#praying that the tags will bring me some traction

[artists-ally]

{Weather} Reader x Azriel

Hello people! My name is Ally and I am proud to enter the ACOTAR world with a bang. I've been writing for years and years now and thought eh fuck it why not start posting it.

So here I am. 100% not expecting this to go anywhere but if it does, come give me a shout! I'd love to hear what y'all have to say about it or hear your ideas for fic recommendations.

There isn't a whole lot of plot, just a thought that turned into another and I connected them. Enjoy!

Word Count ~ 7,523

Warnings ~ Language, blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, violence/fighting, lets all pretend that you can winnow inside the House of Wind for a sec pls.

Summary ~ You have been encompassed into the Inner Circle after the Spring Court went to shit. During a dry stead between the Queens and Hybern, Azriel was sent on a mission to the Mortal Lands to see what was going on. There is little he can do to hide his rather harsh expedition. Set during ACOWAR, you provide a level of comfort for the shadowsinger that no one else is capable of.

~~~~~

All of us are sitting around the House of Wind, relaxing after another brutal day of training. I had been with Cassian, Mor with Rhysand and Feyre, Amren off doing Amren things. Azriel was… nowhere to be found. 

It’s been a few days since anyone has heard from him. We know he’s been spying in the Queen’s territory, but to not have a check in or for him to not come home to rest for days on end is concerning.

But what makes my gut churn is the smell of blood coming from upstairs. 

Azriel’s blood. 

Rhys and Cass get a whiff of their brothers' carnage and exchange a worried look with me. The three of us winnow up to his room and knock on his door.

“Az?” Cass says softly.

No response.

“Azriel, it’s Rhys, open the door,” Rhysand knocks a little harsher than Cassian had. 

No response. They can hear his labored breathing and groans, and the smell of blood. They didn’t bother to knock a third time. When his door unlocked on a phantom wind, the sight was horrifying. Az peered over his shoulder at the curse coming from Cass, and shook his head.

“I don’t want visitors,” he mumbled, trying to stand, but failing to do so. Rhys and Cassian rushed to his side, helping him sit back down. I remained in the doorway. Staring at his wings.

They were a little mangled to say the least. Cuts and scratches littered the delicate leather, some puncture wounds oozed trickles of blood and puss. 

“What in the name of the Cauldron happened?” Cassian demanded from the shadowsinger. 

“Tree snare, Mortal lands are littered with them,” He groaned. “I’m fine, please just- please leave.”

He never begged quite like that before. The desperation was a foreign thing to his tongue. He tried to straighten his spine, but it did no such thing. He hissed at the jarring of his wings, and settled into the curves of his hunched over position.

He looked awful. 

“Az, we can’t just leave you like this. We can get Madja in here-”

“No,” he plead again, tone more harsh than the last. “No… leave. I don’t want any help.”

Typical of Az to say such a thing. The quiet, reserved male was always so adamant about doing things on his own he forgot that sometimes it’s better to ask for help than to suffer in silence. Especially when it comes to such a delicate and sensitive body part. 

But alas, the two brothers nodded, stepping around the third and heading to the door. I moved out of their way, but not with them. I just continue to stare at his toned, berated back. 

“Yn…” he called out. “Don’t make me beg you too.”

I stiffened. 

I knew how hard this must be for him. To turn down his friends, to turn down aid. I don’t know Azriel very well, not like the others did after spending five centuries with him. But maybe that would… I don’t know

“I won’t say anything,” I promised. “Just let me clean you up, is all I’m asking.”

He sighed heavily, hanging his head in his hands, but he nodded. I quickly shut the door behind me and moved to the bathroom. Under his sink there was a little brown pouch with all kinds of medical supplies. I grabbed some towels and a bowl of hot water appeared by his feet. When I walked back into the main area, he had his chin fastened on his fist, looking out the big window. 

I stood next to him laying the open bag next to him so I could rummage through it. There were some wipes, some bandages and some thick cloth pads. I ripped open as many as I thought I needed and began to apply pressure to the wounds on his arms and shoulders. 

Az held a few while I drenched a cloth with the warm water and began to clean off the dirt and sap. 

He didn’t even seem to breathe, to even blink as I ran the cloth up and down his right arm, ditching it on the floor when it was too dirty to continue. I repeated my steps until the majority of him was clean. The bleeding had stopped for the most part and I applied an adhesive pad to the area to keep it covered. I couldn’t smell any infection on them so it was okay to conceal the wounds. Had there been a sticky, yellow goo then they would need to drain. 

Then I looked at his wings.

They weren’t shredded, but they were not in good condition by any means. They looked so painful.

I silently moved to the opposite side of the bed, kneeling into the mattress and spreading out more supplies.

“I-” he started, “please be gentle…”

“Of course,” I nodded, resting my hand on his shoulder to try and get them to relax. They sagged a bit, but didn’t stay there long. The second my fingers grazed the smooth flesh, he jumped.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled, retracting my hands. “What hurts?”

“No, no it’s not painful, just very sensitive, I’ll try to hold still,” he apologized, displaying his wings, stretching them out all the way as if to brace them against the bed. They were massive. And most of the small cuts and snags littered the top and middle of the span, not towards the bottom. 

“This might sting a little, if it’s too much, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

He nodded, clutching the tops of his knees. His breathing was hard as I dabbed the first cotton ball to the sore area. It had been rubbed raw from Mother knows what. 

There had to be hundreds of them, if not a thousand scrapes and scratches. But they all didn’t need tending to, they would heal just fine. There were a few that I was concerned about and applied something to keep the bacteria from spreading. 

I gently slid my hand to his shoulder, pressing it down from his ear, telling him it was okay, that he was alright. 

He listened, settling down. I knew he must be in a lot of pain. There wasn’t much that I could’ve done beside what I did, but I did as much as I could to ease the tension. I summoned another rag and gently cleaned the skin on his back, wiping the mud baked onto his skin. Az relaxed more at that.

“I know it’s not really my place to ask, but if you would like to share what happened, I will patiently listen, Azriel. If not, I’ll enjoy the silence with you,” I offered, my hands coming to his shoulders, massaging the thick muscle.

He groaned in satisfaction, dipping his head forward and sagging downward. His arms slumped to his side as I drove my knuckle between the fibrous strands. Az ground his teeth, breathing with every knot I worked from his body. I drove my thumb in and around the base of his wings, careful not to brush against them.

Cassian had once told how sensitive Illyrian wings were. Why they were so sensitive. It made my cheeks blush, which I was taunted for endlessly. 

Azriel sucked in a breath.

I had been too busy thinking about all the things Cass and Rhys had teased me with and my thumb slipped, brushing the delicate nerves at the base of his spine. I could see the goosebumps etch his bronze skin. 

“S-Sorry,” I stuttered, fingers trembling, struggling to resume. “Do you need anything else? Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

I stood before he had a chance to say otherwise. I didn’t, truly didn’t, mean to brush over the hyper-sensitive area. 

Azriel just looked up at me with full eyes. They looked like strangers, not the deep, fierce set of hazel that I had come to know. They were like the shadows that whispered in his ear. There hadn’t been a glimpse of them in the hour or so that I’d been here tending to him. It’s as if they’ve vanished. 

His eyes were bright, filled with his pupils in a way that made him seem feline. Like a true predator hunting in the pit of night. 

“I…” Az started, swallowing hard before his eyes darted between mine. “Will you stay? Please?”

He reached his hand to grab mine, and I let him, his warm, scarred hands engulfing mine. I nodded precisely, a smile playing on my lips. He seemed to deflate then, a weight being lifted off his shoulders and he dragged me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head against my stomach. 

I let my arms fall over his shoulders, the strands of his inky black hair finding its way into my fingers. I tangled it between my digits gently, letting the soft curls form as I brushed them away, repeating the process. 

I had no idea how long we stayed there for, but enough for the once dimly lit room to ignite with fae light as the sun set over the Sidra. 

Azriel began to tug me closer. I had no choice but to crawl into his lap, letting my weight rest over one of his legs as he clung to me. 

I didn’t dare try and break this moment. 

I nestled into the dip between his shoulder and neck, letting my eyes lull shut as his warm body did the same. I let my thumbs brush against the smooth skin on the back of his shoulder, wanting to press a kiss there, but… not my place, I reminded myself. 

I had always cared for the Illyrian more than the others had. Was always the one wondering if what his shadows were whispering were things to him or about him. I knew he had a traumatic pass, and I knew he suffered a great deal during the early years of his immortal life, but things were… they weren’t great, but we were in a lull. With Hybern. Things were stalled so we took this time to cut back.

Not Az. He was always spying somewhere, reporting on new territories siding with us or the King, but nothing more. We all knew he needed a break, but never took one. It was frustrating. 

He shifted on the bed, then I felt a gust of wind encase my body. 

His wings enveloped me entirely.

I had not expected it. I was shocked to say the least. I tensed for a moment, and he must have sensed it because he began to retreat.

“No, no” I said, adjusting myself on his muscular thigh for a moment. “Put them back.”

He answered with the leathery wings covering us completely. I settled into the warmth, the soft scent they admitted. I had never felt so safe in my entire life, so completely safe and comforted. 

I didn’t know a lot about Illyrian tradition since I had been encompassed into the inner circle, but I knew enough that it was a great honor to see a pair of wings up close, let alone touch them. If he had let me do that, gods only knew what this meant.

I felt a tear hit my shirt. I heard him sniffle, then hiccup in a breath.

“Azriel…” I breathed out slowly, gripping him tighter as he clung to me, the sobs wracking through his body. He gasped for a breath every now and then, the tears falling faster with every breath. 

He cried for a long while. I wasn’t even sure if he knew how to do that. To cry, to be vulnerable with anyone. 

“It’s okay, Az, I’m here, I’m right here Az it’s okay,” I soothed, twisting his hair around my fingers once again. His breathing seemed to even out at that, sobs reduced to trickling tears and sniffles. 

I didn’t know what to do. 

I didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, he spoke. “I don’t know what you did, Yn… but you made the shadows go away. It is so quiet without their roar in my ear. In my bones… everything is silent. There are no whispers, no murmurs of potential threat. It is all quiet.”

My heart thundered in my chest so hard I thought it might break my rib cage. There were no words to describe the feeling in my body. I gripped him even tighter.

His hands stroked up and down my sides, gently nudging me to pull off. I did, meeting his glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks. His hand ever so gently came up to my face, fingers barely touching the surface of my skin as he looked into my eyes. So deep I thought he might see my thoughts. 

“Thank you,” was all he said. I nodded and smiled, tucking the hair behind his ears. “Besides Madja and my own mother, I have never let anyone touch my wings. Not even Rhys or Cassian. They are… my entire world. The most prized possession any Illyrian could hoist. They are my ticket to anywhere in the world and I let you touch them without a second thought.”

My eyes had widened at that. 

“In 500 years,” I gaped, “you’ve never let either of them touch your wings? Once?”

He shook his head, “Never. It is a privilege that few get to experience. Typically just mothers to their newborns, but once you learn to fly, you’re old enough to take care of them on your own. It becomes our responsibility to keep them safe and keep them clean. Of course there may be a medical need, but other than that, they are not to be touched. Only mates have that sacred right.”

My heart clenched. 

I’ve only been a part of this group since the middle of the war. I had left the Spring Court when Feyre had planted those lies. They spread to my territory and we all went our separate way. For the better. I chose to come and fight for what we all knew was right. I can’t say the same for the rest of my family. 

I had managed to hitch a few rides to Summer, right before Adrita was attacked. I fought alongside them, and none of them knew that I was from Spring besides Feyre. She had recognized me for the Tithe. We instantly connected and she offered me sanctuary with them while we fought against Hybern. I had exceptional knowledge of the Spring Court and The Wall, of who was going where and when. 

When we came back to Velaris, I was introduced to Amren, who just briefly looked up from that book, took a sip from a gauntlet, gave me a cold once-over, and went right back to the book. 

Nesta was much the same.

Elain hadn’t said much either, just asked me if I knew anything about the human lands. I was later informed on her betrothed. It made my heart hurt. 

Mor was undoubtedly my best friend. She really helped me get settled here in Velaris. She was the one to pick me up time and time again when I didn’t think I could go on. 

Rhysand was more of a gentleman than anyone painted him to be, especially all those years Under The Mountain. He was not a hostile homicidal maniac like Amarantha had painted for him. He was gentle, and kind, only being capable of those horrible things when he needed to be. 

Cassian was… well, Cassian. Big, strong, charming as ever. Dumber than a pile of rocks but a brute of a man nonetheless. He was my other best friend. My go-to drinking buddy and my favorite person to beat at cards. I would come with him and Nesta to Windhaven. He was not merciful. 

And then there was Azriel. He rarely spoke when he wasn’t prompted. He kept to himself, to those shadows, and wasn’t one for conversation. I had only spoken to him three or four times. Most of them during the war, once during Solstice to give him his gift. It was usually just… so, between us. 

Until now.

Until he let me touch his wings. 

