Inky ^beta

Pure did not, in fact, miss the worst of Brutal’s carnage; it had only just begun when the angel caught up, where the monster on a mission had been prying his favorite hatchet free from the skull of one of the local mercenaries. He’d always been too busy tending to the church to pay those madmen any mind, so whether or not this was some act of holy retribution- unlikely, but he liked to dream- had yet to be seen. Much to Pure’s horror, the man he was for some unholy reason in charge of only continued to traverse into the fenced off territory. As he floated past the clean halved corpse, he winced; such destruction of the lord’s creations could only come from the depths of hell, he was sure of it. He didn’t bother kneeling, nor offering a prayer; the body below, forging a river of blood that pooled in an empty helmet, would only be one of many.

The stench of death that the desert winds carried was overwhelming, even for the immortal being; though he’d never smelled something so foul before, he’d surely never forget it. Despite it all, Brutal sliced through the never ending flow of BLU mercenaries like they were nothing more than thin air. The first had been their Soldier, Pure soon discovered. The Scout and Demoman had come barreling into the action not long after their teammate, though the inaccuracy of the sawn off shotgun and bombs thrown only generally in Brutal’s direction were no match for his freakish speed. At this rate, the angel would have to bless the whole territory to rid it of such chaos.

At first, Pure had only lingered as far as their divine connection would allow him comfort; so long as he kept his distance, he could hold onto mere shreds of innocence. All he had to do was protect Brutal, after all, and the freak seemed to be the only source of danger worth worrying about; truly, if he had the choice, he would have exorcized the man then and there. He could do nothing but supervise, not if he wanted to remain on Brutal’s good side. Much to his dismay, however, the monster seemed to be enjoying himself. Pure had never met a man so disturbed, not once in his decades serving the faithful. Perhaps it was his job to help the man repent, be forgiven for his crimes against humanity- if he wasn’t already beyond redemption.

The enemy was closing in. Unlike the first wave of BLU mercenaries- the reckless and the impulsive- the rest of the team remained more calculated, waiting for the time to strike over the desert dunes while Brutal was busy hacking at a long gone corpse. Pure noticed this much sooner, true to his vow to protect; he launched himself into the fray with no time to lose, enveloping the beast with his wings as bullets began to rain from the sky.

What escaped him next was a scream so piercing it nearly cracked his halo; he couldn’t help it, no mental burden had ever prepared him for physical pain like this. Even if he was designed to be immortal, he wasn’t designed to withstand anything so unbearable. He could feel every bullet sent through his wings and his suit, turning his porcelain white facade into a mural of an angel painted with his own blood. He left a trail of red as he was torn off of Brutal by force, stumbling back before he could float off his feet.

“Bloody ‘ell.. Why’d ya go n’..” The murderous freak’s fury was reignited, and somehow the guilt of angering him hurt Pure just as much as the bullets. “Fuck!” He’d only stopped for a moment to catch his breath when he was sent back into battle, slicing the approaching Spy in half with aggression he hadn’t previously retained.

The angel’s feet didn’t hold him up for long, sending his knees into the desert dust below to be caked in even more filth. Guilt was a new, despised feeling. He’d done exactly as he was supposed to, so why did he fear Brutal’s scrutiny more than the jurisdiction of the lord? Since there was surely no way to pray like this, he got to work; one by one, prying the pain of endless bullets from his wings and biting back weak willed whimpers.

He knew Brutal was looming over him when the sun stopped bathing him in heat, and the shadows that covered him mirrored the dark abyss of hell itself. The angel only looked up with reluctance; sure enough, he stared into the same undying fury.

“Ya said ya wouldn’t interfere.”

“And I did not, I only protected you.” Pure had never spoken so timidly. “And besides, I’m quite alright. I am immortal, after all.. Your protection is of utmost importance, and it is my duty to God-”

“Ain’t no God worth.. this.” Brutal motioned to the gruesome scene, bullets splayed on the ground before the bloodied angel, with increasing disgust.

“Cela me convient, je suis content,” the angel’s insistence was weak at best, as he continued prying bullets from the fresh holes in his suit. “I’m glad you’re alright-”

“You talk too fuckin’ much, angel.” His last strike was more half hearted than anything, an axe clean through their Medic’s shoulder blade to cover his tracks. “We’re done here.”

“Ah, bien.. I will just be a moment.” Sure enough, his wounds were healing as soon as he’d spoken; he’d never expected to use such powers on himself.

Pure yelped again when he was flung over the brute’s shoulder, wings flapping in reflex and obscuring his vision until they were shoved out of his way. But Brutal’s much rougher hand lingered on the cloudlike feathers, if only for a moment, a patch still stained by blood; though the angel couldn’t see his expression, he could feel the man’s tenderness. Again, he was struck by that treacherous guilt.

Brutal couldn’t bring himself to feel any better. Sure, the thrill of the kill was always the rush to brighten his day, but seeing the angel go to such lengths to protect him simply ruined it. There was no way he’d admit it, or anything he felt really, but he wouldn’t dare to wish such pain on someone so innocent. It was tragic irony to see someone who didn’t deserve this fate throwing himself into the line of fire to fulfill some cowardly God’s orders. Would he wish the pain of a thousand bullets on his enemies? Every single one.. but not Pure.

