#my voice gets stuck in my throat. i wish they would just accurately interpret my weird avoidance as being socially anxious

[pr]

its sooooo embarrassing for me hearing the coworker next to me's computer constantly ping with teams message notifications 😭 like theres no way they dont have a group chat without me but like also 1. is this high school did yall REALLY need to make a separate group chat to be silly without the weird girl 2. why cant being quiet and weird just be something you tolerate instead of excluding me bc of it like i dont understand am i being rude for being socially anxious like is it really THAT bad jesus

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton Characters: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Additional Tags: Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Non-Human Humanoid Society, (said society is The Worst), Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mild Language, Discrimination, Flirting, Polyamory, Asexual Character, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Picnics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Play Fighting, Fallen Angels, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Teasing, Blood and Injury, Violence, Grief/Mourning, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Aftermath of Violence, Kissing, Threats of Violence, Deceit | Janus Sanders Needs a Hug, mentions of (heavily) implied transphobia, extra warnings in the end notes, please read them if you're uncertain or uncomfortable, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst Summary:

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

19k fic below the cut, too :)

please mind the trigger warnins in the tags here on tumblr, and in the end note on ao3.

note: the italics don’t carry through copy and paste, so if i have missed some on this tumblr post i apologise. in that regard, the story may be more accurate on ao3.

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

Unfortunately, these current days, this was not an uncommon occurrence. It was not a physical battle, as that was forbidden within the city, and most other parts of the Angelic Kingdom, but any angel in the general radius of the pairs’ shouting matches knew to subtly evacuate as quickly and quietly as they could. Neither brother was pleasant to be around when agitated, and it seemed recently that they only frustrated each other.

After all, no other angel was going to pick a fight with the lead Angel of Diligence.

Remus yawned, leaning back to admire the drawing he had completed. He almost wished he could add some details, like a ruffle to the wings of the angel, or a scar or two along their skin. The sketch for the to-be mural just seemed so… bland. (At least he did not have to write, like Virgil did. The kid had a real knack for story-telling, but some of the things he was required to write for the ‘good of the reputation of the Angelic Kingdom’ was so boring and so much wasted potential that Remus had considered using the scrolls as snacks, if angels ate snacks — which they did not.)

He supposed that was what he signed up for, when becoming an artist. No single hair out of place. No negative interpretations. No misrepresentation of the angels in any way.

It was not too much of a loss. Nobody knew about his secret stash of personal sketches, decidedly not positive interpretations, in his room.

Remus, an Angel of Liberality, was one of the very few individuals who had the… Remus would think balls, Remus would say ‘bravery’ to be around Janus and Virgil during one of their fights.

Not much scared him. (Anymore, at least. He had faced the worst of his nightmares and come out simply fine. Not that he would voluntarily tell anyone this, though.)

Even when the walls shuddered with Janus’ bellow of, “ENOUGH!”

Remus strained his ears but did not hear Virgil reply. He put his scroll and quill down and ventured into the common area. Both Janus and Virgil’s faces were flushed red, their shoulders heaving.

After a moment, Janus visibly composed himself. He set his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin and did not meet Virgil’s eyes when he said, “You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” seethed Virgil. “This is my home—”

“It is ours, if not mine,” spat Janus, and Virgil recoiled, not looking any less angry. “You will not disrespect me.”

Virgil opened his mouth.

“I am older than you,” said Janus, because angels did not growl, even though Remus was quite sure that was almost a snarl. “You will follow my orders. You may leave.”

Virgil stared at him, his fingers twitching. Remus wondered if he was itching for a scroll. That usually happened to him when he wanted to sketch something down. Then he whirled around, his face twisted hatefully. He froze when he spotted Remus in the hallway, watching with rapt interest, but then squeezed passed him to the open archway of the house and shot into the sunlight.

Remus looked over at Janus. “What was that?”

Janus looked exhausted as he rubbed his eyes. “A mild disagreement about robes.”

Remus tilted his head. “These?” he asked, lifting a handful of the white robe he was wearing. Janus sighed.

“Yes.”

Remus waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. Remus shrugged. “They are a little gaudy.” Janus shot him a warning glare, but Remus was not fazed. He never was. “He will come around. He always does.”

“I do not know,” Janus said softly, because angels did not mutter. He sat at the table and heaved a quiet breath, leaning against the back of the chair, because angels did not slouch, even if they were emotionally drained. “It seems we will fight about anything, these days.”

Remus shrugged again. He did that a lot. He did not have an answer for the Angel of Diligence, so he moved to sit across from him. He did not know how to help; dinner was not for a few hours yet, and angels did not eat out of time.

“Sorry, Remus,” Janus said quietly, which was surprising, because angels did not apologise unless it was only very extremely necessary. Janus’ eyes were far away. “I doubt either of us mean to make you upset.”

“I am not upset,” Remus said, because angels did not lie. “I find it funny how you forget that the entire city can probably hear your little spats.” Janus did not even send a disapproving look in his direction, though Remus did not use the most... approximate angelic language. “You brought me in here. The least I can do is tolerate your dynamic.”

“This is not our dynamic,” Janus disagreed. “At least... it should not be our dynamic.”

Remus thought about that. “I am not the cause of your fighting, am I?”

“Certainly not,” Janus said vehemently. “Virgil is... tolerant of you, but not fond. He is not, however, jealous, nor unhappy with your presence.”

“Then why are you fighting so much?” Remus asked. He was aware his questions could start to become exhausting, but Janus did not seem to be getting tired of him.

“I do not know,” said Janus, and his voice was... strangely unstable. Like the verbal version of a wooden board wobbling. “I do not know, Remus.”

The two sat like that until it became time for dinner to be made, faces neutral and eyes blank.

Angels did not cry, no matter how much they might want to.

Virgil was not returning to the house.

He did not care what Janus thought, or what Janus wanted, or whatever the hell the Ancient Laws instructed angels to do. He was fairly sure angels were not supposed to yell, and yet his throat was strangely raw.

Angels also were not supposed to curse, but Virgil had already decided: fuck his brother, and those pretentious assholes who wanted to keep him stuck to a strict, pointless schedule for the rest of his life.

Virgil could not care less about speeches and presentation and perfection — he was not perfect. No one up there was, and the sooner they realised that the sooner he would find it in himself to return and maybe apologise.

But in the meantime, he was not going to sit around and be scolded for wearing ‘the wrong kind’ of clothes around his own house.

Maybe he was not supposed to be an angel. Maybe somehow, somewhere, the universe had fucked up and given him feathers and a bracelet instead of a tail and a pair of horns.

Branches whipped at his face, and he stumbled. He had gotten to the In Between faster than he thought he would. Maybe he had been flying faster than he realised.

He looked around at the strange, warped world, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Nothing lived here. Nothing could live here. A long time ago, the angels had chosen what gorgeous, superior beings they wanted to gift access into their kingdom, and the demons had been left with all the other unwanted creatures. The world In Between the two kingdoms was desolate, and empty, and still just as dangerous as a demonic fire ring with prancing hyenas.

Because any being, holy or not, sentient or not, spending too much time between worlds, without the source of either kingdoms’ power, would waste away until they were nothing but the still air.

Virgil wondered if that was what he wanted. If he wanted to cease to exist. If the kingdom was better off without him. It certainly did not seem like he was making much of a difference.

He did not growl, because angels did not growl (but was he even an angel anymore—?), but he made some sort of noise as he ripped his halo from its position as a bracelet on his wrist.

It dissolved when he threw it to the ground, but he did not feel any different. He wondered if he was supposed to, or if he really was as defective as he thought he was, no matter what Janus had ever tried to argue otherwise.

He sunk to the ground and found that he did not actually care if he was snuffed from existence.

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

“What in Lucifer’s name are you doing here—?”

Something touched his shoulder, and Virgil’s veins were shot through with panic.

Virgil reared back, shooting to his feet, and flaring his wings.

“No, no, hey, I’m sorry!” the voice yelped, and from where he was struggling to stay aloft in the air, Virgil stared at the speaker. They were small, at least smaller than Virgil, and he was considered short by angel standards. They held themselves oddly, like they were ready to bolt at any second, despite looking very intrigued with Virgil. Their sandy hair was either so curly that it covered the sides of their head completely, or they had no ears, which was too odd of an option, really. At least, it would have been if... Their... well, their  legs  were normal enough, apart from the strange elongation of their foot, and the fact that they had no toes, and only the hoof of a deer, or maybe pig.

“Calm down, kiddo,” they were saying, holding their petite hands up. “Just breathe. I’m sorry for startling you.”

Virgil scowled but dropped to the ground, finding it too hard to remain suspended in air. He eyed the newcomer dubiously.

“My name’s Patton,” they said, and Virgil felt his lip curling into what would have been a grimace — if angels grimaced, which they did not.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The stranger looked surprised. “I just saw you curled on the ground. I was worried.”

Virgil stared at him, bewildered. Patton, it seemed, was undeterred, and smiled brightly.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Virgil.” The correct answer was,  I am Virgil, as angels were instructed to respond, but... Virgil was not feeling like much of an angel at this moment.

Patton practically swooned. “That’s such a nice name!”

Virgil stared at him, baffled. What sort of answer was that? He did not have a nice name. He just had... a name. Like everyone else. It was neither nice nor not nice. Some names held more power than others, but his name was bland. Bland and boring and useless.

“You are very weird,” he decided.

Patton thought about that. “Um... Thanks!”

Virgil was getting more and more confused. “That was not a compliment.”

Patton frowned, and for a moment he almost thought that Patton may have been a big brother, because it was almost identical to the little pinch that Janus got between his eyebrows. “Virgil, buddy, that’s rude.”

It was then that Virgil noticed that the lack of normal looking ears was because of the pair of pale, flopping ears on either side of Patton’s head through his curls, and Virgil blanched.

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

For a moment, Virgil was confused, but then he glanced back and saw a handful of white feathers fluttering to the ground. The In Between was taking its toll on him faster than he thought it would.

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

“Come with me,” Patton said, and Virgil’s head snapped around to glare at him. The demon smiled carefully. “It’s alright. My home isn’t far, it’s on the edges of the kingdom. You’ll be safe there.”

“I am an angel,” Virgil pointed out. He shifted uncomfortably. “I do not belong with demons.”

“What are your other options?” Patton asked. If Janus had said it, it would have been rhetorical; sarcastic, scathing. A tactic to make Virgil consider how stupid he was being. When Patton spoke, it sounded like a real question, like he genuinely wanted to know what else Virgil could do.

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

“Come with me,” Patton said again, beseechingly. “I promise, it’ll be alright.”

Virgil’s gaze darted around the landscape, then down to his shedded feathers. “Very well,” he muttered, because he did not feel like following angelic rules.

Patton beamed, turning. “Great! Follow me.”

Virgil followed him through the strange rock and twisting not-quite trees. The uneven ground bit at Virgil’s bare feet, who was used to gentle, cloudy floors. The world around them got darker, but Virgil was not sure how. It all became muddled, cloudy, but more like a night thunderstorm than tufts on a sunshine-lit day.

When Virgil squinted, he realised it was because the grey sky had morphed into a cloudy night sky. The underside of the clouds had a red hue, like reflecting a sunset, but Virgil could not see the light of a sun anywhere. There was a strange haze around the area, like the smoke of a fire. It was nothing blinding, but enough that Virgil had to squint to see anything in the far distance. Craggy mountain tops lunged for the dark, velvet sky, not anything more than dark silhouettes in the gloom. The ground was littered with natural rubbish, in the sense that it was far more cluttered than the In Between, where while the ground may have been uneven, it had no loose materials adding to its character. And of course, the Angelic Kingdom never had anything out of place on its perfect pathways. This place looked like it was constantly ravaged with tremors.

Virgil wanted to ask where they were, but he had a feeling that he already knew.

He followed Patton over the strewn ground, picking his way over the loose rocks and barbed shrubbery. There was a dark river cutting through the ground along the path they were walking, but Virgil did not want to look too closely. He could not tell if it was water or not, and whatever it was, was certainly not holy.

After too-long of Virgil trying desperately not to trip, a house of sorts cut through the odorless smog.

It looked ordinary, the closer they got. If Virgil was going to go for brutal honesty, he would call it closer to a hut than a house. Maybe a mound of somewhat sturdy dried mud and twigs pressed up against the base of a cliff. Or maybe those walls were just incredibly old, dirty bricks. He could not tell.

He wrinkled his nose. Was he going to be expected to say here?

An image flashed through his mind, of a haughty group of pompous angels frowning down at him from their palace in the white clouds, and Virgil decided he was happy with anything this strange little demon was going to offer.

“Is... this your home?” he asked, as politely as he could.

“It is!” Patton said.

Virgil looked between the demon and his home. “It is... nice.”

He obviously didn’t sound as convinced as he wanted to because Patton giggled, and said, “What? Did you think we all lived in gory, dark caves and castles?”

Virgil’s cheeks heated against his will. “I did not exactly... learn much about you.”

Patton’s gaze softened with sympathy. “Well,” he said, moved up to the blocked off entrance of the house in that odd, animalistic gait of his, “let’s try and change that, shall we?”

He opened the wall of the house and darted in. Virgil followed, having to duck slightly in the entranceway.

“I’m home!” Patton called out. Virgil looked around. It was... extremely cluttered, in the house. There was a hollow shelf, holding scrolls, like it was a very, exceedingly small library. There was a table with a thick, open tome with unintelligible scribbles across it, a small black stick resting beside it on the wood. A fireplace was positioned off to the side, with gathered crockery, looking as if they were washed with black water. Virgil thought about the river outside and wondered if that was not far from the truth.

“You’ve returned earlier than usual,” a new voice said, and a demon with dark, sharp lines staining the corner of his eyes  materialised from the side wall. Wait, no, he had just done the same thing that Patton had done to get in... What were those strange, moving wall-parts? (And was he wearing eyeliner? Or was that natural?)

“Is everything— Oh.” The demon’s dark, gorgeous eyes found Virgil, and the angel suddenly felt very scrutinised. “Patton, this is an angel.”

“This is  Virgil,”  Patton corrected, and Virgil felt something in his chest react. “And he’s going to be staying for a long as he would like.”

The other demon blinked, and Patton turned to Virgil. “Virgil, this is Logan.”

The demon dipped his dark head, and Virgil wondered if all demons had strange skin colours like Patton’s dusty brown and Logan’s dark navy.

“Welcome,” Logan said, albeit a little stiffly. “I would say that I hope your stay hospital, but I have reasons to believe that this place is already... less than stellar compared to what you are used to.”

What Virgil was used to? Virgil was used to being judged. He was used to being yelled at. He was used to always being in the wrong, to being scolded for not being presentable enough, for being stared at and murmured about when he was thought to be out of earshot. He was used to not belonging — and while he had never felt more out of place than in this wrecked land of fire and brimstone and dark atmosphere, these demons were looking at him expectantly, like they cared about his opinion, like they cared about what he was going to say next.

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

“It is appreciated,” Virgil told Logan, and the unfairly pretty demon looked like he was preening. Something shifted behind him, and with a jolt, Virgil realised with a start that the long tailfeathers of a peacock were protruding from beneath his clothes.

Patton giggled and thumped Virgil’s hip with his own. The angel stumbled, and looked at Patton, perplexed. Was that some sort of greeting, in demonic language?

Patton did not notice his confusion, though, and looked around the house. “Where’s Roman?”

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

“Last I saw him, he was upstairs,” Logan said, moving to the table to peer down at the open book. “He was taking a break from writing.”

“Oh.” Patton’s odd ears dropped sympathetically. “Poor kiddo. He works so hard.”

“I doubt that anyone in the city will be even remotely interested in this novel, either,” Logan muttered, sounding mutinous. “No one cares for a grounded demon’s talent.”

“Grounded demon?” Virgil asked before he could stop him. The other two looked over at him.

“That’s what we are,” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ve always thought of demons with whipped tails and big bat wings, huh?” Virgil nodded. “Not all demons are like that. You angels have categories, right?”

Virgil stared at him blankly.

“The Seven Deadly Sins, and the Seven Heavenly Virtues,” Logan elaborated. “Humility, pride. Kindness, envy.”

