself into his best little smile and a gravelly chuckle as the angel’s expression morphed into a confused smile, and a small chuckle escaped his lips as well, before he broke eye contact and the smile fell instantly. "No!” His face was now visibly offended. “It wouldn’t be funny at all!” The angel’s blunt change of tone almost sobered Crawley up, putting him back into his place. An angel and a demon, nothing more. He still couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice as he answered: “Well…”
The dark curtains of clouds had almost reached their peak over them, when, suddenly, thick droplets of crystal-clear water began falling from the sky, running down Crawley’s nose as streaks of pure white broke through the stormy blanket of grey before them, bright, forked bolts of lightning soaring through the graphite sky just before the roaring crash of thunder that followed. Taking an instinctive step sideways towards the angel, he heard a faint rustle next to him, suddenly not feeling any more drops hitting him. Noticing the edges of light feathers dangle almost out of his field of vision, he quickly realised Aziraphale had shielded him from the rain with his wing, and he could have cried out loud in simultaneous love and frustration.
Crawley knew, if he hadn’t already been in love with the angel that stood next to him, this would have been the exact moment he would have fallen in love. The angels hands tightly folded before him, a small content smile on his lips as his beautiful eyes followed the rainclouds, his bright hair slowly sticking to his pale skin, yet he only thought of shielding the demon from the previously unknown phenomenon of rain.
How could a single being be so loving and compassionate, even towards a demon, his hereditary enemy? How could Aziraphale be like this to him, even now, not knowing him?
Crawley sobbed internally and took a deep, shuddering breath that he hoped the angel hadn’t noticed.
He might have forgotten all about him, but he could certainly get to know him all over again and there was always a chance that he would remember. One day.
Angels were, from the very beginning of their existence, predestined to be the most loving thing God would ever come to create. They naturally loved everything, every single one of God’s creations, every moment they could spend in the company of their people, they loved life and each other.
Knowing all this, it should have been no surprise for the archangel Raphael to feel love for Aziraphale, one of the newer acquaintances he had made here in heaven. What did surprise him, however, was that this time, it felt different than ever before: more intense, almost intimate. He felt nervous around the other angel, absolutely electrified whenever he could make him smile or laugh, and he unintentionally froze every time they touched, even if it was just a quick accidental brush of their hands or Aziraphale absentmindedly plucking a loose feather from Raphael’s perfect, white wings.
He hadn’t intended to tell Lucifer, but he spent so much time around him that he couldn’t exactly keep it a secret forever.
“You like him, huh?” The dark-haired angel froze in his movements, snapping his head towards his friend, who stood next to him. “What?" "Aziraphale. You like him." "Of course, he’s a very nice, compassionate angel.” Lucifer nodded, a small smirk now visible on his angelic features, as he retained eye contact. “He’s very handsome too, isn’t he?” Raphael could feel himself blushing heavily, quickly turning his gaze towards the ground as he felt his heart speed up to a rapid rhythm. “I’m not sure this is appropriate,” he mumbled, brushing his fingers through his long, wavy hair, trying to focus on anything but the image of the beloved angel in his mind. “I think he’s very cute. You two fit well together.” Raphael took a step back instinctively, his face red in shock over the words of his friend. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stuttered, his hands suddenly shaking as he felt his face heat up. The angel beside him laughed out loud at his reaction. “Of course, you don’t, Raphael.”
Lucifer was, like him, an archangel, but that was not the sole cause for Raphael’s fondness of him. He was, after all, the angel of healing, working to heal the body and mind of those, who needed him, and he had known from the first time they had met that Lucifer needed him, almost desperately so.
He was different from the other angels, full of curiosity and doubt, and he didn’t shy away from openly questioning Her motives whenever he felt like it. He was always honest and open about what he was thinking, which the archangel found impressive, but as honest as he was about his thoughts, as secretive was he about his feelings.
Raphael could sense them, however, sense his friend’s longing for a change, for explanation and validation, could feel him getting more and more desperate day after day. It was what had originally pulled him towards the troubled angel, what had inspired him to try and help his agitated spirit be content once more, and he had been hopeful, for a long time, even.
