Chapter Text
The bar was dim and smokey, the fluorescent lights flickering like fly traps above, their only prey the drunks that stumbled in and out day after day. A listless bartender cleaned glasses and collected tips. Everyone in the bar was off in some way. The shy were chattering nervously to anyone that would listen to them, while the loud were shivering in their seats and hiding their faces. The atmosphere was thick like tar, dripping down the dirty walls and swirling through the cigarette smoke clinging to the lights.
Only two people seemed unaffected. A priest sat in a corner booth nursing a beer, massive and imposing with muscles that threatened to rip the arms off his black shirt, white collar tight against his thick neck. His dark eyes were lidded as he watched the patrons. Beside him sat someone covered in a hooded sweatshirt, fidgeting and picking at the scarred wood of the table with nails that looked like claws. He giggled gently from the shadows of his hood, and his eyes seemed to glow orange in the dimness, the only feature visible under the hood.
A new man entered the bar, looking around nervously as he darted past patrons like a mouse dodging the swipes of a hungry cat, though not one person looked at him. He looked mousy too, with a small face and pointy nose. He caught sight of the two men in the booth and hurried to them, taking a seat as he hauled a duffle bag on the top of the table.
“I...I got it, all of it,” he whispered nervously, shooting glances at the hooded man, who wasn't even looking at him but instead clawing great gouges out of the wooden table with the awful sound of nails clawing up splinters. The loud scratching seemed like the only sound in the bar. He looked like he was writing something. The man blinked wetly and looked away, swallowing hard.
The priest pulled the bag closer, unzipping it to see the wads of cash stuffed tightly together. He pulled out a few random bills and used a black light to check for fakes. There were none. He put the bills back and zipped the bag up, setting it down beside him. “Talk,” he grunted, his voice like crushed gravel.
His companion giggled again.
The mousy man wiped some nervous sweat from his brow, looking a little green, “It... it's killing my townsfolk. Please, Father! Three dead just this week, it's getting harder and harder to hide the cause of death. It's tearing people apart, leaving taunting messages!”
“Who's it tied to?”
The mousy man stuttered a little, “I d-don't understand.”
The priest growled and cracked his knuckles, he had fat silver rings on each of his fingers, “I could take your money and kill this thing, and if you don't find the tie another one will just spring up eventually. There's an evil person in your town, and they've bonded a demon. You have to kill both.”
“But... but you...” the mousy man shot another look at the priest's hooded companion.
The priest grinned wickedly, baring bright white teeth hidden behind thick lips, “I never claimed to be anything else.”
~*~
The town was a small one, it had a little downtown and then mostly farmland just outside of it. It was both a blessing and a curse. The blessing was there were less people to look into, and the curse was the sheer amount of space they'd have to cover. Along with the money they'd been paid, they were also given a room on the top floor of their little downtown hotel. Top floor, meaning fourth floor.
“Phoaw, ain't the fanciest place we've been, eh?” his companion quickly shook off the hoodie and jumped on the bed, bouncing with a shrill laugh that always got on Mako's nerves.
“Shut up, Junkrat,” he growled, setting his bag down on the bed and shoving Junkrat away. His skin was always warm to the touch, just on the side of too warm.
Junkrat bared sharp white teeth in a grin,“Yer in a bad mood, who shit in yer cassock, Father?” He then laughed again. Junkrat was an odd one, he had one human arm and hand, but the right one turned black just below his elbow, ending in sharp, wicked claws that were twice as long as his human fingers. His left leg was human, his right leg digitigrade with a clawed foot. When he walked the different legs gave him an odd, loping limp.
A pair of sharp horns curled back from his forehead and over messy hair that was always smoldering at the tips; and finally to round off his bizarre form was a long, thin tail that could cut like a whip if Junkrat snapped it at you. Mako had learned that the hard way.
“So when we getting' to work?” Junkrat asked, flopping onto his back and folding his arms behind his head.
“Today,” Mako grunted, lifting his pant leg to sheathe a silver dagger against his calf, another up his sleeve, holy water in his pocket. They'd been doing this for years, most of it was second nature at this point.
“Ya sure scared th' shit outta that wanker,” Junkrat giggled, “jus' 'bout shit 'imself, didn't 'e?”
The mayor had been terrified of them, but Junkrat had that effect on people. He didn't bother Mako, but then, they were bonded. Everyone else went a little mad in the presence of a demon. “Put your hoodie back on,” Mako growled, tossing it back into Junkrat's face.
Junkrat grumbled but did as he was told, “I hate havin' to wear this.”
“You scare people if you don't,” Mako grunted, shrugging on a black jacket.
“Yer the scary one, ya fat cunt,” Junkrat said, licking his fangs with a tongue that was a little too long. He hopped off the bed and hobbled to the door. Mako grabbed his hood and flipped it over his head before they left the room.
