USELESS GIFT FROM GOD @faithblight - Tumblr Blog

📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.

It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?

Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.

It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.

What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?

📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.

….

📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.

This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.

Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.

At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.

There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.

If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.

I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.

Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.

📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.

Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.

📱[Read.]

Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!

….

The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.

He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.

How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.

…

It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.

📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.

📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.

📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.

📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.

📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.

Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.

Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.

As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.

He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.

Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.

📱: I'm coming home for dinner.

Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.

---

"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."

Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.

He knows that.

But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.

---

The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.

It's like their first meeting all over again.

People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.

The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.

The professor hoarded memories.

Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.

The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.

What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.

No, it was better to not think about it.

…

Even if he wanted to.

——

"…………"

By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.

Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.

Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.

Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.

He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.

He was older.

“Well … this is a surprise."

Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.

“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."

Which he didn’t deserve.

"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."

He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.

Pet. There's that nickname again. Fuck, did it always hurt the same?

"I came just in time for you." It's only fair.

There's that drawl the scholar missed. A melodic sort of twang with an unplaceable accent, airy enough in some places that reminds him of memories long past, tales of sprawling walls, horses in carriages and knights in shining armor, but unmistakable with that NYC drawl from decades spent in the unsleeping city. And there was Claude, standing right beside the crowd, spent from the years that had passed. Some part of the lawyer was grasped with this deep horror that everything changed beyond his intention, without his permission, as if it were the universe's purpose to bend to his will. And there was Krueal, shaking Edgar's hand. Even if the grip was firmer than he remembered so.

It's just enough for him to look the professor over and agonize at what had evaded him times past, in thinner frames and aged features jumping out to him as he's sure it jumped out to Edgar. Cheekbones just a little more sunken in, frown deeper and hair greying at the roots from places Ed realizes he hasn't filled in yet, ears fluffed up just enough but pointing just low enough from lack, or want of energy. Handsome features once full of life fraying at the edges of experiences he wasn't let in on anymore, those shoulders that once seemed so broad almost hiding in that trenchcoat that doesn't wear the same as it used to.

And his wings. God, his wings. Lost all their luster, their shine from years of neglect fading just as Edgar had managed to brush out the matting, and in its place his eyes stare down at him. Dark as ever, only this time more haunted.

He's a husk of a man standing before him, half alive, and barely angel.

And Krueal shakes his hand.

And Edgar Quill is still stunning.

"…lucky you did. Can you imagine? I got 'awff too early and you didn’t get to make a cool, dramatic entrance. I think that would kill you."

His tone held endearment. Some lost, nearly forgotten affection. There was a softness in his teasing.

However, Edgar’s eyes were a different story. Claude didn’t miss it, that flash of pity. Of horror. Oh how the angel (if you could even call him that) wishes they’d stop. Look at him with kindness. With affection. Anything but that. He’s smart, he can tell how much of a mess the man really is.

"Honestly I didn’t take you to still try this little prince act. I read a news article about you recently, they said something about you being a, ah, what was it… oh right: the cruelest bachelor in New York. Now what could you have possibly done to gain that title?"

…

Did he accidentally just admit to cyberstalking his ex boyfriend?

"Actually don’t tell me it’s funnier to imagine you pissed off the queen 'f America or something."

For a moment Claude was worried Edgar had somehow lost his voice hanging around upper crust snobs all day! He tried so hard to sound serious… yet he still had the accent of a dog no matter how he tried to spin it to work for him. It was cute. And, well, hearing anyone with a voice like that was nice right now. Let him close his eyes and try to remember a certain warlock. Of course there was small differences.

That felt like cliffs right now. Impossible to get over. He wasn’t a little distraction… he was a reminder. Fuck he always messed things up didn’t he.

Edgar’s hand hovered out. It’s funny. So much time together, Even more time apart but somehow he still hadn’t learned what to do with his hands. Dork. Maybe he wanted to run his finger down Claude’s ear like he used to. Unfortunately he remembered that wasn’t exactly behaviour he could get away with anymore. Fluttering around with embarrassment he shoved the limb into his pockets, glancing away at the crowd so that he wouldn’t lose face.

Not that it’d work. He was like a tomato.