Could it have been a possibility that-

As if he knew what I was thinking, “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you, Yn. I didn’t want to at first, cause I didn’t think you felt anything. Any type of bond. And I certainly didn’t want to bring it up right in the middle of the war, risk death, and then leave you alone forever. I couldn’t bring myself to leave you with that type of pain.”

My eyes stung. My heart thundered. Every fiber in my body became aware of just how close I was to him. I took in a deep breath, eyes blinking rapidly.

“If you… I don’t know if that is what you want,” he hesitated. “If I am what you want, but you are everything I’ve ever needed, Yn. You are the sunshine to my dark and hazy life. The only thing that can make my deep, roaring shadows disappear. Completely. It is calm and utterly silent when you are near. And when I get to hold you… Cauldron Yn, it is like a fresh breath of air. Like a torrential rain to my wildfire. It hasn’t been this quiet inside my body since the day I was born.”

There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from flowing. They hit the clothing between us, saturating the fabric and then drying. I didn’t know what to say. And I could tell that was killing him, my silence. He tensed beside me, gripping my arms a little tighter.

“Yn” he breathes, so softly. So gently than anyone ever had. 

I looked into his eyes, finding them to be so much more breathtaking than I did a little while ago.

“I don’t know what to say, Azriel,” I chuckled lightly. “I’m shocked, I just thought that you and Mor…”

“No,” he shook his head adamantly, “Not us. Not ever, I’m afraid. I spent a long time trying to… coax her, but she never budged. I decided I needed to look for someone else. For you.”

I smiled greatly. 

“Stay with me, tonight,” he grabbed both of my hands, placing kisses to each of them before folding them against his heart. “Let me give this to you, slowly, at your own pace. It is yours, Yn. It always has been. Let it be yours, if you choose.”

His eyes, glowing and begging me to say something. When he pressed his lips to my hands, I could feel my chest tighten in a way it hadn’t before, constrict around itself until it let loose and erupted from within. Everything I had hoped for, spent countless hours dreaming of, pestering my mother about stories of when she found out my father was her mate, came true at that moment. 

An unrelenting pull in his direction, a deceptively overwhelming feeling of trust and sureness that seemed to never end crashed through me. It was like I was looking at him for the first time. Like I opened my eyes and the first images I was blessed with seeing were of him, of Azriel, this shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court. 

A piece of a puzzle locked into place, one that I hadn’t even known existed yet. And here it was, front and center in my mind, so clear it almost blinded me. 

All I could do was smile. Smile and nod my head as I watched his teeth flash before he wrapped me up in his arms. He giggled, tossing me over his shoulder and rolling me around on his enormous bed. I laughed and laughed, letting him pepper my skin with kisses. 

“You have no idea how long I have waited for this, Yn,” He sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, clutching my fingers in the other. “How long I have needed a mate.”

“I think I might have an idea,” I smiled, tucking some hair behind his ear. He rolled his eyes, scooping me up and laying me on top of his chest.

Cauldron knows how long we stayed like that for, just talking and smiling at each other, kissing every now and then. When I grew too tired to keep my head up, his wings encased me again, that soft, musky scent circling around me. 

“Rest, my Yn,” he whispered, his arms coming around my waist. “We can talk all day tomorrow.”

+++++++

The sun made him look like the most perfect shade of bronze. His dark, inky hair was a mess over his eyes, his tattoos swirling across his shoulders. His wings were still folded around me, keeping my body pressed to his all night long. 

Azriel slept, another thing I wasn’t sure he actually knew how to do. 

I shifted my legs around, detangling them from his. He groaned, but let them go, only tightening his grip around my torso.

“Az,” I whispered, "we need to get up, training is in an hour.”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled, tucking his head beneath my chin. The hair on his head smelled like the Sidra; salty and lemony. So calming and soothing. I let him, and myself, have a few more minutes, just basking in each other. But I eventually did have to be the fun killer.

“I’m sure Cassian will understand if you don’t want to train today, but I unfortunately don’t have any excuse. I have to get ready and go eat before I go. Let me up, please.”

He let go reluctantly, making a big huff as I climbed away from him.

I laughed, “You know I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, but I wanted to spend this morning with you. I want to spend all my time with you.”

My heart swooned. “Come to breakfast with me. Even if you don’t want to train you can still come and watch.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but followed me nonetheless. I got changed into my fighting leathers, and Az strolled behind me to the dining room. I greeted everyone like I normally would, as did Azriel. They could instantly tell, because he wore a smile on his lips the entire meal, taking up the empty seat next to me, which normally was Mor’s.

When she strolled in, she gave him a high eyebrow and he shrugged. She looked at me and I had to suck my lips into my mouth to keep from cackling out. I mouthed ‘I'll tell you later’.

When I rose from my seat, so did Azriel, following me into the kitchen.

“When will you be back?” He asked softly, cradling me close.

“By noon, Mor and I have some work we need to do at Rita’s,” I responded, falling into his warmth. “Are you going to be alright here?”

He nodded against my shoulder, “I just don’t want you to go, is all. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.”

My heart sank at that. I was just happy to offer him at least some moments of rest in his utterly chaotic life. If I was able to give him any sort of relief, I’d stop at nothing to make sure that he has access to it whenever he pleases. Who was I to deny him of that?

He stepped away, pressing his lips into my forehead a few times. 

“Have a good training session, please don’t get beat up too bad, I have plans for later,” he smiled, rubbing the sides of my arms.

“Oh?” I tilted my head.

“It’s a surprise, now get going, Cass is waiting for you.”

“Don’t blow a gasket when I come back with bruises from him,” I chuckled. 

He straightened, real concern coming into his eyes. “Maybe I should come-”

“No, no I’ll be okay,” I explained. “Cassian has beat my ass more times than I could count and you were able to hold it in. I’ll be fine, it’s never anything too bad anyway, nothing I can’t handle. I'd really rather not see you bash his face in because he got in a couple of good shots.”

That didn’t make it any better. His grip tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. 

“Hey!” Cassian called from down the hall. “Put your lover's quarrel on hold, we gotta go, Yn. If you’re not out here in 30 seconds I’ll make you go up and down the steps every second you’re late.”

I rolled my eyes, impatient bastard.

“I need to go,” I said, removing his hands from my body. “I will come find you when I’m back. Try and relax, okay? I’ll be fine, you know that.”

He just nods briefly before stepping out of the way to let me pass. He caught my elbow at the last second, kissing me so intensely I thought I might fall over. When he let me go, he was smirking like a cat. 

++++++

The bond must have already been slipping into place because I could feel this agonizing pull back to the House of Wind. But it also felt like he was right here with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was spying from the shadows, something for him and I to talk about later.

Cassian and I had gone through our normal workouts, doing footwork drills and some strength training. But of course, even after almost collapsing to the floor himself, he wanted to spar. 

“Can’t we just skip it for today?” I begged, rolling my head to look at him. 

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “You need more practice, and I know it’ll come in handy against Hybern. If you ever find yourself without a weapon, all you’ll have is your fists. And seeing the look on Az’s face will be priceless.”

“You know,” it wasn’t really a question.

“I’ve known before he has,” Cassian huffed. “I pointed it out to him after about three times of you being near him. His shadows always disappeared and I found him staring at you. He didn’t even realize, said that he hadn’t even noticed things were quiet because he was too busy thinking of you.”

My heart lurched in my chest, filling with pride and triumph. “I don’t know what it is that I do.”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “That is the whole point of being a mate, things just simply work.”

“I have given it a ton of thought in the past, about what it would feel like to have a mate, to have a bond with someone. It’s… so much different than I expected it to be. I miss him so much more than I thought I would. I thought I’d be able to ignore it, but I can’t.”

“Welcome to having a mate,” Cassian snickered, taking up a fighting stance. I followed suit, circling around him and dodging his blows. I wasn’t lucky enough to escape them all, one particularly hard kick sent me to my knees, and then Cassian was on top of me. 

He flatten me like a bug and flipped me on my back. His forearm pressed into my throat, cutting off oxygen. I coughed, blood rushing to my face, my vision darkening. 

“Come on, Yn, what have I taught you to do?” he pressed further into my esophagus. I drove my knee as hard as I could into his crotch, causing him to hiss, loosening his grip, faltering. 

I smacked him as hard as I could in the face, sending him toppling to the ground. It had been hard, harder than I really meant to. I could see his eyes darken as he rose to his feet, really wanting a challenge now. He started to run towards me, and I braced myself for the impact, but it never came. 

I saw a shadow blurr by and Cassian was vaulted 12 feet in the air. He made a dent in the earth as he drove through the soil. In seconds, he was encased in tendril like smoke. One that I recognized all too well.

“Az-”

“I am going to kill you,” the voice was so foreign. Azriel straddled Cassian as he held him up by the collar of his shirt. “How dare you put your hands on my mate.”

I climbed through the ropes of the ring as fast as I could, jumping down and off the platform. I sprinted the distance between us as fast as I could. I screamed his name, but couldn’t hear me over the roar of the shadows. 

Before I could get there, Cassian had thrown him off and was ready to fight. The two went at each other so hard I was genuinely worried that Azriel was going to hurt him. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took off towards the townhouse. 

I barged in the door, huffing puffing, and red faced as the door smacked off the wall. 

“Cauldron alive, Cassian, how many times have I told you not- Yn?” Rhysand’s eyes immediately softened. “Are you alright?” “I was sparring with Cassian and Azriel came out of nowhere,” I rushed, barely able to speak over my labored breathing. “Last night he told me I’m his mate and I think he might actually kill-”

“Oh shit,” Rhys cursed, grabbing my arm and winnowing us both to the sight. They were still scrapping, both bleeding from the face. Azriel looked like an animal, and Cass looked like he was genuinely afraid. I haven’t ever seen him look like this, either of them. 

Rhys threw himself in the middle, trying to get Azriel’s attention. He paid no mind to his High Lord, throwing him off his back as he lunged for Cassian again. I went to step in, to try and get his attention but-

“Yn no,” Rhysand shouted from a few feet away. That caught Azriel’s attention quickly. He looked up from where he had Cassian in a chokehold, eyes locking with mine. In a second, he vanished from Cass and appeared behind me. His arms were strong and tight around my middle. A snarl ripped from his chest as Cassian rose to his shaky feet. 

His shadows encased us, creating a shield. He took staggering steps back, inhaling and exhaling so hard I thought he might pass out. Rhysand moved to check on his brother, Cassian battering him away as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Azriel,” I said through a hurried breath. “Az it’s me, it’s me.”

He inhaled deep, scenting the air, letting out a deep breath. His grip loosened and he said my name like an old forgotten prayer. 

The shadows vanished immediately, his heavy body leaning against mine. 

“Yn…” he breathed, turning me around. I shrugged his hands off of me, more than pissed at him for barging and attempting to kill his brother. 

“Go inside,” I said, turning away from him. 

“Yn please-” “I don’t wanna hear it from you,” I shouted, eyes blazing. He took a small step back, ears flattening back against his head, wings tucking in tightly to his body. 

“That’s right, shadowsinger, go back-”

“Not another word from you either,” I snarled at Cassian. He, too, jumped in his skin. “You have nothing to brag about either. Don’t you dare put your hands on my mate like that again.”

Silence rippled around us. Rhys lifted his hand, opened his mouth to say something, but the glare I sent him had him scratching the back of his head quickly. 

“I swear to the Mother that if anything happens while I’m with Mor at Rita’s, I’ll kick all of your asses myself. And don’t think for a second that I won’t drag Feyre into this either.”

That was more than enough to get the Illyrians to look the other way, words forgotten in their minds. I turned on my heel and grabbed my water from the corner before stalking off down the street to find Mor. 

++++++

“He just appeared out of thin air?” Mor’s eyes were wide.

I nodded, “It was like he was waiting for something to happen. He would have killed Cassian, I’m sure of it, if Rhys hadn’t been there, and said my name to snap Az out of it.”

“Sounds like someone needs a little time alone with their new mate,” Mor’s eyebrows waggled on her forehead. I smacked her arm and she boomed a laugh. “I’m just suggesting.”

“It hasn’t even been a day since he told me, Mor, and he’s acting like he owns me. Rhys didn’t dare do this with Feyre,” I shook my head. 

“Well,” she countered. “Rhys did almost kill Cassian once.”

“I know, I’ve heard the story a million times,” I sighed. “But that was after the Weaver and all that. They had mated and had time for the bond to be in place. There weren’t any problems until that and Az and I have barely kissed a handful of times. That’s it. How can he be this… territorial?”

“Az is unexplainably protective. Of all of us. Before you came along he was like that with all of us. In a different way, but… he’d never let any of us volunteer before he looked into it or did it himself. It is rooted deep within him, in a way none of us will understand.” “Even so, it doesn’t make it okay for him to do what he did.” “I don’t disagree,” she added, “but just try and understand where he is coming from. Yn, you are the only one who he has come across that can make his head silent. To stop the shadows and the constant whispers. I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I’m sure I’d do everything in my power to make sure nothing ever happens to my peace and quiet.”

