Inky ^beta

It should have been a normal day; their only plans consisted of Brutal stealing them more food, maybe even threatening the clerk at the gas station for free gas on the way there. The rest would come down to wherever the wind took them- or it should’ve, at least; the odds were against both the angel and his undead assignment.

That morning, Brutal had noticed the first feathers to fall from the angel’s wings. Initially, he didn’t think to address it; Pure was immortal, after all, so surely it was nothing to raise concerns over. Then he forgot his suit jacket, only remembering its place on the table long after they’d left. The freak hadn’t commented on that, either; in fact, he hoped the angel would make a habit out of forgetting it. Still Pure was visibly perturbed by the missing layer, his arms crossed together as if he was uncomfortably cold- which he wasn’t of course, deep in the desert under the midday sun.

Brutal could tell his angel was a twitching, irritated mess the entire ride towards the supermarket; he couldn’t quite place a reason, even as his mind wandered in the midst of clearing three unsuspecting employees to take their groceries and go. By the time he returned to the car, however, Pure had lost all restraint. He smashed his wings desperately, futilely against the seat, then spread them across the car and against the doors, anything to relieve whatever insatiable itch he couldn’t scratch. Brutal had to shove one wing out of his way to squeeze into his seat and make his getaway, though by then it was too late; the interior of the car looked like the aftermath of an all out pillow war.

“Christ, angel!” The freak was about to ask if there was a rat in his feathers, until Pure’s eyes locked on him through the winged mess, distressed and aggravated all the same.

“Please… take me home, already!” The angel wouldn’t relent, his ruffled feathers pressed uncomfortably against his door as Brutal sped away from the scene of his crime. “Cet inconfort… je pourrais mourir.”

Attempting to drive with wings in his face proved itself to be much harder than any heist he could pull off. “Keep it up, ‘n we won’t make it! Just breathe.. Hell, what’s gotten inta ya?”

“Of course I’m breathing!” Pure glossed right over the question. It was true, he was breathing; although, Brutal had meant for him to take deep breaths, not continue to hyperventilate and panic. The angel barreled straight from the car into the shack as soon as the car spun out, leaving behind a trail of white feathers that would’ve been absolutely magical under any other circumstance.

Brutal was left to lug in their groceries on his own- not that he minded of course, it was more often than not his job and he was much too concerned to fuss about it. Pure was always one for composure, usually very still whether he was praying or fast asleep or floating beside the freak as he went on a killing spree. For something to cause him this much trouble, it had to be serious.

The angel’s situation hadn’t improved when Brutal made it inside. His wings continued to twitch and rustle with each motion as he attempted to reach for problematic feathers to no avail, almost resorting to the machete he’d ripped from the shelf for some semblance of peace. The bags of stolen goods fell to the ground in an instant as his unlikely companion rushed to his aid, first ripping the weapon away to scold him.

“C’mon now.. That ain’t safe, love. ‘Sides, I bet this thing makes a terrible back scratcher.” Still Pure reached past him, opening his mouth to whine something along the lines of ’You wouldn’t understand!’ until he was interrupted. “Wait- somethin’s up with ya.”

“What..?” He winced and recoiled, finally forfeiting the machete for Brutal to put away.

“Yer wings, they look.. Weird. Pointy?” It was another unusual detail the freak hadn’t noticed until he could get a closer look. “‘N feathers have been fallin’ out for a while now. Not ‘ta mention the damn twitchin’.”

“What?!” When it finally clicked visible relief washed over him, though that wasn’t enough to break free from the discomfort. “Oh, mon dieu! No wonder..” At least this time, the angel could identify the horrible feeling of shaking his wings. “Do not worry, it is normal. I will deal with it myself.”

“What is it?” Though Pure seemed calmer, the freak couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Mm.. molting- I am simply growing new feathers. It is not a pretty process, I warn you.” He waited long enough for Brutal to give him space, though he didn’t budge. “..I will be fine,” the angel reassured as he reached behind his own back, extending his arm as far as he could to only barely pinch off one pin; he was already dreading the work.

“Ya can’t reach, lemme help.” The freak had circled around the angel’s back long before he could decline, though he spoke out anyway.

“Non, it is fine! You could hurt me quite easily..” It wasn’t a task Pure could trust to anyone, though it would’ve been easier to accept Brutal to do so.

“Nah, promise. I wouldn’t forgive myself, love.”

The words would’ve warmed the angel’s heart if he wasn’t already high strung. “Oui.. be careful- oh!” As soon as Brutal plucked the first pinfeather the tension in his shoulders eased, sinking as he sang his appreciation. “Oui, juste là.. C’est incroyable.”

With each pin he plucked a fluffy white feather emerged in its place, and Pure hummed happily as he felt instant relief one feather at a time. Placing so much trust in a man like Brutal was unnerving in its own right. He was a callous, brute force beast by nature; but oh so gentle when he wanted to be, whenever he looked at the angel or pulled him close by the waist and mused over his beauty.

“C’mere,” said freak whispered; just as Pure expected, Brutal pulled him down to his lap by the waist as soon as he sank to the shoddy spring mattress.

If the angel hadn’t been there before, he would’ve truly believed this was heaven.

”Comment excitant.. We should do this more often, don’t you think?”

“Silence, pervers..” Pure muttered noncommittally, nothing more than a breath- unfortunately, Brutal was too close to miss it.

“Hm? I didn’t say anythin’, love..” The freak peeked over one wing to make sure he’d heard correctly, inadvertently making the other jolt with realization.

“Oh- je suis désolé, I do not know what came over me.” Awkwardly, he made an attempt to arch his back and urge the brute to continue plucking his pinfeathers; he was not created to be a good liar, after all. He could only avoid what he didn’t wish to confess, not to mention the fact that he couldn’t think straight for the time being. “Please, continue..”

Brutal, of course, obliged. “Whattaya say, did I earn a kiss yet?”

Pure twisted, only far enough to take the other’s hand and place the tiniest kiss he could on the back of it with an evil grin. “Why, yes, you have.”

“Y’know that ain’t what I meant,” the freak huffed and took his hand back to keep plucking.

“Keep dreaming of it, mon cher.”

Surprisingly, tracking down Brutal was the easiest part; facing him again, figuring out what he’d even say was a much greater hurdle to overcome.

“Why did ya need a ride this far out, anyway?” The driver he’d met in the closest city had been skirting around the question for the majority of their trip, asking it in a million ways that the man in the red suit managed to avoid- until this time, when he finally had enough.

“If you truly must know, I am visiting an old… friend. Part of me wonders how he’s fared against his enemies all alone..” He sighed, slightly somber despite how calm he sounded as he reached into his suit jacket to shuffle around its contents. “This is my only chance between assignments. Ah, there! Pardon me..”

He’d waited for the driver to reach their far out destination before he made a move, pulling the pistol from his suit with a click and his perpetually elegant smile. “I’m afraid my affairs are a confidential matter… do forgive me.”

Gentle stepped out of the car, dusting off his still pristine suit as if he hadn’t splattered the man's blood across his windshield and left him to rot; at least he was polite about it, of course.

Brutal’s new home could hardly be considered living. He could almost feel pity, if not for his resolve to keep the man at arm’s length. Gentle could hardly breathe as he came closer to the shack, though considering the silence in the dark of the night he was confident the freak was asleep; it was now or never.