"Luv, erm, Mr. Krueal, I assume you have me on a very tight schedule. We - uh - don’t need to waste time catching up here. Best to do it in the car, right?"

'Cahr’….

"I have questions for you that I .. hah, admittedly can’t ask in public. For your sake of course."

WHAT.

Well I guess in some ways he never changes.

"Oh Eds, you of all people know the entrances come naturally." Claude's not the type of person that practices in the mirror after all. It's all him. When no-one's looking. Of course. At least he wouldn't admit that to Edgar, air light enough that he could joke without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, chuckling just a bit as he rolls his eyes. Light enough for him to shrug off the weight on his shoulders, with his briefcase too heavy.

But the weight comes back with that flash in his eyes, tensing in the professor's jaw as Claude takes his luggage, wondering if he's too frail now by his standards. The difference wasn't as staggering as he hoped, trenchcoat done loose for a reason. There's the familiar rumble of wheels on airport tiles, and as he walks with Ed, that headline jumps out to him with an internal groan, though he only sees the arrogant little huff that ruffles Claude's feathers. "Act is a strong word. What if this cruel bachelor's just like that naturally, huh?" You of all people should know.

Yet his ears still tilt down. Like its instinct. It makes him kind of sick. to be honest, so he shakes himself off, grunting with the cold seeping into his bones. The professor seems to have gotten the message, embarrassed flush creeping into his face, and he shrugs it off like water.

It's hard still, he thinks. Wings twitching with discomfort as he walks with Eddie, wondering if that's all the professor knows of him. Cares about him. He's seen how people look at him now. Now that he was less, enough for all of the ugly parts to show without recollection, an endless comparison for what he should be, who he should be. Of course, it still hurts. Just knowing that Eddie's gaze, that momentary flash of horror, pity, was added to the collection of eyes to block out. It shows as much on his face, stormy countenance grasping him with gloves that never budged, all torn up and ugly, only getting worse when he hears Mr. Krueal from him. Him? Eddie? Edgar? When did that change? "C'mon I think we've been way past that several times." Claude wraps an arm around the professor's shoulder before he knows it, bringing him closer than horrible breakups should. But it's nice. He sways with Ed like the weight was always there, the only difference this time being that for once his shoulders seemed bolder without him. And for once, that's good. The thought actually makes him smile. "And I'll answer all the questions you want, you dirty dog. Just don't, ha leak it to the press this time, capische?"

Of course it hurts. But there were good times too. Cheap food in bowling rings and ice skating in lakes and warm hugs and bad cooking. Beyond the misery of changing under grief Claude for once found happiness in the version of Edgar Quill that had lived on without him. And that's good.

And the car's ready as always. Well. Cahr.

"What the hell have you been upto since we've been gone, huh? Tell me allll about it."

"'Dirty dog' m' not a mutt! If I was any animal id be a uhhh… a umh…."

…

"A wolf! Grrrrrr!”

Like that’s any different.

Edgar hummed, not exactly hating all of Claude’s little touches. Actually he quite enjoyed the intimacy. He missed it. Missed him. The professor found solemn comfort by the consequently much frailer arm of a man who desperately wished to despise him. It was pitiful in its own right.

Unfortunately he didn’t know the parameters of how to act with an ex-boyfriend. Especially in this context. Obviously that damned attorney didn’t help much. Was he supposed to hold him back? Hold his hand? Gah it’s all too complicated. There was something simpler, safer even, about starting over. Maybe a little cold, but this was for the better.

"What have I been up too…"

It was hard to focus on the present when his mind was constantly being overloaded with the past. A collection of vignettes, properly burned like a CD into his mind. Might be the best thing there in all honesty. Fancy cars, chauffeurs, oh it’s wayyyy out of his tax bracket. He’d really struck gold with Claude! Not that he was a gold digger. Those rumours always made the angel laugh. Made him laugh too. That stupid little rich boy one. How Edgar used to chase that sound. Tell him anything in the hopes of that cheap, performative sound.

"…I got offered a job after our book, umh, teaching people about angels. Simple stuff, really. ‘Ts like the gig I had while we were dating but my students paid more to attend. Did a few research exhibitions… nothing as interesting as you."