+++++

When I came back with More, she bid me good luck before Winnowing herself back down to the Townhouse.

I came to the main dining room, Cassian, Rhysand and Feyre all sitting at the table. 

“Okay, what the hell happened today?” Feyre demanded, noticing the bruises on my neck. 

“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” I snorted, letting down my shields so she could see it all. She flinched slightly when Az landed a particularly brutal blow to Cassian’s face. It sent blood spewing from his mouth.

“Has anyone seen him?” I asked with a sigh. No one answered, but I heard something. I whipped my head from side to side, this deafening roar in my ears. 

“What?” Rhysand asked. 

“You all don’t hear that?” I asked, eyes wide as I searched for the thunderous sound. I listened deeper and deeper, not hearing any words. I suddenly felt a chill in my bones so cold I thought I’d freeze right there. There were so many voices and whispers. 

I looked up to the set of grand stirs and noticed the shadows lurking at the top. 

Azriel… 

I sprinted up the stairs, the tendrils leading me down the hall and to his room. When I opened the door, the room was almost pitch black, shadows swirling around and around like an endless storm over the Sidra. 

I tried to push my way through, but I rebound off of it like a shield. I tried again, screaming his name. He was in the center. And I had no way of getting to him. I began to panic, shouting for him louder and louder.

Nothing, no response from my shadowshinger. I took a deep breath and shoved my body against the wall, bouncing off of it immediately. I slammed hard against the floor, back groaning as I pushed myself to all fours. I tried to crawl, but it was no use, it flung me back and into the hallway where Ryhs, Cassian, and Feyre were all standing, Mor popping up next to her.

“What the fuck-” Mor gasped, seeing it for herself. 

“He’s in there,” I heaved, “Mor I can’t get to him what do I do?”

She was at a loss for words and Rhys slid beside her, taking it all in. He did nothing to hide his wide eyes and frantic look. His own shadows rose and tried to comfort the tempest, but failed. The roar in my ears grew so loud I couldn’t hear whatever Rhysand said to me. I tried to read his lips, follow the bond.

I felt deep inside, it was so cold. If I didn’t know any better I wouldn’t have known anything was there at all. I pulled and pulled and pulled and pulled. I must have screamed because everyone around me flinched. I went slack against the wall and covered my ears, calling out for Azriel. Begging for him to come to me. 

A flicker. I felt a flicker of warmth in my chest. Against my soul, I felt a tug, as if he too was pulling on the same thread that ties us together. I pulled faster and faster until I slammed into something so hard I gasped. 

It was rock solid, something so impenetrable, like magic itself. I beat on it with everything I had, prying at it with my whole being until it began to give away. I tore this wall apart, it grew warmer and warmer-

She doesn’t want a mate, she doesn’t want me…

There is no meaning if I do not have her to protect, she doesn’t want me to protect her.

Useless, dumb, bastard born Illyrian filth.

Rhysand and Cassian should have left you in that acid bath and left you to dissolve into nothing. They should not have saved someone so vain and cowardly.

These were not my thoughts, but they sure felt like it. I looked towards the swirling wind and shadow, finally seeing Azriel at the center, crumbled to the floor, hands over his ears. 

“Azriel,” I shouted. He didn’t move.

“What’s happening?” Rhysand asked, helping me to stand on my feet.

“I-I don’t know I just felt this rush of thoughts and now I can see him but he can’t hear me,” I felt the tears in my eyes. He looked around, as if searching for his own thoughts, but then he stood rigid, throwing a glance at Cassian. They seemed to share a thought before Rhys turned back to me. 

“Speak in your mind,” he said hurriedly. “You have to talk to him in your mind.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it,” he urged, and I turned back to face the raging storm. 

Azriel… I whispered. 

I watched him flinch, hand bracing on the corner of his bed. His eyes and cheeks were wet with tears when they met mine. 

Yn… 

Az you have to take this down so I can get to you, I begged, it’s too strong for me to get through let me in.

He went silent.

Az please let me in. I can make the shadows go away, remember? I can make all of this go away, you just have to calm it down enough for me to get to you.

I can’t.

Why?

I am the shadows, and they are me.

“What is he saying?” Rhysand asked. 

“He just said he can't tame them, that he is the shadows and they are him,” I shook my head, threading my fingers in my hair. “I can help him but I can’t get to him.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, eyes wary.

“With my life, High Lord,” I said, because it was true. 

He grabbed my hand and the familiar hollowness of winnowing encased me. He tried to drop me right next to Az, but it seemed to be warded. I was instantly flung away from him and hit the wall so hard I saw stars. Feyre came to my side immediately as the bright light in the hallway dimmed. 

I forced myself up and boiled with rage. How dare he, my mate, keep me from him. I trudged forward, a small limp to my gate but I kept on pressing, despite the protests from behind me. I came to the whirling wind and shadow, staring at it. 

I placed my palm against it and closed my eyes. 

I know this is you, shadowsinger. These shadows, this wall… but it is not Azriel, not my mate. He would never keep me away. He’d want me right next to him, holding him as we weather this storm together. I know you are one in the same, and I know I make you go away and you are angry. He is the shadows, and you are him. I am his mate, meaning he is a part of me. I am the sun that casts the shadows you need. I am the maker of your shadows. Without one there cannot be another, without my mate there is no one to harness your strength. Let me in, let me cast the sunshine so that your shadows may sing once again.

There was almost a noise of discontent before the roar in my ear withered away. It disbanded like fog in the early spring mornings. The wind and shadows misted away, the room and hallway no longer swirling in a veil of darkness. 

In the center of the room shook Azriel, arms trembling as he looked around at the sudden brightness. 

I didn’t know I even gave my feet permission to move until I was collapsing into his lap. I hiccuped a sob so hard I thought my lungs burst open. 

Azriel buried his face into my neck, breath just as ragged. I cried uncontrollably, crushing him with my arms, I’m sure. 

I felt warmth and tenderness encase my body. I felt a tap against my shields and I let them down, welcoming Az’s shadows without a second thought. His thoughts became mine, and vice versa. There wasn’t a part of us in that moment that wasn’t connected. Our minds, our hearts, our souls seemed to tangle in each other. 

It must’ve been a long while before we detangled because everyone had left. 

I, begrudgingly, pulled myself from him, sitting up to look at his tear stained face.

“Don’t you dare do something like that ever again,” I breathed, resting my forehead against his. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be that harsh with Cassian-”

“What?” I asked, brows knitting together. “No no no, not that, whatever the hell that shadow wall was.”

“You’re not mad at me for beating the shit out of Cassian?” He asked, equally as confused.

“Well,” I sighed. “I’m not happy about it, but for the love of the Mother if you ever shut me out like that again, when I break through, I will kill you.”

It was a promise so deep even he knew it was true. He just nodded, kissing both of my cheeks before my lips. 

“I’m sorry, Yn,” a tear trickled down my face. “I saw Cassian choking you and on top of you and it blinded me with a rage so unexplainable. I don’t even remember doing it. It was an afterthought by the time I came out of it. And you looked so infuriated at me I just- I panicked. It had been so quiet for a good while it was like I forgot about the shadows entirely and they took over my being. It was so foreign and strange and they rained down upon me with such vengeance-”

“I know, I know,” I said, combing his hair with my fingers. “We… had a talk. We came to an agreement.”

“Agreement? A bargain?” he asked, a little concerned. 

I shook my head, “no, not a bargain. We just saw eye to eye on things. A favor, I guess you could call it.” I let the words I had once spoken filter into his mind. Azriel had this starry look in his eyes when the words were over with. 

“You talked to the shadows…” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “H-How did you-”

“Rhys tried to winnow me to you but it must’ve been warded because the next thing that I knew was the wall against my back,” I hissed as his hands crept up my shoulder. His touch was featherlight as he examined, lifting up my shirt to reveal the bruises forming along my spine. 

“Yn… Yn I am so sorry I hurt you…” his eyes feel so dark, I worried for a second that another tempest was coming. 

“No, Azriel look at me,” I grabbed his face between my hands and made him look up at me. “This was not your fault. You and the shadows are not the same thing. You two, like I said, may share the same being, but you are not your shadows. You are Azriel, my Azriel.”

The color came back to his eyes almost instantly. There was a new set of tears in his face as he landed on my chest, arms tightening around my waist. 

“Thank you, Yn… for seeing me, not just the shadows.”

[whatisthiscontentyouspeakof]

Guardian of Light

I’m so nervous posting this. This is the first story that has had some serious traction and it’s also the first that I’ve written that wasn’t in chronological order. I hope you all like this chapter as much as you guys did the previous two.

AO3  First  Previous  Next

Chapter 2: Waking Up To An New Old Life

(Age 12)

Niu jerked awake, an image of her Nuri being stabbed with a stone sheard, filtered through her mind. She wasn’t worried about him though, she could feel his life force flowing intertwined with hers, alive and well with his family nearby. She, on the other hand, didn’t know where she was, nor where her body ended up.

Well...she could at least gather that she was in a hospital, judging by the medical equipment. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, yanking away tubes and wires as she did so. She was unsure of how much time had passed since Damian had been stabbed, the first time that was. Hopefully it wasn’t too long else there’d be consequences for her when she returned to the Temple.

Alarms started blaring as she pulled away a heart monitor. Frowning, she reached over and turned the volume down. She would have shut it off but she was pretty sure some machines had alarms that went off if they weren’t shut down properly. Satisfied that the machines were no longer making noise, she continued de-attaching herself from the different machines and equipment.

“You’re awake!” A voice exclaimed in French.

Well shit. So much for not bringing any attention to herself.

Niu looked to see a nurse standing in the doorway. She tried to think of something to say that would keep the nurse quiet but she knew it was hopeless. She was just going to have to sit through whatever examination the nurse and the doctors wanted to put her through and then, when things quieted down, she’d sneak away and head back to the Temple.

“Where am I?” she asked the nurse, in a perfect French accent. “I remember being in a park byn that music festival but I don’t remember anything after that.”

Playing ignorance with the public was always the way to go, at least until you got enough information.

The nurse smiled softly at her. “Well Marinette, you were found in the park and brought here almost 12 months ago,” she said. “You’ve been in a coma ever since. We’re really glad to see you awake.”

Niu frowned. “Marinette?” she repeated. As far as she could remember, and she had a great memory, she never went by the name Marinette so there was no reason for her to be called that.

The nurse had a look on her face that was half panic, half pity. “I’m going to go get some of your doctors to come check you over,” the nurse said, ignoring her question.

Niu debated leaving now that she was alone again, but she decided against it. She didn’t know how far the nurse had gone to get the doctors and her interest was pipped. Why did the nurse call her Marinette?

Tom and Sabine walk onto the long term care floor of the hospital for their daily visit to see their comatosed daughter only to find a bunch of people milling about her room. The couple rushed over, fear gripping their hearts, praying that nothing had gone wrong. They weren’t ready to let go of their daughter after having just gotten her back.

Dr. Bisset stopped them before they could rush into the room. “Everything’s fine,” he reassured them. “We’re just running some tests.”

“What happened?” Sabine demanded.

“Honesty, we have no idea. One moment she was just a normal comatose patient and the next she was awake,” Dr. Bisset said.

“Marinette is awake?” Tom asked in disbelief.

“Hmm? Oh yes. It’s quite strange. There are usually sets to waking up from a coma that we look out for. Waking from a coma is actually a long process but Marinette just seemed to wake up. She showcased none of the usual things we look for,” Dr. Bisset said, unaware of the way he had turned the two bakers' world upside down.

“She’s awake,” Sabine said, repeating her husband.

Dr. Bisset seemed to realize how much of a shock this was to the parents. “Do you want to see her?” he asked them softly.

Numbly they both nodded, allowing the doctor to lead them into the hospital room. The instantly looked over to the end to see their daughter, their Marinette, sitting in her bed, which had been raised to allow her to sit while still having something to rest against. A doctor was asking her a series of cognitive memory questions, allowing the two bakers to study their daughter.

The first thing they noticed was that she was no longer attached to any equipment. Most of what she had been attached to seemed to have been moved from the room though some things, like the IV and heart monitor were still in the room. Marinette was slim, leaning more towards underweight but she had been in a coma and weight loss was normal. Her eyes, bright blue like Tom, were following the doctor with a sharpness that came from a bright mind. Her hair was still in the french braid that Sabine had put it in earlier that week when she had come when the nurses were giving Marinette a bath, had a few hairs that had escaped, faming their daughters beautifully awake face.

“Marinette,” Tom couldn’t help but whisper.

Their daughter looked up at them confused. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice high pitched but soft. She spoke slowly, not in a ‘I barely know French’ way but in a ‘I’ve been well educated’ way. “And why is everyone calling me Marinette?”

Both parents felt their hearts squeeze. Since Roger Raincomprix had told them that their daughter was found last year, they had never thought that she may not go by Marinette anymore. That the people who took her decided to call her something else.