It wasn’t until the earth was created when everything went downhill. They all sang and praised God in the six days of its creation, and even Lucifer seemed positively intrigued by this sudden change, all until Adam was born. Lucifer despised him and Eve and the simple, obeying relationship they seemed to have with God, because, or this was at least what Raphael suspected, he craved something just like that. He wanted people to follow his advice, look up to him instead of Her, and, after a while, he seemed convinced he was more worthy of their love and fellowship than God was.
Raphael tried his best to ignore his friend’s dangerous tendencies, but he was almost forced into spending more time with the plagued angel when Aziraphale was sent down to earth to guard the eastern gate of Eden, the garden, that God had created for Adam and Eve.
He was crushed at the sudden disappearance of his favourite associate and, with his best friend now gone and his other friend seemingly turning mad, felt incredibly lonely in heaven. So much so, that he started finding himself agreeing with Lucifer’s demented statements more and more often, occasionally meeting up with him and others who seemed to feel the same displeasure about the overall situation.
Heaven, as it existed around this time, was a place of love and comfort, or at least this was what it was created for and what it felt like to most angels. Raphael, however, had lost all interest in his surroundings after Aziraphale’s sudden departure, perceiving heaven only as a cold place where he spent his existence patiently waiting for him to return.
Finding Lucifer’s constant companionship increasingly toxic for his own mind and behaviour over the decades and his need to see his friend once more built up to an almost painful degree, he decided to visit Aziraphale down in Eden.
⁂
After leaving the cold, white, unforgiving halls of heaven, he was well-nigh overwhelmed as he took in the colourful, diverse beauty of the dense, lush garden around him. His mind was absolutely enraptured by the magnificent flowers and fruits around him, the life and love that the place radiated, and he felt a wave of instant relief wash over him, all of his troubles melting away into nonexistence as he gazed upon the beautiful garden surrounding him. He was somewhat hypnotized by the beauty all around him, all caught up in a trance of pure awe until he laid eyes on Aziraphale.
The angel stood between the lush green of two giant trees, his white wings stretched out comfortably behind him, lightly moving in the soft breeze as he gently stroked his fingers over the delicate blossoms of a thin, wilting branch. The plant lightened up under his touch, almost leaning into it as it bloomed back up, promptly back to its previous glorious form, and he observed a content smile spread over the angel’s face.
The gentle rustling of grass against his bare feet gave Raphael away, so Aziraphale turned around, his mouth already opened for a cordial greeting (probably expecting one of the other inhabitants of the garden), freezing in place when his eyes met the ones of his old friend.
The dark-haired angel’s heart stopped when his gaze captured Aziraphale’s, all of his feelings coming crashing down on him in a matter of seconds. He realised how much he had missed his best friend, his companionship, his compassionate, loving nature; he realised, how different he felt about him than about anyone else, and finally, how much and how deeply he loved the angel that stood before him.
His breath caught in his throat as the other angel took a few hesitant steps towards him, his blue eyes glassy, cheeks slightly blushed, contrasting against his light blond hair. Aziraphale’s voice was soft but slightly raspy as he cocked his head to the side and addressed his visitor lovingly.
“Raphael, my dear, is that you? I haven’t seen you in at least a hundred years, darling, how - ” He couldn’t stop himself, not now, not after not having seen him for so long. Raphael closed the distance between them with two long strides, his slender fingers now suddenly cupped around the reddened cheeks of the blond angel and his own, chapped lips pressed against his. It wasn’t a gentle, angelic gesture, as you would perhaps imagine two angels kissing; it was a kiss full of emotion, love and desire, but, as much as Raphael had expected his friend to push him away in disgust or even horror, he had melted into his touch instantly, his soft lips moving against his own in a similar frenzy as he burrowed his hands in the thick strands of Raphael’s hair.
They broke apart, gasping for air, but still desperate for each other’s touch as they leaned their foreheads against each other. Raphael couldn’t think a single straight thought, his fingers still tangled in the short blond hairs at the side of the angel’s neck, softly brushing his other thumb over the smooth skin of his cheekbone and temples.