“Oh.” Virgil’s wings shuffled with his shrug. “Yes. We called them Traits.”

“Well, some demons, like ones of pride and anger, tend to be more high ranking. They live in the centre of the kingdom, where most of the rich demons reside. They... uh...”

“Have superiority complexes,” a third voice said, and Virgil whirled around to see a demon descending the stairs that he had not previously realised were there. Where were those stairs on the outside of the house? Where was the second floor?

The third demon blinked sleepily at Virgil before yawning. “You’re new,” he said mildly.

“I am visiting,” Virgil said. The demon bobbed his head.

“You’re cute. You can stay.” He brushed past Virgil and headed over to the fireplace.

“Roman,” Patton said in a scolding voice. “No hitting on the guest.”

Roman shook himself, his wild hair flinging in all directions. From a distance, Virgil peered curiously at the little horns poking up through his wavy locks. Did all demons have animalistic features?

“As long as the guest doesn’t ask for it,” Roman said without looking back.

“I would not want to find endearment with a demon,” Virgil snapped. Roman glanced over his shoulder, and Virgil realised that his pupils were horizontal. The demon smirked, and it could have been hot, if Virgil was not already deeply unimpressed by his behaviour.

“You’re talking to a Demon of Lust, darling,” he said. “You don’t know  what  you want.”

“Roman,” Patton said in a warning voice, and Roman sighed heavily. Virgil had not realised his eyes had been glowing red until they dimmed to normal.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbled, and the silk in his silky voice switched out for a grumble. “Food, anyone?”

“Oooh, I’m hungry,” Patton said, bounding over. Virgil felt utterly lost. He looked over to Logan for help.

“Patton is a Demon of Gluttony,” Logan explained quietly, which was not really what Virgil had been silently asking. They both watched Roman and Patton rummage around in the fireplace. Virgil wondered if it was the demonic equivalent to a kitchen. “He often can’t help when he feels hungry, which is one hundred percent of the time. Indulging him is the best course of action.”

Virgil nodded carefully, considering that. “How are you… categorised?”

Logan kept his eyes on his demon friends. “I’m a Demon of Pride.”

“Should you not then be in the heart of the kingdom?” Virgil asked.

“I was born without wings,” Logan said plainly. “It happens, in some family lines. Genetic mishaps, mutations, so on and so forth. I did my best to live up to the standards of being a Demon of Pride, but quickly found it illogical to attempt to be someone I physically could not be.”

Virgil ducked his head. “I know the feeling,” he did not actually say.

“I am an Angel of Patience,” he murmured softly instead. Logan looked over at him, and nodded, once.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Logan said. Virgil shrugged. He did not know why he had. For all he knew, these demons were going to sacrifice him to their gods and eat his flesh and bone. Maybe Virgil was so apathetic at this point that he did not care what these demons wanted from him.

He pulled away from Logan’s side, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the desk and book. “You were saying that Roman... writes?”

“As a pastime,” said Logan. “His tales are slightly too romanticised, and gaudy, but I can appreciate the artistry to them. He... has yet to achieve the same praise from anyone outside of me and Patton, however.”

“May I ask...” Virgil trailed off, but Logan waited patiently. Virgil pointed at the long black stick. “What is that?”

“Charcoal,” Logan said. He crossed to Virgil and picked it up. He pushed it to the corner of the page, and it left a blackened, dusty spot behind. When Logan put it back down, his hands were tinted that same dark colour. “It’s what we write with. Do you not?”

“Quills,” Virgil answered faintly. “The end of cleaned feathers and pots of ink.”

“Ah.” Logan shook his head. “I can’t say that we are as... sophisticated.”

“You don’t have feathers to use as quills,” Virgil reasoned.

“Quite right.”

“Virgil!” Patton bounded over. “Do you eat?”

“Of course he eats,” Roman said, prowling over with him, licking his lips. For a moment, Virgil thought he was being suggestive again, but then he realised he was eating... some clump of fur and meat in his hands. Virgil looked away before he could be sick. “Angels are notorious for being fed purely on bullshit and assholiness.”

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

“Just as demons are grovelling, snarling creatures of grime and spit,” Virgil retorted, lifting his chin to frown down at Roman.

For a moment, the Demon of Lust looked mildly surprised, and maybe impressed. Then he frowned, looking confused. “For an Angel of Patience, you’re not the nicest individual I’ve ever come across.”

“Roman!” Patton chided again, but Virgil was already feeling the fight leaving him, making way for the resigned depression.

“Perhaps some of us just do not belong where Fate claims they do,” he muttered.

Roman perked up at that, looking excited. “Ooo, bad-mouthing Fate?  That’ll get you somewhere where you don’t want to be.”

Patton planted himself between the two of them. “Roman, that’s enough.”

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

“How did you hear me?” Virgil asked, changing the topic. “About my Trait.”

“Heightened hearing,” Patton answered with a sunny smile that looked a bit too forced. “Goats and pigs have it. Peacocks, too.”

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

“The animals representing lust and gluttony?” Roman said from where he was now sitting at the desk. “Do you not know anything about culture?”

“Not yours,” Virgil said, and he did not mean for it to be an insult.

“Well, anyway,” Patton not-so-subtly interjected, “I got you something to drink. I hope it’s okay.” He handed a mug that did not have a handle over to Virgil, who took it and sniffed the warm contents inside. It smelt like chocolate, with hazelnut, and maybe milk. But the mug itself was so dark. Virgil wondered if it had even been washed.

“What do you wash the bowls with?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Patton looked slightly confused as he answered slowly, “We wash them with water, kiddo.”

Virgil looked at the mug in his hands dubiously. “They are black.”

“Oh, that’s just made of obsidian,” Patton answered. Virgil had no idea what he was talking about.

“It’s a type of stone you can get from volcanoes,” Logan explained, like he was explaining the existence of demons and angels to a human.

Virgil whirled on him. “There’s volcanoes out here?” he demanded.

Roman tilted his head. “Did you not see the huge mountain right next to our home?”

“Your home is built on a volcano?” Virgil cried.

“Beside,”  correct Logan, “not on.” (Virgil was not reassured.)

He looked between the three demons and took a sip of the drink. It was sweet, almost syrupy as it went down. He waited for the burning, or the pain. For his airways to close and his brain to shut down and the demons to laugh as his vision faded.

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

“I like it,” Virgil answered honestly. Patton smiled.

“You let me know if you want any refills,” he said. “Would you like to eat anything?”

Virgil glanced over at where Roman was licking the blood his snack had left on his fingers. He froze when he found Virgil’s gaze locked onto him, and almost  apologetically,  said, “We have more than raw possum, if you wanted.”

Virgil was not sure what his face was doing, but it got a smile from Patton before the gluttonous demon darted back to the fireplace.

“Don’t you think you could have eaten that with slightly less mess?” Logan asked Roman.

“Hey, a demon’s got to do what a demon’s got to do. I’m hungry; I eat.”

“Yes, but you’re not exactly setting a great first impression to our guest,” Logan said, as if Virgil was not standing right beside them.

“Oh.” Roman looked over at Virgil. “My apologies, Patient Angel.”

It sounded more like a mockery of a nickname, and Virgil wrinkled his nose, but he had something else on his mind.

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

Roman’s eyebrows arched.  “We’re  the ones who talk strangely?”

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

Virgil thought about how to word what he was thinking. “Angels do not… shorten words, like you all do.”

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“You guys don’t speak in apostrophes?” Roman asked.

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

“Lucifer’s pitchfork...” Roman muttered under his breath with a shake of his head.

Patton arrived back with them, pushing a slate of what looked maybe like cream or yogurt into Virgil’s hands. “It’s got blueberries in it,” he said, also handing him a small, bent spoon.

Virgil looked at the little tub, to Patton, and back. Cautiously, he ate a spoonful. It tasted just as good as the drink, and did not kill him. He nodded approvingly. Patton beamed, and moved to hand Logan a platter of an assortment of foods that Virgil could not identify. The Demon of Gluttony darted back to the fireplace and returned with a bowl of what looked like crushed dragon fruit and maybe dried bread, but truly, Virgil did not have much clue as to what the food really was. He was about to ask when Patton and Logan both promptly sat on the ground.

The angel paused, startled. He looked around for a chair, but besides the one Roman was sitting in (backwards, now, as to see the others) at the desk, there were not any chairs. Slowly, Virgil lowered himself to the ground with them. He slowly ate through the meal Patton had provided him.

“Do you not have a schedule of meals?” Virgil asked finally.

Patton tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Angels cannot eat outside of the times on their schedules,” Virgil explained, and Patton looked horrified.

“We have no such rules,” Logan said. “No one moderates what we eat.”

“Bleh.” Roman made a face. “Imagine eating at the same time as everyone else. Gross.”

“Yes, the whole demonic kingdom would be covered in bloodied fur and splattered organs,” Virgil agreed sagely, and Patton burst into giggles. Even Logan looked like he was hiding a smile. Roman fumed in his seat.

“You’ll regret that, angel,” he growled, crouching on the seat.

For a terrifying moment, the demon launched from the chair, and Virgil waited for his throat to be ripped out.

But then Patton collided with Roman and the two thumped heavily to the floor, growling and snarling.

Virgil shot to his feet with a yelp, spilling the cream from his bowl. “Patton!” he shrieked, waiting for hot blood to spray onto the floor and Roman to go for Logan next.

But Roman only twisted, rolling Patton onto his back, and pinning him to the ground with a triumphant but breathy, “Ha!”

“Oh, very good,” Patton said, sounding frustrated and proud at the same time. “I could never beat you, anyway.”

“You certainly can’t,” Roman agreed. “You’re only small, Pattycakes. And you never had littermates to practice on.”

“Fair enough.” Patton sighed defeatedly. “You can’t always fight fire with fire.”

“Right.” Roman tossed his head importantly, so he missed the sly smirk creeping onto Patton’s face moments before his arms shot up to dig his hands into Roman’s sides.

The lustful demon shrieked, twisting to roll off Patton, who pounced on his friend, tickling him into the ground.

Still screaming and laughing, Roman hooking his arms over Patton’s waisted and dragging him down to be flush against his own body, preventing him from having the height advantage. Virgil was wondering if this was a common occurrence when Logan stepped in.

“Alright, alright.” The prideful demon moved towards them, his meal carefully placed to the side. Virgil glanced guiltily down at his spilled snack with a twist in his stomach. “That’s enough. We—”

Roman and Patton both lunged for Logan at the same time, dragging him to the ground into their cuddle pile.

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

“Are you siblings?” he asked abruptly, and attention turned to him. For a moment, he felt guilty for interrupting their moment and cutting off their laughter, but then Roman’s returned, tenfold, and Virgil was pretty sure the only reason the demon had not curled into a ball yet was because of Patton and Logan’s weights pinning him flat to the ground.

“He thinks we’re littermates!” the Demon of Lust howled, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. Patton giggled with him. Logan did not laugh, but he did smile. Virgil was feeling far too out of place.

“No, we are not related,” Logan said to Virgil.

Virgil thought about Patton putting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder the moment he met him, and bumping their hips, and his spat with Roman, and now looked to where Logan was trying to explain further but was being distracted by the other two, and how he looked pretty far from professional from where he was squeezed into the snuggle pile.

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

“I think demons are just like that,” Patton said, then drooped. “But... yeah, even for demon standards, I’ve been told I’m a bit much.”

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

“You also live together,” Virgil went on. “Yet you are not related?”

“Is that an angelic rule?” Patton asked. His voice was gentle. Virgil nodded.

“As far as I am concerned, it is very common here for demons to live in family groups, but it is not a rule.” Logan pulled himself from the demons, despite Roman’s unhappy scowl. “It is, however, quite uncommon to contact and reside with demons outside of one’s category. Our group is... a bit of an anomaly.”

“I don’t know what that means but I bet it’s something super!” Patton chirped. He wiggled off Roman, who was looking more and more put-off with his cuddle buddies leaving him. “So... you’ve never been hugged, Virgil? Or touched, or anything?”

“I mean... sometimes,” Virgil mumbled. “When it was... really important.”

“Hugs  are really important!” Patton said. “Would you like one right now?”

Virgil shuffled. “No, thank you.” He looked forlornly down at where he tipped over his food and guilt curled around him again. “I ruined your floor.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Patton said, waving his hands like he was waving away the issue.

Roman looked between the two of them, inquisitive, then yawned. “I’m tired.”

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

“I want another one,” Roman snapped. “Anyone care to join me?”

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

“Not tonight, kiddo,” Patton said. “We need to get Virgil sorted for where he’s going to stay. Wouldn’t want him to feel left out, now, would we?”

Roman grumbled under his breath and shot Virgil a dirty look, as if it was all his fault (and maybe it was) before stalking up the stairs like a prowling cat more than a grumpy goat.

“If you’re not siblings, are you partners?” Virgil asked. Patton and Logan shared a glance.

“It’s complicated,” Patton said carefully. “For... different reasons.”

“For starters, Roman is asexual,” Logan said, and Patton yelped and slapped him across the side of the head. The prideful demon instantly realised his mistake and ducked his head.

Virgil stared at him, trying to pick that apart. “An asexual Demon of Lust?”

Patton’s expression turned into something slightly more guarded and careful and utterly alien on that friendly face.

“It’s not unheard of,” he said, like he had to defend Roman.

“It’s possibly partly the reason he doesn’t belong anywhere but on the outskirts of the kingdom,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered if he had any tact.

Patton hissed at Logan, and he ducked his head, effectively ridiculed.

“I’m sorry, Virge,” the gluttonous demon said. “It wasn’t our place to tell you.”

“Roman has always been open about this,” Logan pointed out, and Patton frowned at him.

“That’s not quite the point, sugar,” murmured Patton, and Virgil tried not to wrinkle his noise.  ‘Sugar’?

“Is everything okay?” Logan asked, and Virgil realised he’d been staring at the ground.

He looked up. “Is... is that normal, here?”

“Is what normal, kiddo?” Patton tilted his head.

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

“There was... an angel I knew,” he started, slowly. “And... they did not like it when angels called them... a girl.” Patton’s eyes flooded with understanding, though Virgil was not sure how because he had not yet finished the story. “But... being who you are is something gifted to angels by Fate. It is a crime to think about changing it, and for anyone to agree. For that reason, angels are not to have makeup, or jewellery, unless it is for something like a theatre performance. So... this angel wanting to be called... ‘they’... was... shamed, and ignored, and eventually they just ran away, and they— she— ugh.”

Virgil made a very unlike angel noise and buried his face in his hands. He did not know why he was saying this, why he was asking these questions. Perhaps he had nothing left to lose. Maye he was just too tired to care anymore. Regardless of the reason, he was exposing himself to these demons — his kind’s sworn enemy — and he could not find it in himself to feel scared.

“It is hard to wrap my head around. Does that— Am I bad?”

“No.”

Surprisingly, the fierce answer came from Logan. Virgil looked up. The Demon of Pride was frowning, a flame in his eyes, but Virgil instinctively knew he was not the one in trouble.

“It is not your fault for being ignorant in a kingdom of arrogance,” Logan said firmly. “You are trying. You’re not ignoring us, like those other angels. Nor did you ignore that angel, just now, like anyone else did. That’s commendable.”

Virgil shook his head in disagreement but did not verbally protest.

“Did you ever hear from that angel again?” Patton asked with round eyes.

“No. Everyone thinks they just wasted away in the In Between. Their sister didn’t even care. She boasted that she was glad they were gone. My... my brother...”

Truth be told, Janus had followed along with just about everything the other angels had said. He had nodded along to their angry rants, and scowled in disgust, and tutted disapprovingly, all at the right points.

But when Virgil had stopped and looked, really looked, he had seen the tightness in Janus’ jaw. The tortured look in the back of his eyes. The way he would walk away from the conversation with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

He had not agreed with what the kingdom had been saying, but he had not had the bravery to say otherwise. Virgil was not much better; he was just as much of a coward.

“Angels have always been... close minded.” Logan spoke carefully, like he was stepping on glass.

“Not all of them.” Patton said with a smile in Virgil's direction, and if he was not so emotionally drained, Virgil may have blushed. Logan hummed in agreement, and then disappeared upstairs.