Niu looked at the couple who had entered her hospital room. They didn’t look like doctors though for all she knew the two had had a day off and were called in when she had awoken. Whoever they were their presence at least got the doctors to back off, even if they, like everyone else, called her ‘Marinette’ as if it were her name. Starting to get frustrated, but refusing to show it, she asked them why they called her that, wondering if they would give her the answer she was looking for that everyone else had so far refused to.

“It’s your name,” the woman said. Asian, short but strong, could probably fight, clothing and facial structure suggest Chinese.

“No it’s not,” she told the woman. She had never used that name before so she didn’t know why everyone was insisting on calling her it.

The woman moved farther into the room, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. The woman looked like she was going to rest a hand on her leg but thought better of it. Smart. “Nine years ago,” she said. “My husband, Tom, and I had a three year old daughter that was taken by an unknown person from a local park.” Niu didn’t like where this was already heading, a weird feeling forming in her stomach. “Almost a year ago you were found alone, unconscious is a park by the Seine while the music festival was going on. When they couldn’t find anyone who knew you, the police ran your DNA.” The woman paused for a moment, not that it mattered, Niu already had an idea where she was going with this. “It matched both my husbands and my DNA in the way only a daughter could. Her name, your name, is Marinette.”

She studied the woman in front of her to try and find any hint of a lie, any hint that this was a test from the Temple but found none. She looked at the man, Tom, who stood supportively behind his wife, and found no lie in his face either. When Niu, no Marinette, spoke she did so with disbelief in her voice. She had never thought this day would come, especially not without her seeking it out. “You’re my parents. My real, honest to god, birth parents.”

Well Kwami, this was the last thing she had expected to happen.

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[in-the-bookish-dark]

Absolution Like the Rain - RL

There is nothing about that day I don’t remember, even decades later, except for who the Cubs were up against. It was raining. It was just past five o’clock. The Cubs were playing someone I can't recall on WGN. If I thought harder about it, maybe I’d remember. Probably not, so I’ll just lie and say it was the Giants, and then move on. That’s what it was then, Cubs and Giants in a memorable match-up, one for the ages, in fact. Whoever the hell it was, I’d watch the game for a few minutes then watch the rain for a few minutes. Trucks would go by and splash muddy water right up onto the pub’s front window and I’d watch it run down again. It was going to end up a good day, I felt sure. We needed the rain. I’ve known very few farmers, but we all act like farmers on the Great Plains. We grow serious and sage and look off into the distance and tell one another how a bit of rain was a good thing, and that we were about due, and how much it was going to green-up the lawn and the shrubs. It's hard to be in a bad mood when the rains come to town. No day is good for a wake, but this was probably as close to not bad as it gets. Besides, one thing my dad and I always agreed on was that rain was good for somebody’s crops somewhere, so I’d take that as justification enough. Now and then, the murmuring of the broadcast crew would cut away to something different and I’d glance back in from the rain. A news update – Nixon shaking his head, refusing to do something or other. Then some Senate hearing room, someone looking over his bifocals, sitting at a green felt table, shaking his own head, no doubt reacting to Nixon’s head shake. Everybody saying no, and nobody doing anything. That’s what it felt like, anyway, with still more head shaking to come at the evening news. Mike called from down the bar as he rinsed glasses, "Hey, Timmy, sorry, Father Tim, you good for now?" I was good. Shot and a beer. The shot was gone in a flash, but I was still working the beer. Don’t get sloppy before they even get here, I told myself. Mike had owned the Three Rocks Pub for decades, through several name changes, maybe since the time it was a cafe. I’d known him going on twenty years, though I was only in my mid-twenties myself. My old man would bring me along with him when I was barely five or six. Back then, it was less shocking to have a kid tag along when you went into your neighborhood pub. My mom would send him on errands with me – "It’ll be good for you, some time with your son, plus I get some quiet" – and we’d hit the hardware store or the pharmacy, or take TV tubes down to the repair shop to test them. Our TV was always blowing tubes. We’d have to load them into a box and take them down to the shop, then plug each of them into the machine. One at a time we’d try them until one failed, and that’s the one we’d replace. Four months later, a pop and a flash, and it would be time to take them all down again. Each time a different one failed. Second hand TVs will do that, I guess. Anyway, after the errand, we always seemed to end up downtown, maybe stop at the news stand where he’d get a dirty paperback from the little room behind the curtains, and I’d get a fistful of comics. Then, we’d find ourselves on 3rd Street. He’d say "Hey, let’s stop in the Three Rocks for a minute" like he was surprised to find us anywhere near the place. So, Mike had been my personal bartender for something like two decades. At first, he’d hand me a piece of bubble gum and a soft drink when I came in. Then, after a dozen years, I reached that magic age where he started handing me a shot and a beer, just like the grown ups – the other grownups, I should say. Except for the time I was off at seminary, that's how it was for countless Wednesdays over the years. Except that day was Tuesday. Wednesday is - was - evening Mass instead of morning. It was also CYO night, and even if Father Manuel were doing Mass, I never had anyone to fill in with the kids. The church's schedule is my schedule. Well, was my schedule. It was almost a quarter after five. Somewhere off to the West, there were a few breaks in the clouds. Shafts of light were bouncing eastward down the street, turning lonely streaks of rain golden. The showers were moving north to south, though, so it was unlikely we’d get any more sunlight than that.  Suddenly, I was thirstier. "Hey, Mike, I wanna change my answer" I wiggled my finger at my empty shot glass. Mike swung a whiskey bottle around from the back counter. One-two-three-four count; the bottle was back on the counter before the ripples had completely settled. Two seconds later, the drinking was done, too. I went back to looking out the window, my fingers absent-mindedly but efficiently striping the side of my beer glass, sweeping away the condensation one narrow column at a time. People passed by, indoors and out. Outdoors, they would race by, pushing through to their destination and hoping to get there with some article of clothing still dry. A few glanced in with a wisp of longing draping their faces. They all knew that, in just a few steps, they could be inside, dry and slightly less thirsty. But they had to settle for just the imagining for now, dragging their eyes and attention back out the window and down the rain-splashed sidewalk. I was sitting quietly, trying to will the Cubs into action. Sure, I could’ve used my priestly powers and prayed for them to rally, but that wouldn’t have been fair.  Nor had I found that to be generally effective.  Off at the right edge of my awareness, I realized I was being watched, not an unusual occurrence. When I was young, I was occasionally referred to as Father WhatAWaste, though I’ve never been that good looking.  The stare was always for the collar, yes. Back then, we were all still wearing our blacks everywhere. It was only from the 80s on that we started dressing like civilians in public. The reason for staring at the collar varied, though. There were those who stared daggers because they were angry at the church, and truth be told, it was often justified.  Others stared out of curiosity, seldom seeing a priest out in the wild, and sometimes puzzlement, should they be surprised at the idea that a priest might find himself in a bar with a beverage in front of him. The third big group were the ones that most often came up to talk.  They wanted to ask something or they wanted to ask for something. “Hey, father, what the heck is transubstantiation?” or “Hey, father, think you could help a fella out with …” I just sat.  That’s what you do.  You don’t want to spook them unnecessarily – or encourage them unnecessarily.  I could tell it was the same woman who was at the end of the bar when I came in.  She was a little older than me, maybe early 30s, dressed up a little bit, but not like she was going to the opera.  She was downtown for a job interview and had nerves that needed watering down, maybe.  Definitely nervous.  She’d had two drinks to every one of mine so far, and was working on more. I waited, and then saw her in motion, very slowly growing in size until she was beside me. “Father …?” her hand was on the lip of the bar, where it had been all the way up to me, just to steady her a bit. “Yes?” “Are you Catholic or … the other?” “Yes, I’m Catholic – how may I help you, Miss …? I left the sentence open, but she didn’t fill it in with her name. “I … uhh … it’s about my mother. She’s Catholic. So am I, or at least I grew up that way ..." I knew that if I blinked wrong, she’d flee, so I just held myself steady and tried a calm smile.  I wished she’d leave, but, that’s not what I signed up for.  “Anyway, so, she’s having surgery day after tomorrow, female troubles, which she just found out a few weeks ago.  Is there a special prayer or something … like …?” “Like a Mass in her name, maybe? Or a novena? Does she need someone to visit her? It might be better if it were her parish priest, but I could make sure …?” I was already overwhelming her. Too many choices. I put my hand out, resting it on her steadying hand, which had turned claw like, digging into the edge of the bar for more traction.  “I’ll say a Mass for her, how about that? And I can give you a card if you need more.” “Sure, yeah – yes, I mean. That would be nice.  I could tell her.” She reached for her pocketbook. “Oh, I’m forgetting myself - how much is customary for …?” “No, please – no donation. What about you, though?” This puzzled her and she started to step back. Suddenly, she seemed afraid I wanted her soul, or something even more intimate. “Me.” Her intonation was flat. It wasn’t a question, but a conclusion. Not the first time, clearly, she’d had that suspicion of someone. “You’re very upset. Should we pray for a moment?” I took her hands in mine, expecting her to simply lower her head. I’d wing something, she’d thank me, and hopefully feel a little better, and then we’d go back to our separate concerns. She relaxed a little, but then looked furtively around the bar and then over my shoulder to the windows.  “Oh, father, that’s really not … I appreciate it, but … I’m not very …” She took her hands back. “I’ll be sure and let my mother know, father.  I know she’ll appreciate it.”  With or without my help, she’d bucked herself back up, strong fake smile on her face now.  We were done. I think she actually curtsied a little before returning to her stool, back at the barroom’s end.  After that, she kept glancing my way – or at least looking past me at the window.  I realized she’d left without my card, and was going to walk it over to her, but decided that she was probably happier without it. I wasn’t sure I’d done anything helpful. That’s part of the job, also, not just having faith in God, but having faith that you’re actually being useful, because, like God, you seldom get to see it clearly. When I was young, it bothered me more than it does now. The rest of my beer vanished pretty quickly, and Mike brought me my second, along with another shot.  “Slow,” I reminded myself, “they’re not even here yet.” Two older guys came in and lingered by the door as they shook water from their jackets. The older of the two also had an umbrella, which got shaken and stowed in the rack next to the door. I watched them, but they weren’t who I was waiting for. I was expecting two of my father’s friends, men of a punctual generation, arriving early only slightly more often than they arrived late, which was decidedly seldom. They wouldn’t likely show up until just a few minutes to six. The older you get, the more predictable your habits, and these guys were old enough to be very predictable. My eyes followed this other pair to a table off to the right, then let them go, drifting back to the Cubs game. Bottom of the seventh, Cubs ahead by three, but that might not last. Birds of despair often came to roost where the Cubs were involved. A man in a big camel hair coat shoved through the door, shaking himself and his umbrella as he pushed back through the bar as though working himself upstream. Navigating around the tables, he brushed against my shoulder. "Sorry, buddy ... father, I mean, sorry father!" Sometimes, it’s nice not being noticed. I waved a “no problem” and watched out of the corner of my eye for him to reappear as he passed behind me. He was very focused.  I turned to face the bar directly so I could see him out of the corner of my eye, and my guess was right. He was making a beeline straight toward my new friend. He kept leaning further and further to the left, and I briefly wondered if he'd started his drinking earlier somewhere else, but then I realized the truth of the matter. He was leaning left to block my line of sight. She probably wasn’t his wife or sister … or cousin, real estate agent, stock broker … Tupperware dealer … none of that.  He’d just rushed from the office to meet an attractive younger woman, dressed up a little but not too much, in a not-too-brightly lit bar at the less busy end of downtown. It only took him a few words and a gesture over his shoulder - a gesture my direction – for her to pick up her coat and gloves and head for the door, with him following.  They swung a wide arc around me, along the opposite wall. Sure, there was more room to maneuver back there, but mostly it was the distance it afforded them from me, a distance she augmented by powdering her nose and scratching her cheek as she walked, at least until she was more back than front to me, and then they were both out the door.  It was the adult equivalent of the child’s gambit of “If I can’t see him, maybe he can’t see me.” There was any number of less priestly places they might have been headed, maybe just to the nearest pub without a built-in priest. Then again, they could have decided to adjourn and move on to what was surely their final destination anyway. That end of downtown wasn't lacking in motels with casual check-in procedures, and probably still isn’t. Afterward, she’d go home to a lonely apartment, or maybe her room at her mother’s house, and he’d go home and kiss his wife on the lips and hug his kids tight. Was I judging? I suppose I was, but not so much now.  She’s probably a grandmother with her own kids and grand kids to hug, and her own husband to kiss. Like all of us, she’s got her own regrets and her own things that keep her grounded in the world.  If we’re lucky, we have the latter. I turned from that game to the one on TV. The Giants had taken a one run lead, and the Cubs had two outs left to undo the damage. The count was full with two men in scoring position. The crowd was on its feet. The reliever was starting his windup. The front door opened. Rain blew in, followed by Henry and Roy, who shook themselves like dogs, then settled quickly into a booth at the front window, but farthest from the door. I grabbed my beer and overcoat and headed to their table, leaving my empty shot glass behind.  