Inky ^beta

“To us!” Brutal cheered first, tipping his stolen bottle of beer to clink against the angel’s unsipped one.

“Oui.. to us.” Pure only murmured back, peering cautiously into the bottle like it was a dangerous chemical. “I’m not sure I should be drinking this..”

“Ah, nonsense!” The freak was already chugging his own bottle down, remarking between gasping breaths. “Don’t ya Christians drink wine alla the time?”

“Well, yes..” Though he hadn’t tried it since his most recent assignment to Brutal, Pure had once been an angel to dabble in the church’s supply every so often. “I suppose it’s not so different.” He finally shrugged it off, slowly, hesitantly bringing the bottle to his lips, and…

It tasted awful. Still, he was polite, awkwardly swallowing it and placing the beer down to hopefully neglect it for the rest of the evening.

“So what do ya angels usually do for Christmas, anyway?”

Pure smirked. “What do you think, ma brute?”

“Pray, pray… ‘n don’t forget the prayin’. Well, ya won’t be doin’ that this year, that’s for sure.”

“..I apologize, I should have thought to get you a gift.. you were too thoughtful.”

“Hey, it’s a few hours ‘till midnight. I could run ya back inta town, show ya the best places ta steal from..-“

“Non- I mean.. I’m sure I will think of something.”

“Alright then,” the freak shrugged, only to pause with concern as his eyes glossed over white feathers as they fell. “Are ya moltin’ again, love?”

“Hm? Non, it will be a while before..-“ Pure, too, paused. He didn’t want to believe it, turning only dreadfully slow to witness another feather as it fell.

“I’m sure it’s nothin’. Prolly the winter, right?” Brutal patted the angel’s shoulder even as he remained frozen in terror, though the freak had turned away to get to his own work before he noticed.

It couldn’t have been nothing, as much as he wished it was. This had to be the beginning of the end- of his end; he’d received his warning, it was repentance or the fiery depths would await. His wings ached, he wasn’t sure if it was his reluctance or some greater power. Still, he didn’t want to ruin Brutal’s holiday; he would try- in spite of everything- to wait it out.

Unfortunately for him, the freak had already noticed the barely sipped beer bottle as he reached into a bag of stolen goods beside it. “Not a fan? Figured ya wouldn’t like it,” Brutal remarked with a shrug, downing the bottle himself as he replaced it with the thud of a much bigger bottle of wine. The angel seemed relieved by the sight of a drink he was more accustomed to, though there was no glass for him to pour it into.

“Oui, that is much better..” He sauntered over to take the bottle in his own hands, giving the freak a perplexed look as he waited for a cup. “Well, did you happen to steal us a glass?”

“A glass?” Brutal chuckled, taking back the wine to pop off the top and take the first sip. “Don’t be silly.” Then he tipped it towards Pure, placing it on his lips and leaving the angel no choice but to chug; by the time the freak showed him mercy, he was gasping for air.

“I cannot believe you!” Pure huffed, though it wasn’t so easy to stay mad whenever Brutal smiled down at him.

“Loosen up a li’l love, it’s Christmas time.. How ‘bout ya get some rest, I’ve got a lotta work to do.” The angel didn’t need to hear much more, sinking back towards the mattress as soon as the idea was proposed. Part of him feared it was a terrible idea to completely ignore the orders of the archangels; then again, would anyone even notice if he took a holiday break?

Though he wanted to jump at the offer, he couldn’t sleep. Before long, his thoughts were far too muddled for any rational fear; instead, he was clinging to Brutal’s waist as the freak sat beside him with his newly stolen whiteboard.

“Bugger..” He grumbled under his breath, wiping away an incoherent doodle with his thumb.

“What’re ya drawing, mon cher?” Brutal gave his slurred, barely audible murmur a side glance.

“An escape plan.. Heh. Right on a Christmas mornin’.” He tapped the marker across the poorly drawn map of the town, which Pure could only barely decipher.