Patton led Virgil upstairs to a room at the end of a hallway. It was scattered with mink blankets and camel skins. The bed was long and low to the ground. The only light source was the hazy light from outside, hovering into the room through a window to cast the room in a red glow. It was a strange bedroom, far more different than Virgil’s back in the Angelic Kingdom.

“Was this... a spare room?” Virgil asked.

“What? No, silly, it’s my room!” Patton said brightly. Virgil blanched.

“I’m— I’m not staying in your room,” he said.

“Of course you are!”

“No!” Virgil cried. “I could not do that! It’s your bed!”

“Oh, I’ll just sleep on the floor downstairs.”

“No!” Virgil cried again, feeling more and more distressed. Who did he think he was? Invading the demons’ home like this, eating their food, ruining their carpet? Stealing Patton’s bed?

“No, no, it’s okay,” Patton was saying, rubbing his hands up and down Virgil’s bare arms. His skin burned under the demon’s touch. “It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe.”

“I do not want to steal your bed,” Virgil said through weird pants that were ravaging his body. “I do not... I...”

“Alright, honey. Okay.” Patton’s breath warmed Virgil’s cheek, and Virgil wondered distantly if Patton was standing on the tips of his toes to reach him. “No bed-stealing here. Okay?” Virgil nodded. “Okay. Come on, then.” He started to pull Virgil towards the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Patton said when Virgil jerked away from him. “It’s okay. You’re not kicking me out.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Virgil offered. “I can leave—”

“No, no,” Patton insisted softly, crawling backwards into the bed, and gently pulling Virgil in with him. “Relax, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“We—” Virgil swallowed. “We are sharing the bed?”

“I will not have a guest of mine sleep on the floor,” Patton said vehemently. Virgil tried to hide his smile. “And I don’t want to freak you out, so... this is a compromise?”

Virgil looked around the dim room, and then down at the demon, curled beside him, looking worried. He did not hide his smile that time.

“It is a good compromise,” he decided, and when Patton smiled that smile of his, Virgil found himself falling asleep easily.

Virgil awoke to the sounds of chatter and the smell of cooking meat. 

He sat up, first confused at his unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering Janus, and the In Between, and Patton... And he was out of bed in quite a hurry.

He looked down at his wrinkled tunic. He thought about the near-rags the demons had worn yesterday, and how different their society was to angels, and wondered if they would care for his... unimpressive appearance.

He descended the stairs, found the three demons sprawled out around the floor, and decided they really would not.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, and Roman jumped three feet in the air. Virgil was seriously starting to doubt he was not a cat.

“Oh. You weren’t a fever dream,” he said blandly.

Logan sighed pointedly. Roman ducked his head but did not apologise.

“Good morning, Virgil,” Logan returned with a nod.

“‘Morning!” Patton chirped. “Here, we tried cooking some food for once. Um. I hope it’s okay.” He scampered over to pass him a plate of something that was almost burnt.

“Thank you,” Virgil said. He peered closely at it. “Angels do not have... whatever this is.” Roman gave an indignant squawk. “What is it?”

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

Patton’s shoulders drooped. “It was the freshest meat we could get. Only a little bit! And we skinned it, don’t worry!”

Virgil wondered if he was turning green. “I-I do not think that I am very hungry.”

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

Something inside Virgil twisted at his crestfallen expression. “Uh—” he stuttered, which was odd because angels did not stutter. “Do you have cutlery?”

Patton instantly brightened and darted away to bring back a single fork. He moved around a lot, Virgil thought.

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am to pick up this entire slice with a fork and... what, eat it in one gulp?”

“Do it, coward,” egged Roman. Patton and Virgil whirled to glare at him, but as Patton opened his mouth to scowl him, Virgil took the challenge head on and shoved what he could of the meat into his mouth.

It was chewy, and embarrassingly too much, and Virgil made a mess, but he managed to chew and swallow the whole piece in one go, and the demons looked thoroughly impressed.

“I rescind my ‘coward’ comment,” Roman said faintly, and Virgil would have smiled triumphantly if he was not so busy trying desperately to wipe his mouth clean. Patton giggled, and a moment later he was in front of Virgil, wiping his lips with the end of his torn sleeve.

Virgil blinked down at those sparkling blue eyes, so bright compared to his dark skin. If all demons were this gorgeous (which Roman and Logan were not, but they were still close) Virgil figured he would struggle to stay here much longer.

He ducked away before anyone of them could see the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Well, that was disappointedly uneventful.” Roman stood up and stretched. “I’m going to head out for the day.”

“Whatever for?” Logan asked. “You were out all of yesterday.”

“Inspiration, Bird Brain!” Roman said brightly. “There’s bound to be inspiration somewhere out there, and I just have to find it!” He padded over to the blocked entrance way and promptly... unblocked it.

“May I ask something?” Virgil blurted, and the demons looked back at him, surprised.

Patton inclined his head. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

Virgil moved from Patton’s side to Roman’s and stared at the strange entranceway. He pointed at it. “What... what is this?”

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

Virgil looked between the demons and the door. “Angels do not have doors.”

“Satan, are there anything that angels  do have?” Roman muttered.

“A good sense of who is an unnecessary dick,” Virgil said imperiously. Roman gaped at him. Virgil was not sure if he was more offended or impressed.

“Why don’t we all go out for the day?” Patton suggested abruptly. “We can help Roman look for something to write about and have a picnic at the same time!”

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as appealing as your sunlit, wind-filled ventures,” Roman sniped with a vicious smile, “but I’m sure we can find some place that will be just as dazzling.” Virgil wrinkled his nose sceptically. Roman grinned merrily over his shoulder. “Come on, then!” He disappeared out the door.

Logan rolled his eyes. “He’s damn hopeless,” he muttered, moving after him regardless. “Are you two coming?”

Virgil followed the trio of ambling demons out into the wasted landscape of red rock and hazy smoke. He eyed the burned-up shrubbery and shallow craters dubiously. Did Roman really think he could find a place that could rival a picnic area like those they had in the Angelic Kingdom, with a gentle breeze and clear air and brilliant sun? Maybe the real reason he could not write something good enough for the city’s attention was that he was just delusional.

After almost tripping over multiple loose rocks, having his robes caught on several spiked, burnt shrubbery and having a particularly scary, too-close encounter with a suddenly bursting geyser, Virgil was ready to end the adventure and drag the demons back to the house — or at the very least, trudge back on his own.

It was entirely unfair that the demons seemed to move much easier than him.

Roman, at the front of the group, had a pounce in his step. He leapt over boulders with ease and almost  pinged off the ground each time he moved. Logan stepped lightly, delicately, but still with so much more grace than Virgil could manage. Even Patton, who supposedly was a Demon of Gluttony, totted pleasantly along, having no trouble with the difficult terrain.

It was an obvious given, but Virgil was not built for this hellbent place.

“Ready, you angelic pain?” Roman called, bringing Virgil from his thoughts. He looked up to see that they were approaching a strange wall of thorned bushes. Virgil was not sure there were even any flowers or leaves on the branches. He scowled.

“Ready to walk back to the house accompanied with thorn-sized divots covering my body? It’s a hard pass from me.”

Roman threw his head back and laughed. Without another word, he reached forward and brushed a portion of the branches aside, the thorns scraping harmlessly against his rough, dark skin, and Logan ducked through the created entrance.

Patton wiggled with delight and bounded right after, but Virgil hesitated. He could not see what was beyond the thorn wall. He glanced between Roman and where the other two had disappeared.

The Demon of Lust only smiled toothily. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

Virgil scowled again and brushed passed him, carefully avoiding stray branches.

Now, Virgil grew up — literally — in the light. He was used to bright days and no cloud cover. Houses were always lit with sunlight and extra candles and orbs of brightness. Even nighttime had sparkled with stars and the overhead moon.

Fair to say, Virgil’s eyes were used to intense, beaming displays.

Virgil was not prepared for the blazing light that assaulted him the moment he crossed through the thorn bush wall.

He might have actually staggered (which angels were not supposed to do under any circumstance) because he felt far too unsteady on his feet until a warm hand pressed to his back. His hands had risen automatically to shield his face, and he squinted desperately to see through his fingers at the blinding light.

“Oh, bad luck!” Roman’s voice said, just behind him. “Don’t worry, it just pulses sometimes. The blindness will recede eventually.”

“Eventually?” Patton squawked, somewhere at Virgil’s side. Virgil could just about  hear Roman rolling his eyes.

“Fine, fine! Here, keep your eyes closed.” A pair of warm fingers pushed down on Virgil’s eyelids, and he fought against the urge to pull away. The hands were gentle and careful, and it almost felt like they were rubbing the light from behind his eyes.

After a moment, Roman retracted his hands, and Virgil’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, then blinked again, trying to find something to focus on.

Patton’s bright blue eyes and curious expression and careful smile, it seemed, were mighty fine things to look at.

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

“He’s  fiiiiine,”  groaned Roman. “Come on, come on! I want to show you around!”

Virgil shook his head to clear it, took a step back, and gaped at their surroundings.

There were in a crater, but one that must have been thousands of years old, because the ground was regrowing its strange plant life, with some new additions including startling coloured blooming flowers and huge leaves. There was no life within the crater, as much as Virgil could tell, but the plants themselves looked like they were sentient lifeforms, waving in a non-existent wind and snapping at air.

Above them, the cloudy haze had lifted, at least a small bit, to reveal an obsidian sky above, so much darker than Virgil was used to. There was no moon, and no visible stars.

In the centre of it all, most likely the thing that had caused the crater to begin with, was an enormous, glimmering rock.

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Roman boasted. “I tried jumping on it, but it was way bigger than I anticipated. And I did NOT fall on my ass, before any of you say anything, because you can’t prove it!” No one was paying attention to him, though.

“A dying star,” Logan breathed, somewhere off to Virgil’s side. Virgil turned on him, startled.

“What?” He glanced back at the glowing stone. “That doesn’t make any sense! It’s solid, it’s not gas — that’s not possible— and there’s no stars around here anyway! What— i-it’s glowing, it’s—  what?”

Silence followed him, and he looked around at the others.

“That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve experienced since Logan,” Roman said, flabbergasted.

Virgil ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just... took me off-guard.”

Patton giggled. “It’s okay.” He touched Virgil’s arm, only lightly, so Virgil would later wonder why it felt as if little pricks of lightning were shooting through his nerves. “It was cute.”

“Oh my GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD,” Roman complained. “I’m going down to find a spot to sit before you guys make me sick.”

Before Virgil could pick that comment apart in his confusion, Logan said, “You knew this was here,” in an astounded voice.

Roman threw a grin over his shoulder. “Yep.”

Logan sighed, raising his eyes to the starless sky above. “Unbelievable.”

It was only after the four of them settled onto a smooth section of rock, away from any hungry-looking plants, that Virgil realised they had not grabbed any food for the ‘demon picnic’. He must have had a look that spoke his confusion as much, because Patton tilted his head in his direction.

“What’re you thinking about, kiddo?” he prompted.

“When... what do you do on picnics?” Virgil asked. “There’s no... wine, or cheese, or... anything.”

“I thought angels didn’t eat out of time,” Roman said, only a little snidely.

Virgil met his eyes with a challenge. “Angels have designated picnic schedules.”

Roman’s eyebrows rose. He rubbed his face. “When do they make these rules?” he muttered. “Before or during your stages as a minor?”

Virgil lifted his chin, ready to reply... but why was he defending that kingdom? What did he care what these demons, who demonstrated more care and welcome than an entire lifetime of being with the angels had provided?

He lost his assertive posture. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, some of the rules are pretty dumb.”

Roman laughed, but there was something, deep in his eyes, that looked pained, and forced. “They certainly are.” He stood. “Better go find something to eat. Any requests?”

Strange tradition aside, Virgil offered, “Not crocodile.” Roman laughed again, and this time Virgil’s lips twitched in amusement. The sound was contagious.

“Very well,” the Demon of Lust said. “I will endeavour to find the best but crocodile for our angelic guest.”

It was after he left back through the thorn barrier that Virgil said, “For a lustful demon, he is very... enthusiastic about things that don’t involve... romance.”

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

“He’s always been like that,” said Patton at the same time. The two glanced at each other. “It’s a bit of both,” Patton continued after a moment. “He insists on doing the hard work, like fetching water and food and anything else hands-on for us. It’s sweet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

“It could be to do with the derivative views of Demons of Lust,” Logan explained slowly. “They usually aren’t the most... proper of demons. They live in the heart of the city, but from their nature you can guess what majority of their occupations entail.” Virgil grimaced and Logan nodded empathetically. “Demons of Lust tend to be... uh.” He cleared his throat.  “Good with their hands,  and Roman intends to prove that he can be useful in other ways.”

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs. 

“He's been through a lot,” Patton said, his shoulders drooping. Virgil wanted to wipe that sad look off his face, but he did not even know what to say, let alone how to act.

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

Patton’s head shot up to give him a dark look, and he promptly stopped talking. Virgil looked between the two of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Logan said, too quickly. He eyed Patton uncertainly before lowering his gaze. “It’s... nothing.”

“I have food!” Roman’s voice sang, and a moment later he was bouncing back through the bush towards them, in that cheerful gait of his. He trotted over to dump the gathered food before them. A group of collected berries, some weird, thick leaf-things, and a carcass of a dead animal about the length of Virgil’s arm.

“Why didn’t you just bring food with you when we left the house?” Virgil’s wings fluttered as he picked up a dark berry and squinted at it.

“Food doesn’t keep. Well, meat doesn’t,” Roman said, and Virgil had a hard time listening to anything he said when he talked as if he knew how food in the Angelic Kingdom kept. “Got to eat while it’s fresh!”

Virgil politely declined the meat, and focused on the variety of berries, and a couple of the strange leaves. They were filled with a weird substance, almost tasting like mince of sorts, and if Virgil was not sure weirded out by them, he probably would have eaten far more.

As it was, he had never had much of a big appetite, and he sat back after only a few minutes of eating.

It gave him a chance to study the others while they were distracted. They ate like ravenous wolves, and Virgil was half glad he had finished, because he probably would have lost his appetite even quicker.

Patton ate like he had not been fed in years, and Virgil’s eye roamed over his lean figure and exposed ribs and wondered distantly if he was constantly starving. Roman ate with all the grace and poise that Virgil expected from a Demon of Lust, and that was the same amount as any other demon — that is to say, little to none at all. He had gone quarters with the other two with the meat, and was tearing into it, muck and blood splattering from his lips and staining his knuckles. Logan focused more on the neater foods, but even he managed to look like he was fighting the food more than eating it.

Needless to say, it was a strange, mildly frightening experience.

Once they were finished, though, and had wiped the evidence from their lips and hands, the trio were back to their normal, grinning states. Virgil wondered if all demons went feral over meals and would not have been surprised by a positive answer.

“You didn’t eat much,” Patton said, almost mournfully. Virgil shrugged, and gifted him a hint of a smile.

“I could not have let you guys go hungry,” he said with a glimpse of mirth in his eyes. Patton clearly saw it and beamed back. God, that was almost as blinding as the dying star. He glanced back at it. “How did you find this? What science could possibly be behind it? You will have to explain it to me.”

Roman fell onto his back. “Oh, great,” he bemoaned. “Now we’re going to have to listen to Tail Feathers preen and gush about the stupid science behind a fallen, dying star. What’s so interesting about the logic of it? It’s a giant jewel from the sky! Cool enough as it is.”

Patton lightly whacked his knee. “Hush. You like listening to him.”

So the pair of them — and Roman, though it was obvious he tuned in and out — listened as Logan talked about the Demonic Kingdom and it’s landscape and surrounding atmosphere, how it tied into the world and kingdoms around it, and why it was so special that a dying star landed there of all places.

Logan talked quite a bit, Virgil quickly found, as he was still babbling even as they began to leave the crater. Virgil was not getting bored of listening to him, however, and was not about to complain. Roman obviously did not have the same opinion.

“OKAY WE GET IT,” Roman hollered after Logan had gone off on a tangent about the nonexistence of a sun and moon in the Demonic Kingdom. Virgil was unable to smother a snort of amusement, and Logan shot him a sly smirk. Virgil hoped Logan had kept talking just to bother Roman. “YOU’RE SMART AND ALL OF YOUR SMART, SCIENTIFIC WORDS ARE GOING OVER OUR HEADS, LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE NOW.”

