Inky ^beta

The forest was the perfect place to seek solitude- not that they ever worried about a photobomb, few dared to come anywhere close to a freak like Brutal. The sun peeked through trees in all the right places, where they’d found the perfect place to create a whole new collection of memories for Brutal’s special box.

The first image was a quick shot the freak managed to catch while Pure was stretching his wings, with white feathers encompassing much of the paper. The angel scoffed at the sound, spinning around to snatch the camera away and take a photo of the goofy grin plastered across the freak’s face.

“Fun, ain’t it?” Brutal took it back as Pure impatiently waved the developing photo in the air.

“Il est vraiment magie,” he still couldn’t fathom it, how a moment could be immortalized in an instant.

“Why don’t ya sit over here?” The freak was already scouting out the best spot for photos, pointing out a rock with flowers and vines draped over it from above like a canopy. Pure obliged, floating into place and sinking down too gentle for a thud. He took one of the hanging flowers into his hands curiously; the perfect opportunity for another photo. No, that would be a lie; Brutal lost track of how many photos he’d taken by the time he was done.

The brute himself eventually sauntered over towards the angel to sit beside him, one arm pulling him into a hug and the other lifting the camera above them. Puzzled, bewildered even, he latched onto Brutal and gave his best attempt at a smile. He at least hoped it was one, but he seemed to lose all rational thought when he was so close to the freak. There was another click- one Pure didn’t hear before he was pulled onto his feet by Brutal, who was fidgeting with the camera to set a timer.

Without further ado and racing against the countdown, the taller man swept Pure off his feet by his waist and twirled him around, both losing themselves in the laughter as they spun and spun. The angel’s wings flapped as if he truly were flying, though surely he was floating in that feeling of freedom.

Freedom was a foreign word to him.

“Tell me somethin’,” Brutal placed him back down with grace, thoughtfully tucking loose strands of his hair back in the mask despite his own desire to tear it off. “‘M I the first ‘ta snap a shot of an angel like this?”

When the realization hit him, Pure gasped. “I did not think of that! You won’t go sharing them, will you?” He was hardly serious, considering how much the freak kept to himself.

“Nah, all mine.”

The car was nearly stuffed when they returned to their camp, everything ready for their journey back to the shack; Pure couldn’t say it was much better than a tent. Still he clambered into the passenger seat, politely snatching the camera away as Brutal placed it down to drive. “May I take one more?”

The forest was one thing; here, there wasn’t much to photograph. The freak simply raised an eyebrow, until Pure leaned into him and extended the camera to squeeze them both into the frame.

“It truly is fun..” The angel remarked just after the click. “Why don’t you take more photos?”

“Didn’t have much to look at,” Brutal shrugged against the wheel as he turned back onto the road, and their journey began. “Not ‘till you came around.”

Pure had barely stepped back into the shack when he was ready to leave it again. “Well, where shall we go next? I enjoy being with you, and traveling afar..”

“‘M glad, princess.” The freak was ready for some much needed rest after the drive, sprawling across the bed and tipping his hat over his face. “But we oughta stay here for a while, go back ta killin’ bloody BLUs soon.”

That was a low blow to the angel’s newfound pride; he thought, or at least hoped, he’d made some progress. “..at least allow me to tidy up here first,” he was trying his best not to grumble as he gestured to what Brutal had carried in and then haphazardly dumped on the floor.

“Sure thing,” the freak’s voice was muffled by both the hat and his sleepiness.

At the very least, Pure had his table to look forward to. His own space, decorated with the priceless carving Brutal had gifted him before. Now, he had even more to decorate it with. Sure, he knew better than to touch the photos in the brute’s special box; luckily, their photos together had not been placed there yet, giving him the indirect right to pin them all over the wall behind his table spot. They were a lovely addition, all the sentiment he needed to counteract the weapons lining the adjacent wall. Speaking of which, he made sure to replace what Brutal had taken down from there, too, organizing them meticulously by size and hoping the freak wouldn’t protest or even notice.

Then again, it wasn’t like Brutal had much else to worry about. Freedom, he recalled the word again. The freak was free to do whatever he pleased, whether it was slaughtering the BLU team to no end or going on joyrides. It was all up to him. Pure couldn’t help but notice that no matter how free he felt by Brutal’s side, he would never truly gain freedom. He was a guardian angel, forever, first and foremost. Whether or not he entertained Brutal’s free spirit, he would never have the same.

”It’s a beautiful word, isn’t it?” Whatever the voice had to say this time, he intended to win Pure over gently. ”Liberté.. To be rid of the lord’s shackles. You’d love to be just like Brutal, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” the angel whispered breathlessly, before he could think to admit otherwise. There was no use in fighting those nagging thoughts inside of him anyway, he accepted temporary defeat.