The angel most definitely couldn’t tell what he was nodding at in the mess of- probably houses? He was sure the stick man with a giant machete was Brutal, at least. “You sure do enjoy Christmas, don’t ya?”

“Yeh, who doesn’t? Heaps ‘f families huddled in one spot, perfect killin’ spree long as ya find a good neighborhood.” With how calm the freak whispered, Pure could’ve sworn he was talking about something as mundane as trick or treating.

“Oh..” The angel was still trying his best to decipher the board, though he was starting to realize his own inebriation was to blame for the tiny marker houses blurred together. Perhaps this could work in his favor; so long as he was meant to protect Brutal, he wouldn’t stop now. Even if his wings were on their final stretch.. He had to try. “May I? Perhaps, after..” The angel drew in delicate strokes, first a circle around the very last house and then an arrow up towards his own stick figure rendition. “This home.. I could lift you outta sight. You are much less likely to be hurt this way.”

“Crikey, well done!” Brutal patted him on the back rather rough in his excitement, before holding the board up like it was a masterpiece. “Didn’ even think ‘f usin’ ya, angel. That works, that works.”

Pure was, undoubtedly, flattered. “I.. I’m happy I could help.”

“What, assist wit’ murder?”

The angel’s grumble as he turned away made it clear that he was not so happy with that analogy. “Well, when ya put it that way..”

“‘M just messin’ with ya, love.. Thank you.” Even after the freak gave him a kiss on the forehead, Pure continued to pout; Brutal had already ruled out the tantrum as a side effect of so much wine at once, though he didn’t rule out what the angel had to say just before he drifted off.

“Bien sûr.. Je t’aime, ma brute.”

Most of Pure’s ramblings in French weren’t much more than that- just ramblings, even if he would pick up a word or two every often. Those words, however… he remembered them well, from the countless times he’d heard the same phrase in Gentle’s presence all those years ago. The freak couldn’t help but feel giddy; Pure loved him, too.

Brutal hadn’t lied, this Christmas would be unlike any other for the angel. Though he’d never expected gifts, waking up intertwined with the freak- even if he did so every morning- was better than any present he could ever ask for. Still, he found himself pacing again.

”Merry Christmas, mon ange. What troubles you?”

“..Joyeux Noёl. And here I thought I was finally rid of you.”

”Never, ever,” the demon sang, in unusually high spirits. ”Today is a big day, don’t you think?”

“Not for you.. Don’t you demons despise this day?”

”Only as much as you.”

“Funny,” judging Pure’s grumble, he wasn’t so impressed. Nothing could cure his splitting headache, not a single spell he tried or a single prayer. He’d expected that much by now; divine connection was slipping out of his grip steadily. “I don’t suppose you could leave me alone today?”

”If you wish,” the laughter that ensued was more chilling than the demon’s cryptic, short responses. ”You won’t have to worry about me for much longer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The demon was silent, clearly pretending to be long gone. “Impure..!”

Then, much rougher hands wrapped around his waist from behind; with all the demon had done, Pure had to glance down and make sure it was truly Brutal behind him.

“Ready, love?” The freak murmured, head lowered to the angel’s shoulder with a grin Pure could feel on the lips whispering into his ear. “Are ya alright? Ya don’t usually talk ta yerself like that..”

“Oui, it was- just a prayer,” the lie was blatant, and Brutal obviously didn’t buy it, though he didn’t budge either way.

“Well, alright..” Both took a deep breath; the angel calming his terrors, and the freak calming his excitement. “Let’s do this.”

Pure stood nervously close to the car long after Brutal had sprinted away from it, hugging his new coat close and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the symphony of screams slowly reaching a crescendo. On any other day, it had hardly mattered; but something about this much bloodshed, this much chaos on a holy day- no, the holiest of them all, felt much more real and much more wrong. He only relented to move a few steps bit by bit as the tether started to irritate them both, eyes still closed as he followed the feeling of relief.