“Actually, ‘nerdjacking’ is neither a smart nor scientific word,” Logan correctly mildly. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at him. Logan’s lips twitched. “It’s made up.”

Roman shrieked furiously, and Virgil burst out laughing as he lunged for Logan and widely missed, causing him to tumble across the dusty ground.

“Wow, able to catch crocodiles but not peacocks?” Logan said, mock-curiously. “You have an interesting skill set, Roman.”

“YOU FIEND!” the lustful demon screeched, and the pair darted off in the direction of the house, leaving Virgil and Patton a giggling mess in their dust.

Well, Virgil was giggling, and at first, he thought Patton was too, until he realised the demon was staring at him with a blank expression and wide, round eyes. Laughter died on his lips. ���Is everything okay? Did I do something?”

Then Patton’s face split with that incredible smile again, and his eyes may have honestly started watering.

“Your laugh is... is...”

“Oh.” Virgil ducked his head, feeling his face heat up. He smiled, a little. “Yeah. I... I haven’t laughed like that in... a long time.”

A pair of hands cupped his cheeks and brought his gaze to meet Patton’s. “I hope we can keep that,” he said, voice quiet and lips soft and do not think about it, Virgil, stay strong. “I really, really hope we can keep you laughing like that.”

“What?” Virgil straightened, becoming too tall for Patton to reach, and smirked. “Does it fuel your ever-constant hunger for angel blood?”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “No. It just... makes me happy.”

Something in Virgil’s heart shifted and oh, that was not fair.

“Should we try and catch up?” he said, nodding to where Logan and Roman had disappeared off to. “Just to make sure Logan hasn’t actually been eaten or something by Roman.”

Patton chuckled. “Or that Roman hasn’t broken anything with his misplaced attack attempts.”

In agreement, the pair walked hand-in-hand after the other two, and Virgil prayed Patton wouldn’t look up and see the blush on his face.

It must have been a week, or maybe two, when Virgil woke up and his daily routine was interrupted by a particularly disturbing new variable.

Virgil often slept in far longer than the demons. He had come to find that this was because demons slept twice, throughout night and day, preferring to have two long naps that broke up their day instead of sleeping all in one period. It was strange, but Virgil learned to adjust (especially after he realised that they had been neglecting their second nap during the first few days to accommodate for him.) He’d gotten used to their routine, like how Roman was the one who often got food but Patton was the one who dished it out, or how Logan often zoned out when he read, or Patton’s daily wandering walks out of the house, which Virgil had learnt was how he had been found by the demon in the first place.

So, Virgil often woke up from his shared bed with Patton alone, and could go about getting ready by himself. His robes now were dirtied and torn from the toll adventuring would take on his outfit. At first, he was concerned that they would see him as improper, and dirty, and hate him and order him to leave, but they had barely batted an eye. They didn’t care for his tattered clothes, and frankly if they didn’t, neither did he.

He could merely dress, splash his face with fresh, warm basin water, and would go downstairs. He could resort to combing his hands through with his fingers. The demons didn’t use hairbrushes. Virgil could get used to all of this.

Except as he moved his hands through his hair, he brushed against something — a pair of soft, fuzzy somethings that moved with his touch — and he shrieked.

Virgil staggered downstairs at the same time as the demons lunged up to him, worrying over him, demanding to know what happened, why he screamed.

Babbling uncontrollably, Virgil grabbed Logan’s wrists and shoved his hands in the direction of the weird new appendages growing from his head.

Logan’s fingers gently glossed over them, and he relaxed.

“Ah,” he said, as if everything made sense. “Don’t panic, Virgil. They are simply ears.”

“I have a pair of perfectly good ears on the sides of my head!” Virgil cried. “Why do I have these?” He yanked at the fuzzy ears and ignored the pain that shot up his skull. Patton yelped.

“No, no, don’t do that!” He darted forward to try and ease Virgil’s hands from his head. “Don’t pull on them, honey, it’ll just hurt.”

“Easy, city slicker.” Roman grinned. “That’s normal. See, check these out.” He bent his neck at an awkward angle to expose his goat horns, and Patton gently moved Virgil’s hands to feel them cautiously. “Everyone has animal traits.”

“Demons  have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

“Yes,” Logan responded slowly, “and so can Turned Angels.”

Virgil blanched. “W-what? Angels can... can turn into demons?”

Logan glanced at the other two, who weren’t giving him any help. He nodded almost uncertainly, like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing to set anyone off. “It’s... possible.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Virgil cried, and the three of them recoiled from him as he began to pace. His wings flared open and shut, agitated. “There’s no— that—  Really?”

Roman, suddenly snappish, growled, “Are you going to take our word for it or are you just going to keep blabbering all day?” Virgil paused, and waited for Patton or Logan’s reprimand. It didn’t come.

He turned away, hugging himself.

“Oh, baby.” Patton’s soft voice and warm breath reached his arm as the demon wrapped his arms around his torso. “It’s scary, I know. If you returned to the Angelic Kingdom now, your demonic traits wouldn’t be permanent. You could go back and return to normal if you’d like.”

And somehow that was even more horrifying than the idea that he was turning into a demon.

Virgil suddenly realised how silent it was around him, like the others were too scared to even breathe in his presence.

“No.” He let out a long breath. “No, it’s okay. Well. It’s not okay, but it will be. I will be okay.” He turned in Patton’s arms and pulled the little demon to his chest. He looked over Patton’s head to Logan and Roman. “I’m sorry for scaring all of you.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Patton said. “You could never!”

Logan and Roman didn’t interject, but Logan inclined his head in mute acceptance and forgiveness. Roman didn’t meet anyone’s gazes.

“I’m going to look for inspiration,” he muttered finally, and pushed past Virgil and Patton to disappear out the door. Patton half reached for him, protests dying on his lips. He drooped, defeated, in Virgil’s grip.

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

“It was not entirely your fault,” Logan assured him. “Roman...”

“He’s not sensitive,” Patton defended quickly.

“I wasn’t going to say he was,” Logan assured him. “It’s a bit of a sore topic for him.”

Virgil fidgeted with his hands. Patton stilled them when he clasped their fingers together. “I feel like there’s more to him than you guys are ever going to tell me.”

“He has a brother,” Logan said, and wasn’t that just a proving point to Virgil’s statement? “He doesn’t live with him because it is forbidden.”

“I thought demons could live with whoever they like,” Virgil said.

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

When the reality of what he’d just been told, Virgil stumbled back. He sat on the ground, staring at the carpet. There was a dark stain there, made by a spilled tub of blueberry yogurt.

“He’s an angel,” he said faintly. The demons’ silence answered his unasked question. “He’s an angel.”

“He was,” Patton corrected, moving to sit before him. “He’s a demon now, kiddo.”

Virgil shook his head. “But— he was so confused! About angel rules, and me, a-and...”

“He left a long time ago,” Logan said. “Times change.”

Virgil rubbed his hands over his face, his mind racing.  Lust,  his mind said, quietening the other thoughts, and he looked up, realising he had said that aloud. “Chastity. He was an Angel of Chastity.”

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

It explained a few things, at least. Roman’s mutinous comments about angels, his lack of sexual preference, why he liked exploring the demonic world.

“Why did he leave?” Virgil asked. “Was he sick of the pretentious rules, too? But... he had a brother. Why would he leave his brother?”

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

“That’s not our place,” Patton said softly. “We’ve already been telling you far too much.”

“You know he wouldn’t mind.” Logan moved to massage his nimble fingers into Patton’s tense shoulders. Virgil felt a spike of jealousy curl in his gut. Why didn’t he think to do that for Patton?

“Should I go after him?”

“Why don’t we draw something?” Patton suggested, glancing up to Logan. “Roman got those new blank scrolls the other day.”

Logan smiled. “Good idea.” He moved the bookcase and brought back a thick, empty scroll that he laid out in the middle of their small circle. He set the charcoal pencil beside it.

“I’m not very good at drawing,” Virgil admitted quietly.

“That’s no issue.” Logan waved a hand, like he was physically dismissing the apology.

Patton smiled, and shuffled over to lean into Virgil’s side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, and pressed a chaste kiss to Virgil’s cheekbone. “I’m not great at it either.”

Virgil’s mind was so busy malfunctioning that he completely missed the first half of the demons’ drawing game. When he eventually tuned back in, face still aflame and heart still thumping madly, he found that Patton and Logan were taking turns in drawing on the scroll’s canvas. So far, they had created a flat landscape with a single silhouette of a tree positioned on the side.

“Ready to play?” Patton asked with a sly look in his direction. If he had been in his right mind, Virgil would have cursed him. As it was, he could barely reply with a ‘thank you’ as Patton passed him the charcoal piece. He looked uncertainly down at the half-drawing and tried to think about anything but the way his cheek was still on fire. The charcoal rubbed against his pale skin.

Slowly he leaned forward, picked a spot where he wanted to draw, and carefully, he began to sketch.

It was sloppy, and too bulky, and not the right shape, but once Virgil pulled back from his attempt at a moon, both Patton and Logan seemed floored.

“That’s gorgeous, Virgil!” Patton said. Virgil shrugged.

“It’s...” He was aiming to say ‘nothing,’ but he found he couldn’t push down Patton’s praise as easily after that kiss. “Thanks.”

Patton grinned and leaned against him, resting his head on the edge of his shoulder. Virgil didn’t tense like he wanted to, but fire still ran up the skin where Patton touched him. He wondered if that was normal but didn’t want to interrupt Logan as he frowned and drew what looked like cloud cover over Virgil’s moon.

It was beginning to look like a beautiful landscape (with a far-off ocean, a setting sun blanketing the surrounding area in rimmed darkness, an overhead moon peeking through some clouds with its star brothers and sisters) when Roman arrived back.

“Got dinner,” he mumbled, and dropped a sack of grain, meat, and salt rocks next to the fireplace.

“Oh, thank—!”

Roman slammed the front door closed when he left again before Patton could finish.

For a moment, the three of them glanced between each other.

Then Virgil sighed quietly and stood. “I’m going to go talk to him.” Logan nodded, once, and Patton attempted to smile but Virgil could see the force behind it. He turned quickly so Patton wouldn’t have to keep up the act and moved to the door.

He knocked on it experimentally, but got no reply, so he opened it and slipped outside.

Roman was sitting to the side, leaning against the house. He didn’t look mad, or even sad. His eyes were worryingly blank.

“Sorry for snapping, earlier,” he said dully.

“It’s alright,” Virgil said, almost instantaneously. He sat down beside Roman, mirroring his position. “I... must have done something wrong, so—”

“No.” Virgil swallowed, glancing at the demon, who was slowly shaking his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

The pair sat in silence. Roman still looked slightly dazed. Virgil fidgeted with his hands.

“So...” he said after a minute, “you have a brother?”

Immediately he wanted to screw his jaw closed, but Roman didn’t react badly.

“I do,” he simply confirmed. Virgil took it Roman also understood that he now knew his past of an ex-Angel of Chastity.

“Did you leave because... you weren’t happy with having a brother?” Virgil asked softly, that mystery still unsolved.

Roman shook his head. “I was fine with it.” He didn’t offer anything else. Virgil felt a little out of his depth, to be the one trying to keep conversation with the usually loud, energetic demon.

“Was your brother not happy with it?” he asked instead.

“He was also fine with having a brother,” Roman said, and Virgil was at a loss. Roman finally raised his head, but instead of looking at Virgil, stared off into the distance. His eyes were the same discoloured red as the bricks behind them, as opposed to the bright blood that had locked onto Virgil the first time he stepped into the house. “It was... the Ancient Angels who had issues.”

Virgil’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s odd,” he mused thoughtfully. Had he ever experienced something like that? Had he ever even heard of something like that? “You can’t help who you are related to.”

Roman’s voice was quiet when he responded, “That’s not entirely the point, Virge.”

Virgil’s shoulders drooped. He was still confused. “Oh.”

Roman looked over at him from the corner of his eye, and when Virgil glanced over at them, there were hints of mirth returning to his gaze, his lips curling the tiniest bit upwards.

“You know, if you’re going to be sticking around, I think I need to think of some new nicknames.”

Virgil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What, names like Angel Ass and Featherbrain weren’t good enough for you?”

“To be fair, Featherbrain is Logan. He’s the peacock.”

“And what do you think I am?” Virgil challenged.

Roman shrugged. “Who knows? With these little suckers.” He reached up and tugged — gently — on Virgil’s ears, and he laughed and batted him away. “How does a hyena sound?”

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

“You laugh like one,” Roman said with a grin. “And you are quite greedy when it comes to Patton’s attention.”

“Hey!” Virgil shrieked. “No! I am not!”

Roman hooted with a laugh, scrambling away as Virgil lunged for him. 

“Maybe you're a pig, like him!” he guffawed. “And you just need to wait it out until they grow more! It’s simply meant to be!”

“Shut up!” Virgil was laughing too hard to make an effective opponent, and Roman kept scampering out of the way of his grabs. It took a minute for Virgil to realise that Patton and Logan must have heard their ruckus and emerged from the house to watch the two of them scuffle.

Roman noticed them, lit up, and was bowled over when Virgil finally managed to catch him off-guard.

“Ha-ha!” He grinned down at Roman. “I win.” Roman pouted for a moment before smirking.

When his fingers tug into Virgil’s side, the angel merely raised an eyebrow. Roman’s face fell.

“Wait, what? Why aren’t you— That’s supposed to work!”

“I’m not ticklish,” Virgil announced with an air of victory. Roman groaned and squirmed indignantly.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and Virgil grinned toothily.

Roman startled, then, and peered closely at him. He reached up and his fingers just barely brushed against Virgil’s bottom lip. He jerked back, startled, and Roman, bashed, blushed.

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

Roman pointed at his mouth, and Virgil ran his tongue over his teeth to find that, horrifyingly, there were indeed pointed.

“Everything okay?” Patton had moved up beside them, and Virgil shuffled off Roman. He swallowed.

“I really am turning into a demon, aren’t I?” he said quietly.

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

“You don’t have to,” Roman said, sitting up, before Patton could speak. “You could leave.” It wasn’t the same snappish tone he had used before fleeing the house. It wasn’t even remotely annoyed. Roman looked at him patiently. Empathetically. “It would fix everything. You wouldn't have to live like this.”

“Whatever you do,” Logan added, moving to Virgil’s other side to squeeze his arm, “we will help you.”

“Yes,” Patton agreed, though his voice was subdued and mournful. Virgil looked down at the small demon and his forlorn features. He glanced at the pain flickering in Roman’s eyes. He saw the tension coiling in Logan’s muscles.

He huffed and stood up. “I... have to think about it.”

“I’d love to tell you to take your time,” Logan said, rising with him. “But there’s an uncertainty around how much time you have before the power of the Demonic Kingdom take over your angelic senses.”

Virgil swallowed. “Can you give me an estimate?”

Logan glanced at Patton and Roman. “A day,” he choked out finally. Virgil’s heart dropped.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, and his voice trembled. “Maybe if I could have found out sooner, I would have been able to tell or, or fix it, or—”

“Hey, Big Bird, calm down.” Roman stood to press against Logan’s side. “Breathe.”

“It’s okay, L.” Virgil gave him a small smile. Patton bustled up to hold his hand, and he squeezed reassuringly. “We’ll work it out.”

Logan sighed dejectedly but didn’t protest or argue any further.

“I wonder if I’ll still have my wings,” Virgil mused, but then caught himself with a brief glance in Roman’s direction and his very obvious bare back, void of wings despite being an ex-angel. “Oh— sorry.”

Roman blinked before laughing. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe you will! I didn’t lose my wings to demon transformation.”

Virgil caught himself. “You... didn’t?”

“No.” Roman went sombre. “When I ran, I was unlucky enough to be intercepted by a patrol.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly, but Virgil felt sick.

“They...?”

Roman nodded. “Made sure I couldn’t change my mind once I left.”

Virgil’s gut twisted and he looked away. “God, what’s wrong with my people?”

“They’re not your people,” Patton injected softly. His hands were warm against Virgil’s palm. “You’re not like them.”