Everyone looked at them as they walked down the street, but no one stared. It was like no one wanted to look at them for too long. He couldn't blame Junkrat for all of that, it was unusual to see a priest as big as he was, looking like a brawler. Some people asked if he had been ex-communicated, and they didn't believe him when he said no; how could a priest be bonded to a demon and not kicked from the order?
Mako didn't bother to explain it, wasn't worth his time. The Catholic Church was enormous, there was just as much room for Father Jimmy that saved orphans, as Father Mako, whose work was far less...charitable.
“Are you sensing anything?” Mako asked lowly as they walked down the street.
“Yeah,” Junkrat grumbled, “I ain't seen a single boba place, I'm sensin' that this place is gonna suck.”
Mako grabbed him by the back of the neck to give him a harsh shake, “Pay attention, you little shit!” he snarled. Junkrat hissed at him, baring his fangs as he clawed at Mako's arm to get him to let go. Mako shoved him forward and he stumbled, nearly tripping over his clawed foot before he caught himself on a light post.
“Cunt!” Junkrat snapped. He looked ready to start a fight, but then he stood up straight, nose in the air as he sniffed. “Wait... wait a tick... this way!”
Junkrat was fast when he wanted to be, running through the streets, down side alleys, and just behind him Mako huffed and panted to keep up. Little shit was probably doing it on purpose! Junkrat had stopped just outside a bar, sniffing around and walking over to Mako, who was wheezing for breath, to tug on his sleeve. “Somethin' were here recently,” said Junkrat.
“Can you tell what kind?” Mako panted.
Junkrat sniffed, shook his head, sniffed, shook his head, “Nah, mate, 's not strong enough.”
“Maybe it's stronger inside,” said Mako, “let's go.”
He pushed open the door to the bar and all conversation stopped. Mako took in everyone with a shrewd look, but he didn't sense anything. The bonded human could be in the bar right now and he wouldn't know, but Junkrat would. He glanced down and Junkrat gave him a shake of his head. Well, time for some more old-fashioned detective work, the kind Junkrat couldn't do. Mako walked inside and sat at the bar, the stool groaning under his weight. Junkrat scrambled to sit next to him, claws leaving scratches in the wood.
“Evening,” Mako grunted at the bartender, who was staring at them with his jaw nearly on the floor, “one beer.”
“Two beers!” said Junkrat.
“One beer,” Mako snapped, giving Junkrat a glare.
Junkrat giggled and didn't press. Giving a demon alcohol was a really good way to start a fire, or end the night with a murder. Or both.
“S-sure,” said the bartender, “you...ah... you out of towners?”
“What gave us away?” asked Mako wryly, nursing the beer he was given.
“We don't...well... there aren't any Catholic churches around these parts,” said the bartender.
Mako grunted, he didn't care. Didn't even go to Mass, couldn't, when he had his annoying companion glued to his side. He looked the bartender up and down, but didn't see anything hiding in his gaze. “I've got some questions,” said Mako.
“I'm only part time!” the bartender blurt out, “I don't know anything!”
“I-”
“I have to help someone else!” the bartender practically fled to the other end of the bar, leaving Mako and Junkrat staring at him.
“Suspicious,” Junkrat tittered.
“You probably freaked him out, you ugly wanker,” Mako muttered, but he agreed.
“He wouldn't know anythin',” drawled someone with a soft, southern accent.
Mako glanced at the drunk sitting two stools away from them, his cheek pressed against the bar and an empty mug in his hand. He had a cowboy hat sitting crooked on his head, his beard unkempt like he'd been drinking for a full day and night.
“And you would?” Mako asked, leaning over the bar and meeting the bartender's eye as he just grabbed another bottle to slide it towards the stranger.
The stranger sat up, wiping some drool out of his beard and pouring the beer into his mug, “Pardner, I reckon that depends on your question.”
“What is he, a cowboy?” Junkrat whispered in Mako's ear, “bet he's never even milked a horse.”
Mako elbowed Junkrat off the stool, ignoring his screech that made everyone else in the bar cover their ears, “You heard anything about some strange deaths?”
“Why, ya'll hopin' to hold some strange funerals , Father?” The cowboy chuckled at his own joke, swayed a little on his stool, then took a drink. Mako waited patiently as Junkrat crawled back up on his stool, hissing indignantly. “Yeah, there's been some weird voodoo goin' around,” the cowboy finally said.
“What kind?” Mako asked lowly.
The cowboy shrugged, looked around surreptitiously, then leaned in close to whisper, “Pardner, I c'n tell you this much. There's been weird voodoo in this town a long, long time. Sorta odd to me that now someone shows up to look into it.”
Mako grunted, “That isn’t your concern. How long has there been a problem?”
The cowboy chuckled, then hiccuped. Mako thought he might throw up on the bar but he just shook his head, “Hard to remember, almost feels like goddamn forever.”
That wasn't real information, it was almost like the guy was avoiding the questions. Mako let out a breath of frustration, “Okay... noticed anything like dead animals? Animals nailed to doorways?”