"Well. I did get to work with sea dragon bones. Not as cool as the dragon remains y' showed me in the domain but, ah, very cool for study."

So shy. In context it was sort of ironic. Almost Funny, with him as Bashful as a school-girl now you could forgive a man for forgetting this ‘coy, gentle mannered scholar’ had the ego to mail Claude every single interview, magazine, article or published work that referenced them. That the brunette could find at least. Much more cocky overseas apparently. Though he was always the timid sort.

It was hard to forget the time Old Eddie, used to fumble around every fancy dinner or gathering he was brought to like a baby deer. Like prey. Drinking wine with his pinkie out like it might please Claude. Well, it did all things considered. Wasn’t a complete waste of time.

"Move around a lot. Stayed in Gotham for a week. Scariest moment of me life. By god. Every crack I heard was like a warnin'. They couldn’t pay me to do that again. Well, actually yes they can… m' very easily bought."

"Shit. Uh," His voice fluttered in pitch, face ever so slightly flushed. When wasn’t it? …The man adjusted his glasses, looking at the window like that would relieve his awkwardness in anyway. If only. "You, uh, didn’t want my day by day rundown. Sorry. Got a few wires crossed preparin' my presentation."

“I’ve been doing well off, especially thanks to your support. Thank you. Is that what I’m supposed to say? Hm?"

"A wolf?" Claude starts, thinking of little bedroom play-fights and griffons flying around the place. "Sure, Eds. If anything you'd be aaaa bunny. Much less menacing and more cute." Oh, and hawks eat them. But that joke went sour a while back. The angel hums, looking over at Edgar, half-surprised at the lighter tone and half-relieved that their relationship wasn't completely shredded enough that he hadn't overstepped already.

To be honest, he's not quite sure what he's doing here. With him. Holding him. Laughing with him. Beyond the banter over the thinly-veiled tragedy that threatens to overcome them both, this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be entertaining this so early in the throes of whatever newest breakdown he was having, but he couldn't deny that even just at the sight of this professor smiling, his heart seemed to calm just a little. Perhaps with familiarity, an old spark that lasted as long as it could before Claude had to go and ruin it, but a dangerous indulgence nevertheless.

At least now Eddie wasn't his. And he wasn't Eddie's. Not for a long time anyways. It's clear in how tense they are despite the assumed comfort, the deliberation between how close he should stay and for Edgar, if he should reciprocate. Claude wasn't stupid. The dynamic had changed, obviously, and acting like this, like they hadn't stopped all communication after raging tears and a screaming match wasn't doing them any good. He owes Edgar something good in his life that wasn't just a series of walking on eggshells to the next big breakdown. But that's the consequence of getting close to someone like him. What laid under the mask wasn't always as illustrious, and the professor had experienced it first hand.

And yet he had still loved him.

Though, Claude pushes the thought down. Focusing more on those little nervous tics the professor indulges himself in when he's not cognizant of the fact, lip red from gnawing, hair disturbed twirled around fingers and his shaking gaze— just the same as they were all those years ago. The only difference being that Claude no longer had the right to hold him. It's hard to admit to him that he knows, with the few updates he's had on his life against his will with glamorous media plastering the man's name on every billboard and interviewers citing him as source for whatever perverted question they wanted to ask of Claude, and its even harder to admit that back then, he was jealous. Envious of that celebration, camaraderie he just seemed to gain overnight while the angel had to break his back working against a shadow of an image decided against his will. Though now, it was obvious that he'd gotten ahead of himself.

He's still so cute. As ever. Glasses scrunched up on his face as he goes on about dragon bones and harvesting data from things older than the ground beneath his feet and aggressive enough to wipe the both of them out in an instant. Hair all shaggy. Eyes all unfocused, jumping around from excitement the way he gets going when he starts. It’s real cute.

Claude hums as he leans on his suitcase, watching the chauffeur haul the rest of the professors belongings into the trunk, shifting onto his feet as the last was loaded up. "'Supposed' to say? Well I dunno about that. Course it's true that without me the book wouldn'ta got published but with your brilliant mind 'm pretty sure you woulda found a much better angel than me and got a better book done. It's all about luck, yknow? And your day was cute. Years were cooler. Can't say my life's been all that interesting since you've been gone so."