“What good am I doing down here?” Virgil whispered. “Running away from my problems, thinking I’m the only one with issues?”

“You didn’t know what else to do,” Patton reasoned. “From what you’ve told us, you couldn’t have known there were others like you.” In the corner of his eye, Virgil watched Roman tilt his head inquisitively at that, but Patton elaborated, “Oppressed and outcasted by those stupid rules,” and the lustful demon seemingly lost interest. Virgil tried not to squint at him. Curious.

Virgil shook himself, and Patton dropped his arm. That was enough niceties. Virgil could get ill with all the affection.

He nodded to the house. “Well, we don’t want to let dinner go off.”

“A man after my own heart!” Roman sang, already jumping forward.

“Wait.” Logan’s voice was firm, but deadly still. The others paused too, glancing back at them. His gorgeous eyes were narrowed at the ground as he concentrated, troubled. He looked up at them and asked, “Does anybody else hear that?”

Both Roman and Patton immediately stiffened. Virgil opened his mouth to ask what they were talking about.

“Patton look out!” cried Roman, lunging from the shelter of the house doorway to collide with the other demon.

Then two angelic sentries landed and slit Logan’s throat.

Roman’s bellow may as well have made the ground shake. Virgil would have almost believed that he was a cat instead of a goat, but then the second angel grabbed him by his horns and shoved him face first into the ground and held him there.

Patton was crying, huddling backwards, and quivering against the ground. His eyes were as wide as dying stars, flickering between his family.

“LOGAN!” Roman roared against the dirt smudging against his beautiful face. He struggled against the angel but couldn’t budge. It didn’t look like Logan had heard him, anyway; his eyes — those striking, dark eyes — were already glassy. Blood the colour of amethysts was pooling around his head as it flooded from his neck. His stained lips might have been twitching, trying to move, but all that came from his mouth was a trickle of that violet blood.

Virgil’s head spun.

He should be doing something. He should be moving. He should be screaming or crying or defending his friends or something, but he was standing there uselessly, and Logan was dying— Logan was  dead— Why? What did the angels want? They couldn’t be here for him. He was a nobody. He didn’t matter.

Don’t tell me they killed Logan for me. Please, please, don’t tell me this is my fault. Logan can’t be dead because of me.

A third angel landed, glorious wings extended to their full length, glittering golden eyes narrowed, smile sharp as he straightened and readjusted his spotless suit.

“Hello, Virgil,” said Janus. “I thought I had told you not to mess with demons.”

Virgil had to throw up. He was going to throw up.

He couldn’t speak. He wanted to say Janus’ name, to curse him, to demand he leave, to help Logan,  anything…

He couldn’t speak.

Beneath the feet of the second demon, Roman was cursing up a storm, expletives spitting from his snarled lips as he—  glare  wasn’t even the right word — as he  blazed at Janus. Virgil's brother ignored him in favour of approaching Virgil, who quailed back. Roman snarled viciously, struggling to stand, making the angelic guard buck, unbalanced.

Janus paused and sighed. He didn’t even look in over his shoulder, but it must have been enough incentive for the angel because they drove their sword through the Demon of Lust’s back.

Virgil’s breath rushed out of him. He heard Patton screaming.

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

Patton shot forward, and a cry tore itself from Virgil’s throat.

“Go away!” Patton wailed, stumbling to Roman’s side, and pushing his hands to where the blue blood was soaking through his back. “Get away, you horrible, horrible, winged monsters! Leave us alone!”

Roman groaned, and Patton’s voice broke and he stopped shouting. He started talking quietly to Roman, who responded dazedly, but Virgil couldn’t hear either of their voices, even as he stared at them from his frozen position.

“Virgil.” Janus sounded tired. He was standing in front of him. Virgil could see him in the corner of his eye. He kept his gaze focused on Patton and Roman. “Oh, dear, you are trembling.” A hand gripped his elbow. It was cool, and smooth, and his brother’s, and not a demon’s.

“Don’t touch me.” Virgil ripped from Janus, skittering back to stare furiously at Janus. “What are you doing here?”

Janus blinked, and Virgil wondered where the hell he got the audacity to look shocked.

“I am taking you back,” he said slowly, as if he were explaining angels and demons to a youngster. As if he were explaining why angels were good, and holy and perfect, and demons were feral, disgusting scum not worth wasting time on.

“You are not coming anywhere near me,” Virgil snarled. Janus looked at him like he’d grown a tail and started talking in tongues.

“I understand we have had our disagreements,” Janus said slowly, holding up his hands. Patton was bent down to Roman, now, pressing their foreheads together. “But that is no reason to pick a fight with demons to air your frustrations. They could have killed you.”

Virgil gaped at him. He glanced over at Logan’s corpse, and Roman’s blue-soaked body and the tears rolling down Patton’s cheeks.

“Pathetic creatures, really,” Janus mused sadly. “It is almost a shame that they had to die because of you.”

Virgil choked on his curse, unable to get anything past his clogged throat.

Janus sighed again. “Come, Virgil. We are going home. Now.”

He turned and flared his wings. After a moment, he glanced back and found that Virgil hadn’t moved an inch.

Virgil glowered dangerously at him. His voice was steel. “I am home.”

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

Virgil jolted, as shocked as Janus while Patton clawed and bit and scratched and growled and cried and whimpered and sobbed.

The world swam around Virgil when he looked over to find Roman’s eyes dull and colourless. They didn’t even reflect off the shimmering pool of cobalt surrounding him. Virgil distantly wondered if the lump in his throat was not anxiety or emotion, and just his heart, trying to push its way out of his body, knowing that would be far less of a painful fate than what was happening around him.

Janus hissed, twisting away from his attacker, but the little demon only launched a second time, fastening the bone of Janus’ wing in his jaw and crunching it between his teeth.

Janus’ shriek spurred the other two angels into motion, and they darted forward.

Virgil got there first.

He lashed with his wing, the sharp ends of his feathers striking through both eyes of the first angel. She reared back with a shriek, clawing at her own face. He ignored Janus’ stunned cry of “Virgil!” and threw himself at the second angel, bowling them over and crunching their leg beneath his weight. He blocked out the screams as he dug his fingers — and sharpened nails, when had they grown so long? — into their thigh, digging and clawing until white blood was gushing from the gaping wound.

Firm hands dug into his shoulders and tore him from the angels, whirling him around and throwing him into the side of the house.

“What are you doing?” Janus’ eyes were wild, his hair crazed. His suit was flecked with small spots of white blood. Yet his voice was terrifyingly quiet, barely disturbing the electrified air. Virgil bared his teeth, and Janus paled. “You...”

Patton tackled Janus again, but the angel was ready for him this time, and the little demon was thrown to the ground with a brutal  thump.  Janus turned on him, his fingers twitching, like he was planning on twisting Patton’s neck in his grip.

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

He snarled and met Janus with a fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

Janus ate dust when he crashed to the ground, metres from where he had been standing.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM,” Virgil ordered, his voice unnaturally deepened with fury.

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “You are being reckless and—”

“No.”

Janus sighed. “I do not want to fight you, Soft Wings.” His voice was soft, and for a minute it seemed like the ever-present-since-childhood nickname would break through to Virgil. He hesitated. He looked at his brother and thought about what he was planning to do.

And then he caught a side of the blue and purple blood, sinking into the ground.

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

“Don’t worry, boss.” The first angel’s voice cut through Virgil’s inner mantra. He looked over to see her stagger, hand still covering her face, her lip twisted hatefully. “While you take care of your wayward brother, we will deal with the final demon.”

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

At first, Virgil didn’t know what was happening, or where the blinding light, bright enough to rival a dying star, was coming from.

Then he felt something tugging at his skull, and his teeth and nails groaning in protest, spiking pain itching up through his spine.

When the light died down, Virgil raised his head to glower at Janus with elongated pupils.

His brother was frozen in place, like all the breath had been squeezed from him. The other angel had been knocked onto her back, and now one of her wings was twisted at an awkward, unnatural angle.

“Virgil.” Janus held out his hands beseechingly. Virgil fought the instinct that told him to bite off his fingers one by one. “What can I do?”

“What, still want me around?” Virgil snarled around his new fangs. “Want a demon for a brother?”

“I want you,” Janus breathed. “How do I get you back?”

Virgil raised his chin, power thrumming through his still-present wings. His long tail lashed. “You can’t.”

He knew he shouldn’t have been hurt at the heartbroken expression that flickered across Janus’ face. He had chosen this when he had ignored Virgil, when he had ridiculed him, when he had arrived at his new home where he was safe and happy and protected and slain his friends in front of him.

Janus smiling proudly down at him. Janus straightening their halos before leaving the house, his smooth hands making sure his bracelet wasn’t crooked. Janus laughing as his young little brother tried to do the same for his anklet, and only fumbled with it until he tripped. Janus introducing him to an angel with bright green eyes and toothy grin, announcing that he was their new roommate. Janus gently explaining that Remus had no family anymore, and the Ancient Angels had allowed him to live with them. Janus nodding approvingly when Virgil offered his hand to Remus, out of politeness and not joy.

“But.” Virgil spoke before he realised he had. Janus looked up, and Virgil suddenly saw how ragged his brother was. His feathers were matted from the blood that Patton had spilled, but they had been ruffled before he had even landed. His eyes were haunted, and tired, shallow shadows hugging the bags of his cheeks. He was tired, and stressed, and now gutted.

“But,” he said again, his voice more level. “If you can prove that you can fix your mistakes — if you find angels that are being outcasted, help them, give them a home and a safe place and somewhere where they aren’t suffering purely from the rules of the Ancient Angels. If you fight for angels who can’t fight for themselves. If you fight against injustice. If you make sure angels like him   never find the same fate...” He pointed to Roman’s limp body and tried not to burst into tears. “Then maybe then, and only then... will I consider forgiving you.”

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

“And then,” snarled Virgil, and Janus fell silent, “you will see how merciful I’m feeling.”

Janus clasped his hands behind his back, and Virgil saw how badly he was shaking. “It would have been more effective if you didn’t speak in apostrophes,” he said in a weak voice.

With a roar, Virgil striked forward, dark claws slashing along Janus’ face.

His brother staggered back, but he didn’t look betrayed or hurt. It was almost pitiful, how he looked like he understood Virgil’s behaviour.

“If you leave now, maybe I’ll let your little soldiers live,” he hissed. The other two angels were quaking as they stared at him. Janus, keeping his gaze locked with Virgil, waved at them with one wing, and they scrambled into the air, beating their wings furiously.

Janus opened his mouth. Virgil stared him down and he slowly shut it again. He didn’t say anything, only dipped his head — in understanding? Acceptance? Fear? — and turned, following the soldiers in a much more graceful manner.

Virgil watched with sharp eyes until they disappeared through the oppressive cloud cover above.

“Virgil?” a painfully quiet voice whispered. Patton slipped his hands into Virgil’s, and he promptly broke down. “Virgil!” Patton, alarmed, followed him to the ground, wrapping a warm arm around his back.

“I’m sorry,” rasped Virgil, his voice fading to barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry, Pat, I...” In the corner of his eye, he saw Logan’s vacant gaze and Roman’s blue blood, and he broke off with a shuddering sob, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry.”

He heard Patton audibly gulp and wondered if his senses had been heightened or Patton was just remarkably close.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, warm lips pressing to Virgil’s temple. “It’s not your fault, honey.” Virgil choked, turning to bury his face in Patton’s shoulder. “They’ll be okay.”

Virgil didn’t protest. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t in the mood for empty reassurance, or blind faith or hopeless dreams or misguided illusions. He’d had enough of lies.

He didn’t voice any of this. All that came from him when he opened his mouth was more sobs.

Patton continued to rub his back and press warmly at his side and gently hush him, which was all ridiculous because Patton was the one who was supposed to be sobbing and ripping up the ground and yelling at the sky.

Virgil trembled in Patton’s arms as the demon — though they were both demons, now, weren’t they? — stood them up and guided him — not towards the house, but to Virgil’s horror, Logan’s cooling body.

“I need you to help me get him inside,” Patton said softly. “Can you carry him?”

Virgil stared down at the blurry image of his friend through his tears. God, those beautiful eyes were not supposed to be that lifeless.

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

Patton nodded, and for a brief moment, pressed his head to Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he promised emptily before pulling away and creeping over to Roman’s body like he was a startled animal and not a dead demon bleeding the colour of the Angelic Kingdom sky.

Virgil, after steeling himself, sunk to his knees and worked his arms under Logan’s body. He tried not to think about the warmth seeping out of his skin, and the wetness of his blood, and the way his chest wasn’t moving and eyes weren’t sparkling and mouth wasn’t moving in some random ramble about some vague scientific fact.

He swallowed another sob and stood, lifting the other demon easily in his arms. He wondered if he had always been so strong. (He doubted it.)

Something lashed behind him, and when he glanced down, he saw the tail — his tail — whipping back and forth for balance.

With another swallow, Virgil ignored it and moved to the house. He prompted the door open with his hip and Patton bustled passed him, walking awkwardly with Roman’s weight. Virgil averted his eyes and stared at the ground as he followed Patton up the stairs.

“Logan’s room is that door further down, just next to Roman’s,” Patton said, his voice still low. Virgil glanced over at him helplessly. Patton looked like he didn’t have the energy to even fake a smile. “Just put him in bed, kiddo. I’ll come and help when I can.”

Virgil tried not to frown in confusion. He wasn’t one to question demonic rituals, or ceremonial acts of a culture different to the one he was used to.

My culture now too, I suppose,  he thought glumly. He trudged into Logan’s bedroom and looked around. It was far barer than Patton’s, or maybe just neater. Interesting looking scrolls were stacked in a corner. A map of what was presumably the Demonic Kingdom was hanging on the wall.

Virgil moved to the simplistic-looking bed and gently lay the prideful demon on the sheets. He was glad they were black, and the blood that would stain them wouldn’t be very visible. He wondered if demons didn’t bury their dead, but he couldn’t remain on that train of thought for too long because the idea of keeping Logan and Roman’s still, blood-soaked bodies in the house, just rooms from where Virgil slept, made him feel very, very ill.

Shuddering, he turned from the room and crept out. He peered into Roman’s room, where Patton was laying a red blanket over the lustful demon’s body, talking softly to him. Virgil remained silent as Patton sniffed and sat on the bed, almost curling up next to the body.

When Patton looked up without looking surprised, Virgil realised with a jolt that he had sensitive hearing.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Patton finally smiled, then, but it was small and still seemed a little forced. “I just, uh...” He growled under his breath, annoyed at how clumped his throat felt. Patton’s expression went impossibly soft and he stood, moving over to wrap his arms around Virgil’s ribs.

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

“I should have done something,” Virgil cried. “Logan even heard them coming — you all did! I could have stopped all of this if I had just—”

“Just what, love?” Patton interjected. “Taken the hit for yourself? Tried to explain to a trio of furious angels why they shouldn’t attack a group of scary-looking demons?”

“You’re not scary.” Virgil’s voice hitched. “None of you are.”

Patton’s smile widened, only slightly. Virgil rested his chin on Patton’s hair. “I’m glad you think so.”

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other, Virgil trying to calm himself and Patton trying to keep them both grounded.

“Well, I suppose we should get things ready,” Patton said finally, pulling away. “Once we’ve fetched some water, could you go and look over Logan? I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Virgil stared down at him, all bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks and clogged nose and throat.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, exhausted. “Patton, they’re—”

“Oh!” Patton cried, hands flying to his mouth, and Virgil sighed, waiting for the demon to delve further into his denial. “Virge, I— I’m so sorry!”

Virgil frowned.

“We’re demons,” Patton said, as is that explained every question in the universe. “We can’t die.”

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

Patton waved his hands, shaking his head furiously. “No, no! Really! We regenerate, it just takes longer depending on the injuries.”

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

“Logan and Roman will be fine, really! Their bodies just need time to heal themselves!”

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

“It’s okay, Virge,” said Patton. “They really will be alright.”

Sudden heat flooded back into Virgil’s eyes. “Oh,” he said in a small voice, then again, breathlessly,  “Oh.”

