Chapter Text
Ah, shit.
The Devil towering above Aki was clearly on the brink of death. Its oily skin, slick with foul-smelling blood, glistened under the orange lights. Its great, hulking legs tottered to and fro. Its barbels pulsated. But it could not be felled: one of the warehouse workers huddled, frozen in fear, under a pile of rubble at the creature’s side. Its falling bulk would surely kill him, if it fell the wrong way. Aki had no way to reach him without exposing his back to the Devil — he was not so stupid as to think it could not still obliterate him, wounded though it was. Only one thing for it. Not that he was pleased about it.
“Angel! Cover my back!” Aki yelled, his eyes never leaving the beast.
“Huh?” came the incredulous response from over his shoulder.
Angel was stood, like always, at a comfortable distance from the action. Most of the time, he merely watched. Aki had long since abandoned attempting to coax Angel into combat, unless the situation was particularly dire. Like right now, for instance.
“I’ll die if you don’t," Aki said, simply. He would make no further plea than that.
He sprinted forward, then slid onto his knees, ducking under the wreckage to grab the man and push him outwards, one hand on the back of his neck, whilst every inch of Aki burned, burned, alive with adrenaline. They ran together, stumbling and clumsy, as the Devil groaned behind them, no doubt beginning the strike that would end Aki’s life. All for nothing, went the thought flashing across his wretched mind. All for nothing.
Then the beast wailed, high-pitched and keening. Aki stopped and turned; the rescued man did not. His flight response was now apparently alive and well, as he fled madly around a corner and out of sight. Aki beheld Angel, and the comically large sword in his tiny hand, and the Devil half-vivisected, now toppling in the other direction. Such strength…Aki had not anticipated it.
The Devil hit the ground with an almighty crash. The concrete beneath its bulk shattered, and plaster crackled down from the ceiling. Then — overwhelming silence. Angel flung the sword from his hand as if it stung, dismissing it at once. He turned and met Aki’s eyes. A beat.
I’m not going to thank you for doing your job, Aki thought.
“You really hate using your abilities, don’t you?” he opted for instead.
“So much effort," Angel mumbled. The words were listless and hollow. Aki knew better than to press further — it's not like he wanted to, anyway.
With the adrenaline now beginning to drain from his system, Aki surveyed the scene with a clearer head: a badly damaged but intact warehouse, half a dozen corpses, and the steaming, reeking remains of a multi-tonne Devil. The stench defied description. The Catfish Devil, he reckoned, going by its still-jittering whiskers.
He brushed himself off with as much nonchalance as the situation would allow.
“I’ll call the clean-up team.”
Later, the pair emerged into a soft, evening light. They — well, Aki — had been fighting to keep the creature inside for hours. He glanced down at Angel’s face: he still seemed a little shaken. There were technically still a couple of hours left on their rounds, but getting Angel to do what he asked was difficult at the best of times. Today would no doubt be impossible. Hell, he wouldn’t mind a drink and a smoke himself.
“Hey, let’s stop at a bar.”
“Ugh, no way. Human drinks are gross," Angel whined.
“I know a place that does lots of desserts," Aki replied, long-suffering. It was truly tragic, the number of people in his life that he had to use that line on. Angel made a non-committal noise in response. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere else.
“Ah," Aki said, uselessly. The bar he had had in mind — atmospheric, well-loved and well-stocked with sweet treats — now lay before them as little more than a pile of bricks and broken glass. A small sign in front read, ‘Devil attack! :( help fund our rebuild here:' followed by several hastily-scrawled website links.
“Bummer," Angel deadpanned. He literally could not have sounded less sincere if he tried.
An unpleasant silence stretched between them. The wind started to pick up. Finally —
“Do you have desserts at your place?” Angel asked. He had no intention of giving up now, not after desserts had been so tantalisingly offered.
Aki was a little surprised at the question. And yes, he had learned to always have desserts on hand in great supply: bribery was just about the only way he had managed to get Denji and Power to stop routinely vandalising his apartment. Come to think of it, he had some booze collecting dust as well, gifts from past colleagues and work partners. Almost all long-dead. Yeah, it would do well to be rid of those.