"Got Krueal and Co up and running well after the whole client debacle, remember that? And y'know, Eve got bigger, got himself a girlfriend actually can you believe that? And I got myself a—" boyfriend, he wants to say. But the words choke up in his throat before he shudders, wings shaking off the dread before that trenchcoat starts to billow in his mind's eye. The smell of cigarette smoke making his eyes water. "KitchenAid. Yes. I know, finally, but I only got into baking fairly recently after I uh." Was forced to stay home. "Got some time off. Yknow I got around to making those recipes you always sent me since I had nothing to do and that butterscotch crumble cake actually was worth its salt after all. Still wouldn't shill out 40 and a hour queue but, yknow." He's rambling. God, he never does this.

"Anyways, like I said, nothing interesting going on with me. Musta gotten a break since you got all the attention, ha. You should get in the car now before you start running late on that lecture."

"Cute? I’m not Cute. I’m Cool. Haven’t you played Animal Crossing? M' a man."

He had. Edgar made sure of it. Laying against his chest while picking weeds, all while the angel companied about his day. Always so much to complain about. Even in paradise….

‘Bunny’ was doing wonders for his imagination. Did he feel bad drowning out Claude’s rant at a point? Yes. Yet he’d known most of this already. Claude was so cute it was torture, something in his gut was properly wrenched as he was forced to process that he wasn’t allowed to reward that cuteness now. He was a dirty dog, wasn’t he? The attorney went out of his way to pick him up, check on him, get him a hotel… all while Edgar ‘repaid’ him by ignoring him.

What had happened to his manners?

Edgar was VERY lucky angels couldn’t read minds. That he made sure of! He did a full experiment! While Claude was a special case, from what he can tell, no angel had that power. Oh how this idea used to horrify him. Claude used to joke about it all the time. While the scholar— much more gullible then— was prone to believe him. Trying to monitor out any potential embarrassing or compromising theory. He didn’t need that Attorney questioning his academic integrity. Even if it was obvious he was always a little interested in that man for more than research. When wasn’t it?

———

"You’re thinking about it again."

"I AM NOT!"

"You areeeeee, I can tell because I’m magic! - hah! You wanna kiss me."

Fluffy, cloud like wings stretched out behind the bachelor to give them some privacy (as if that was even needed when alone in a fancy car garage). His suit crinkling ever so slightly as he stretched his arm out. Muscles visible in the fitted fabric as he pinned the other between the cool metal of his newest vanity buy.

A Bentley, in perfect condition, just for driving his boyfriend around.

"Yer unreal, Pet."

He rolled his eyes, glasses knocked askew as the younger’s head was tilted up to look at the very cocky angel currently waiting to see if his theory was correct. Of course it was. Who DIDN’T want to kiss Claude Krueal??? It was almost ALL Edgar thought about! Well that and his many, many theories about divinity. Very normal thoughts. Nothing wrong with that!

Gingerly the brunette moved his hair to the side, face flushed as he closed the distance between them to finally shut up his damned ‘Prince charming’ with a ‘magical’ kiss. Ok maybe it was a little bit magical. However it wasn’t the kiss itself that made him blush. It was that secret, hidden intimacy. How Claude moved his posture so that if he ever wanted Edgar could pull away. He was so gentle with him. So careful. Each dramatic step carefully discussed, even if they never said a word.

He wanted to continue this dance with him forever.

Claude was a good kisser. Well. No that was an understatement— Claude was a great kisser.

It’s an unfortunate, or fortunate more likely, fact about him popularized in Vogue magazines of the era and little interviews from the interested, but nothing more obvious than the fact that this man was a notorious skirt chaser. This much was evident in his gesturally obvious personality, that swanky way he held himself and spoke just low enough that girls fall in love with him at the blink of an eye just for one night.

It’s just obnoxious enough to make his whole persona work with the whole rich boy thing he leaned into all the time, but what was not present, and noticeable, by anyone who spent time with him in a context longer than a few mutually drunk hours, was what you would say was a soul beneath the surface. All that exaggerated swagger and fancy cars could only do so much to hide the fact that it was, and always would be, unnerving when you’d find out that plastic feeling you get when you think too long about him was real. Especially real once it’s clear he keeps this act up religiously.