Patton smiled, laughing quietly. “It’s okay, Virge,” he said again. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or explained it, I just forgot that there’s some not-very-common knowledge between our kingdoms and I—”

“But— but you were so upset!” Virgil gripped the sides of his head. “You went ballistic!”

Patton winced, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you try watching your family die in front of you and see if you act so chivalrous.”

Virgil let out a final, whooshing breath and fell forward, pulling Patton and crushing him to his chest.

“God fucking damnit, Pat,” he said with a wet laugh, then quietened, pulling back to stare at Patton in the eyes. “This is the truth, right? You’re not in denial or going delusional from grief?”

“No,” Patton promised. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Virgil nodded several times, processing the information. “Okay.” He narrowed his eyes. “What do we need to do?”

Over the course of the next day and night, Virgil wiped the blood from Logan’s skin, finding it already knitting itself back together as time went on. He wrapped bandages around Logan’s neck (and then was able to remove them not a few hours later, the blood having stopped flowing) and washed the bed sheets until the water no longer ran purple.

Patton did the same, although multiple times Virgil caught him having another breakdown while he tried to help Roman. Virgil (privately, of course) cursed Fate for making him fall for such an emotional demon. On several of these occasions Virgil’s mind started to race, telling him that something had gone wrong, or Patton had broken from his illusion of a happy ending, or Roman’s wound had been too great for his body to recover from.

But then Patton would smile and reassure him that it just got a bit much sometimes, and Virgil would sigh, return his smile, and send him downstairs to take a break while he took over.

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

At one point, they managed to catch some quiet time together in Patton’s  (their,  Patton would correct him) bed.

Patton reached up to run careful fingers through Virgil’s hair and finger at his new ears, giggling when they flicked under his touch. Virgil allowed him to run his new tail through his hands, too, watching with amusement as the gluttonous demon beamed at this new development.

“A tiger,” he whispered, and Virgil’s eyebrows arched.

“What?”

“You’re a tiger,” Patton repeated, looking up. “Your eyes— your reaction when it all happened... and of course! The opposite of patience: you’re a Demon of Wrath.”

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

“I don’t feel angry,” he mumbled. Patton smiled.

“Does Roman always seem to feel lustful, to you?”

“He did try and hit on me the first few minutes I walked through the door,” Virgil pointed out. Patton rolled his eyes with a laugh.

“That’s just Roman,” he said. “But it’s because you’re not a pureblood. You are a formed demon, not a birthed one. There’s nothing wrong with that. In our house, at least,” he added with a sly wink.

Virgil flushed. He blew a raspberry at Patton, who giggled and wiggled up to cuddle him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said quietly. “A very pretty tiger.”

“I think sleep deprivation is getting to you,” said Virgil gently, guiding Patton’s head down to rest on his collarbone. “Try and get some rest. I’ll look after the menaces.”

“Alright, kitto,” Patton murmured sleepily and closed his eyes. Virgil didn’t have the heart to wake him up to demand what sort of pun that was.

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears. 

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into  his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least  he  was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was  safe.  “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what  you  will do to  him.  You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly:  you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp,  “Get out.”  He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well,  Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s.  That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

[biavastarr]

Co-Parents (Chapter One)

Pairing: steve rogers x you (fem!reader)

Warnings: language, mentions of adult activities, mentions of (robot) child endangerment

Word Count: 1,386ish

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the media or characters mentioned in this story.

Author’s Notes: there is no structure or plan or anything yet, but I’ve always loved those shows where they get stuck with a robot baby and for some dumb reason I decided it’d be a good fic. this is definitely going to be messy as it’s my first series but I’ll do my best,, unfortunately with my crazy schedule it’ll be a couple weeks before I update again? the reader in this will be bi, but if you’re not, don’t worry, I think it’ll be easy to skim over. I also do not know anything about developmental biology so please excuse me being dumb.

I don’t really know what’s going on with this whole “co-” theme with my titles, but that’s not going to be a recurring thing. probably. ignore the cheesiness of the summary, I’m gagging.

Summary: College!AU: You, a Pre-Med student with commitment issues, and Steve Rogers, your reckless best friend, are paired together for a project that requires you to co-parent a high-maintenance robot baby. Will your grades - or your hearts - survive this assignment? 

“Dr. Fury, how is a robot baby going to accurately assess our understanding of child development? With all due respect, it’s kind of an outlandish assignment. Also, largely centered on a very specific topic, y’know? This is so focused on just humans, for such a small part of their lives. Wouldn’t it be better if we did, I don’t know, one of those things where we raise butterflies in a tent, or baby chicks in an incubator, or, like, tadpoles, I guess, in a tank?” Lilting your voice up in question at the end, you paused to try and think of more examples. 

You were babbling, you knew, it was embarrassing, but your sense of self-preservation had just allocated all of its resources into trying to talk your Developmental Biology professor out of this absurd assignment that he had just announced, absolutely spoiling what had been an otherwise pleasant fourth week of your junior year.

Natasha leaned back in her seat with a small quirk of her red lips. “You’re only fighting this so hard because you’ve got commitment issues, kroshka. God forbid you have to put up with something for more than a week.”

“Is this really the time to be psychoanalyzing me in front of the whole class?” You glared at her petulantly, trying to ignore Clint’s snickers beside her.

Dr. Fury cleared his throat loudly, his one eye narrowing at you as he spoke. “This is to emphasize the significance of care within the first three months of birth. It will help flesh out your understanding of human biological development as well as the role of nurturing within any species’s growth. Choose your partners wisely; I reserve the right to break up any group I think will be a bad fit. And, as it is the largest project of this semester, it will count towards 30% of your final grade.”

You gaped helplessly, your pen falling from your hand with a soft thump. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die.”

Wanda rolled her eyes from the seat on your other side, nudging you with her elbow good-naturedly. “Maybe this pseudo-kiddo will teach you some responsibility, sestra.”

You straightened your posture, reaching over to play with a lock of her long brown hair. “Heeeeey, Wanda,” you started innocently, “as my super nice and helpful roommate that would make this entire project convenient and fun, do you want to be my partner?”

Wanda faltered slightly. “Oh, I would, I really would, but when you were trying to talk Dr. Fury out of it, I sorta, um, asked Vision?” She looked at you sadly, and you hid your disappointment because no way were you going to let your fear of this assignment ruin a good thing for her.

“Wanda, I would never fault you for that, my god, are you finally going to ask him out?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Maybe? I kind of want to see how this goes. I bet he’d be so cute with a little baby, though!” You shook your head, smiling, not really seeing how just the thought of her crush with a kid could make her swoon, but let her have her moment. You scanned the rows of the small lecture hall, trying to scope out a potential partner.

Glancing to your side, you weren’t surprised to see Natasha and Clint writing their names down on a paper they’d torn out of your notebook, which, hey, but whatever. Maria Rambeau and Carol Danvers were laughing together and talking to Fury, they’re for sure out, shoot; Brunnhilde? Nope, Thor was sitting down next to her with hearts in his eyes, damn. Pepper Potts? God, I wish, but she was sitting next to Rhodey, another catch. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were writing their names down on a paper together already, too, and Sam groaned loudly, catching your attention as he and Bucky moved to grab a sheet. Shit, you thought, trying to find an odd one out. Scott? No, he’s making his way over to Hope. Loki? No, I’m not even going near that. Is it weird if I ask the TA, you wondered, glancing over at Maria Hill, who was sitting ramrod straight as she graded papers next to Fury.

“Oh my god, please tell me you don’t have a partner!” You twisted your head back to see one very relieved looking Steve Rogers drop into the seat behind you, leaning his whole body over to flash his signature puppy eyes at you.

“Steve,” you started with a small smile, "you know that I love you, and you’re an absolute sweetheart, but you also know that we would be the most chaotic combination in this room and our robot child might not survive the night.” He pouted at this assessment, melting your heart just a little, but you fixed him with a stern glare. You weren’t lying; while you were both at the top of your class, the two of you were notorious for breaking rules (well, Steve was, at the very least, though he considered it more a disputement of personal interpretation), partying (at least you were, but hey, you were young, pretty, and conscious of safe sex practices), and being, overall, irresponsible messes.

“I can be responsible! I bought a helmet for my motorcycle just last week!”

“Steve, you’ve had that bike for a year. The “just” doesn’t really help you.” He moved to protest, but you stared at him again disappointedly. “When was the last time you got into a fight?”

He flushed a bright red, knowing you’ve caught him. “It wasn’t really a fight, more like an uncivilized disagreement, and 'sides, the guy was bein’ a real jerk to a lady!” His Brooklyn accent thickened a bit at the end, and you looked away so he couldn’t see the darker color of your cheeks.

“Steve, I think we both know that we’re a disastrous combination, and besides, do you really want a baby momma who’s working all weekend? I can’t change my schedule and the kid will either be stuck with you or one of our roommates.”

Steve leaned in closer, his head hanging above yours, lips drawing up in a cute smile. “Babe, I am more than happy to be a stay-at-home dad, so long as you’ll have me.”  

You breathed in deeply, nodding through your exhale. “This is so not going to get approved.”

Fury swept over to your aisle, his trench coat swaying behind him. Stamping the paper that listed them as a pair, he nodded shortly at Clint and Natasha, who high-fived smugly after he passed. He paused momentarily at the next desk, Sam and Bucky sending him their most charming smiles, and, after a moment of silent deliberation, he rolled his eye and stamped their paper in approval. You swallowed dryly.

He came to an abrupt stop at your desk, where Steve was sitting up with a hopeful grin. You smiled weakly, and Fury narrowed his gaze in suspicion. “You and Rogers?”

“Yep,” you squeaked out. “Me and Rogers.”

“This robot baby isn’t going to die, are they?”

“We’ll try our best, sir,” Steve piped in.

“You are aware that, for all your brains, both of you are completely reckless and irresponsible dumbasses?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Am I going to regret stamping this paper?”

“No, sir.”

He drew in a heavy breath, and you sent Steve a nervous glance. I told you so, you mouthed at him. We are literally the worst pair.

Steve shook his head, mouthing nah at you as he flung an arm behind your chair. You tried to stifle the dramatic roll of your eyes at his nonchalance. Oh god, you thought. I’m going to get stuck with fucking Loki, and he’s going to, like, stab the robot because he needs an outlet now that Brunnhilde doesn’t let him stab Thor now, and I’m going to fail this class because my robot baby got shanked, and-

“Alright. Rogers, you’re a father now. Don’t get into any more back-alley fights. I suppose street fights are still game.” You blinked yourself out of your panic-spiral.

“What?”

“Congrats, you two, you’re parents. Ta-da,” Fury deadpanned as he stamped the slip of paper, moving on to the next group. Steve chuckled deeply, squeezing your shoulder as you sat, still frozen in shock.

“Hey, babe, look at us, growin’ up so fast.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out nervously, staring at Steve as he grabbed a pen out his backpack. “Yeah.”

[extraplanetarystory]

Part 11

“You disappeared on us.”

Hours and hours had gone by into the flight with nothing but silent people and the odd hum of the ship.

It was a space plane, set with three columns of seat rows. I had a window seat, eyes glued to all that passed outside. Passed. I don't think passed is the right word, because nothing passed since we went by Zi'inra's surprisingly blue moon. The fathomless depth of the stars drew me in and didn't let go. It created a buzzing, bottomless pit of emotion in my stomach that I didn't quite know how to interpret. I just slapped the labels fear and excitement on it and called it good.

When we took off, Pilot seemed like he wanted to give a speech, something to pep us up. But all he could muster was, “Well, this will certainly be the most memorable class since the first.”

And then it was just silent. Riche'e sat next to me, and after we exchanged a quiet smile, neither of us said anything. Until, that statement.

“You disappeared on us,” he said again less than a second later.

I took a deep breath and nodded for a long time. “Yeah, I did that, huh.”  

“I mean, you just—” He raised his eyebrows, then he rubbed his hands together and shot one out in front of us. “You were on top of people, and then you just vanished.”

“Yeah… Sorry. I think I stopped thinking.” I cleared my throat. “But you look like you got out of it alright. Not a scratch.” From what skin I could see, he looked just as good as I did. “Or little enough the medicine in the camp helped.”

His face twisted into a funny, furrow-browed, sidelong smile. Look, okay, I know there was a more accurate way to say that sentence, and I probably knew the words, but give me a break.

“No, I was very lucky.” He poked at his upper arm; he brushed the fabric of his jacket smooth. “My arm is all kinds of terrible colors from falling on it, but that’s the worst I got. Kama was luckier. The only thing that stopped her from being killed was her abilities.” Hah, telekinesis sure would be a useful skill to have when things are flying at you from all sides.

I looked around, looking through the seats to see if she was anywhere nearby. “Those guys in the argument made it seem like the Cerras do not like the galaxy or something. Is that true?”

He shook his head, but I could see him tense up as he very obviously tried to keep a neutral tone. “They’re… They’re independent and proud. They have their own space program that they’re loyal to—” CASA, then? “—so they rarely bother with Zega. But I have no idea why they would do this.”

“Zega,” I lowered my voice. “Pilot and my father were fighting and they said—”

“Mansheon!!” A random shout from rows ahead of us triggered a sudden cacophony around the cabin.

Seemingly everyone went for a window on our side— I don't know what port and starboard is.  Everyone crowded the right side of the ship. Riche'e and I were pressed against the wall as more heads and bodies appeared beside us, eyes peeled on the space outside.

The planet was bright, but smaller than a pea when I managed to pick it out of the sky. I don’t know how that other person was able to see it before then. But it didn’t stay small for long. In less than a minute, it grew larger and larger until it was taking up the entire window, giving us a good view as the ship slowed down.

And it was gorgeous. It was mostly green, and seemed to be mostly land instead of water. The green came in countless shades, from deep emerald to almost yellow-brown. The farther away from water, the lighter the green was. From our view, I could see three massive seas, with countless smaller ones spread between them. But the most interesting feature I could see was an insane spot of pinkish brown. In a place where it looked like there were no lakes or seas or water of any kind, there was a desert so large I wondered how it compared to the Sahara.

“That was fast,” I mumbled.

Just an inch away—too, too close—Riche’e chuckled. “You never flew with your parents?”

“Yeah, but—that’s a different situation.” Yes, Atlyana had me accompany her on one of her jobs before. I went to another planet, I don’t remember which one, but I was so stuck in my try-to-be-the-worst phase that I didn’t pay attention to anything. God, I wish I had now. “I thought it would take a couple days, not jols.”

“Space travel would suck if it took days and days to get to Mansheon,” someone said above us.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Doesn’t it take days to get to the moon on Earth? I can’t believe I get to experience this!

“Yes, there she is,” Pilot called our attention to the front of the cabin. He was watching us all with a smile. “This is your new home for the next loliel and beyond.”

People started cheering.

“Preparing for descent,” a voice said over the intercom.

“Arlyxe, listen up. Take your seats.” Pilot made his voice firm in an informative tone. The Zega recruits complied. “I’m willing to bet most of you have never been to Mansheon before. Mansheon is the largest colonized planet in our galaxy. That means you will experience gravity like you never have before. For lack of better words, it will be heavy.”

At a chime, he sat down as well strapping himself into a chair. The rest of us strapped as well.

“If you’ve been here before, you’ll know what to expect,” he continued. “But you’ve just spent time on one of the smallest planets in the galaxy.” Oh, god. I spent years on the one of the smallest planets in the galaxy.

He stopped talking as we made our descent. The ship gently shook as we went. Outside, space gave way to atmosphere and...flames? Or sparks? It was a mesmerizing light show, either way. Streaks of white and yellow and orange as we went. And then it passed in seeming seconds. The view became the most stunning blue. Then clouds. Then a cloudy sky and cities as far as I could glimpse out of the corner of my eye.

I braced for the heavy gravity, but it never seemed to come.

Five minutes later, we were parked in a shipyard, or a spaceport. There was silence again as we waited. The odd hum of the ship from before became a definite thrumming in the air. I could feel it pulsing from head to toe, and back up again. It wasn’t long until my head started hurting.

Pilot stood and faced us again.

“Where’s the gravity?” I just barely heard someone him ask.