It wasn’t going to hurt me to wait a few more minutes for the next. Since my coat was already starting to dry, I lifted Henry's from the coat rack attached to the booth and stuck mine under. Roy was the first to notice me. He stood up from the booth and gave me a big back-patting hug. "Hey, Tim. Your dad would like this, one more for old times. How ya keepin'? Holding up okay?" Ray had met my dad in high school, and they’d been thick as thieves since. I shrugged like you do for questions like that. Or you say "Eh, could be worse" or something along those lines. Why should you invite misfortune or divine retribution by complaining about the hand you’re holding? Henry reached for my hand across the table as I sat down. He gave me the once over. "You're lookin' okay, Timmy. Guess the priesthood agrees with you." I shrugged again. I knew Henry too well to throw out some platitudes about the satisfactions of doing the Lord's work. Henry had met my dad and Roy right out of high school. He and my dad went into the Marines and got stationed together. They weren’t that much alike, and Henry always set my teeth on edge, but saving my dad’s life in North Africa had earned him a permanent invitation from my dad. Even though I hadn’t seen them in years, aside from my dad’s funeral, I'd known these guys for decades, from back before time mattered to me. They were part of my dad's Wednesday night circle, usually here at the Three Rocks, but sometimes at Grey's, where maybe they'd have a slopper with their beers, or maybe Gus’.  Now and then, they went up to some dives on the mesa, or maybe one of the joints out on Northern that the steel workers would fill up at five o'clock.  Usually, though, it was right here. They’d been a quintet starting out, but Manny died of an aneurism and Kent moved to Ohio to spend more time with grandkids. "Y'know, Tim, they changed the booths out a few years back, but ... " Ray looked around, trying to recall the old layout "... when you'd come in with your dad, sometimes you'd sit with us up at the bar, but sometimes he'd park you right about here so you could look out the window." "All this time, I thought it was so I wouldn't be in the way, and so you guys could say whatever you want without, y’know, little pitchers." He watched my face for a moment, then gave a sideways shrug. "You could see it a couple of ways, I guess. That's how I always saw it, but I guess I could be wrong." I’d embarrassed him without really meaning to. I was on edge, but it wasn’t his fault. I shrugged a half-hearted concession of my own. "Hey, it was a long time ago." I don't know why I was arguing with Ray. I never had reason for a face-off with Ray. Harry Truman said one of the best compliments he could give was to say someone was alright from the navel out in all directions.  That was Ray.  Henry may have been my godfather by way of North Africa, but Ray was the one who acted like it. "And eventually you were joining us up there with the brews and the stories." He raised his glass toward me and smiled. I did the same. "Yes, indeed. My move up from Pepsi and Bazooka Joe to Boilermakers." "When I became a man, I put away childish things." I was looking at Roy, but his lips didn’t move with the words. It took a moment for me to realize that the words came from Henry. I couldn’t remember ever hearing him quote scripture before. I’d have remembered. I’d certainly have remembered if I’d heard him quote it in such a surreal context. "First Corinthians, 13:11." That was my contribution. Henry squinted like he didn’t get the reference. I moved on. With the ice broken, the storytelling began in earnest, like a long, intricate poker game. I’ll see your story about the time everyone piled into Manny’s station wagon and went up to fish at Lake DeWeese at three in the morning, and raise you a story about what happens when you drink too much at your son’s softball tournament and throw up on the trophies. Things happened that way. My dad was a good guy, with the occasional embarrassing, exuberant lapse. Glancing at the rain, I remembered a different rainy day when Angie, Bill and I had been down at the park playing. I was no more than eleven, so they were six and eight, respectively. Things got dark and it started to rain, so we took off for home.  We’d made it almost to the carport when dark turned to dark green and hail started thudding down around and at us.  By the time we were under cover, the dime-sized hail had become quarter-sized, then very quickly as big as fifty cent pieces.  We were actually getting hit by fragments of ice thrown off when the hail came down right around the covering.  Looking up was like watching a bag of jiffy pop on the burner.  The sheet metal was going from very flat to very dented quickly. We huddled closer to the car.  “Listen,” I told them.  “We might have to hide under the car if it gets worse. We can’t make it to the house right now.”  They nodded back, the fright on their faces speaking silent volumes. Then we heard our dad yelling from the front step.  “Tim! Bill! Angie!”  He got it out twice before I yelled back loud enough for him to hear above the doomsday clatter. “We’re under the carport! We’re under the carport!”  Their fears had made them mute; mine had helped me call out. The front door banged shut again, and we just looked at each other.  We were resigned to wait out the storm. What could he do?  He’d probably get killed if he came out in this. The three of us looked down at the front bumper, considering our next best option for refuge.  The hail wasn’t getting any smaller. Worse, occasionally we’d hear a very loud bang when something even larger hit the covering.  Angie and Bill’s faces were clear. They were wondering the same thing I was.  We expected any moment for the hail to start coming through, or maybe start bouncing off the sidewalk and ricocheting at us. One of the bangs sounded different, though. Duller and more distant, not from above, but back toward the house.  I looked up and around and saw our dad running out the back door, covered in the heavy quilt my grandmother had made for my parents when they married.  He must’ve had a pillow under the quilt for more protection, because the top was wide and rectangular.  When he got to the carport, we raced for him, but he said “One at a time.  Girls first – Angie!” She tucked herself under the blanket and grabbed hold of his belt and they were off. Fifteen feet to the house, and they were at the steps just as mom opened the back door. His improvised shuttle ran twice more, first for Billy and then for me.  At the last slam of the back door, all five of us were standing in the kitchen, looking a little astonished.  I looked around at everyone and started to cry. Bill and Angie followed after with their tears. I felt foolish, being the oldest kid, but the first to cry. We were safe and I was crying.  Dad came and put a hand on my shoulder, and I shook my head at my shame.  He pulled me closer in a half-hug and said, “It’s okay.  I know it’s scary sometimes being in charge.”  I didn’t realize until he spoke that that was exactly what I was reacting to.  I was only in charge and under fire for a moment, and I did okay, but it scared me how much Bill and Angie had been counting on me in that moment. After playing the whole event through in my silent mind, I told Roy and Henry the story, which was one they’d never heard before. After that, I told them about a time when I was fourteen.  My dad had just come back from visiting my mother in the hospital, and was really frustrated with how her cancer treatments were going. He came in and made sure we all had supper and were sent off to bed, then he went out in the back yard and tore half of our gazebo down until the steam was gone, his hands were bloodied, and his breathing came in sharp, hacking coughs. I watched out my bedroom window, absorbing more than watching or recording.  For my own reasons, I spent years trying to forget that story as the years passed, but it pursued me now, reminding me of the depth of his emotion, the raw side of his anger, in the face of a bitter wrong. Both Ray and Henry had come over the next weekend, along with a guy from my dad's work crew, and helped put it back in order. As far as I know, none of them discussed anything about it, sharing any emotions overtly. He asked "Hey, if you’re not doing anything Saturday, think maybe you could give me a hand?" They said "Sure." When they got there, someone said "... son of a bitch, Steve ..." and he said "Yeah, I know ..." That was the extent of their conversational therapy, and the extent of his confession. "Yeah, I know ..." Sometimes the best and the worst you can expect is "Yeah, I know." Henry changed the tone while still carrying forward the violence theme.  He insisting on telling us about the time he, my dad, and two guys both named Darren got drunk, got into a fight, and busted up a bunch of chairs and tables at La Tronicas, right in the middle of some old couple's anniversary dinner. It was a couple of weeks after they graduated high school. They were all going off to the military to “get straightened up and learn a trade,” as my grandfather put it at the time. Ray shook his head. I shook my head. Henry's head shook with laughter. I’d heard the story before, and like most of Henry’s proudest stories, it was Henry and the two Darrens causing trouble, or whoever was tagging along with Henry, and my dad getting sucked in to try to settle things. Trying to get the stories back on a more positive track, Ray reminded me how my dad pretty much single-handedly ran the Parish Bazaar at St. Leander's every year, and how people would always say "You want it done, get Steve." Or Stefano, Esteban, Stefan, etc., depending on the ethnicity of whoever was talking. We had Anglos, Italians, Hispanics, Poles and others, but mostly the first three. "And," he said, "let's not forget boy's boxing, which is what kept a skinny bookworm like you from getting beat up every week - until you got that protective collar, of course." He slapped me on the arm, then said, "Whoa. Guess you kept fit at the seminary. Boy's got a bicep like an oak there, Henry." Henry waved the comment down, taking Roy's word for it. I shrugged for what must've been the fifteenth time.  Part of the job. Priests are supposed to be humble and self-deprecating.  "Yeah, well, after a while, it became a habit.  I got used to it, so I kept up with it in the seminary.  And, it does make a pretty good workout." "Your old man was pretty tough, Timmy, almost as tough as me, maybe. Think you coulda took him?”  Henry cocked his head and made an obvious point of sizing me up. "What the hell kinda question is that, Henry?" "Ease up, Roy. It's a damn joke." Roy and I traded glances. Neither of us needed to waste our breath saying anything. Just let it die. Mike came by to welcome the guys, and to slipstream into the conversation for a moment. "This guy – he’s ‘Father Somebody’ now, but back in the day, I used to give him a pop and gum when he'd come in with his dad. Now, look at him. He talks with the bishop and he can still out drink the likes of you old ladies. His father, God rest him, would be proud." They nodded and raised their glasses, which happened to be empty, in my direction. Mike clamped a iron-like hand down on my shoulder and scooped our empties up with the other. "You know he would." he said directly to me. The refills came back on a tray. Beer and a shot, beer and a shot, another shot, then beer and something golden in a snifter. Before any of us could ask, Mike said "Benedictine" and clapped my back. "You should develop a taste for it, for when you become a bishop!" He laughed deeply, not in jest, but like he was already richly celebrating that moment sometime in his vaguely imagined future, when I might be consecrated as bishop. I wouldn't necessarily have wanted to be his pastor, but he was always "good people."  He hoisted his shot and called out "Down the hatch, boys - slainte!" A mumbled chorus replied in kind. I threw back my Benedictine as they threw back their whiskeys, then the shot glasses vanished into Mike’s catcher's mitt of a hand. Mike took himself back to the bar, satisfied that he had made a contribution to the moment. The three of us wandered through other topics, with alcohol and our wobbly conversational legs taking us in circles and tangents. I brushed aside mention of talking with the bishop - "it's nothing ... all the priests talk to him at least twice a year ..." or me becoming a bishop - "I just don't see that happening. A, I'm not a politician, and B, I've got plenty other things on my plate." We talked some about how Angie and Bill were doing.  They were both younger than me, and after mom died, they both had some rough times adjusting.  I didn’t seem to have as much trouble, but maybe I just didn’t have a lot of time to have a rough time.  I was in middle school when she got sick and a sophomore when she died, and almost immediately after I transferred from public school into minor seminary, which kept me plenty busy.  Angie was three years younger and Billy was two years back of her.  They had memories and conflicts, and maybe more time to grow together and heal each other, and I had studies. The light outside was starting to fade, going from rain grey to twilight blue. I checked my watch. Back in the day, especially in the days of Manny and Kent, these sessions usually ran upwards of three hours, but I had no idea how long this might last, whether shorter or longer. It was our own little wake for my dad, in a place that was essentially his sanctuary. It would take as long as it took, and I just needed to let go for a while, let it play itself out.  Plus, there was a conversation I’d been waiting two weeks to have with Henry, and if he was loosened up more by the time we had it, I thought maybe it would be a good kind of loose.  Once he caught up, I just kept pace with Roy, or vice versa. Henry was easily outdrinking us, having three to each of our two. I knew his liver had lots of practice, but even so, I was a little surprised. Still, sometimes things happen for a reason. Half the time when Henry drank, he’d spiral down into his own simmering pool of loathing.  This was turning into one of those times.  Already, he had gotten to the point where he was popping off about just about everything. Maybe the only people who didn't piss him off when he got drunk were himself, Jesus Christ, and Suzanne Pleshette.  I don’t know the specific reason for his attraction to her, but he had an unshakeable fixation. When he was really drunk, it was just him and Suzanne Pleshette who held his favor. When it came right down to it, I suspected it was really only Ms. Pleshette that he didn't hate. He would fill his own head, his own space, with racist, sexist, creepy questions and comments, then unleash them on the surroundings. It was that unleashing that tended to cause him the most problems - the fact that he didn't keep it at his table or in his group. Already, he'd made comments about pretty much everyone within a dozen feet, which included five tables worth of people. Women grimaced and turned away, men squinted and shifted in their seats, prepared to get up if it turned necessary. Henry hadn’t always been this bad, but I’d heard that by time my dad died, you could count on angry bystanders when Henry was drinking with you. Roy and I admittedly had left him untethered for a while. He was going to do what he wanted in the long run, and sometimes a person got tired of playing nursemaid with him. Once we started paying attention again, I tried to get him to hold it down a little, as did Roy, albeit maybe a little less gentle than me.  Still, Roy didn’t want to completely spoil things with a confrontation, and I wasn’t inclined to rush a confrontation with Henry, especially one I considered off topic.  I apologized to people he was bothering, whether face to face or with a distant gesture. Before we could even ask, Mike signaled to us that Henry was cut off. Roy and I talked for a bit about his family, while Henry stewed and threw out wisecracks, then we both came to the same conclusion.  Our time was done.  Now was the sending off.  At that point in time, our paths really hadn’t crossed much for years. Given our ever diverging lives, I knew that that goodbye could easily be the big goodbye.  