Aki sighed in surrender. “Sure. Let me call Miss Makima."
Conditions worsened on the walk home. The wind grew aggressive, buffeting them from all sides as it ricocheted down the street. The air felt thick with storm. Angel had to constantly adjust his wings to stop them from flaring open and being blown back by the drag. It almost happened a couple of times. Aki found it strangely endearing, like watching a pigeon caught in a gale.
“We’re nearly there," he offered by way of comfort.
“Hope so. This is exhausting.” Unlike when he usually complained, he genuinely looked exerted.
“Why not fly the rest of the way?” Aki said, dryly. He’d really only meant it as a joke.
“I can’t. I don’t think so, anyway," was Angel’s too-earnest reply.
“You don’t think so?”
“I’ve never tried it.”
“What?” Aki exclaimed, taken aback. Then he tried, a little more tactfully:
“Not once? You aren’t…curious?”
Angel shrugged. “Where would I go?”
Aki set his jaw and shut up. What could he say to such a grim sentiment as that? Mercifully, his apartment building had now come into view. On reaching the stairwell, Angel filed in behind him, always a careful metre away. Aki heard him breathe a soft sigh of relief as the building offered him shelter. He stretched his wings outwards, slowly, as if they ached. Aki’s cold fingers fumbled with his keys.
“I’m home!” Aki called as the door came open, emitting its pleasant glow onto their evening gloom. “Denji, Power, I’ve got Angel with me, so —”
Whatever he was about to say died on his lips. Denji and Power were both crouched conspiratorially over the living room table, pouring over a pile of — what was it? — a pile of dismantled machinery? No, dismantled was too generous a term. The broken edges of each bit and bob confirmed the inexpert force with which the poor machine had been destroyed. Power had her glasses on. That was never good. Denji was examining little pieces before throwing them over his shoulder. Many such rejected parts lay littered about the room.
For the love of God, please don’t let that be the boiler.
“What. Is that," Aki managed, through his teeth.
“Ah ha!” a triumphant Power shouted. “I have slain one of the mechanical beasts of which humans are so fond! If I study its entrails, perhaps I can learn to make my own…” She trailed off, suddenly absorbed by the fragment of stained plastic in her hand.
“Sorry about your printer, man, but it was fucked anyway. Wouldn’t stop making this annoying fucking noise, definitely on its way out," Denji chimed in, helpfully. “Hey, are any of these parts, like, valuable?”
A great number of emotions washed over Aki. Thanks only to his now great familiarity with this sort of bullshit, was he able to let them pass through him and away. It’s fine. I can get a new printer.
“Move that crap off the table and I’ll make you dinner," he stated, saint-like with calm.
Power lifted her gaze from her prize of war, but still held it firm in her hand. “Real dinner? Or disgusting vegetables?”
“I have beef in the fridge.”
With that, Power flung her trinket aside, now disinterested forever. Denji, in a single smooth motion, pushed the printer’s corpse off the table with a sweep of his forearm. It clattered to the floor. There was dark ink staining their clothes. And the table. And the tatami mat. Well, this would have to do for now.
Angel then closed the door and emerged from behind Aki. Everyone jumped a little — they’d forgotten he was there, quietly observing.
“Hey Chainsaw Kid. Blood Girl," said Angel, amicable. He inclined his head slightly at each of them.
“Uh…hey," Denji muttered limply. He’d never quite recovered from the disappointment of learning that Angel was not, in fact, a really skinny girl.
“Greetings," Power grinned. Angel was always good for a gossip, something that had gotten her in trouble with Aki before.
He settled down besides the two of them around the table, seemingly content as they bickered about nothing. Aki watched the scene with an odd mix of unease and serenity. Three fiends in my living room, he thought. He wondered, as he often did, how exactly he got here. Best not let it linger. He strode into the kitchen and began preparing a meal, as best he could, for the three strange guests now lingering in his life.