Like an imitation of a bird.

Edgar didn’t have this problem. Or more so, was lucky enough to coax just some genuine feeling out of Claude with traces of his persona still lingering in the back of his mind— like glass shards swept under the rug. But the professor was lucky enough to see a side of the angel that wasn’t pre-planned in a kendoll factory, and was that side endearing. He’s sure Claude’s going to pull back and make some sort of little quip at him for the situation but the angel shivers into the kiss like it’s all he knows, before his hands run down his body to wrap around Edgar, just enough to be a small barrier between him and the car metal.

Hugging him, no, encompassing him completely as he tilts his jaw to kiss him better, ears tilting and fluffing up while a deep sound builds up in his throat, and Edgar thinks already? By the time his thought finishes (thankfully not read by Claude) it’s buzzing against them like an engine. He’s purring a minute into kissing. And he thinks this helps his reputation. But he’s so greedy, as always, pressing up against the professor to get as much mileage of the situation as he could, always an opportunist, chest against him with his heart beating wildly. The angel was surprisingly clingy for a no-strings-attached deal, and it shows through him whining when Ed pulls back for air, breathing desperately as Claude bends down to mouth at his neck, kissing softly all over his throat like a prize.

Like he’s never been forced to be patient once in his life, he climbs back up, nosing at his jaw before peppering little kitten kisses all over, mumbling nothings while Edgar catches his breath, grip on his shoulder while he watches his wings flap with barely contained excitement.

“Oh, yer something special.” Just light enough against his throat that he doesn’t have to gasp for more air. Claude hums against him, nibbling at his ear’s connection.

“Oh I know, that’s why you’re dating me.”

“Nooo— you know it’s not like that!”

“Pshh, I was just jokin’ handsome. Don’t worry.”

And Claude goes in for another. Nose bumping against his. This could last forever if he just closes his eyes…

The tabloids were right. Claude’s kissing was out of this world. Inhumanly good. Literally. Poor Edgar couldn’t keep up if he tried.

Vertigo. Dizziness. Those little blurs of light that dance across one’s vision. It was truly a shame the human brain was so needy when it came to maintaining itself. He wanted to look at Claude’s face, whining when he was too lightheaded to continue. While the attorney worked hard to mimic a human in moments of passion the man was quick to forget his partners limits. Air, mainly. That was intoxicating in its own regard though. Edgar nearly choking on his love, holding the others chest to stabilise himself so that he wouldn’t fall. Claude was an anchor. A purring, playful sod sure, but an amazing anchor.

Saliva bridged the lover’s mouths even when they finally parted for a brief (emphasis on brief) intermission. Only breaking when Claude went to kiss a certain ragged body like an animal ripping the flesh off the prey it had rightfully hunted. Edgar’s throat bobbed as he gasped under the angel, leaning back into his hands as his head laid against the car. Desperate uneven breaths escaped the scholar, only gaining any sort of rhythm when a clean, gloved hand brushed some hair aside from Edgars pretty eyes.

With as much composure the brit could manage the other leaned his smaller frame up into Claude, letting his greedy, broad arms finish the work. Edgar, flush against his chest could really feel the vibrations now. What a loud purr. Was that because he was so happy? Or a natural response to the stimuli. The sensation was comforting, even more so because how warm his little angel was. There was a trill in the others voice, so cute. It was only natural a man of science such as himself would try to get Claude to repeat this little noises. To make sure it was a common phenomenon. Right, Edgar?

Luckily he knew just the thing to get a few words from his cocksure research partner.

Bold, pale hands set their sight on the ruffled, feathery wings draped over his figure. There was great contrast between the two: Juxtaposed white calloused fingers against the brown, Hazelnut base as he massaged down towards Claude’s lower back. He wasn’t dumb, Edgar had seen how such a motion made the angel react behind closed doors. His favourite spot was right about … ah, here. It’s Funny actually. Those wings command such fear, when stretched out from afar however touching them ruins the illusion. Too soft for a bird of prey. And full of small little cuts, or scars, or peppered in greys. They weren’t divine in any way.

