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whumpitisthen · 1 year ago

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The Shepherd Wolf

Previous I Masterlist I Next

"I have a favour to ask."

The sky is cloaked in grey and misty with fog. The Sun — that bleeding, crimson orb watching over everything has hidden under the earth, bringing forth a colourless light painting every leaf of vibrant orange monochrome instead. The Moon shines whiter than Auden's holy robes ever did, barely resembling the rags held together by thin thread and caked in blood around his abused torso. It is interesting — how it almost seems brighter in the night than in the day. Another cursed consequence of Hell's invasion; reinforcing darkness and corrupting light.

It's quiet, almost peaceful. His bare feet drag along a stone path leading miles and miles into a more mountainous region of this Hell, as opposed to the flatter, hotter environment that surrounded Miss Thu'lin's residence. Charcoal and magma are replaced by nature, grey blades of grass tickling his ankles and thorns catching his robe on alien looking bushes. The temperature has changed greatly, chilling him deeper with every step nearing his new destination. His trembling hands keep him standing upright, gripping onto a black cloak fiercely. The coat of his new captor.

His grey, lost eyes observe his surroundings in a kind of muted wildness, failing to take in anything at all. He walks by the terrifying man leading him, floating in an ocean of numbness. Eyes flit about lazily with fatigue, yet frantic with anxiety; his body half frozen solid, half corroding away like rotted wood. His breaths wheeze just enough to sound concerning, shivering along with his skin. They almost appear to stop completely at random intervals before hiccuping quicker for just a moment, then returning to his long gasps like before.

Like before… He puts his face close to the worn, black fabric, feeling no warmth. In a way, the lack of heat coming from the Reaper grounds him, not letting him float away from this terrible place. This awful, horrible place, filled with murder and sadism and pain and cruelty. Where the rivers are red from the blood of slaughter and the animals transform into all kinds of horrid monsters from demonic influence. War, destruction, gore —

"A favour? After all of this, your reason for this show of destructive idiocy is a favour?" — Miss Thu'lin's voice booms incredulously through the room of corpses, making Auden flinch. 'The Reaper', as she addressed the canine skull-wearing, scythe-wielding, shadow-cloaked bringer of Death so casually, seems humoured by the insults flying from her mouth. He straightens with his blood soaked, silver adorned hands behind his back politely, a lazy smile peeking out from behind that terrifying mess of dark tendrils and bone. Auden has trouble taking his eyes off the prevent streak of dark red across his mask.

"I can't help but find an outright lack of hospitality whenever I come around to visit. I wonder why that is." — he muses aloud as if she wasn't even there, examining the horrid collection she seems so proud of. He finds interest in a wall of divine sigils, stepping to the side to gawk. A whine catches his ear.

"What makes you think I would do anything you ask of me?" — She seems furious, yet there is a newfound bravery to her voice that is not missed by him. He hums and turns around, his heavy, measured footfalls sending shivers down Auden's back. Something else has caught his eye. — "Did your owner finally grow bored of your annoying dog face? Are you here to beg me for another gift to appease him?"

The man wanders back to one side of the room, to a pedestal with a glass table. Halfway up the pedestal the body of a demon soldier lies. It's missing a leg. — "For someone who claims to be uninterested, you certainly ask a lot of questions, my lady," — he chuckles lightly, disinterested in her various attempts to hurt or humiliate him. He stops in front of the corpse, looking at it curiously. He leans down a fraction, letting long, snow silver hair fall from behind his cloak, — "It's impressive how still you are despite your wound. Your hammering heart is the only thing giving you away."

Clearly aimed at the still body on the floor, his low voice rouses the half alive demon with panic, slowly lifting his head to find the menacing figure talking to him. His breaths come faster and faster. In a last ditch effort, he starts crawling away from the threat, instinct and adrenaline driving him forward. The Reaper lets him, watching happily as he draws blood across the floor tiles.

"The games you like to play so much have given me ample experience in spotting your horseshit from miles away," — Miss Thu'lin retorts, simmering more with fury the longer she spends in the vicinity of this man. She watches the show with mild disgust, only getting angrier by the minute, — "and I was in the middle of something before you ruined everything like you always do. So I would truly appreciate it if you were to be straightforward and drag your crusty ass out of here as soon as possible."

The Reaper looks positively mesmerised watching the poor demon flee with great difficulty. Auden's stomach churns at the sight half hidden behind his captor standing in front of him — he has never been so glad to have a demon standing so close to him, especially one that plans on stuffing him and hanging his corpse from the ceiling. The presence of this, this creature that finds such joy in agony and has such proficiency in causing it is overwhelming him with such an incredible horror he has never felt before. It's like kneeling before a giant.

"Oh, but you always find a way to cut my fun short, don't you?" — comes the whine of a reply from said giant, acting more exasperated than he truly is, — "So impatient. I know we are not quite the same age, but hundreds of years must have taught you by now the importance of finding bliss in the small things?"

His voice deepens once more and his expression darkens, overtaken by a lust so potent it sends a chill down Auden's spine, — "Like this little one here."

The scythe lifts again, and the panicked cries of the demon are heard past the slow steps of the Reaper nearing them. Auden would scream for him not to hurt them, but he is much more terrified of being shown similar interest in than to save an already half-corpse of a demon who would have probably hurt him just as much in another world where they weren't sliced in half. Still, to be witness to such blatant cruelty has the angel's guts in knots.

Frantic begging comes next, then sobbing, then the sound of a blade flying through the air. Finally, a wretched scream, long and agonising, shaking the core of everyone in the room. It does not end; the wailing continues and sharpens as the scythe digs into the back of the demon, the Reaper slowly, lazily pulling further and further down, opening up their spine to fresh air.

When the tortured voice ends, the Reaper looks positively bored. He kicks the corpse to the side and sighs. — "Stayed alive just to give me such a pathetic show. I expected a little more crying at least. What a disappointment."

"Reaper."

"I know, I know."

That same teasing smile is back on his face, the one that shows clearly how little he cares for the destruction he brings — or the amount of time he wastes.

In a moment, he is gone. Dissolving into shadow and then nothing at all in just a millisecond, his voice comes from beside Auden suddenly, — "I smell the Doctor's stench on you. It seems I came just in time."