I didn’t want to rush it for the sake of my dad’s memory, but I also didn’t want to drag it on and on. Also, Roy had had more than his fill of Henry. It was time for him to leave, and the sooner he could talk Henry into the car, the sooner he could drop in at his house and be rid of him for a while. After several minutes of wrangling, Henry was far from persuaded that he was ready to go. I told Roy to leave him in my hands. I'd try to get him sobered a bit, then deliver him home myself. On the plus side, Henry’s hostility curve was beginning to drop. I was hoping we'd get out of there without someone taking a swing at him, and it looked like we might have a chance. This was one of those times when having the collar was a tactical advantage.  People would say, "Well, okay, father, I’ll let you handle it.”  What they usually didn’t add, but always meant was “… for now.”  Trust in a priest’s abilities only goes so far. Roy slipped his coat on and paid his tab with Mike before slipping out into the wet night. Henry and I were alone with one another for the first time in maybe a decade. He was still in no condition to go more than twenty feet under his own power, and maybe even with an assist. I glanced around the bar. There were some unoccupied booths toward the back, near the restrooms. I figured the thing to do was get him not only away from other people, but also closer to a place he could more conveniently be sick. I helped him wobble down the length of the pub, then poured him into one side of the farthest booth. I took the other side, facing out, so I could watch. I didn’t want either of us to get ambushed by someone with a slow fuse. I caught Mike’s eye and gestured for two coffees. "You're a good kid, Timmy." Henry started nicely enough, the words anyway, but the tone was denigrating. The words themselves almost immediately became so, too. The next thing he said was that I "didn't understand the real world." According to him, it was a good thing I became a priest so I could hide from the bad things out in the real world. He said he was sure that my dad worried about right up until his death that I was too weak and kind, that he hadn't toughened me up enough. I only half believed him, and let him go on. I wanted to see how much he'd say, how close he’d get to hanging himself with his own tongue. He told some more stories about adventures with my dad, mostly when they were young, like just after the war. My dad was trying to stay in a trade school and learn tv and radio repair, and Henry was trying to hold down an apprentice carpenter job long enough to make it to journeyman. Still they'd go out a lot, and usually it was Henry causing trouble. Henry drinking too much, Henry starting fights that my six foot father had to finish for him, Henry harassing girls and getting too fresh, Henry stealing tools from his job.  Not that he put it that way, but I knew the lay of the land.  Because of the debt my dad felt he owed him, he was always within arm’s reach of Henry’s trouble. I thought maybe Henry was inching close to the particular confession I was waiting for, but not there yet. He was telling his own "war stories" now and reveling in his corrupt ways, ways he'd learned, he said, from his father, who was “a raging bull with huge brass balls,” as he put it. "... taught me everything I know” he said.  Lay end to end all of the stories I’d actually heard from Henry over the years, and my dad had probably saved his life several times over for the one time in North Africa.  There was no debt, and hadn’t been for a while. My dad had a surplus in the bank.  It was Henry running a deficit, and a pretty huge one based on everything I knew. "Now, your dad, Tim ... he was a good guy. It was good for him that he met your mother, God rest her. I'm surprised she put up with me, Miss Nancy Purepants, but ~" I reached down and grabbed his wrist to get his attention. Steely. Vice-like in fact. I shook my head at him. I wasn’t about to let him go there. He could shit on me and shit on my dad, but he was going to leave my mom out of this. He squinted up toward me, his eyes zigzagging up until finally finding my own. He knew what he was doing, and why I was responding like I was. He was intent on going for broke. "Y'know, your mom had the cutest little ~" I shifted my grip, twisting his wrist around and snapping it into an acute and painful angle, which seemed to help regain his attention and shift his focus.  "You know what makes for even better conditioning than boxing, Henry?  Ju-jitsu.  You should try it some time.” I had the table for leverage, so he wasn’t going anywhere, not with his wrist intact. He yelped and his eyes watered. He tried twisting out of it, but that only pulled him downward, bouncing his nose against the table. As drunk as he was, he had left himself few options other than surrender. "I had a special reason for wanting to see you tonight, Henry.  My dad told me a story just before he died. Kind of a deathbed confession, though it wasn't really about him. It was about you and something you did - something he let you keep secret and hidden all these years." I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to react. Would he argue, deny, plead? Cagey, even when drunk, he waited to see if I was going to continue.  When he finally looked up, he tried to read my eyes. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but not because he was innocent.  Clearly, he was trying to figure out exactly which sin I was referring to, which I’d gotten wise to. Tell me about your thing for young girls, Henry.” His face changed a little, but the searching didn’t stop.  What could he be wondering about, unless there were multiple incidents with multiple girls. Even if my dad wasn’t aware of any stories than the one he told me, it was pretty clear that Henry had plenty. I gave his jack-knifed wrist a little turn and saw heat in his eyes. His mind was drunk enough for a savage fight, given the chance, but his body was too drunk for it to end well for him. I was going to stay in control, he would confess to me, and then we’d both move on. "Tell me – specifically - about Natalie Alvarez. I want to hear her story from your mouth, and then I’ll take you home." At that, his face relaxed. It threw me for a loop momentarily, then I realized why and a chill passed through me. Natalie wasn’t the only one, and she wasn't the worst one. He had bigger, darker secrets that had nothing to do with Natalie, episodes that dwarfed whatever he had done with her. She was a minor accident that my father happened to stumble upon. Furthermore, I’d just shown him my entire hand. Not only was Natalie the only one l I knew about, but once I got his “confession” all I intended to do was drive him home. With a tight smile that bordered on a smirk, Henry began to speak, sotto voce, so that only he and I could hear, "Bless me father, for I have sinned ..." It wasn't so much the smile that did it, but when he paused at that point and winked. That was the thing that pushed my button. With a mind of its own, my free hand slapped him. I didn’t glance up, but knew some people had to have turned to look back at us at that point. After the slap, I, Father Tim, wrenched his wrist. "Start again - without the sacrilege, or I’ll break it for you right now." "There's no story, boy. I could tell she wanted it. I was going to give it to her. Your father came in and interrupted things, then got bent out of shape about it." "You're a liar. Natalie was eleven. She was quiet and shy and a year behind me at Parkview. I knew her because we both helped in the library.  Are you seriously going to try to pretend she came on to you?" "Gimme a break, Timmy. I knew the family. Natalie was on her way to being a first rate little whore, just like her mother and aunts. It was only a matter of time before she showed her colors, boy." "How did you get her alone?" "I was clearing things out of the storeroom in the parish school. I took her along to find some books that Sister Innocentia wanted while I reorganized. Trust me, she was only too happy to help. We both rummaged around a while, then I asked her come to the back of the store room and give me a hand with something else." He stopped long enough to imply that he thought the story was done. I tugged on his wrist to assure him that it wasn’t. "Don't worry, your dad turned up a few minutes after that, looking for paint rollers. All I'd done was grope her titties and get one hand in her panties. If she hadn't been blubbering and squirming so much, there’s no telling what your sainted father might have walked in on by then. I'd probably have had her doubled over one of the storage containers, and her precious little ..." he cocked his head at me, then changed tack, "... so little Father Timmy, am I getting you hard? You would've liked her, even before you became a priest. She was so cute and perky ... wait ... you did know her, didn't you?  In school together, right.  Library and stuff. Don't tell me you never thought of dipping your wick into ~" The second slap was even louder than the first, but this time, nobody bothered to turn. They had been surprised by the first. By the second, they knew that they didn’t want it to be any of their business. He lolled his head while I tried to keep myself under control.  I wasn’t sure what else I was wanting from him, especially given his state of sobriety at the moment.  I knew I wasn’t going to get any contrition from him.  That was a lost cause.  Was there anything more to tell me about Natalie?  I hoped not. As for the others … no, I didn’t know where to lead him, and didn’t expect to want to hear what more he’d have to say. It was time to go, to put this all behind me. "Listen, Henry, you're going to get up now, and step out back to get yourself together. I'm going to walk out front and get my car, and then you and I are going to leave here. I'll close you out with Mike. You’re done. Now, get up." With the help of the bench back and the coat rack, he ratcheted himself up to his feet. I could’ve helped him, but I couldn’t stand the thought of touching him. He shuffled unsteadily past the men's room and up against the alley door. Before he pushed out, though, he turned and smirked at me again. "So, you're not going to make me promise on my mother's grave to never do anything like that again? That's what your father did, guess he probably told you. Maybe it would actually work, you bein’ a priest and all. Anyway, thanks for being my confessor, padre." He slipped out the door and it banged softly behind him. I wanted to just go into the men's room and throw up for an hour or two. This jackal - laughing at my naive father, who trusted and believed him, laughing in my face and claiming me as his priest confessor. I felt like pushing him into a dark hole somewhere. I swung by Mike on the way out and said "He's sick - can I get him out of here and square both of us with you tomorrow?" "You know you can, Tim. Hey, if I can't trust the bishop's right hand, who can I trust? Am I right?" "He's very sick." I said absently. Mike glanced toward the back door and shook his head. "He is at that, Tim. A long time now. Your dad, God rest him, was a saint for putting up with him all these years."  I nodded and hit the front door. I trotted through the rain to my Olds, which was down at the far end of the block. I spun back over to the Three Rocks and whipped around the building into the alley. Henry was under the overhang at the back door, leaning against the building, out of the rain. I pulled up alongside and was about two paces away when he glanced up. I thought about taking my gloves off, in case he decided to throw up on me, but I decided that if my overcoat could take it, my gloves could. "Where the fuck you been, you little shit? I'm soaked to the bone." I kept calm while he was saying it. I really did.  I was ten feet away and very calm, very focused. I knew my objective. I'd get him in the car and home, then my hands were clean of him. That was fine for me, sure, protecting myself from getting tangled up, but I then remembered Natalie in the library, and realized I got tangled up the moment my dad confessed to me. I saw her face laughing at something silly I’d done. Now, I was trapped. I knew and had to do something.  I knew, and held their pain in my hands.  I had to say, to do something, and he would get justice for those girls all those years ago. Or … maybe there were new girls somewhere, too, a trail of violations right up to today.  He could’ve stopped on his way to the Three Rocks to molest someone, for all I knew. My head felt like it was filling with water.  I felt the pressure, and everything outside was muffled. He could’ve done it even today, but I could stop him from doing it again.  My dad didn’t stop him, though.  His naïve trust in his friends failed him, and that failure cascaded down to Natalie and all the others, whatever unnamed others there might have been. Maybe people would find out about my father knowing. Every good thing he’d ever done would be darkened and I would be powerless to protect him. From a more self-serving perspective, I wouldn’t even be able to protect my own career in the church. The alley became a river of shame, and I swam upstream, trying to reach Henry before I got swept away, before I drowned inside my own head. He didn’t realize what danger we were in, watching me with a sick sneer on his face.  I was almost to him.  I could stretch an arm out and grab his collar and drag him into the car where we’d both be safe. My left hand scraped at his coat until it reached his collar and locked on. Once I had a hold on him, though, the waters began to boil. My arm turned to flame, my neck tensed, and the tension spread down the length of my arms, flowing down into my hands, and tightening them into fists. I made a bargain with myself. I would punch him once, just once and then stop myself. With that satisfaction, I’d load him into my car, and once I delivered him home, our next meeting would be with the law between us. With a fistful of his collar, I yanked him forward, then drove the other fist full force into his stomach, doubling him over. I told myself to stop, even said it out loud. The first shot was too satisfying, though. His pained expression, the guttural sound he heaved out as he folded around my fist seemed to drive the waters back. I watched myself from somewhere upstream, repeating that first shot over and over. I knew I should intervene, but I couldn’t move myself to. A few more hits, and I managed to back myself a few feet, trying to get some real distance from the situation, wanting to regain some sanity. No sooner had I stepped back than I reached for him again. I spun him against the car and resumed flailing. As my fists pummeled his face, bending him back against the car, I asked him, "So, Henry, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounded in the bar like you were asking to have the shit beat out of you. You were, right? You were just asking for it, right? Just like Natalie and who knows how many little girls were just asking to be fondled or raped, right? I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone to come out and get all bent out of shape and try to stop me, now would you, Henry?" Whatever his reply was, it gurgled out between gasps of air. His broken nose was leaking blood not only into his throat but down his face and over his mouth. All of that was keeping him busy enough, but he was also trying to figure out how to make his arms do something useful to protect himself. That was alright, though, because when his arms moved to cover his face, I punished his belly. When he shifted his shield down, I shifted my aim up. Easy, right? You don't have to train for fifteen years to figure that out. My arms were tired, my legs, my whole body was somehow aching.  The flood was going down, the muffled sense in my ears was being replaced by my own rasping breath and pounding pulse. A small light, a flash of awareness, entered in. I was only making matters worse.  