“I’ve missed you so much, Aziraphale… I’ve missed you so much.” He hadn’t realised that he was crying until he felt the angel brush the warm tears from his cheeks and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you too, my love."
Raphael’s vision was blurry, his eyes still filled to the brim with tears as he forced himself to look Aziraphale in the eye again and gently take the other angel’s hands into his, lightly brushing a thumb over his knuckles. "I have to tell you something, and I probably should have said this much earlier… Angel, I - ”
“So, this is it, huh?” Lucifer’s voice was cold and impersonal as it cut through the serene sounds of the garden. “This is Eden.” The two angels flinched, immediately letting go of each other as they almost jumped metres apart. Lucifer erupted into a burst of bitter laughter. “Oh, come on, don’t stop on my behalf. I’m just here to take a look at all this.” He gestured around himself with a weird smile on his face. Raphael shuddered at his expression, quickly rushing towards his friend as he brushed the remaining tears from his face. “Lucifer, I don’t think this is a good idea." "Oh, you don’t think? Why should I not be allowed down here, you are, right? He is, too, and we’re leagues above him.” Raphael felt his angel’s sharp intake of breath behind him at the rude comment and took another, bigger step towards Lucifer.
“I think we should go, Lucifer. Will you join me?” He extended a hand towards him, gently urging him to take it. He felt his glare on him, taking in his posture, his expression, only then meeting his eyes. His hand instantly dropped back down to his side at the sight of the red, angry eyes that bore into his. These weren’t the eyes of his friend, nor were they the eyes of an angel, this was something else, something… evil.
“Lucifer, please…" "No! I don’t want to go back there, not like this, I will not, I refuse! I refuse to be put down every day, I refuse to stand under Her, letting her reign over everything when it’s not right!"
Raphael raised his arms in a defensive gesture, tucking in his wings behind his back before he started talking in the smoothest, most calming voice he could muster. "I know, I know it’s not easy, I - ” “Not easy?! Not fair, that’s what this is. I deserve a chance, I deserve to rule humanity! I want to walk with them in the garden, I want them to listen to nobody but me! I will ascend into the high heavens! I will take over the seat of the Highest! I will, I will, I will!” His screaming was now frantic, his voice rough and deep as he shouted upwards, his arms flailing in anger before he disappeared within the blink of an eye.
Raphael did not lose time to turn around to Aziraphale, who stood there in shock, his eyes locked on the ground where the angel had just stood, and cupped his face with his shaking hands once more. “Angel, listen to me. You have to listen to me, okay? Stay here, stay down here and protect them." "But - " "Promise me, that you’ll stay down here, alright? I have to help, but I have to be sure you’ll do as I say, I can’t have you risking your life up there. The world still needs you, they need you.” He nodded towards where he imagined the two humans to be, and Aziraphale quickly nodded back at him, his light blue eyes now filled with tears of distress. “Okay, I promise, I promise." Raphael didn’t let him talk more than that, quickly pressing his lips to the blond angel’s one more time, almost drowning in the intoxicating dance of their lips before snapping his fingers and ascending back up into heaven, leaving Aziraphale down in Eden with a panicked expression on his flushed face.
⁂
"I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High!"
Heaven was in chaos. Raphael could hear Lucifer’s voice loud and clear through the masses of angels surrounding him, and he could see the others on the opposite side, could see Michael and Gabriel standing strong in front of their army, ready to defend heaven with all their might.
The angels around Lucifer cheered boorishly, suddenly turning from an absorbed crowd into a bloodthirsty unit of mad angels as they angled themselves towards the opposition. "You will not win this, Lucifer,’ declared Gabriel, his voice calm and collected as his tunic blew in the wind. "I will win whatever I want to, you dull creature. Angels, I command - ”
“Lucifer!" Raphael had heard his own voice break through the uproar before he had realised he was doing so, making the rebelling angel stop in the middle of his sentence. He approached him swiftly, striding through the masses of angels that parted for him, stopping only metres in front of his Lucifer. He looked cold, hurt and broken, his pupils glowing bright red as they stared at each other.