Miss Thu'lin roars and strikes at him immediately, catching the corner of the table Auden is strapped to. The angel cries out, wishing with everything he has he was in any other position than helplessly tied down like this. The Reaper's haunting laughter taunts them as it echoes through the room like a chorus of spirits. — "Absolutely not! Don't you dare even look at it!"

He materialises behind Miss Thu'lin, and she snaps around with another hit, aiming towards the Reaper's head. He dodges, then dodges a second time as she keeps attacking, simply sidestepping and ducking every blow. The fifth must have been too much, as the scythe comes out from behind him to counterattack, catching a lock of her hair with incredible precision. The Reaper doesn't look angry, tired or even bothered. In fact, his grin only widens with each swing.

Auden doesn't think he's even trying.

"You must have been quite lucky to get your hands on one of these. He's quite the rarity, you see," — the Reaper says matter-of-factly when the Dragon Queen backs off. She hesitates, looking quite intimidated by Death's weapon. It must be that if nothing else, the Grim Reaper's very scythe must be able to reap even her soul, no matter how powerful she is.

"I know," — she spits, hands clutched tight. She watches his eyes stick to the angel again and spreads her wings threateningly, — "so keep your filthy hands off it. It does not belong to you."

A dangerous smile. Sharp eyes. Intrigue. — "Why do you refer to him by it? You say it as if he's a corpse already. Like he doesn't matter to you at all." — That horrid, blood red glare leaves Auden for just a moment to spear her instead, and he gasps in a breath he didn't know he was holding, — "You wish to put him in my care then? Another lost little soul, to belong to me. How kind of you."

"I did not say that. Take something else, I don't care, but you will only take this one over my dead body." — Looking down at the Reaper with spite and pure hatred, she wishes she could tear off that condescending, devil-damned smirk of his the same way he tore her entire castle apart. The Reaper stares back at her just the same, though his disdain for her is perfectly hidden behind a façade of carefree, confident attitude and a beguiling, charming grin tailored just for her. Miss Thu'lin must be at least four feet taller than him, but height doesn't count for much when one of them could have the other's heart in his hand in an instant, if only he wished to. He must have had good reason to go through her unfortunate servants first — he knew already that taking this angel would surely let the Queen of Dragons loose, and even if he would still survive that, many others would not.

"Oh, well," — the Reaper chuckles lightly at her wording, — "You know just how to make the most enticing offers, don't you? See, I've been curious for a long time. What would happen to the order of things if the queen was buried? I reckon it should shake things up a bit. What does it matter to add another dead body to this ocean around us?"

No answer from Miss Thu'lin. She does not back down, but she doesn't entertain the threat either. She knows there is a certain possibility that the Reaper might decide to eliminate her right here, especially if she keeps refusing to give up the angel. She doesn't care. She has waited far too long for her collection to be finished, and she will not live with the embarrassment of letting it slip from between her fingers like this; like many other times.

After a minute of intense silence expecting an explosion of violence, The Reaper laughs again, letting his scythe drop lazily with a thud of metal on the floor next to himself. — "I must commend you, my lady. Quite the rock solid conviction to a direct death threat."

She breathes in relief and hopes no one notices her restlessness. — "I do not care for bluffs."

That makes him chuckle. It is a much more genuine sound than the maniacal war cry of cackles he had been letting out prior to this, yet the warm growl of Death's laughter is certainly less than encouraging.

"Naturally."

Auden's wide, glassy eyes snap up at the hooded figure, having managed to fish himself out of his own head. The man smells of death and blood. His breathing is slow and unnatural, almost nonexistent. He walks with a gait most resembling one of his superiors; perhaps even an archangel's — tall, precise, undeterred, powerful. At the same time, the way his balance dances from side to side could only be described as nonchalant, or even casual. In a way, Auden thinks, he walks without a care in the world while he holds in his hand the power to destroy it completely.

How could he not think like that, however, after what he was captive audience to?

His mind is filled with fuzzy images of red and pink, of splatters, of lightless eyes, of screams of terror, the shattering of spines and excited laughter. He can see, clear as day, as this man wearing a canine skull for a mask and cloaked in living shadow cuts through a crowd of creatures with such speed and efficiency that it takes a moment for his brain to comprehend. So quick, so sudden, that he is still trying to comprehend it all as he follows that same man to a place he does not even think to think about. His staring is noticed after a while, and he hides in the rough coat fibres from the vermilion gaze.

"It's always a pleasure speaking to you, Queen of Dragons. You must give me a tour of your collection sometime,"

"After today? In your annoying, idiotic, sick, boot-licking, wet fucking dreams. Get out of here already, before I burn down your entire world." — she bites out with endless venom, kicking the now shattered table across the room in rage. The glass equipment left behind does not break further, as it fell well beyond repair from the first kick.

A kind smile is on the face of Death, his gaze pleasant and gentle as he observes the little angel. He has managed to strike a deal with Miss Thu'lin — or rather, blackmail her into accepting it. In a sense, it's a mercy, leaving her soul to reside within her body, as opposed to the Grim Reaper's grasp. No more violence for Auden to live through.

Death does not drag him, he does not shout at him. His intentions are hidden behind his back, holding that massive weapon that has caused innumerable death. All Auden sees in that moment is a scary, powerful man who has saved him from becoming the final project to this awful museum. A protector, a saviour, untouchable, terrifying, an escape, safety. Finally, finally safe.

If he wasn't so exhausted from all he has gone through already, he would rethink those thoughts for certain; however, he cannot bring himself to untangle his brain from survival more just yet.

He shuffles up to the man uncertainly, looking between him and Miss Thu'lin. The Reaper looks down at him with curiosity, a tilt of his head showing interest. He is clearly observing Auden, and Auden is observing him in return. The angel isn't quite sure what to do, awkwardly shifting from one exhausted leg to the other, losing his courage as his eyes lower to the floor in silence, unable to keep up the staring contest. A hand dressed in silver jewellery and some form of black paint enters into his vision. It reaches out in front of him, palm to the ceiling. A greeting?

He holds onto the hand with both of his with such care that he barely holds it at all. He flinches from the first contact, the Reaper's skin feeling unnaturally cold, then shifts his vision from the hands to the eyes watching him and back again in quick succession, waiting to be told if he is doing bad. Truly, all he wants is to have something to hold onto, another body that does not hurt him. It's all he wishes for.