”Oui, je sais.. But I know as well it is you dragging him down as well. Don’t you grow tired of that tether?” He wouldn’t admit it aloud, though the angel silently agreed with the sentiment. ”Or, perhaps..” The voice hummed, clearly amused by the idea of toying with the conflicted deity’s feelings. ”You’d much rather have Brutal to yourself, wouldn’t you? Tu veux que l’homme en rouge ait eu.” Pure froze, first stunned by how accurate the disembodied voice’s words were and then by the hand that rested on his shoulder; distinctly too delicate to be Brutal’s, though he knew no one else was there. ”He must’ve been so lucky, and to take it all for granted..”

“You do not know what you’re talking about,” The angel murmured snappishly, though his other half didn’t seem to take the hint.

”But I do. I can feel it all.. Your jealousy, your pity. It’s palpable.”

As much as Pure- for once- wanted to argue, he had no desire to raise Brutal’s concerns. Holding his head high, he finally mustered the willpower to whisper tiny prayers, just enough to at least temporarily rid him of the demon. Just as he’d expected, the hand on his shoulder recoiled with a hiss.

”Sale gamin, listen to me! I am not against you..” The angel ignored him again. ”Freedom is closer than you think, you’re already slipping towards it. Succumb.. Abandonne le seigneur pendant que tu peux.”

This time, it was the voice that gave up on his pursuit, and Pure continued cleaning as if nothing had happened; really, he was trying to force the word succumb out of his mind. He didn’t even notice when he began to hum, not old church hymns but the songs from Brutal’s casette. They were much more interesting, he had to admit. Eventually, he reached the photo box; there was a pause in his tune. With no clue where the freak kept it in the first place, he reached for it with hesitant glances at Brutal before he opened the top drawer- a repurposed, rusty tool cabinet- next to his table.

At the very top of the drawer was a familiar red fedora. Pure tensed all the way to the tips of his wings, lifting it just enough to slip the box under and place it back. Still, he didn’t close the drawer and move on; he stared, curious and concerned for a long while, before he picked it up and dusted off the top.

Brutal had a hard time letting things go, he could tell that much. The man that wore the fedora must’ve been gone for a long time considering how untouched the hat was, yet somehow it was still in perfect- albeit dusty- condition and reeked of strong, expensive cologne. Pure was itching to ask why the mysterious man meant so much to him- and, more importantly, if he even had a chance for Brutal to hold him to the same high regard.

Something rolling from underneath the hat caught the light, and the angel’s attention. There was a ring, silver banded with a ruby that glimmered in the harsh light of the lightbulb barely dangling from the top of the shack. His heart ached; when he shifted to reach for it, however, the fedora was snatched from his other hand.

“Watch what yer touchin’ mongrel..” The freak knelt beside him, placing the hat back and effectively hiding the ring that had already caught Pure’s eye.”Quit testin’ me.” The way Brutal stared at the hat, Pure could see glimpses of the same somber look that the freak swallowed down once again.

“I apologize..” The angel was growing tired of apologizing, he’d much prefer if Brutal would just open up to him. “Was it a gift from him?”

“You could say that, I suppose he was.” He stood and kicked the drawer shut, shrugging with false indifference. “The feelin’ wasn’t mutual.” Suddenly, Brutal’s tone shifted to bitterness as he turned away and stood rigid. “Bugger.. You gonna do the same? Get sick ‘f me, fly on back ‘ta yer ‘God’ ‘n break this tether?”

Pure knew better than to believe that Brutal trusted him that little; still, his words and the glare accompanying them stung. “Non, bien sûr que non.. Is that what he did to you?” The angel leapt to his feet and hugged him from behind; nuzzling him for comfort, and clandestinely desperate for the freak to change his tune. “Je n’arrive pas à y croire.. Tu es un homme différent malgré toute la violence, après tout.” Brutal didn’t respond- most likely because he didn’t know how to respond to endless strings of French. “Yet, he still means so much to you.. Je veux compter beaucoup pour toi aussi.”

The angel could’ve sworn he heard the man sniffling, stifling tears and swallowing his feelings- albeit poorly. “S’pose it doesn’t matta now..” He took the opportunity of putting his own hat down to covertly wipe his eyes, spinning around to face the angel and hug him back. “Got you now, don’t I? At least yer practically stuck wit’ me.”

Even so, neither of them were positive of how true that was. “I must tell you.. If my Lord decides I have fulfilled my purpose, he may bring me back to heaven.” Pure’s voice was tiny, evidence that he didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t forever.

To that, Brutal found humor enough to snort, and chuckle as his head fell to the angel’s shoulder. “Ain’t happenin’..”