Henry would be consumed for his sins, yes, but so would my father, and so, most assuredly now, would I. Could I even go to the police with my accusations? Would everything be tainted by my rage? Everything had become a question. Some of those questions got answered very quickly, when in the midst of moving top to bottom, I swung wild and nailed him right in the throat. Suddenly, he had a lot more blood flowing into his throat, and no good way to clear it.  His eyes rolled and his legs wobbled.  Suddenly, all he cared about was the air he could no longer have. I’d seen that before, serving Extreme Unction in the hospital. He was leaving now, and I had sped him on his way. I let loose of his body and he slid slowly to the ground, flailing about like a dying fish. I stepped away and watched the spasms diminish. There was a mile between us now, and he was spiraling still further away.  I could take him to St. Mary Corwin – or maybe Parkview was closer, but he would be gone by the time I hoisted him into the car. In fact, as I was thinking that very thing, he left, his life energies gone like a fist when you open your hand. My gloves were bloodied. I was drenched in rain on the outside and sweat on the inside, but as far as I could see, only the gloves showed blood. Henry was dying, no, already dead. I could barely connect the two inside my pounding skull – my bloody hands, his empty body. Up to that point, I’d had no idea that anything like that was down inside of me. Priests are supposed to know what’s down inside their soul, or so we’re told.  It was just the two of us out there, and that hailstorm of violence could only have been my doing. I’d planned a showdown with Henry, but this was nothing like I’d imagined, nothing like I expected that I could imagine. I waited for my breathing to slow and steady itself, watching as the rain rinsed the blood off my car. Enough time had passed. I knew I’d have to act soon, do something to make things look right, look plausible, and myself look innocent. I yanked off my gloves, then in a burst of inspiration used a thin metal bar nearby to pry a hub cap off my car and stuff them inside. Surely, nobody would think to look there. I backed the car up a few feet so it was just shy of Henry's body. I took his wallet out with my handkerchief, stuffed the money into my pocket, then tossed the rest of it over by the trash cans. I checked for a pulse, confirming what I did not doubt. When I was satisfied that there was none, I took his body against mine and dragged it just under the overhang. It seemed right.  There was now blood on my coat, blood that would make sense to a cop. All that done, I took a couple of deep breaths, then burst through the rear door, shouting for Mike to call the police and an ambulance, and for someone to come back and give me a hand. "Henry was robbed and beaten in the alley!" I added. One of the dads from earlier, the one who looked ready to give Henry a beating himself sprinted back toward the door as Mike reached for the phone. When the man, whose name turned out to be Dale, got there, he found me cradling Henry's head in my hands. He watched me check his neck for a pulse I knew wasn't there, and his eyes for movement that I also knew was absent, then surrender to the inevitable. He also heard me say, "Don't worry, Henry. I'll tell Natalie you said goodbye." It was egregious and cruel, yes, but no more cruel than Henry himself, and no more egregious than beating him to death on the suspicion that he was a serial rapist. Plus, only Henry, God, and I would get it.  Really, all Dale could suppose was that I was carrying a message to a loved one.  I dug an umbrella out of the car and asked him to hold it over Henry for me. I leaned against the hood of my car, the headlight half obscured by my overcoat.  I tried to examine my knuckles without making it too obvious.  I didn’t seem to have any hard-to-explain abrasions, though they'd very definitely be sore the next day. Dale looked at me, then looked at Henry, and then back at me. "Ain't you gonna give him last rites, Father?" "Last Rites are for the living. He's long gone by now, but yes - there is still a blessing." I shoved myself off the car bumper and knelt again next to Henry. I made the Sign of the Cross on his forehead and began "Ego facultate mihi ab Apostolic Sede tributa, indulgentiam plenariam ..." as a lone siren made its way toward us. At least as far as God was concerned, he was absolved of all his sins, despite the fact that he had just become the only person likely to be healed of the aftermath of his actions. It wasn’t my preference, but it was my job. At my next confession, I admitted to being enraged and to beating a man, but I left off the part about "to death" so by any standard, it was an invalid confession. So have been all the subsequent confessions where I inched closer to honesty, but never achieved it.  For forty years, I've told myself that we’ve all been better off without Henry all this time. The next day, I went back in to settle up the tab with Mike. I haven’t been in Three Rocks since I paid the tab. Not only that, this next December, I’ll collect my five year year pin from AA. I wished that it was true, what Henry said, that wearing the collar protected me from the real world. But that's not how it is. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now.. Nor, evidently, does it protect the real world from me. Wherever you hide, the real world finds you.

[nurseperriestyles-blog]

Only Angel

A/N: Man oh man it took me forever to write this. I love Halloween and really wanted to post it, though, even if it’s late. Sorry for any mistakes or typos. Halloween, modern AU. <33

--

It was cold and damp and misty. The streetlights looming over the road bathed the wet asphalt in orange light, making it look as if it were glowing. The moon was hidden behind a thick wall of clouds that seldom broke apart. The trick-or-treaters had long since gone home, leaving the sidewalks empty except for discarded candy wrappers and the occasional group of teenagers that had somehow eluded a curfew.   

Every now and then, about one hundred yards away, one of the streetlight’s bulbs would overheat and the light would go out, draping that section of road in darkness before flickering on again after several minutes.

Levi kept his eyes on that spot of road, wondering if he watched long enough, when the light burst back to life, someone or something might suddenly be standing there. It was unlikely and too much like a bad movie, but the thought kept him from focusing too much on his impatience.

Hange had told him she would pick him up fifteen minutes ago, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He considered turning around and walking back into his apartment, but he didn’t want to walk all the way back outside when Hange decided to arrive, so he stayed put, eyeing the streetlight that refused to stay lit. At the moment, it was off, and Levi couldn’t pull his eyes from the twenty yard wide void.

Levi heaved a sigh and found comfort in the way the cold air stung his lungs. It made him almost miss smoking, a habit he had picked up as an angsty, rebellious teenager. He’d had several different foster parents by the age of seventeen, but the last family he had was especially maddening and he did almost anything he could possibly do to piss them off. When he found out that his foster ‘dad’ had been cigarette free for twenty years, he made sure to leave cartons lying about in not so subtle places, or he’d smoke two cigarettes right before entering the house everyday after school, just to fuck with the man, but he never said a word..which Levi supposed was worse.

Not that they were abusive or cruel or anything particularly horrible; they were nice people. The only decent family any of the social workers had bothered to find him. He supposed that’s why he had hated them so much. He had never belonged with that kind of family. Levi was not that kind of person.

A pair of headlights broke Levi from his thoughts.At first, his hopes had grown, thinking it was Hange; then he realized that Hange would be coming from the opposite way. The headlights sliced through the absence of light underneath the faulty lamp, and the nerve-grating sound of rubber sliding to a sudden halt met Levi's ears. He couldn't make out exactly what was happening, for the headlights were the god forsaken bright blue LED lights that the cocksure, meat-headed young men favored. They caused Levi to squint his eyes and wince slightly, all while muttering curses under his breath.

He was going to kill Hange when she pulled up.

Levi could hear loud music spilling out of the car when the passenger's side door swung open, and he could hear a feminine voice hurling the word 'fuck' at whoever was driving. Suddenly, the door slammed shut and the car peeled out, the tires almost losing traction on the wet road. Levi watched as the car, a brand new Ford Mustang, zipped past him with windows tinted so dark, he couldn't see inside. He could tell, though, by the ridiculous rims and spoiler, that the driver was probably a sharp-jawed dim-wit who addressed people as 'bro.'

When Levi looked back down the road, the light popped back on, and an angel was standing there.

It was movie-esque, really, the way she was just..there. He couldn't make out details from so far away, but she was unmistakably an angel. White,feathered wings sprouted from her back, a halo made with yellow glitter was alight from the lamp above her. The white dress she wore was glowing with an ethereal look that was almost unnerving.

She had her arms crossed over her middle, rubbing her hands up and down her undoubtedly cold arms, and she watched as the Mustang sped away. She stilled when she noticed Levi, and with an awkward wave, Levi finally recognized her.

Perrie Styles had been living in the same apartment complex as Levi for a year now, though he had never properly spoken to her. Any communication they had was either a smile smile as they crossed paths, or a 'how are you' if they were in the public laundry room at the same time. Sometimes, if the washing machine ate her quarters, he’d hear a slew of “fucks” and “shits” spilling out of her mouth. He knew that she was an ER nurse, not that he was stalking her or anything. She usually always wore scrubs and an ER name tag.

From the first time he saw her, he was only a bit enchanted by her, and a bit annoyed. She was polite, sweet and friendly to everyone, including Levi. She always smiled and said hello, she called people ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ and she never lost her patience with people when she spoke to them. He hated when she was nice to him; he didn’t deserve that.

Perrie slowly made her way towards Levi, taking deliberate steps to gauge his reaction. At his slightest twitch of discomfort, she would probably find a way to awkwardly play it off and walk back into the apartment building behind them. Levi, not wanting to scare her off, gently pivoted his body towards her, letting her know she was more than welcome to approach him.

As she came closer, he could make out her sheepish expression. He wondered why she had been dropped off on the side of the road like an unwanted animal. The thought irked him.

“Vampire?” she peeled one arm off the top of the other to point at him. He supposed the small trickle of blood on his chin tipped her off since he was only donning his everyday clothes.

He bared his teeth to her, letting her see the fake vampire fangs he had slipped over his cuspids. His eyes showed his disdain for the ‘costume’; it had been forced on him by Mike and Erwin, who were hosting the party Hange was supposed to be picking him up for. They had informed him that he were to dress up on his own, or the group was going to jump him at the party and force some horrid Wal-Mart face paint on him, and god knew Levi was not going to allow that. His skin crawled at the thought of all of their nasty hands smearing that goop on his face.

“I love it.” Perrie beamed.

“I like yours, too.” he stated, nodding towards her.

Perrie thanked him through a tight lipped smile, causing him to frown.

“Your night seems to have been cut short.” Levi cringed at how awkward he sounded, but Perrie simply shrugged.

“He was an asshole, so I made him bring me home before we even got to the party we were going to. That’s the last time I’ll ever let my cousin set me up on a date.” she sighed and shook her head, her eyes staring down the road.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Levi said sincerely, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, looking up at the streetlight above him.

“It’s fine..” Perrie trailed, looking back at Levi and smiling. “So, are you turning tricks out here or what?”

Levi blinked at her, causing her to blush slightly.

“You’re just standing on the side of the road..at night..all alone..” she explained slowly, avoiding his eyes and feeling silly. Levi realized what she had meant and chuckled, feeling like an ass.

“Oh, no. I’m waiting on my friend. We’re going to a party and she’s supposed to pick me up..” Levi glanced back down the road, his irritation with Hange for being late struggling with his reluctance to stop talking to Perrie.

“Why are you waiting on the side of the road?” Perrie inquired.

“She told me she was out here..twenty-five minutes ago.” Levi muttered, causing Perrie to snort.

“Oh, man. You need better friends.” Perrie laughed.

“You have absolutely no idea.” Levi ran a hand through his hair and smiled softly to himself. His friends were total assholes, but he wasn’t really sure what he’d do without them. They were the ones that needed a better friend than him.

“Hey, if you think she’ll be much longer, I have some hot chocolate I can make, if you’d wanna--oh, wait, here comes someone now.” Perrie pointed over Levi’s shoulder, and when he turned to look (all while praying to whatever god was listening that it was not Hange) he saw the familiar silver Volkswagen bug pulling up beside them.

Hange rolled down the window, a grin spread across the entirety of her face. Levi noticed she was wearing glasses larger than her usual ones, and an orange turtleneck. Her hair was down for once, and he assumed she was supposed to be Velma from Scooby Doo.

“This your date? You didn’t tell anyone!”

Had Levi not known how to control his face so well, it would have turned beet red.

Moblit leaned over her from the passenger’s side, a look of surprise and awe on his face.

“She’s an angel.” he said dumbly, causing Perrie to laugh.

“Hardly.” she replied, waving her hand at him.

“She isn’t my date, just my neighbor.” Levi wanted to cut his own tongue out for being so blunt, almost more than he wanted to rip Hange’s face off.

“So, she isn’t coming?” Hange and Moblit both looked crestfallen, and an idea suddenly struck Levi.

“Would you want to?” he asked, turning to her and catching her off guard.

She looked nervously between the three of them, unsure of what to say.

“I-I really don’t want to impose..” Levi felt bad for putting her on the spot like that, but for some stupid, nagging reason, he hoped against hope he could convince her to agree.

“You wouldn't be imposing at all. Please, let us take you out. It’ll make up for your bad date, and you wouldn’t have had to get all dressed up for no reason.” Levi was able to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to freak her out or anything. She hardly knew him, and didn’t know his friends at all.

Perrie mulled it over, rocking back and forth on her feet. A few strands of her messy blonde hair began to wrap themselves around the stem of her halo as a chilly breeze began to blow, and Levi tried not to stare at her too much..even though he was completely transfixed.

“Okay, fine. But you have to promise me you’re not all a bunch of douchebag, frat boys that have no respect for--”

“Angels.” Hange finished for her with a wink, causing Perrie to giggle. “Alrighty, then, let’s go! Moblit, out, out, out!”

Seeing as Hange drove the smallest car known to mankind, fitting four adults inside was a bit of a game of Tetris. Moblit unfolded himself from the front seat, allowing Levi and Perrie to see his costume for the first time.