Death's hand twitches, causing Auden to flinch again, but all he does is pull a thumb across the back of the angel's hand in a comforting manner. He seems approving, yet surprised as he watches him. He clicks his tongue when Auden looks up at him with the wide, fearful eyes of a lost child, seemingly taking a liking to him at that moment. Finally, he pulls on the hands holding his, and leads the angel to his side.

The Reaper's eyes land on the Queen once more, — "Ah, always such a way with words, Miss Thu'lin. Awfully crude."

He flips his scythe, and Auden pulls his wings ever closer, afraid of losing them suddenly from a swish of the blade. Another bow of the head, and the Reaper turns to leave, Auden following quietly behind, — "May we meet again, my lady." — he sings, a haunting echo decorating every syllable like a chorus of the dead, or a church bell's ring.

The Reaper looks at him with a certain fondness that doesn't truly match Auden's depiction of what Death should look like. He smiles at him kindly without those sharp teeth glinting from behind bloody lips. He never shoves, never grips, never pulls or touches or mocks or breaks, — his arm does not even flex under the thick coat Auden hugs so tightly. He merely lets him breathe in the smell of massacre, leather and cold, leading him down a path like a wolf disguised as a shepherd dog leading its lamb.

It's much colder now than ever before. The angel shivers not only from a muted terror, but the solemn winds of the night air. His wings do not cover enough of him to fully protect him, yet he barely even cares. He hasn't quite gone past the fact that he is still breathing. What his body feels and experiences is far away from him, almost like the world of a different person. There is no more space in his mind to care for such luxurious issues like goosebumps.

They come upon a large black iron fence — hard to see with the unnatural colourlessness of Hell's nights — stretching along into infinity on both sides. Behind it is a thick forest, going up and up, ending in a mountainous top miles and miles away. His ears, though he doesn't recognise it for himself, hear absolute silence. Not even the sound of wind dancing along the leaves of trees, or the buzzing of nocturnal insects. A deathly nothing surrounds them.

They come to a halt under the towering gates, locked tightly with chains connecting in a massive bond in the middle. It looks ancient, overgrown with roses, thorns adding protection against unwanted guests. Even through the cotton in his ears and the fog in his eyes, he can feel a bone-chillingly unnatural power emanating from the gate, and the woods behind it. Something powerful resides behind it all, nipping with its tendrils at his naked legs teasingly.

"A moment, dear."

The Reaper's sudden mellow voice jerks his shoulders, pulling them higher to hide his neck between them, curling his body towards the sleeve warmed with his own shallow breaths. The balance between manic fear and keeping his own consciousness alight is protected only by this veil of safety; this warm fabric that grounds him and shades him from everything, if only in his own mind. A single wrong step could send the angel down an animalistic, screeching, wild path of panic, where the only way the Reaper would be able to lead him where he belongs is through means of sedation. Auden is in a fragile state, and his saviour is more than aware of this.

However, his unrelenting grip on the man's arm and the whimper slipping out of him beckons a small, light-hearted laugh from him, — "I know it's scary, but I cannot open the gate with both my hands captive."

Auden only holds him harder, looking up at him like he's asking him to sever his very own hands just so he can continue hugging his arm. The man gives a small tug, hoping to gently shake him off, yet only succeeding in scaring the angel further. When those lovely blue-purple irises find his gaze, swimming in shimmering tears, smelling sweeter than anything, it is only a matter of millenia spent mastering patience and self-control that helps keep the Reaper's jaw locked tight as it is; rather than locked savagely around the flesh of the adorable angel's delectable neck. Nothing of the sudden lurch of hunger and lust makes it past the carefully disciplined expression of gentle kindness on his face, but a single sigh, disguised as fondness and nothing more, — "not a fan of returning favours, huh? Keeping me trapped like this when I just freed you — ah, but I'd lie if I said I'm so trustworthy. Perhaps you're right to keep me."

With a motion as effortless as if it were a simple walking stick, the Reaper stabs his heavy scythe into the earth. Its blade digs into the ground with no issue, cutting it apart like butter. He lifts his now free hand in front of him, armoured and coal black, enveloping the chains of the gate with tendrils of black, working them apart languidly. Auden never wonders how his magic works, what caused his arm and patches of his skin to turn so void dark, for his body to emanate such a thick mist of cursed fog to hide in. It's only fitting for someone like Death, he thinks, and he does not wonder further. What matters is that he is here with someone who fought — and slaughtered — an army to have him, and he can only thank his Lord for granting him the mercy of another chance. He only cares to stand at his side, the side of one who intimidated someone so powerful and feared as Miss Thu'lin with only his mere presence.

A familiar type of dread for someone like Auden; for an inhabitant of Heaven and the land of his Lord, to command people with the mere fact of His existence.

The lock clicks, snapping open in an instant. The chains flow apart like a parted river, opening the entrance to the forest flawlessly. The Reaper's blade swiftly finds its way back in its owner's hand, pulled out of the dirt just as easily as it went in. The silver claws of the blackened arm clink against it, drawing a shiver down Auden's spine.

They walk past the gate, entering the lush, mysterious woods of silence. Behind them, the gate closes on its own, locking itself tight. Auden feels a strange weight on his skin overpowering the already present weight of exhaustion, leaning more and more onto his escort. The man does not even spare a glance, — "We are almost there, angel. We have entered your owner's home; I hope it's to your liking. If it isn't, do not worry — I'm sure you won't see much of it ever again."

His owner's home. He guesses it's par for the course to be considered property; nobody down here has ever considered him to be anything but. He does not need to be anything more as long as he is useful. An angel only deserves mercy as long as he is useful — and Fallen, they only live so long as they are. He only hopes that whatever this man sees in him remains, and amuses him so for a long time.

They walk in silence for what feels like an hour. Auden struggles to keep his eyes open, and the Reaper does not talk to him any longer. At one point, he begins humming a haunting tune, lulling the angel deeper into a daze, stumbling along his side clumsily. The only thing keeping him on his two feet is his hold on Death's arm dragging him with endlessly.