He didn’t want to see it. The mercenaries had been different; most hardly had a moral compass to begin with, he doubted even more that any of them were men of good faith. But civilians, those holy and pure, would die permanently on Christmas day by Brutal’s hands. The angel lamented that it took him so long to doubt; until the freak was waving him over again, shouting his name, sending Pure into an instinctual reaction to open his eyes and face the music.

“Over here, angel!” Brutal shouted over the disaster surrounding him, prying his machete free from a skull as he waved the angel over.

Once Pure’s eyes had locked on the freak, he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. He stumbled in Brutal’s direction silently, his thoughts all but present; if he hadn’t done enough to sin before, this was surely the nail in his holy coffin. All of this bloodshed and pain, only for mortal temptation; so why was he assigned to protect the freak in the first place?

For the first time, he lingered on the thought. Brutal had never needed protection from some divine force, he had hardly made an effort to repent and serve the lord.

His task was to take care of Brutal.

Suddenly, it clicked.

The angel froze in place, only a few feet from the freak as his massacre continued. None of this was ever meant to happen. His orders, from the very start, had been to rid this world of Brutal’s presence; all he’d done was protect him. He had never fulfilled his duties in the first place. He was a failure.

“Father…”

Slowly, Pure lowered his gaze to the dying man at his feet. Gripping his ankles, spitting blood as he pleaded for his life. “Please, I beg you.. Aren’t you here to save us?”

The angel felt empty. Only an angel in appearance, it seemed; if there was any saving left for him, he couldn’t begin to imagine it. His body moved on its own, a blur as his mind reached the depths of his despair. He’d kicked the man against the pavement three times before he’d noticed his greatest sin yet at all. Then, he didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop, his vision was nothing but red until Brutal’s arms wrapped around him again and forced him free from the trance.

The man on the ground was, for all intents and purposes, a puddle on the sidewalk. Now, Pure’s headache was even worse; his ears were ringing, his breathing was reduced to labored pants, and- worst of all- Brutal’s embrace was, for once, hardly a comfort.

“Jesus, fuck! Are ya alright, love?” Pure didn’t respond, he was still breathing unnervingly heavy and unable to do much else. “Love? I’m here..” When that wasn’t enough to calm him, Brutal swept him completely off his feet, retreating to carry him back to the car.

He’d been much too overzealous to believe that Pure was ready to handle this. Truthfully, the freak felt terrible for all of it; his Christmas killing spree hardly mattered if it meant traumatizing the angel to such an extent. As soon as he’d tucked Pure into his seat they were speeding away, his futile attempt to get the angel’s mind far away from the bloodshed as possible.

“Look, Pure..” the freak swerved into a ditch to catch his own breath, frantically taking the angel’s blood splattered hands into his own as even he fought back tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ave expected ya ta help, ‘n be ready for allat. I know it was too much.. what happened back there, it wasn’t yer fault. It was mine.”

Frozen, dejected as he was, Pure still didn’t want Brutal to worry, even if he was terrified for himself. He responded only in slow nods, heart sinking at the sight of the freak crumbling into tears. Only when his breaths slowed to a husk, did he utter a response.

He tore only one hand away to wipe his own cheeks, glancing down to tremble at the blood red smudged on his thumb. “Mon Brutal,” he squeezed the hands holding his, though he couldn’t find the strength to fake a smile he tried his best to make up for it. He wasn’t even convincing himself, voice quivering as he whispered weakly. “Everything will be alright. Could you take me somewhere?” Pure anticipated it would be his final request.

“Anywhere in the world, darlin’.” Brutal reached his own hand to wipe the angel’s eyes again; only then did Pure realize that the blood was not just from the man he’d killed, but from his tears as well.

Much as he wished to scream, beg for an explanation from anyone- hell, beg for the demon’s help if it came down to it, he took a deep breath and swallowed the urge. “Take me to my church.”