“Oh, just you wait,” he answered. “Most of you feel the ship’s artificial gravity working right now. That’s because it’s old and the generators don’t work properly, but it’s also why I love using this vessel for new recruits. While the generators are on, you feel the equivalent of Copan gravity. That’s Zi’inra and a half.” I wondered if that compared to Earth. Or was Zi’inra like Earth? Why couldn’t I know this in Earth terms?!

“The generators will shut off gradually. Brace yourself.”

And they did. The thrumming and humming slowly stopped and I felt like an invisible hippo was sitting down on me with its full weight.

Groans sounded off from across the cabin. I looked at Riche’e, and his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. He was sagging.

“Is this your first time to Mansheon?” I forced out. I tried to relax, but tensed up as much a him, resting my head back against the seat. That didn’t even begin to help relieve the pressure I was feeling. My eyes even felt different.

“No,” he breathed. “But I was a kid last time.”

“Does that make it worse or better now?”

“No raqyn clue.”

Pilot was barely standing in an aisle, bent over to the side and holding on to one of the chairs.

“This—this is your first challenge as a Zega recruit:” He was trying to sound like the gravity was hardly getting to him. He started walking down the aisle, using chair after chair to help him. “Carry yourself, plus yourself, to the building just a field-length away.”

We have to do it by ourselves? I suppose I should get used to this kind of thing.

“Do not let the word challenge fool you,” he said, further down the aisle. “If you need help, speak out immediately. You will injure yourself again doing this, especially if you need assistance. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone yet.” Him saying that reminded me that most of these people were already injured from the attack on Zennae. Why would they force injured people to do this?

Please, someone, just come and carry me. I did not want to force myself to stand in this gravity. I listened to the chorus of groans grow louder as recruits began to pull themselves up and slowly follow Pilot toward the back of the ship. It was like watching vocal zombies shuffle along single file.

Riche’e and I reached for the chair backs in front of us at the same time. I waited for him to pull himself up. I’m smaller than him. I may not be as fit as he looks to be, but being smaller has to count for something, right? It didn’t feel like it. Once he was up, he looked to me, obviously waiting for me to move.

I don’t want to! Adding my voice to the chorus, I pulled with my arms and pushed with my legs, an effort I never had to make so consciously in my life before that moment. It took three attempts and Riche’e somehow mustering the strength to help me before I was standing. I think I said thank you out loud, but I really don’t know.

It was even a conscious effort to keep my eyes open once we joined the shuffling. And doing that made the slight headache I felt from the artificial gravity become a full-on head splitter.

It turned out the field-length Pilot mentioned was no more than one or two hundred feet to the building. But that was one or two hundred feet too many. Several people stood outside the ship, looking ready to help anyone who asked or just even looked like they were about to to fall over. Benches were scattered about all in our path. It seemed like whoever built the spaceport knew exactly that they should take initial steps into account.

“The first-day barracks are gravitationally isolated,” one of the people said. I didn’t have the wherewithal to appreciate how cool that sentence actually was. “Over the next ten days, you’ll be gradually acclimated to Mansheon and you’ll be ready to take on the universe!” Hah, thanks dude. “For now, all you need to do is get from here to there.”

I wanted to sit down on one of the benches so bad. And even though Pilot made it clear I should give in to that impulse, I did not. I knew that I would not get back up again. I could (and should) ask one of the helpers to drag me along, but—according to Pilot back in the survivors camp—I was the only actually healthy person here. I could make it, I could make it.

I wanted to ask Riche’e how his arm was doing, but I felt that if I tried to talk, I would lose concentration on standing and moving and breathing and one of those things would stop.

I don’t know how long it actually took to get to the building but it felt like an eternity.

And oh, the blessed relief that could be felt as soon as I made it through those open doors. The hippo was lifted from my shoulders, I could breathe and I could move. It was so freeing I almost felt woozy all of a sudden. There were couches and chairs set in groups all around the warmly decorated room we all walked into. The groans turned into thankful sighs and most of us found a seat there. I knew I’d be able to get up from that couch… in an hour or two.

There was a woman leaning on a tall desk, watching us spill in and about with the most powerful look of amusement written all over her face. She locked eyes with me and beamed with an ear-to-ear and toothy smile.

“Welcome to Mansheon!”

[marinette-sky]

Cigarettes and Leather Chapter 7

A/N: A lot goes on in this chapter, both good and bad. This is my longest chapter yet, finishing at a whopping 5,832 words! I am NEVER doing that again. Detail is, like, my private prostitute at this point and i wish it weren't ;-; I am a filthy liar btw, I said this chapter would center on an Adrienette trip to the bar and shit, but that sure as hell ain't the truth.Also, I know I said this would be a slow-ish burn, but....well you have to read the chapter ;)

Summary:  Marinette, and other things, are falling apart at the seams (and oh, how she wish they were as easy to stitch back together as clothing).

Wednesday Morning

Marinette woke up before her alarm in spite of the exhaustion dragging at her eyelids. The sleep she had gotten could be described as fitful at best, events from the previous evening to blame for her poor condition. After getting home, the heroine had all but collapsed in a sniveling, self-pitying heap on her bedcovers, replaying what transpired between Chat Noir and her until she was no longer conscious enough to dwell on the persisting anguish.

Though, it is certainly still with me. She pressed a hand to her chest, dully noting the ache that pushed back.

Heaving a big sigh, Marinette sat up and blinked a few times for her eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through her skylight. The skin around her eyes was slightly puffy from crying, but nothing a few dabs of concealer couldn’t fix. Hopefully.

Alya has eyes like a hawk, so maybe I’ll do full face makeup today.

With this in mind, the female crawled down from the bed, (snagging the neatly ironed uniform from its hanger hooked on the bedpost), and made her way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. When she had showered and dressed, true to her word to applying full face makeup, she snuck back to her room to find Tikki waiting by her school bag.

The kwami looked at her with apprehension.

“Marinette, we need to talk about last night.” Tikki said firmly, crossing her arm-like appendages. Because of her small stature, she made for almost a laughable sight if not for the serious nature of her words.

“There’s nothing to discuss, Tikki. I was just stressed and Chat made it worse by mentioning working with someone else as a civilian. That’s all.” Marinette ducked around the little creature to grab her bag, purposefully avoiding eye contact as she spoke. She recalled Tikki once telling her that eyes betray the truth, so she should always look at someone head on when talking to see if they are lying or not.

“No, that’s not all, Mari. You cried. I know it has something to do with the fight between you and Chat Noir.” Tikki insisted, moving to block access to the trapdoor handle. “I feel everything you feel when transformed, and it wasn’t just stress.”

She’s not budging on this, is she?

“Well, my feelings are dumb and so are you if you believed them.” Marinette retorted weakly, glaring at her character shoes. “I need to leave for school.”

“Now you are just being childish. And you are not leaving this room until we talk about last night.” Tikki was resolute. “We both know that you have feelings for Chat Noir, and I know first-hand how you get when his female fans get too snug with him.”

“I—”

“You may think you protect him inside the mask, by keeping him by your side only, but outside the mask is different. You both make your own decisions, and he seems to have made his. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Marinette tried her hardest to not recoil at Tikki’s accurate observation, however vague it was. Although it stung, she was right. Chat Noir was never hers to begin with and no amount of jealousy or tantrums could change that.

What I did last night was selfish.

I was selfish.

He was only trying to help them both and the situation at hand by taking action in his civilian form and teaming up with someone else to investigate what happened to Kim and Ivan.

And Marinette scolded him for it.

But…

“You’re not, Tikki.” Marinette admitted. “But that’s not the whole picture either.”

Tikki’s gaze softened when she saw the raw look on the female’s face. “Then what is, Marinette.”

Marinette played with the hem of her shirt, hesitant at voicing her real concerns to the kwami. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she met Tikki’s stare with a heartsick one of her own.

“Its just…well, I’m hurt that someone else caught his eye, and not me. We’ve known each other so long that I figured we’d eventually end up together, and I defended this notion by making sure no one else could get close to him in the mask. So when Chat Noir told me he found this girl, and talked so fondly of her, it made me angry.” Marinette bit her lip, the fire in her stomach spreading to her lungs.

She waited for the suffocating feeling to subside before continuing.

“And then he even told me she reminded him of me. How am I supposed to interpret that? It was like getting told that I wasn’t good enough for him, but the girl who reminded him of me was. Like giving someone a gift only for them to return it in exchange for something similar to the original.”

Tikki nodded sympathetically, smiling sadly at her.

“I think he meant that he found someone with a good heart like yours. It was a compliment, sweetheart.”

Marinette silently agreed with Tikki’s insight, suddenly abhorred by her actions from last night. A despicable sensation crashed over her, like she had just been covered in acid and it was eating through her skin, her muscle, only to congeal itself around her bones and harden so she couldn’t tear it off. It felt worse than guilt, but lighter than heartbreak. There was no word that could possibly label the sensation and Marinette just had to live with it for now until it faded.

Tikki was alarmed.

“Marinette, what is it?!” She trilled, flying up to her face and cradling one of her cheeks.

“…I can’t believe I was so horrible to him. I’m a horrible friend.  Tikki, I’m a horrible friend.” Tear pinpricked at her eyes, but Marinette refused to cry. She could cry and cry and cry and cry about how lowly she is; but, as the philosopher Heraclitus once said, the sun is new each day, but sadness will stay the same and she will not cry over the same sadness she felt yesterday as she does now.

I don’t deserve to.

“Marinette, just because you did something bad doesn’t make you a bad person.” Tikki attempted to comfort her, “You are not horrible.”

Yes I am, she wanted to explain, I’m a horrible friend because I was horrible to him and I realize this. But, just because he likes someone else, my feelings for him will not just disappear, and thus the jealousy I harbor will not either. I can’t tell him about my feelings for him because it would further complicate the situation, and we already have something much bigger and more important to worry about.

As wise as Tikki is, she would never understand what Marinette truly meant by her words.

Putting on a strong face, Marinette lifted her trapdoor open and went downstairs; past the kitchen where her mother was cooking breakfast, past the bakery where her father was taking care of early bird orders. It was only halfway to the school when the heroine realized something.

Chat Noir is shy, but his shyness did not make him a coward.

Ladybug is brave, even to the point of reckless abandon, but what she did made her a coward.

Thursday Afternoon – Lunch Break  

“Girl, I know I’ve asked you this a hundred times since yesterday, but are you okay?” Alya asked around a mouthful of Bruschetta de Flageolets, balsamic vinegar dribbling down the corner of her mouth. “You barely touched the salad Niçoise my mom made for you.”

Marinette, who had been distractedly watching Adrien chat with Nino and Lila across the courtyard, snapped her attention back to her worried friend. They were seated on one of the newly installed benches that happened to be beneath a tree in the school courtyard, having thought it was an appropriate setting to dine on the meals that Alya’s mother had so kindly delivered to them out of the blue.

(Though the ravenette knew it was because Alya had begged her to make Marinette’s favorite lunch to try to cheer her up).

Marinette picked up her napkin and reached to clean the vinegar from Alya’s chin, causing her friend to giggle.

“I’m fine, Alya. I just have a lot on my mind right now.” She resigned herself to watching Adrien again, smiling emptily to herself when she saw he had lit a cigarette and was now shamelessly smoking in front of their lunch monitor, Ms. Mendeleiev.

The professor looked furious, but knew better to hold her tongue with Adrien.

Alya followed her stare and laughed easily.

“Is that why you keep watching Adrien? I thought you were saving yourself for Chat Noir.” Alya nonchalantly stuck a fork in Marinette’s salad, hiding her smirk behind the piece of lettuce.

Marinette blanched and blushed hard at her friend’s implication.  Only Alya knew of her adoration for Chat Noir and absolutely loved teasing her about it every chance she got. The teen tried to look amused by the redhead’s attempt at romantic humor, but the look she was giving ended up being pained.

“I did, too.” She replied honestly, not noticing Alya drop the fork onto the autumn-leaf covered grass as she went back to staring at Adrien.

Adrien, dressed in the usual black leather jacket, chose to wear a short gray vest with a white-collared button up underneath it. The jeans he had on were gray-blue and tight, reaching just where his black oxford shoes started. Before, he always wore a white tee and ripped gray jeans with torn up converse.

She absently wondered what had changed.

Adrien caught her staring and grinned. He too had noticed the funk Marinette was in, but knew that there was caution tape surrounding the subject that only Alya dared to cross, so he left it at that. Instead, he subjected her to endless unfunny and suggestive jokes until either Nino or Alya would have to threaten him to stop.

That, at least, got her to smile and laugh.

Friday Night

Tikki tutted at the menacing clouds overhead from her alcove in the pocket of Marinette’s red trench coat, poking her head out to glare at the foreboding weather. Thunder shook the darkened windows of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, prompting Marinette to retreat farther under the establishment’s decorative awning. A heavy gust of wind disturbed the high ponytail she had tied her impossibly frizzy hair into, the promise of rain not far behind.

“We should really wait inside for Adrien, Mari!” Tikki hissed, glancing at the bakery doors.

“Shh! Someone might see you! Besides, my parents would only ask more questions if they saw Adrien come in alone, given that I told them I was going out with friends.” Marinette pushed the kwami back into her hiding place just as a couple giggling and holding hands rushed by them, giving the teen a strange look in passing.

Oh, well.

“Well, it’s getting dark, so he better hurry up.” Tikki continued to fret, shivering slightly from her chosen’s cold fingertips.

Night was falling faster than usual because of the gloomy weather, along with the temperature. Marinette regretted turning her nose up at her old blue jeans in favor of wearing the black tights that matched her red ankle boots. Unfortunately, where her tights lacked in warmth, so did her coat; the inside of the trench coat was lined with silk, not felt, which failed at trapping heat.

I’m going to freeze for the sake of fashion. She thought ruefully, squinting as another big gust of wind swept across the street.

More pedestrians hurried by them as the minutes ticked by, all of them having enough sense to seek shelter from the impending storm. In no time Marinette was the only one left standing on the corner, save for a patrolling police woman who had stopped on the opposing street corner to smoke a cigarette. Despite being Ladybug herself, it was oddly comforting to know she was in safe company in case it grew too late and the Friday night crowd took to the pavement.

Marinette had already locked eyes with the woman twice by the time a dark green Renault duster pulled up to the curb near the bakery. The heroine tensed, warily watching the figure behind the vehicle’s tinted windows as the car engine was killed. When the side door opened and revealed the figure to be Adrien, she immediately relaxed; the police woman was now watching them with interest.

Marinette began walking to the car, shouting a stiff ‘hey’ in greeting.

“Hey, sorry for the wait, my father was bein’ a pain in the ass.” Adrien apologized, meeting her halfway.

“It’s fine; at least you got here before I turned into a human popsicle.” She brushed his excuse aside, taking a brief survey of his person.

His hair was parted on one side of his forehead and smoothed back into tasteful blonde waves that tapered into a low buzz cut which perfectly showed off his ear piercings. He had zipped up his leather jacket partway to his chest, enough so that his V-neck gray shirt was still visible.  

How can someone still manage to get a tan in October, when it’s the middle of autumn?

Models. A voice whispered back like it was the most obvious answer.

Much to her inner fashionista’s delight, Adrien had chosen to wear ripped denim jeans to offset the blending of neutral colors, which flared out around his black combat boots. All in all, a good look to slip into an adult bar unnoticed.

…unlike her rather noticeable appearance.

Well, shit.

Something in her gut told her that Adrien would not be too happy if she went back inside to change.

“Too bright of a color?” Marinette asked upon seeing the odd look the male was giving her.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. We should go now, the bar is kind of far from here.” Adrien quickly ushered them into the car, shoving the key into the ignition and impatiently running his fingers along the steering wheel as the engine roared to life.

No sooner had Marinette buckled herself in the seat, they were speeding away from her home and into the murky dusk. Unlike the methodical and careful driver she had been taught to be by her father, Adrien was the exact opposite. He threw caution to the wind as he weaved in and out of traffic, going above the speed limit and slamming the brakes when they came across a traffic light. If Marinette was normally a klutz on two legs, that made Adrien a total disaster behind the wheel. 

Instead of watching the dizzying scenery zip by in the passenger window, she took the liberty of inspecting the car’s interior. Its sleek design and touch-screen radio indicated right away it was an expensive model, and judging by its contemporary appearance, a new one at that. There were mint and pine candle clips attached to the air vents above the front console, so the scent of stale cigarettes was faint. Everything in the vehicle was so pristine and clean-shaven, one would have thought the owner was a ghost.