He misses large portions of the journey, blinking in and out of awareness. One moment they are in a forest clearing, the next they are climbing a mountain path towards the top, and yet more time later, he spots a massive building hidden away on the other side of a stone bridge connecting the two peaks. The thick walls and tall tinted glass windows only rouse him for a second before he wanders right back into his own head.

"Just a little longer, love, a bit longer. Come," — the Reaper calls to him when his knees buckle, just a small distance from the bridge. His ears are buzzing, his eyes flow with more tears, his breathing is uneven. He cannot walk any longer. He is far beyond exhausted, having already pushed himself far further than ever before. His fuzzy vision finds his saviour, but his mumbled prayer does not make it far enough to be comprehensible even by the sharpest of ears. For the first time, Death's expression changes just slightly, not enough for Auden to decide if he is angry or concerned. — "Come on. Get up. I've already dragged you this far, don't collapse on me now."

The angel tries, truly tries his best, but he simply cannot walk any more. His legs do not work right, his head feels heavier than a boulder, his poor wings drag behind him like dead weight. He tries to plead, if only wheezing and coughing, — "Pl-please, mercy, ha-have — " — cough, cough. He finds his own throat to grab onto, experiencing human thirst once again as his voice catches on dry flesh. His tears flow freely, — "Can't…I can't…"

Auden only hears a sudden noise. A whistle of something flying through the air, the screech of it connecting with something metal, and then the explosion of debris as it burrows into the wall in front of him.

He freezes, but his reaction time is nothing compared to the Reaper's. By the time he realises what had happened, the scythe that protected him from being impaled by a desperate Miss Thu'lin has already been primed for another attack. The spear that was aimed at him was deflected precisely, a pair of crimson eyes pinning his attacker to the spot. If Auden could have seen the expression on the man's face, he might have passed out from sheer terror.

"Utterly bold choice, Miss Thu'lin," — the Reaper growls, his polite, melodic voice morphing into one low and dark, the purr of a predator, — "to swallow all dignity and crawl in the dirt like all your vermin, rotting beneath my blade. To fight with a nerved, audacious cowardice unexpected of someone your stature."

The silence that stretched between them was deafening. Auden was too scared to move. Miss Thu'lin was, too. Her daring final effort of shameless selfishness did not let her think far enough to think of the consequences. Now, she stands like a deer in headlights, without even the satisfaction of having torn the angel from Death's grasp.

The Reaper smiles, sharp lines of anger prominent, as if thoroughly amused by the queen's actions. He straightens his back, quickly returning to a relaxed, yet sanguine stance, letting his head flop back lazily as he grins at her viciously. — "Fascinating show of power, Queen of Dragons, truly fascinating. I will be sure not to overestimate you ever again."

With that, he turns and pushes the angel forward, leaving Miss Thu'lin to marinate in her shameful loss and blood of her servants.

It all disappears from sight again — every tree, the bridge, the building, his saviour. It all flows into a river of colours, melting away into nothingness and surrounding him in void. His hands slip from the Reaper’s coat, feeling sharp rocks under fingertips as his body lands on the ground. His knees scrape open, letting pure crimson soak into the earth. Through his irregular breathing and misty vision he cannot make out anything but the pain in his lungs and the terror eating him alive. The Reaper might be talking to him, or he might be left all alone, he cannot tell the difference.

He remains there and cries, cries for a long time. He feels Death's claws running down his spine, the intense observation of the Doctor warming the back of his neck, Miss Thu'lin's smoky breath on his cheeks — he cries out and pleads, yelling for the hellish cacophony to stop. For a second, he thinks he is going insane with all these images and sounds and feelings, and the next —

He feels plush duvets, a pleasant temperature and the smell of processed wood and fabric. The sharp pebbles digging into his skin are replaced with silken comforters and a delicate mattress that lets his legs melt out from under him.

The sudden change in gravity and circumstances distracts him from his meltdown, replacing hysterical delusions with what at first seems like more hallucinations. Upon further inspection, and a great deal of mental deductions, he decides that the lavish, pristine room he was plopped into was very much real. The ever gentle expression of his saviour watching him concur this fact makes it easier, grounding him further. He returns to a more manageable state in just a couple minutes, to the relief of his escort. His crying stops, his yelling disappears and his shivering lessens to the same rigid, wide-eyed, confused level he was stuck in before.

Auden is looking at the man like he is seeing things, and for all the Reaper knows, he might be. He comes close to him, leading his torso further onto the bed patiently, silently ordering him to lie down with a hand pushing him down. Auden does so, fearful of everything as ever, subconsciously letting his fatigued muscles relax. Death smiles at him, pulling a deep emerald blanket over him sweetly. — "Comfortable, isn't it?"

The angel stares at him, furrowing his brows. He looks like he is going to panic again, his eyes snapping around the room, his fingers gripping the comforter harder, another teary whimper climbing out of his throat. Before he could descend again, Grim leads his attention back to himself.

"Angel, angel, angel… Shhh. Look at me." — His hand, the one without armour and unnatural inky blackness enveloping it finds Auden's face, keeping him still. His voice holds no urgency, only patience. Unending, benevolent patience. — "That's it, keep those beautiful eyes on me. That's lovely."

A stray tear escapes his wild eyes, caught by a cold thumb. Those red eyes glint in that particular, non-safe way again, but the glint is gone as quick as it appeared, returning the blood red into a tame crimson. — "There is no need to fear, darling, none at all. I brought you here to rest. No one will bother you, I made sure of that. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Auden does not agree, but he doesn't cry either. His thoughts are slow, yet restless. Steadily, very steadily, Death feels his heart slow. He wishes he was any better at navigating these types of situations. Then again, he is not used to adoring, trusting eyes such as this newly Fallen's. — "I will leave you here, now. No, no, I will return later," — he quickly adds, — "once you are well rested. You are safe here, and I will not be far. All I ask is that you sleep well. From the darkness under your eyes, I assume that will not be much of a challenge."

The utter reverence he sees in the troubled little Fallen is simply divine.

"Poor blackbird; they taught you so well. It goes in one ear, and out the other. Mindless worship and endless submission." — His words cut, but Auden doesn't even flinch. In his deepest lows, one returns quickest to what they know well. For an angel, the veneration of power, divine or otherwise, comes as easy as their naïve trust. This one sees him like he is his new God. If he was aware enough to realise, such sacrilege would burn his face and consume his subconscious. The Reaper is sure it will, with time.