By the time they returned to Brutal’s rather lacking home the angel had already prepared for scrutiny, landing clumsily on rarely used feet and following the other inside in fearful silence. He slid into place, cowering at the mere sight of the freak as if he’d snap at any moment.

Instead, and miraculously, Brutal had shifted from bloodlust and disdain to a hopeful hint of concern. “Somethin’ wrong, blue?”

“I already told you, do not worry about me.” His voice still trembled, shaking off fear that now seemed pointless. He needed, desperately, to pray; his hands clasped together on their own, eyes fluttering shut to drown the world around him and hope the much less holy one wouldn’t protest; unfortunately Brutal did just that, not even sparing a warning as he pulled his hands apart to lead him off the table.

“Ya need some rest, love. Ya look drained.” Despite their proximity- surely, the shackles of divine connection weren’t tormenting him so close- Pure couldn’t bring himself to breathe until Brutal stepped out of the way between the angel and his bed.

“This- this is not necessary, I assure you.” No matter how much he protested, his immortal body had never felt so weak; clearly, the freak was more than he’d ever expected to handle on his own. “I do not need sleep-“

“Sure looks like ya do,” Brutal nudged him closer, almost taunting him with the now tangible idea of his very own sweet dreams. “A little nap won’t hurt ya, will it?”

For a man designed to never rest, he sure did feel exhausted. He couldn’t even bear to think straight, let alone weigh the consequences any longer, when the memories of pain piercing indestructible skin played over and over all over him. “Very well..” It was a peculiar feeling, sinking his feathery weight into the mattress- now that he’d thought about it, for the first time ever. Peaceful was an understatement. He felt as weightless as the clouds; if this was what cloud nine felt like, he’d have to visit sometime. The quilt he pulled over his suit, even rugged and torn at the edges, was a warmth unlike anything he’d ever felt; comfort, security, even solace all seemed foreign to him. It was always his job to provide those luxuries to others, Brutal included; it was a shame he’d missed out on them for so long.

Pure had passed out in the blink of an eye, surely allowing an eternity of restlessness to catch up to him. Clearly, keeping the peace was never Brutal’s strong suit; still, he wouldn’t dare to disturb the serenity of an angel’s first slumber. He was so innocent, so out of place.. in a way, Brutal felt like he was the one supposed to protect him. And so he did, moving more carefully than ever before to kneel beside the bed and rest there instead; though, he wouldn’t confess even to himself that he was too mesmerized to take his eyes off the dreamy deity, white lashes that glistened like the moonlight as they’d fluttered shut and the glowing wings that had- half naturally, half awkwardly- folded into the bed. He couldn’t help it.. the angel had managed to win him over, after all.

Pure never wanted to leave the freedom of his dream, and he wouldn’t have if he had the choice; but waking was inevitable, and he was begrudgingly revived by the harsh rays of the sun long before he was finished with his paradise. When he turned his head to shy away from the light, he spotted the man who’d offered him the bed in the first place; he was thankful, indebted even, for that priceless moment of liberty.

“..Brutal one?” He’d whispered without thinking, only to fear the grumpy consequences; fortunately, the freak seemed to be turning a new leaf, somehow waking up at ease.

“Mornin’, angel..” Brutal’s voice lacked his usual disdain, even if he sounded sleepy; the angel wondered what kinds of dreams a monster like him could have. “Feel any better?”

Pure remained cautious, nodding slow even as he curiously chased the urge to stretch. When Brutal did the same he finally recalled their predicament, and felt terrible about taking the bed even if it was offered; he didn’t have the chance to express his guilt before the freak disturbed his thoughts again. “Good dream?”

“Ah, oui.. It was so lovely.” He recalled what he could again with a murmur and a yawn, flying free with no worries but the chirping of the birds that soared around him. “I wish to go back..”

Brutal’s demeanor struck the angel as odd. There was no taming a beast like him, not with this little effort. Yet Brutal seemed not only humbled, but worried as well. That perplexed Pure more than the visceral rage, until he remembered where he was, holding the grumpy freak’s bed hostage. Still Brutal wouldn’t force him out of it, he wouldn’t even complain; he simply couldn’t do anything but meet the angel’s gaze.

It felt wrong to overstay his welcome, even if the usually inhumane one strangely didn’t mind; on the other hand, Pure couldn’t stand the thought of moving, not even for his morning prayers. He needed a compromise, fast; his sluggish body acted with a mind of its own, tugging Brutal closer until he complied and pulling him onto the suddenly confining mattress. Even cutting his space in half, the cold blooded freak’s warmth was all he needed to drift right back towards his dreams.

“So this is an angel’s hug, huh..?” Brutal whispered- or tried to, not exactly soft spoken- to the angel buried in his chest.

“Do you like it?” One wing draped over them like a blanket as the angel giggled to himself, thoughts fogged by the prospect of sleep by the time he glanced up towards a facade of indifference.

“Free drugs ‘ta me,” though he pretended not to care, Pure was clearly unsatisfied with his answer, pouting and folding back the wing he’d offered. Just as he’d given up on the brute’s repentance for his words alone, he put the pieces together.

“Hm, are you saying you could get addicted to it?” The angel didn’t intend to sound so sweet; his own voice stung like the prongs of the devil’s pitchfork.

“..Git back ‘ta yer dream, mongrel.”