He’s going to be if he keeps driving like this!

“I thought you had to be 18 to legally apply for a license and drive a car?” Marinette pointed out as they rounded a particularly narrow corner.

Adrien glanced at her in the rearview window before shrugging.

“And?”

“And you have been driving to school since the beginning of the year. Illegally.”

“My birthday is next week, darlin’, its not that big of a deal.”

Marinette started and gave him a sharp look.

“This is news. What day is your birthday?” And why didn’t you tell me?

“’The hell you looking at me like that? It’s on Monday, yah know, the 20th.” Adrien grumbled, screeching to a stop at yet another red light.

Wait that’s…Chat Noir’s birthday too.

Marinette felt her stomach plummet.

“Oh.” She hadn’t given her partner much thought that evening until then, too distracted by their plans.

Chat Noir.

We never did make plans to hang out on his birthday, not that it matters.

There is too much to do now as it is.

Marinette fiddled with her hands, violently repressing all the memories and emotions she had been wallowing the past couple days. Right now, her sole focus was the crime scene and Adrien Agreste. She could lament over Chat Noir when she was alone, in the safety of her room.

Adrien needs Marinette’s help right now, not her drama and baggage.

If Adrien noticed the drop in her mood, he didn’t say anything.

Lifting her head, Marinette had not noticed they entered a seedier part of Paris until the car lurched to a stationary position on uneven cement beneath a flickering street light, Adrien announcing unceremoniously: “We’re here!”

She shot him a skeptical look as they both got out of the car, taking great care to step over the cracks in the pavement. The area they were in was small and crowded with buildings, most of them being rundown warehouses that were transformed into nightclubs. Judging by the amount of shady people already loitering outside the establishments and the loud music that could be heard beyond the thresholds, this was definitely not a place for adolescents to be.

Yet, here we are. She thought ruefully, pursing her lips.

Marinette made her way over to where Adrien stood, trying to ignore the way the claps of thunder overhead and the screams seeping from the nightclubs around them sounded alike.

“Is this the place?” She addressed the unsuspecting building in front of them, gaze snagging on the open space between itself and an abandoned duplex on the other side. 

“The one and only.” He replied, eyeing her sideways.

The structure was made up of a jumble of red and tan brick, with a stone staircase leading to the bar’s entrance. On a huge, rectangular window off to the side of the entrance displayed the bar’s open and close times, along with a distorted view of the contents behind the hazed glass. There, above the window and entrance, read the name of the bar in neon red cursive:

Dust Devil.

“Interesting name.”

“Yep. Shall we go in?” Adrien held out the crook of his elbow for her to take, astonishingly.

Marinette arched a brow at this gesture.

“I don’t know if this is the right time or place to be a gentleman, Adrien.” She told him bluntly, searching his face for any sign of illness. “Are you feeling okay?”

She placed a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. It felt cool to touch from the humidity.

“For safety purposes, darlin’. Plenty of assholes around here know my face, and they’re goin’ to wanna know yours, too. For different reasons, I’d imagine.” Adrien reached up and enveloped her hand in his. “Not that I’d ever let that happen.”

This sent Marinette reeling backwards mentally, her insides heating up at his consideration.

That’s…actually pretty sweet of him.

She peered at their interlocked hands.

And this is kind of intimate.

Something pleasant and warm settled in her chest, in spite of the chilly weather.

To hide her discomposure, Marinette swiftly curled a hand around the hardened muscle of his upper arm and the other in the steeple of his elbow.

“F-Fair enough. If shit hits the fan, you’ll be the one people will hit because you’re taller, at least.” She mumbled, pulling them stiffly forward.

Adrien laughed at this as they ambled up the steps, a smile dangling from the corner of his lips.

“Oh, the fuckers would never get the chance.” He mused, pushing open the door so they could enter.

Once inside, there were three things that stood out to Marinette.

One: It was desert themed, with goddamn cactus-shaped string lights outlining the perimeter of the ceiling.

Two: Every piece of furniture, that including the bar and stools, appeared sanded and rustic (much like if they were hit by an actual dust devil).

Three: There was a legitimate jukebox tucked away in a corner by the elevated bar.

Now the name makes sense.

Adrien maneuvered them around numerous gruff looking patrons who laughed merrily and drank from dark bottles she could only assume was alcohol. Exhausted wait staff buzzed around the room taking orders and balancing platters, some of them even waving to them in recognition. As they drew closer to the main bar, her ears picked up soft, twangy music emanating from the jukebox in a language Marinette did not quite understand.

Her stomach was doing flips of impressive feats by the time they situated themselves on barstools, arms still entwined. Now that they were higher up from everyone else, she was sure that more than a few people were watching them. Their dubious stares dug into her back like thorns. She opted to ignore them for the sake of acting natural.

“So, who do you know here again?” She asked, staring at the vast assortment of liquor on the wall across from them. “The owner, I hope?”

The smell of alcohol is so strong, it’s making me nauseous.

“Sort of. The owner’s daughter is a bartender here, and a talented one at that. She’s also a fan of mine, not surprisingly, which comes in handy if I need favors.” Adrien winked, flashing an arrogant grin. “Such as this one.”

Marinette decided she disliked the implications behind his words.

I’ll ask him about it later.

“Okay…?” The heroine gave their busy bartender a deadpan expression. Although they had their back to the counter, she could tell it was a woman because of how petit their build was. There was something naggingly familiar about the way the woman’s blonde hair was done up in twintails.

It almost reminds me of…

The woman turned around, and Marinette was shocked to see a familiar face.

Aurore Beauréal!

After the Stormy Weather incident, Aurore transferred out of their school and hadn’t been seen since. She never tried to pursue her passion for meteorology, Alya had told her once, because no news channel wanted to put an akuma victim in the impressionable and influential position of weather girl. It had infuriated Marinette at the time, but there was nothing to be done about the judgement of others.

Aurore’s glacial blue eyes brightened when she saw Adrien, nearly dropping the mixer she had been shaking to greet him.

“Adrien! What the hell are you doing here so early? Let me finish this order, and then we can talk in my dad’s office.” She inclined her head to a sharply dressed woman sitting at the end of the bar.

“Sounds perfect. This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, by the way. You used to go to Collège Françoise Dupont with her…”

Aurore inspected Marinette with an insightful stare, lingering on their interlocked arms. She smiled haughtily, and reached under the counter without breaking eye contact.

“I might have seen you around, Marinette. You were the do-gooder, right?” Aurore was nonchalantly pouring the concoction from the mixer into a martini glass, the fruity-alcoholic fragrance filling the air between them. Marinette felt her stomach roil in disgust from the strange beverage, face pinching into a grimace.

I feel a gag coming on.

“Well, yes? If that’s what you want to call doing the right thing.”  She leaned away from Aurore and the martini, pressing firmly against Adrien’s side in the process. The scent of leather and sweet cigars infiltrated her nostrils, and the teen gladly embraced this change.

“Yeah…excuse me for a moment.” Aurore pasted on a friendly smile before bringing the martini over to the business woman. While they were conversing, Adrien looked down at her expectantly.

His eyebrows started to wiggle insufferably.

“If you wanted to cuddle, you could of at least waited until we were alone, darlin’.” He patted her hand fondly, smirking.

“Oh, but it’s more exciting this way…” Adrien faltered for a moment, and she chuckled. “Kidding! The smell of alcohol makes me sick to my stomach, and that martini didn’t help anything—hey, quit giving me that look!” Marinette swatted his arm, the smile she had on betraying her true thoughts.

Adrien coughed and turned his face away, the tips of his ears going crimson. Making him flustered was certainly not her intention, but the results were fruitful.

“Uh, I’ll keep that—um, in mind next time we, well, go out.” He mumbled to his hand, and Marinette pinked at the suggestion.

‘Go out’…he means to like another outing to look for leads to the culprit?

Yeah.

“Are you jokers done? If you are, then feel free to follow me to the office, it’s ‘round back.” Aurore suddenly materialized next to Marinette, lightly laying a hand on her shoulder. Through the fabric of her coat, she could feel how icy Aurore’s hands were. It reminded her of Stormy Weather’s cold winds. “Unless, of course, you need a few more minutes.”

Aurore tightened her grip on Marinette’s shoulder, leering at Adrien in a knowing way. She noticed the slope of his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly.

What was that about?

“Fuck off, we’re right behind you.” Adrien shoved off his stool, jerking Marinette off of hers as well. The weight of other’s gazes did not stop dragging at her back until the creaky wooden door of the office shut behind them.

Aurore sauntered around the desk towards the back of the small room and flopped down in a worn leather armchair. She gestured to the loveseat placed directly across from the desk, suddenly serious. Marinette noted the open laptop off to the side of the blonde and the scatter of Manilla folders beneath where she had rested her hands. It all seemed very official.

When they took their seats, Aurore spoke to them in a whisper.

“A friend of a friend managed to smuggle me copies of the main case files. Mostly photographs of the alley right after the attack, but feel free to read the descriptions too.” Aurore slid the files over to Adrien.

Marinette watched as Adrien began to open the first folder, but almost immediately after a manicured hand slammed down to keep the flap shut. Tikki shifted in her coat pocket, probably as startled as she was by the sudden noise.

“What the hell, Aurore?!” Adrien exclaimed, emerald eyes flashing in warning. “What’s your deal?”

“Before you open them, explain to me why you brought Marinette Dupain-Cheng with you.”

“She’s—” Adrien started to explain, but Marinette briskly cut him off.

“I’m here to help. Adrien asked for my aid, so now I’m here. You can trust me.” Marinette smiled at Aurore reassuringly, employing the same tone that Ladybug used to calm down civilians.

Aurore looked to Adrien to confirm, who nodded with contempt. Her hand retracted back to her side.

“Fine. Whatever.” Aurore waved her hand, giving them permission to proceed with the files.

The duo secretly glanced at each other with triumphant simpers.

They both then endeavored to comb through the files, bouncing comments off the other occasionally. Many of the photos depicted remnants of the encounter; most notably, the small blood splatters on the ground and a demolished dumpster. From the substantial damage done to the dumpster, Marinette was sure it was an akuma’s doing. Though, she dare not voice this assumption to the others.

As Marinette was scanning the last file over, one photograph in particular snagged her attention. It was apparent that it was taken by a phone camera, given the elongated stature of the picture and poor resolution. Yet, it was the only one of its kind compared to the professionally snapped photos stapled around it, which made it suspicious. The image exhibited a small group of indistinguishable figures crowded in an alley from afar, but that’s all that could be made out. Beside the photo was a neatly printed comment that said “Nearby witness was able to capture all four attackers on camera. Their identities are still unknown”.

Marinette was in shock. There were not one, but four attackers?! How could that be?

That is so vile! Poor Kim and Ivan…it wasn’t even a fair fight.

I need to tell Tikki about this as soon as possible. Chat Noir definitely needs to know, too.

“A-Adrien…look.”

Marinette brandished her find to Adrien, who hastily inspected the report. All the color drained from his face.

“Aurore, what the hell is this?!” Adrien thrust the offending file to her. “Why the hell did you not tell me sooner?!”

“Hey, calm down! I figured it would be better to let you find out on your own, okay?” The bartender typed something on her laptop, pushing the file away.

“You wanted me to find out that my two friends got their asses handed to them by four goddamn people on my own?! Don’t you think that is kind of a bad move?!” Adrien seethed, crossing his arms. Marinette winced at his harsh wording, her own anger starting to surface.

“Okay, when you put it that way, yeah it was a bad idea.” Aurore admitted and turned the laptop to them to reveal a video recording. Adrien stilled beside her.

“What is that?” Marinette asked curiously, trying her best not to sound irritated. “And why are you showing it to us?”

“It’s the security feed from the night Kim and Ivan were attacked. We have a camera in the alley way, but there’s no audio and there’s a huge shadow over the fight from the building. But, it’s the best close up you’re going to get.” Aurore replied somberly, gaze flickering to Adrien. “I didn’t want to show it to you until you fully had a grasp on the situation. Just watch it and I’ll explain everything else.”

Adrien said nothing as he reached over and pressed the play button. Marinette watched with horror and disgust at the scene that unfolded in the video. Kim and Ivan were thrown around the alley way by four figures until a smaller but commanding figure held up a hand for them to stop. The video may have been darkened, but she recognized the build of the akuma to be feminine. The last thing to be caught by the film before the group vanished into the night was that all of them were wearing the color orange.

But why? Why Kim and Ivan? And why did they all have orange on?

This just brings about more questions that have no answer.

Adrien shut the laptop with a glower.

“Explain.” He barked at Aurore.

“Gladly. My guess is there’s a new gang in town, and this was their entrance. This could be interpreted as a warning, but I think their actions were too specific. If I were you, I’d watch your back, Adrien.” Aurore rested her chin on her steepled hands, pausing so the information could digest.

An akumatized gang leader with willing cronies, huh? She pondered morbidly.

Hawkmoth had certainly gained an edge to his plans on obtaining their miraculouses. It was brilliant and meant trouble for both Ladybug and Chat Noir. They would definitely have to be more vigilant than ever, for there could be eyes everywhere.

“Do you know anything about them? Besides what you already told us and what we’ve seen?” Marinette blurted out, a sinking feeling in her chest.

Aurore shrugged and shook her head.

“I know that when the news channel and media outlets find out about this, they’ll blow it way out of proportion. I also know that, for some ungodly reason, that blame is being pinned on Ladybug and Chat Noir. Whoever is spinning rumors like that must be good to turn people against our damn saviors of France.”

“Yeah, well, they’re a damn idiot if they believe that this is Ladybug and Chat Noir’s fault. I know Chat Noir would never allow such violence to persist.” Adrien said with a flourish. “He would give his life to protect the people of France.”

“Exactly! Ladybug has done so much for Paris and its people, so why would she ever allow something like this to happen? She would kneel over and die before she would willingly let someone else get hurt.” Marinette had felt the burning desire to defend her alternate persona, and Adrien’s fierce claim gas-lighted a fire inside her.

I wonder if he’s a fan of his.

Their gazes met and something secretive yet intangible passed between them, like an understanding of some sort that both receiving ends could not make heads or tails of. It was extremely gratifying and alleviated some of the pressure on both their shoulders.

Aurore stared at them in near disbelief before coughing loudly to get their attention.

“It’s getting late and I don’t want to keep you guys long. Normally, I would let you stay, but in light of recent events I cannot.” She held up a hand as Marinette and Adrien stood to leave.

“I meant what I said, though. Watch your back, Adrien. As for you, Marinette, I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

Marinette looked up at Adrien. “I do.”

“Good. It would be a shame if you got those nice hands of yours dirty.” Aurore responded cryptically, and Marinette raised a brow at the metaphor. Adrien gave Aurore a mildly threatening glare.

What is it with these people and metaphors?

She chose to let it go for now and they left Aurore standing in the doorway.

Outside, it had already begun to sprinkle.

They were almost to the car when Aurore shot out of Dust Devil and yelled after them.

“Hang on! One more thing I forgot to tell you! Those bastards in the video, the people around here have given them a name.” The petit blonde flitted over to them, quickly checking the area before whispering

“Vixens.”

  Adrien walked Marinette to her door, even though it was pouring rain outside.

“You okay?” She placed a hand on his back, concerned for his mental health after their rollercoaster of a night.  He had been quiet the entire car ride back.

“Yeah…” Adrien let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, thanks for asking. Are you okay?”

“Me? I just feel sad for Kim and Ivan. Whatever happens to those people that attacked them, I hope it’s well deserved.” Marinette replied softly, unconsciously moving her hand down Adrien’s shoulder and resting it on his forearm.

Adrien suddenly grabbed her hand on brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly. Marinette yelped and pulled her hand from his grip, a blush dusting her cheeks.

“What was that for?!” She demanded, thoroughly surprised.

Adrien cracked a genuine smile and took a few steps back.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight. I mean it.” He smirked, and added, “That hand kiss was me showing my gratitude, by the way. Text you later.”

With that, Adrien dissipated into the rain, leaving Marinette to wonder what the hell that made their relationship.