He summons charm to his eyes, growing bored of this abundance of useless grace. It's entertaining, for a while, to play along and show endless tact to those that do not deserve or appreciate it — Miss Thu'lin's lack of decorum in return to his sweet words always even manages to bring a smile to his old friend's face, for example — yet, even the undead tire of endless charades. His sudden cold look aimed at Auden has him pulling at the soft silk around him, using it as a pathetic shield to hide behind. However sweet it is to watch the angel's endless terror, Death is not known for his merciful deeds.

"Sleep for me, angel."

Auden passes out in an instant. His breathing eases out, his body loses all stress.

Grim turns to leave, stopping only to take one final look at the newcomer. The first Fallen in the last three centuries. He is endlessly curious why that is. A special case; it must be. He cannot wait to find out more about him.

He hopes, above all, that the angel will be a good enough gift for his Lord.

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spacegaywritings · 4 years ago

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Warming Paws and Melting Hearts (1/8) “One Man’s Trash is another Man’s... Cat? “

Teen and Up audience

Summary: Remy does not know how to be a decent human being and he usually is too impulsive to interact with others in meaningful ways. However, he loves animals and his heart beats for them. When he meets the little street kitten Virgil, he takes them in... maybe he does have a shot at talking to his soft crush Emile if he learned how to care for another person?

Tags: mentions of the vet, abandoned cat, mentions of food, cuddles, snuggles, remy being a lil shit, insults kinda, playful teasing, mentions of gore (in metaphors) and head injuries and acid, migraines, headache, chronic pain, mentions of pain, mentions of death (all for shits n giggles bc Remy is a salty hoe), nobody gets hurt, Remy is just a lil shit, mentions of human waste (body waste).

- i do not think there is any more to be applied. If you need me to add anything, please contact me here or on my tumblr (spacegayparty, spacegaywritings)

This is part of the shipping series (Remy x Emile x Virgil) “Pol-opposites and other Riots”. Find it here on tumblr and on ao3!

chap 1: ao3

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut: (Wordcount: ~5,3k)

The day was crisp, it was cold outside and the air smelled of ice. If winter had a certain scent, it was this. Akin to smelling the wetness of nearby ground after and before rain, it smelled of frozen ground and red noses.

Lucky for Remy, it was not too deep into winter just yet so he could wear a dark sweatshirt, thin yet long-sleeved at last and not freeze his nipples off. His signature black leather jacket (of course faux leather, since it was more flexible and comfortable to him) covered his shoulders and engulfed him with a certain warmth. It was a lid over the cooking pot of his natural body temperature.

Other than that, the purple strands in his hair held the frame of dark glasses - sun glasses, to be more specific. It did not warm him, specifically, but it shielded him from the mean sun rays.

Was there sun? Not really.

She was in the process of lowering itself, her descending figure spilling the light of life over the horizon and bathing the world in warm streams of her last cranberry streams. Her usually yellow to intensely golden illumination danced over his hands. He held a drink in one of these hard plastic cups with permanent drinking straws belonging to it. It was about as cool as the world around him, edging on icy. This was not too surprising, judging from the actual chunks of ice in his drink.

The shades of dark treasures mixed into the scarlet juice of the fading sun. The lights coated the world in new creation, the start of something that has not been there before, but few people stopped to mind the graceful kisses of light onto their skins and the little waves of natural beauty peeking into their vision.

Remy was not particularly one to appreciate the sun either. The blessed souls who were to adore and value the beauty around them were more mindful than the exhausted worker. He had just exited his job and wanted his weekend to start. In addition to that, he was motivated by the sun causing him pain. Her rays practically chased him off the streets. His tired eyes avoided the reddish gleams coming from the side. While he enjoyed the warm shine tanning his hands for a short moment, it hurt a bit too much for his liking. Instead, he thought himself as a clever person. He turned his back on the last bit of natural light and took a turn since he was at the end of the street, luckily.

He walked on, his jeans doing little to keep him warm. His breath was forming wet clouds of fog before his face. Kids would pretend to be smoking or have dragon breath when they stepped outside and got to breathe the cool air of late December afternoons. Remy just wearily breathed to stay alive as he walked back home.

His workday had just ended and he had stopped at a nearby coffee place - his favourite café! It was in walking distance from his work place and his home - before heading home. It was a usual thing to do when he slid into a weekend and decided that his migraines were not as bad as to give him any reason to avoid caffeine and extreme temperatures. When enjoying iced drinks, he should not exactly be suffering from pain already but neither should he consume scalding beverages.

Remy’s lips caught the pink glitter straw of his drink and once he had drawn the plastic cylinder close enough to suck it into his mouth, he did exactly that in order to treat his flaring taste buds with the deliciously sugary treat. Sweetness and the heavy taste of roasted coffee beans skimmed over his tongue. He was left with the idea of this syrup like treat of a drink in his mouth. The caffeine and low temperature seemed to immediately drive up into his head.

Being an experienced fan of iced drinks, he knew better than to immediately inhale the whole drink despite the great taste that brought a wide smile to his usually rather stoic or even condescending lips. If he was to go too fast, his brain would hurt. Since he was prone to chronic pain, there was no need to trigger the whole procedure of nausea and throbbing, continuous agony once more.

He drew in a deep breath and blinked at the way before him.

Grey pavement, some leafless trees framed the pavement and marked the difference between road for cars and the one for walking, much like a fence would. Except this fence had holes all over so people could run from one side to the other.

Before his heavy, black boots, little heaps of brown and dry leaves could be seen and the increasing level of winds swept around his thickly protected feet. As the strong breeze pushed past his form with blind ignorance, they pulled up the leaves in a mysterious dance. Heaps rose into dresses of imaginary fairy friends and took a few steps together with the crushing winds before an obstacle hit them and let their brief union fall apart. The leaf-clad figure would implode, their parts scattering all over the similarly colourless ground until the wind would pick up again and repeat the process tragically.

The worker walked on, aiming to find his way back home with the last rays of fire red sun tickling his neck as he strove away from the source of heat. It seemed that the further he walked, the darker it got. The colder it got, the more grey there was around him.