"Lucifer, stop this, this is absolute madness…” “This isn’t madness, this is justice! I deserve this, Raphael, you know I do, I can do this all better, I can manage this all better than Her!” A small outcry went through the crowd of faithful angels, but Raphael wouldn’t budge. “You deserve the world, Lucifer, but this isn’t right, this can’t be the right way.”
For a split second, when Raphael locked eyes with Lucifer, he saw his friend again, nothing but the sad, desperate eyes of a broken soul, but then they were back to the red, hardened eyes of determination.
“There is no other way."
With a furious scream and a flap of his wings, he jumped up and pointed his army towards the other angels as he lingered above them, and suddenly, with another roar, he almost exploded into a ball of fire. A hellfire, that floated above the ravaging angels, grew quickly, then formed itself into the form of an enormous, haunting dragon.
Everything was happening so fast; Raphael could see the dragon attacking Michael, could see Gabriel struggling with four angels cornering him, could see everybody fighting valiantly - and yet he couldn’t bring himself to join the battle.
He loved the archangels, even though he had never had the best relationship with any of them, but he knew that they were trustworthy people. He loved Lucifer like one would love a young, naive child or perhaps someone, who just needed help and guidance, but he could not justify his violent actions against the other angels. Still, he was his friend. And yet, who was he to choose a side, choose one friend over the other?
His radiant, green eyes filled with tears of torment once more, his mind back with Aziraphale, his angel.His angel. The feeling that shot through his body from just thinking about him gave him every answer he had asked for, and, as he was conjuring up a sword and leaned forward to run into battle against the rebelling angels, it came.
Light. Nothing but light. Just an overbearing, blinding, white light on all of them, a light which filled him with shame for hesitating, even though he knew he had ultimately chosen the right side.
”You.“ God’s voice was loud, deafening and it stopped everyone in their actions.
As time seemed to stand still, Raphael turned around, his eyes scanning the crowds for the other archangels until suddenly, his gaze was caught by the blond angel standing only several metres from him. Aziraphale. ”You have disappointed me,“ her voice declared as Raphael extended a loving hand towards his angel in worry, taking a step towards his warm expression and open arms. He was another bit closer, so close to Aziraphale that their hands almost touched, when suddenly, as he took the last step forward, his feet didn’t find any solid ground under them, and he fell.
⁂
There is a saying humans commonly use in situations of coquetry, mainly when trying to effectively entrance another being, that goes: "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” This complementary question obviously implies that the person being talked to has the appearance or demeanour of an ethereal being, and it is meant as a polite form of flattery.
For Raphael, however, it had hurt. Of course, it had hurt, to figuratively and literally fall from heaven, landing in a pool of boiling sulphur down in hell. Of course, it had hurt when his name had been taken from him, as were his looks, his likeness, his wings, his abilities. But nothing had hurt as much as knowing what had happened in heaven after he had fallen.
He hadn’t just imagined Aziraphale’s presence in the room before he fell, he hadn’t hallucinated or wished him there; the angel had actually shown up in worry over him, even though he had promised him not to, just in time to see him being cast out from heaven for eternity.
The blond angel had consequently snapped, attacked the other angels around him with his sword of flames, all while screaming about how they dared to cast out one of their best who probably had been their most competent man, about how Raphael didn’t deserve this, that this couldn’t be right and part of the Great Plan, that there had to have been some mistake. When they’d managed to calm the angel down, the others had tried to explain the situation, telling Aziraphale what Raphael had gotten himself into - being on the side of the rebellion, apparently - but this had just made Aziraphale rabid once more, and eventually, collectively, the angels decided to make him forget about the entire thing and send him back down to Eden.
He’d forgotten all about him. About them. About everything.
The nameless fallen angel let his fingers roam over the sulphur-soaked, now jet black feathers of his wings, sighing out loud. He had no reason to exist anymore. None at all. If his angel, the love of his life wouldn’t remember him, what was there to live for?
And with that thought, he threw himself back into the boiling sulphur.