The cowboy took a drink, and Mako thought, for just a second, that his dull eyes had a sly spark to them. “Oh there were rumors of a buncha rats tangled by their tails nailed to a post. But I ain't seein' that m'self.”
Mako shared a look with Junkrat, whose eyes were narrowed. He looked back at the cowboy and tipped his head, “Anyone else know something?”
The cowboy sipped his drink, giving Mako a sideways glance, “Pardner, everyone in this town knows just about everythin'. If you're lookin' for the culprit, you're in the wrong bar. Now if you'll excuse me,” the cowboy tipped his hat as he got off the stool, stumbling a little, “I have to see a man about a horse.” He stumbled out the back way, weaving so much Mako was surprised he didn't fall on his face.
“Let's go,” said Mako, finishing his beer in one gulp and tossing a few dollars on the counter before he grabbed Junkrat by the back of his hoodie and pushed him towards the door.
“Rat Kings,” Junkrat muttered as they stepped outside, “that ain't good.”
“No, it's not,” Mako grunted in reply, “is that what you sensed?”
Junkrat shook his head, “Nah, mate, if I'd of smelled a Rat King I woulda known. Might have two different demons here.” He giggled, but it had less to do with the humor of the situation, which to Mako there was none, and more to do with a nervous twitch Junkrat had.
They walked down the alley, Junkrat sniffing the air, hoping to catch another scent, while Mako's eyes darted around searching for signs. Footsteps followed silently. Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. Someone was following them. Mako walked into another ally between an antique store and a post office, and sure enough someone followed them down. The ally was a dead end, and Mako turned to see a hooded man in a long trench coat standing behind them, blocking the way out.
“Evening,” said Mako lowly, as Junkrat lurked behind him, hissing.
“Evening, Father,” said the hooded man, he had a deep smoky voice and his hood was so black with shadows that his features weren't visible.
“How can I help you?” Mako asked, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall behind him.
The man pulled out a gun, pointing it right at them, “I'm told you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.”
“He stinks,” Junkrat whispered.
Mako cocked his head, really looking at the man before him. He could be a demon, but whatever Junkrat was smelling, it wasn't the same thing Mako was sensing. There was a darkness about this man, but he didn't feel like any demon they'd ever seen. Maybe Junkrat was right, they had two different problems in this little town. “I wouldn't point a gun at a priest,” said Mako slowly.
“I don't point my gun at anything I don't intend to kill,” said the man lowly, finger twitching on the trigger, “who sent you?”
Before Mako could open his mouth, Junkrat was screeching out from behind him, jumping at the man's face, claws scratching, teeth biting, tail whipping. The gun went off with a roar but the bullet wasn't aimed anywhere near him. Mako ran forward, fist pulled back to punch...and shadows swirled around them and disappeared. They were alone. Junkrat was looking at his hands in disbelief, “Wot th' fuck were that!?” he yelled, “ain't no blood 'r' nothin'! Even demons bleed!”
“Then I think we have two problems,” Mako growled, looking Junkrat over for wounds. He was completely unharmed, though his ill-fitting clothing was in disarray. Mako straightened what he could.
“He's wot I smelled at th' bar,” Junkrat said, pawing at Mako, he looked weirdly nervous, “wot smells like a demon, acts like a demon, but ain't no demon?”
“I don't know,” Mako admitted, a scowl furrowing his brow.
He was starting to think they hadn't been paid enough.
~*~
Mako paced back at the hotel while Junkrat lay naked over the bed. He was on his belly, claws ripping at the corner of a pillow to pull out the fluff. Without clothes on, the violent scars on his back from where his wings had been ripped off were clearly visible.
“I don't understand!” Mako growled, punching the wall hard enough to send his fist through the drywall.
Junkrat cackled, “'Course ya don't, ya fat cunt.”
“I'll banish you,” Mako threatened without heat. It was an old threat, and one he wasn't sure he could do even if he wanted to. Since the day he'd been bonded to Junkrat, his life had changed drastically, and not all in a bad way. He'd never been good at being a priest in the traditional sense, saying Mass, listening to confession, all that bullshit.
“Quit pacin',” said Junkrat, ignoring the threat, “come ta bed, maybe God'll send ya a dream,” he added with a snicker, showing exactly what he thought of that.
Mako sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He wouldn't get much done just pacing, and though he doubted he'd get any divine dreams, perhaps sleep would lend things clarity in the morning. “Scoot over,” he grunted, shoving Junkrat aside as he sat on the edge of the bed to strip off his clothes and slide under the covers. Junkrat twisted onto his side, chin in one hand as the other, the clawed one, traced Mako's bulk over the top of the blankets.
“Ya could always take me up on me offer,” said Junkrat softly, and his eyes glowed as Mako turned off the bedside lamp.
“No,” said Mako, rolling onto his side so his back was to Junkrat.
“It's always open, for when ya need it,” came a gentle giggle. Junkrat wriggled under the blankets, immediately making them stifling as he plastered himself against Mako's back, face tucked against the back of his neck.