Whether his environment received the last kisses of precious life when the sun bid them farewell was a mystery. Maybe the sun was trying to drag the last bits of life from the surroundings in order to come back with more energy once she had processed all the stolen goods.

Remy’s steps leaving a dull sound with every step he left on the stone ground beneath his coal boots.

All he heard was the distant whirls of air running like the waves, coming close and suddenly fading and retreating in slow, shameful movements with the intention to have a more forceful go at the the leaf fronts next time.

He pushed his sunglasses away, letting the greying world around him make an impression on his unfiltered vision for the first time ever since he had started work. His weak orbs wearily eyed the way before him and he stopped for a moment to blink and assess the situation.

Was it dark enough? He did not dare looking up into the awfully white-haired sky of seamless cloud patches.

He blinked at the world and let his free hand rub his eyes with a little bit of mental praise for the effort and risk they were fearfully taking on for his own pleasure and curiosity.

His greyish-blue orbs roamed over the world around him and he sighed in relief. Next to him was a small alley, shady and narrow but a great short-cut to get to the other side and buy his eyes a bit more time to get used to everything until the sun had fully given up on emanating lights like a rich kid who had it all but actually felt nothing and needed to brag with the wealth of possession and energy.

Yeah, why not. Looked dirty but everything on this ground was full of spit and long forgotten piss anyway. Just like in the life of a rich kid, Remy thought to himself.

With a shrug, he pushed into the alley and took another big sip of his dark beverage with just enough undertones of sweet and soft tastes gracing and rewarding his whole mouth. He squinted for a moment and stepped forward but immediately stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a sound dive into his mind.

“Meow”

Remy retreated the straw from his lips and looked around. It took him a while until he found the little bundle of fur next to his feet. At first, he was not sure whether there really was anything more than a blob of darkness, perhaps just shadows from the sun setting dusk. But what he could see was a pair of different-coloured eyes staring up at him, accompanied by another meow.

A cat, actually, a very small little kitten with fur as dark as his thick boots was curled up next to him, making sounds so miserable it even reached Remy’s cold heart. That had to say something since it was about as icy as the world around him or the drink in his hand.

He did not know whether he would have done that at any other moment, under any other circumstances other than these.. all he knew was that he knelt down to the kitten that immediately shrieked in surprise and moved away from him. The movement seemed like a graceful curl, something he could not quite describe or follow. The darkness of shadows served as perfect environment for the kitty cat to use its fur as camouflage suit like a sneaky chameleon.

“Hey kitty. You lost?”

Emerald and azure orbs stared back at him, merely visible due to the sheer size of the small cat’s irises in the darkness.

It was comical to him that the cat had the most globe-shaped eyes he had ever seen. Something drew him to the kitty. It was hard to describe but he lowered himself and his hand set the drink down next to the cat. It did not move but the void sniffed at the cup and stub its damp nose against the cold surface of the container. After that, it flinched away as if shocked by the touch. In a heartbeat, it crawled away from the strong smell of cold-ridden, milked coffee beans.

“Alright, I did not wanna share anyway, you queen”, he commented with a sour expression painting his face.

The man gently drew his now free hand over to the kitten. It hissed at first and he nearly retreated but he decided not to. Instead, he let his hand rest on the ground for the little animal to examine it. More sniffing occurred, followed by the cat’s tracks somewhat stirring. A paw landed in his palm and Remy could feel something in him melt.

The cat patted his palm a few times as if to test the ground and let out another meow. This time, the kitten stared at him and stood up more properly. It still seemed a little ducked but it was not exactly in the same crawling position as when it merged into one with the shadows of high buildings. The shades were thrown out by buildings in a way, they were high enough to be protecting the animal and keeping an eye over it like a worried parent would watch over a toddler.

In reality, the cat was alone in a dirty, cold alley.

“You may be a salty bitch but you are still cute”, Remy mused softly. He was talking to himself, yet in a way, he was still addressing the cat.

Somehow he could not bring himself to just move on. Something told him that the cat did not exactly want him to go either.

“Well, sucks that I don’t have any food for you at the moment, right? I bet you would like some - hell, I’d like to feed you, little queen. You would probably be super cute when eating out of my hand, huh..”

Talking about that.. why not? For just a moment, Remy considered taking the animal with him - ... but was that even okay to do?

“Are you out here all alone, little kitty? You seem too small to be outside or without someone else like a friend or, you know.. a mom?”

The man blinked at the kitten who returned his complex questions with simple kitty sounds that seemed to drive straight into Remy’s heart, once more. It moved him, touched places within him and let his facial expression rest into a more relaxed one. T

here was nothing stoic about a melting man.

“So you are a stray kitty cat, huh? Sucks to be you, honey. You look hungry.”

Remy looked over the little blob of raven.

It looked way too fragile and tiny for a tough stray cat. He did not know much about the streets but he was sure that the weather was not exactly in favour of a kitten surviving all on its own. He.. he should take it in, should he not?

The man was still in deliberation as the cat curled up before him.

The wind picked up and weaved through Remy’s hair that curled around his sunglasses in strands almost like a flower crown of purple. The icy breeze brushed over him and the kitten, the scarce fur being ruffled by the natural force and the kitten let out a pathetic, nearly pleasing sound as it curled up further.

Was it that cold?

“Come here, kitten.”

Remy cooed softly, his words swaying through the air and charming the cat enough to look back up to him. There was a warmth he was offering when the world around them was cold and cruel. The cat was crouching a bit by now - once again, no surprise. But at least it did not try to put any more distance between it and Remy.

He gestured a stop sign.

“Kitten, wait”, he demanded and carefully shrugged off his leather jacket. At least it was a bit too big for him to be a comfortable fit. Since he had started working out more in the gym, his clothes fit better. It was not a size too big or anything, it was just cozy and allowed him to have proper movement space. As clothing should provide.

Without too much movement, the kitten hissed already at him. He changed his position and shifted in order to get his jacket loose. The young cat ducked, staring at all his body. Every movement of his muscle was noted by a flinch of the cat’s face or a little jump of its ears.

His sweatshirt underneath was thin and tightly hugging his body shape. It was not enough of a protection against the icy cold. Still, he set the jacket down .. oh man, his fucking favourite jacket on the shitty, piss-ground in a trashy alley in the dark.

Why did he do that again?