“Giddy up.” Perrie piped with a smile.

Moblit flushed and moved his cowboy hat and lasso out of the back seat so Perrie could squeeze in.

“It was last minute..” Moblit replied, avoiding her eyes.

“Isn’t it adorable? He was supposed to be my Scooby, but I think this is cuter.’” Hange gushed, causing Moblit’s face to turn even more red. Levi let out the slightest snort of amusement before shuffling into the car behind Perrie, trying not to ruin her wings. There were already a few loose feathers in the seat beside her. As Moblit got back into the front seat, Levi and Perrie struggled to adjust themselves, neither one wanting to smush the other. Luckily, Perrie was about the size of a ten year old child, except her wings were poking his arm in an awkward manner.

“Lean up and let me put it behind you. Then you can lean back against it. It won’t matter if they bend or anything.” Perrie instructed, and Levi did as she said, resulting in her shimming closer to him to where there was hardly any space between them. Levi caught Hange’s smug grin in the rearview mirror and he had to resist kicking her seat.

“So, I’m Hange Zoe and this here is Moblit Berner. What’s your name?” Hange asked in a sing-song voice.

“Perrie Styles.”

“And Levi said you’re his neighbor? Are you two...close?” the implication in Hange’s voice earned her a glare from Levi and a blush from Perrie.

“Actually, I think tonight is the first time we’ve properly spoken.” Perrie responded, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress anxiously. Levi noticed her run her tongue over her lip in the spot he knew she chewed (not that he stalked her); he figured she was refraining from biting it so she didn’t ruin her perfect pink lipstick.

As Hange continued to interrogate Perrie, Levi tried to focus on the world whizzing past the car and not the smell of Perrie’s candy-like perfume, or the way her knee would bumps his as Hange hit potholes.

“Levi said you had a bad date tonight, didn’t he?” Levi rolled his eyes at how rude Hange could be sometimes.

“That’s not really any of your--” he started, but he felt Perrie shrug against his shoulder.

“Nah, it’s fine. My cousin Ty set me up with one of his shit-head friends. He tried feeling me up on the ride there without even bothering to be like, ‘hey, can I finger blast ya real quick?’”

Hange and Moblit burst into laughter and Perrie chuckled to herself. Even Levi tilted his head back as a sudden bubble of laughter made its way out of him.

For the rest of the ride, he stayed silent and listened to the three of them get to know each other, and he realized that each of them were good people, better people than him; he tried not to pay attention to that fucking voice in his head that told him he wasn’t anywhere good enough to be in the same car with these people, much less be friends with them. It was there though, and his mood was starting to sour.

“Will there be a lot of people here?” Perrie’s soft voice pulled Levi back inside of the car and he shrugged.

“Maybe not even twenty. Just our close friends.” he said, looking over at her. He tried not to jerk back when he noticed how close their faces were, but his heart slammed against his ribs nonetheless.

Her gray-blue eyes were wide and full of nerves, and she was biting her lip.

And for some reason, some absolutely fucking insane reason, he reached his hand towards her face, and with his index finger tilting her chin up, he used his thumb to pop her lip out from between her teeth.

Her brows were slightly raised in surprise, their eyes locked on each other for several tense seconds. Levi fought to control his face, keeping his bored expression locked and unwavering, despite the anxiety bubbling underneath his skin.

This girl is never going to speak to me again.

He tried to will the thoughts away, tried to ignore them, but he couldn’t. He had just crossed so many lines, and at the worst possible moment.

Who the fuck are you to touch her? She’s a goddamn angel.

She had literally just told them how she ended a date because a guy touched her without her consent, and now here he was, touching her. He scowled on the inside, thinking that if anyone had touched his mouth with their grubby finger, he’d have ripped it off and shoved it up their ass.

But..then she grinned, a blush dusting her pale cheeks and causing Levi to almost drop dead right there in Hange’s backseat.

Levi cocked his head to the side, relief jetting throughout his veins, and allowed  a small smirk to break the mask.

“We’re heeeere!” Hange’s shrill, nerve-wracking voice snaked itself between Levi and Perrie, effectively breaking them apart and ending the moment.

Levi sighed and waited for Moblit to get out of the car and pull the front seat forward, freeing them. As Perrie tried to maneuver herself out of the car without hurting her wings, Levi stepped forward and held the passenger’s seat belt out of her way, and held his other hand out for her to take.

He felt fire spread across his skin at the contact of her dainty, cold hand.

You don’t deserve this.

Levi watched the way she kept close to him as they made their way into Erwin’s house; she smiled at everyone she saw, but also averted her eyes when she noticed someone staring curiously at her.

The first to greet them was Connie, Jean and Sasha, who were standing on Erwin’s front porch daring each other do be the first to do a keg stand. When the trio caught sight of Hange and Moblit, they waved and gushed at their costumes.

Jean, who was dressed in a black pinstriped vest and pants, a felt black hat on his head, was obviously a 20’s gangster. He noticed Perrie first, but was surprisingly smart enough not to make a comment about her to Levi. Much to everyone’s amusement, Connie was dressed as a flapper girl, dress and all, after he had lost a bet with Jean, but he was much too drunk by now to be remotely embarrassed. Sasha sported a red cape with a hood and a basket in her hand, obviously Little Red Riding Hood; she was the one to mention Perrie first.

“Levi brought a date?” she was more than a little tipsy, and she sloppily pointed at Perrie, who was standing just behind Levi for protection. He liked the thought of that.

“Just a friend.” he corrected in an icy tone that would have shut the girl up had she been sober. Unfortunately, she was not.

“She’s hot, why isn’t she your date?”

Jean stifled a laugh and Levi sneered, but Hange stepped in before he could lay into the poor girl.

“Hey, who was going to do that keg stand?” she asked, drawing Sasha’s attention away from Perrie and Levi.

At least she’s good for something.

Levi glanced back at Perrie, who was smiling as she watched Jean and Sasha debate who would go first, while Hange and Moblit made sure Connie didn’t vomit all over himself.

“Wanna go inside? The rest of them are a little less..” he trailed off, nodding towards the group on the porch.

“Nosey?” Perrie finished for him as she began walking towards the door.

“I was going to say stupid, but that works, too.” Levi quipped, making Perrie laugh.

Levi led her inside, where the sound of music and chatter filled the air.

Erwin’s house was fairly large, so everyone was spread out in clusters. Levi noticed Mikasa and Armin in one corner of the living room, watching as someone in a horse mask (who he assumed was Eren) tried to do shots through the mask’s elongated mouth. Mikasa was dressed as Wednesday Addams, her dark hair in two braids and wearing a black dress with chunky black boots. Armin was simply wearing devil horns and a red T-shirt. Mikasa and Armin looked shocked when they saw Levi with Perrie, but they kept their distance.

“Oh, cool. It’s Sandy and Danny.” Levi heard Perrie say, and he looked across the room and saw Historia and Ymir. Historia had shed her usual innocent, coy look for the night and was wearing the classic black body suit from Grease. Her blonde hair was a mass of kinky curls, and she had a striking red lipstick on. Ymir was in a leather jacket and black pants, her hair slicked back. Her face was wearing its usual ‘fuck off’ expression.

“Want to get something to drink?” Levi pointed to the kitchen, hoping that no one else would notice them until he had at least some alcohol in his system. When Perrie nodded, he gently lay his hand on the small of her back and led her toward the kitchen.

“Oi, Levi!”

Oh, fuck me.

Levi stopped midway through the room and looked in the direction of his name.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.” Erwin Smith stood tall above Levi and Perrie, his eyes sparkling with a mischief Levi knew all too well.

“It was last minute.” Levi replied, hoping that Perrie wasn’t growing annoyed by all of the attention she was getting.

“I see. Erwin Smith, nice to meet you.” Erwin was all smiles and charm as he held his hand out to Perrie, who meekly shook it.

“Perrie Styles.” her voice was small. Levi assumed she was a bit intimidated by Erwin, who had the ability to fill an entire room with his presence. He was dressed as some kind of king or someone royal, in crimson and gold, Levi didn’t know exactly who he was supposed to be. His right hand was wrapped in bloody cloth, making it appear as if it had been cut off.

“You look almost exactly like him, except for the eyes.” Perrie commented, gesturing at Erwin’s costume. This caused Erwin to raise his brows.

“I had thought about doing green contacts, but decided against it.” Erwin said with a shrug.

“It’s still a great costume, nonetheless. Jaime Lannister is a great character. Book Jaime, that is.”

“I agree. Levi, where’d you get this one? I like her?” Erwin’s sly smile caused Levi to roll his eyes.

“The side of the road.” Perrie offered, and Erwin guffawed.

“Alright then. I’ll let you two enjoy the party. It’s nice to meet you, Perrie.” Erwin winked at Levi before walking off to join Hange and Moblit, who were now in the center of the living room talking to Mike.

Levi took Perrie’s hand and led her into the kitchen, hoping it would be empty and they would be spared a second alone.

Unfortunately, Annie, Reiner and Bertolt were standing at the bar, pouring shots for themselves. Reiner was topless and wearing torn up, bloody shorts. His face was painted like a wolf, and he had in yellow contacts. Bertolt had his face painted green, and bolts suck out of his neck, an obvious Frankenstein. Annie didn’t even bother to dress up at all.

“Hey, Levi! Want a--oh, shit. That’s a chick.” Reiner’s grin fell when he saw Perrie, a surprised look replacing it. Annie rolled her eyes and pushed herself off of the bar, excusing herself from the room; she had less patience than Levi.

“Hi, I’m Perrie.” she waved at the two gaping idiots and Reiner began to grin again, while Bertolt shyly averted his gaze.

“I’m Reiner.”

“Bertolt.”

“I’m sure she’s charmed, now scram.” Levi jerked his thumb towards the door and they two quickly grabbed their shots and hurried back into the living room. Perrie smiled at them as they waved at her.

“You must not bring many girls around them.” she said when they were alone.

“With good reason.” Levi replied, grabbing two Solo cups. “What would you like to drink?”

Perrie examined the bar. It was full of assorted snacks and drinks on one end, and bottles and cans of alcohol on the other.

“Red Bull and Vodka.”

Levi began mixing her drink and handed it to her, earning him a sweet ‘thank you.’

“Sorry they’re so annoying.” Levi sighed after making his own drink. Perrie shrugged.

“They’re just curious.”

“And rude.”

Perrie laughed and nodded. “Just a bit.”

Levi watched from the doorway as Mikasa tried to prevent Eren from doing something stupid, tugging on his arm and glaring at the back of his head. Erwin was nodding as Mike (who was dressed as a pirate, a fake parrot on his shoulder) talked animatedly, almost hitting Moblit in the face with the back of his hand. Ymir was listening to something Historia was whispering in her ear, and she suddenly looked towards the kitchen, probably trying to get a look at Perrie. Connie, Jean and Sasha had rejoined the mix, all stumbling and laughing loudly. Even little Armin was lazily swaying to the music.

“We can go back out there, if you want.” Levi said, nodding towards the rest of the group.

Perrie shook her head.

“I’m fine here, if you are.” she said, and Levi fought a smile. They were both leaning against the bar, her wing touching his shoulder.

“I’m fine here, too.”

--

“Thank you for inviting me. I had a nice time.”

Perrie and Levi were back on the sidewalk in front of their apartment complex after being dropped off by Hange. It was around two in the morning, the party having ended when Eren announced that he was dressed up as Jean, and the two began to brawl in Erwin’s front yard.

Until that point, though, the night had gone well. Everyone eventually got too drunk to care that Levi had brought a girl, and they treated Perrie as if she was an old friend. Though it took a bit for her to open up and have fun, she eventually joined them in drinking games and even a little bit of dancing at the insistence of Sasha and Connie.

“I’m glad you had fun.” Levi responded, shoving his hands in his pockets. He felt awkward and unsure and too tipsy to think clearly. He had really enjoyed the night, too, but with each drink, his self doubt and that fucking voice in the back of his mind grew.

Perrie was a sweet girl. She was smart, kind and brilliant. She had a quick wit that could keep up with Erwin, she had a sense of humor that made Reiner blush, and she wasn’t afraid to be herself at all. She was all of those kind, nice things that everyone had slurred drunkenly about her to Levi when she wasn’t in earshot. She was a good person.

And Levi didn’t deserve that.

They stood on the damp sidewalk, the cold air nipping at their skin. Perrie was smiling, because of course she was, and Levi was staring at the faulty lamp again, wishing he was better.

“I still have that hot chocolate, if you wanna come in.”

Perrie’s voice was nervous and unsure, but her pretty pink smile stayed in place. He stared at her for a moment and watched as she chewed her lip.

She had long since abandoned her halo and wings, they now dangled in her hand. Her hair was an absolute mess and had something Levi assumed was red lipstick in it. Her under eyes were smudged with purple and she looked tipsy and worn out. He wanted to kiss her then, under that faulty street light, but he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded, because she was good and kind and wonderful.

And she made him want to try to be, too.