He heard a meow. His lips immediately broadened into a smile and he patted the inside of his jacket that was facing upwards to the grey, whitish sky.

“Come here, kitty cat, I will keep you warm. A queen like you should not be outside without the proper fur~”

Whether the black bundle of fragility understood the man or not, it carefully pawed at the new material and found it to be much warmer than the icy ground around them. Quickly, it took the hint and moved over onto the warm blackness that matched its own fur so well. Its inner chameleon seemed to sniff safety in an environment where it could disappear by simply merging into the background. The kitten curled up on the dark hole beneath it and meowed in delight.

It .. it started doing this funny vibrating sound. It reminded Remy of vibrations from a text message just a little more organic and vocal rather than a muffled sound.

It was clear and direct.

It went right through his heart.

“You like that, huh? Come here, little queen”

He carefully picked up the bundle and the kitten shot up, panic in the bi-coloured eyes. It nearly jumped out of his grip but was soothed when he carefully folded the jacket around the kitten. Slowly, silently, while maintaining a lethargic rhythm, he mumbled little encouragements as he moved to cradle the animal in his arms and rise to his feet. Again, the cat did not take it too well and rose once more, paws pressing against his collar bone. It looked back at where it used to stand with longing in their paws.

Maybe the cold was better than a stranger’s warmth?

Remy was standing by now, a bundle of possibly dirty street cat all wrapped up in his favourite and near-holy jacket. It was his personal relic but he was willing to share it with a freezing fella just for the sake of making that miserable little kitten a little bit warmer. After all, it was all alone and forgotten but had no protection or any other things to help itself out.

His hand gently stroked over the back of the kitten.

“There there, little queen. Come on, I will get you into the warmth and get you some food.”

As he started walking, he felt the first flakes of snow settle onto the ground around them. Little ice pieces landed on the curious kitten which tried to paw at the cool sensation before giving up and deciding that Remy’s chest was warmer to rest against.

By the time the worker had forgotten about the idea of regretting the abandonment of his weekly oh so icy treat, he was home and instead took his new melting treat into his apartment. He could not care less about his drink right now. All he thought about was whether he had enough food at home that was suitable for a kitten to eat.

Time to go through his cupboards and shelves and scavenge the internet for important information on kittens.

He got inside.

This had been much more tiring than expected but at least he had the kitten in safety now.

He settled on the couch and let the kitten down, carefully leaving it to to get out of the leather jacket by itself if needed - it more than willingly did. It dragged the leather jacket along and hid in a pile of pillows that sheltered the cat mostly. Back to being a flag of camouflage, now in his home. The kitten systematically pushed the jacket down to make some sort of bed out of it, if Remy had to guess. It looked like it was giving a massage to his clothing by pushing its paws against the fabric until it stayed down, flaccid and obedient as the cat had planned.

After this, the little queen proceeded to defiantly lay down on it, paws crossed and face focusing on Remy. He could nearly hear the hiss coming from it but the muzzle stayed shut.

Meanwhile, the human was giving the animal some space and looked up what the fuck cats were able to eat and opened another tab to look up vets. He already got a number within seconds.

“Queen, you are a sassy little cat but do me and yourself a favour and stay put. I will call a doctor and see whether I can give you food or not. Stay.”

He gave it a look. The cat stared back and eventually meowed before breaking eye contact with the man.

Well, that sure meant the kitten was okay with it and understood, right? Surely. Cats were super smart after all. If dogs could learn all those funny tricks then cats sure as fuck would be able to do that.

Remy left the room and went to the kitchen as he got on a phone call. He did not have any bit of cat food and he was somewhat concerned over what would happen if the cat was to be left alone at his place all of a sudden. It was better to take the cat with him or feed it something he already kept around.

Cats were bitches, right?

Like, not literally, obviously but still in the sense like humans were bitches, every now and then. Less in the sense of a female dog but more in the sense of being an arrogant and salty diva.

Yeah, maybe the cat was a queen because it was very much like some salty, self-righteous bitch. Who knew.

Remy kinda liked it. He was already thriving on the potential bitch vibes he got from it.

Still, from all the internet had told him, there was only super cute kitty cats that made people swoon and got you into someone’s pants or the kinda cats that did all sorts of odd things, but in a weirdly endearing way. And then.. then there were the uncaring and arrogant shits that only liked you when they wanted you and other than that used you as slave for food and drinks and that was it.

Well, the crazy fighter cats were also a thing but it seemed like such a thing from the last decade, he could not even take it seriously anymore.

Aggressive cats were not a thing, right? So, out of fashion.

Remy got to the kitchen and washed his hand. It was kinda common knowledge but he had also read that he should probably do that.

Yeah, probably. The internet was always right.

While he got a vet on, the cat got out of the pillow mess. Head ducked and tail low, the kitten checked the area before rushing out of its hiding spot and into one of the rooms It was warm inside, it was so so much warmer than outside. The kitten took the jacket along as it found a little box in some room and settled in the comfortably tight space. It was basically a big comfortable cave. Well, it was kitty-sized and just perfect.

Soon, the call was over and all the necessary social bullshit was done with. When Remy returned to the living room, he only found the kitten to be lost when he returned to a jacket missing. Hey, that was his favourite!

Fucking cat. Maybe this one really was a bitchy kitten. Maybe they were real, like, for real!

“Hey, kitty? Kitty, you got my jacket. And you fucked off. I gave you one job, I swear, darling”

No answer.

Well, what the fuck did he expect from the cat?

“Hey Queen, where are you at?”

No reply.

He groaned.

They had a fucking appointment.

Nothing went right that day, did it? He was totally supposed to take a nap and then get ready to party and not shelter a cat. What the fuck was this shit even?

When thinking about the shelter he had to provide, a thought crossed his mind.

...Snacks!

The cat must have been fucking hungry so maybe he could get the kitty to cooperate with him and get into a box or something.. or back into the jacket. Maybe the jacket was with the cat.

Yeah, that would help in locating the little bitch. A fucking black cat and a jacket just as dark in the surroundings of his home which was essentially kept dark so the light would not trigger his photo-sensitivity and fuck him into worse pain than usual.

Fucking fantastic.

He brushed a hand through his hair, sighing in exasperation and carefully took hold of the sunglasses he had kept on top of his head.

After some time, it hurt him.

Fuck, his body was such an annoying pussy sometimes. Wearing it on his nose was fine but keeping it on his head was totally much pressure.

“Kitty cat?”

Remus carefully approached the couch, looking over the pillows and turning some over. Slowly, gently. Stray cats were often feral or like,.. shy or scared or something. At least, that was what the vet and the internet had said.

Somehow he felt trapped with this cat and if he did not befriend it, then he would be in trouble.

So, for appealing the cat, he needed to find it and somehow give it some food and coax it into tagging along to the vet.

“Where are you, darling? Come on, do not challenge a bitch. No matter how much of a queen you are, you don’t wanna fuck with me, alright? Come on, you are not like that, right? Please don’t be a little shit, I totally don’t have the nerve for this shit, honey.”

He carefully lowered himself onto the floor and checked what was underneath the couch.

Nothing.

Ugh, it just hurt to do all this moving and bending. He could feel his head become heavier with every move.

“Cat, come on. I don’t have time for it. You are not that special, just come out and let me get you to a medic - vet. Whatever! Let me get you to someone who can handle you.”

He kept walking, eyes looking out for a movement or just anything. Maybe just the hetero-chromatic eyes that would stare back at him with a certain gleam, a certain wetness yet miracle in these orbs. Cats kinda were magical. They seemed to be at least good at disappearing for no reason, all random and without trace. That was some kind of magic, too.

“Oh kitty cat? Come on, stop being like this. I am nice, I will give you food and pay for your bills like some hot-ass sugar daddy. I know doctors suck, but please don’t hide.”

Still nothing.

“Do you even understand what I am saying? ‘Cuz, like, you are pretty unresponsive despite the honey I am giving ya, hear me, darling?”

He looked over the bookshelves and the little reading corner he had made himself. It was accessible when exiting the living-room. It barely counted as a room, it was just a dark pit of warmth and books and it smelled great. It was an oriel, not a real room. But whatever. It did not matter. Architecture was not up his sleeve.

“Kitten? You in here? Come on, queen. Don’t be like that. I wanna nap. I got food, don’t you want some fucking food?”

Silence.

Full stop.

A meow.

His heart was beating again.

Hope!

“Queen? Where you at?”

The kitten meowed but there was still no movement.

The sounds seemed to come from lower than where he was right now. Time to see whether the cat snuck into the bookshelves or behind them. He kept the lowest spaces empty until the books would just be too much and take up the space anyway.

“Queen, come on?”

Another sound - not quite a meow but uh.. something like that. More a ‘mrow’ or something of that sort.

Good hell, Remy did not even know anymore.

He knelt down, carefully examining the bookshelves. The lower spaces were all empty, nothing to look at.

“ugh.. caaaat~”, he dragged out.

The man let himself drop fully, his body just laying there much like the corpse in the middle of a recent crime scene.

“Where are you?”

He felt shot, so shot already and it was such a young evening, still. He had a full weekend ahead of him and his head was hurting so much. His frontal lobe felt heavy, close to just dissolving into nothingness with acid eating it up right in his head and it was pushing against his head.

Remy let out a groan, his eyes slipping shut.

Everything was too much.

He was close to just giving up when he could feel a damp spot press against his temples.

The man simply whined in response. He sighed in took his last bit of effort into opening his mouth to speak, then his eyes to see.

“This better be death, I swear to fucking hell.”

Nope, fucking hell no.

It was the cat.

Of course it was.

“Queen you are killing me. Already. Is that why people with pets are old? Because they want to die and know pets will do the trick if kids can’t? “

“Meow”

The kitten sniffed his face and Remy remained on the floor, opening his eyes more, so he could stare back at the kitten.

“You totally need to be washed and taken to the vet, kitty cat. Come on, let us go.”

He carefully got up, groaning under his breath and holding his head.

“Come here, darling”, he mumbled.

He crossed his legs and patted his lap. The kitten padded over to the book box it had stayed in. It was the box in which his latest shipping of second-hand books had arrived in. It smelled old and great, like paper and miracles, stories untold and feelings unwritten yet full of sparks of imagination and so many possibilities.

It smelled of magic.

It gently patted the jacket and dragged it over.

Remy looked over at the cat, eyes half-lidded. It felt so heavy.

The little stray kitten stopped pulling the piece of clothing when arriving at Remy’s leg and patted his knee.

The man giggled.

“Do you really think I am gonna share that with you, honey?”

The cat sat down and looked at him, patting his knee again. Remy gently reached out for the kitten and pulled it into his lap. The cat’s limbs went into every direction, flailing wildly until it was settled on his thighs.

“Maybe you are not so bad. You got totally good taste.”

He chuckled to himself but quieted down right after, gently brushing through the fur of the obsidian kitty on his lap.

“You found me, got the jacket. You are really going for it, gurl, huh?”

The kitten purred, literally vibrating under his touch and pushing into the soft affection. Maybe that kitten was not so stray after all. It seemed used to human touch after all. But it was not used enough to the cuddles. Otherwise it would not cherish them like this.

“What are you actually, little void? Male, female, androgynous, a demon? Immortal? Deity of chaos? Did you come to rob my house? ‘Cuz you won’t find lotsa shit here, honey.”

The cat looked back at him.

He stopped stroking its back and looked at the little black hole before him.

“I am listeeening, hon~”

The cat tugged at his hand and patted it, leading him over to its head again and pushing its little skull against the palm of his head.

The fur seemed even softer around there.

“Hey kitty cat, why are you so trusting? Shouldn’t you like, try to eat me and slit my wrists and all those wonderful things you void cats do?”

The cat had picked up purring again, the soft vibrations gently travelling through Remy’s skin as he carefully scritched its neck.

“You know, I have know idea who or what you are but you are my little queen now unless we know better. I have seen, like, no indicator of anyone missing you, so you are either freshly straying around or nobody misses you because you are a fucking bitch, honey.”

“Mrouw!”

Remy chuckled again.

“Yeah, whatever you say, little horror block. Let’s get me cleaned and pumped up on pain killers and I promise you can stay in my jacket. And when we get back we see that I order, like, some chicken or whatever for you to eat. The internet said chicken is hot for cats. Just, like, not actually hot. And not with those bones. Bones are bad for little shits like you, right?”

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