Unfortunately this just made the battle currently going on between their mouths more intense. Claude was overpowering, both in taste and in strength. The professor was trying to take control, other hand going up to play with a certain feathered ear as he pulled the man down to give him a more aggressive angle. There was a tactic to this, of course, even if Edgar was too lost in the warm heat of his mouth to remember it. He just wanted to be closer. Tongue grazing sharp fangs as he tried to gain footing. Fangs he felt momentarily pressed to his lip when the man let his guard down.

Intoxicating.

"Mf — Yer' so good at - at this. At everything. So talented."

"An— Thank you. The car was so nice. So considerate."

Compliments came in hoards, mainly muffled by the attorney as he wouldn’t let Edgar get a proper word in. Too impatient to wait. That didn’t stop him of course, he knew Claude loved praise. And so he’d supply it as long as the universe would let him. In breathless, silly words.

Because he loved him.

Edgar was always so lucky to have Claude like this. Completely under his control, leaning into him like any bit of contact was his salvation. The angel believed as such too, like his touch was the only thing he wanted anymore. A shiver runs down his spine the moment the professor's hands creep up his back, heart pounding against his that much faster. Teeth nip at him softly, just enough that Edgar liked, kissing him through the squeaks of surprise he's blessed with, until they're tumbling into the car.

"I— mmfff— I knew you'd like it handsome I bought it just for you—" Claude catches Eddie in another kiss, hands roaming upwards, applying just enough pressure to close him in, remind him that he's real, and that what was happening was real, though with how he was going, it's evident it's more of a reminder for him. "D'you like your gift? Hhuh? I did this f'you I do everything— mmff— for you—"

His wings flap, ears tilted so high they're more like antennae twitching on his head as he pulls Eddie over him, stickshift cutting into his back and melting into those breathless sighs.

"Gah, the car—"

"It's fine—" He kisses him again. "Fuck the car."

---

Claude stares on, the chauffeur deciding to drive over every conceivable bump in the road while he snatches glances at the professor. In some sick twist of fate, whatever car they'd brought out from his random selection happened to be the Bentley, and though Eddie seemed to remain unbothered, Claude's haunted with the silence between the internal question repeating endlessly in his mind, every awkward cough running over background noise of "Does he remember?" while he fiddles with the edge of his gloves, just over his wrists. It's so quiet. Edgar usually filled in the silence with whatever ramble he wanted Claude to react to, but the scientist was uncharacteristically shock-silent looking out the window like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Uhh, Eds, whatever happened to that stock I got ya to invest in? With your luck it's obvious that it uh— oh I just remembered the. Company went bankrupt a few years ago fugeddaboutit."

---

They were giggling so much. Everything's funny when you're stocked up in the backseat of a vanity car and you're kissing like your life depends on it. Like they're teenagers sneaking around, high on life. Eddie's laid up on him with Claude somehow pulling him closer, brown hair cascading all around him while his glasses keep slipping off the bridge of his nose. The angel purrs into another kiss, chuckling slightly while wrapping his wings around the both of them.

"You know I love you right?" Breathy giggles, shaky hands going to swipe more stray hairs off the man's forehead. Adjusting his glasses right to see this half-lidded gaze, smile soft and imperfect.

"Always, pet."

#ic #txt #rp #eddie #suggestive

The smell of gunpowder was a uniquely familiar and unpleasant thing. It was hard to describe it to others, like a more metallic, smokey version of spoiled meat. Or if someone tried to make a battery out of rotten eggs. It lingers, leaving the bitter taste of sulphur to coat everything it touches. Admittedly the combo of that and gasoline from a rusty car wasn’t just particularly traumatic to the angel, it also just happened to smell like utter shit.

Claude Krueal was a much stronger man compared to when he was last in a hunters truck, yet despite that he still felt just as small and helpless as before. It was as if instead of maturing into a reasonable adult, he’d grown into a tall child.

It was pitiful if anything.

It appeared that following their ‘friendly fight’ or more accurately ‘Daire’s Attempt at Aggravated Assault' the brunette was brought to some type of Patrol Car, specifically a van. Boxes littered the floor along his feet, the crates full of weapons and miscellaneous paranormal objects. A sword in a glass case that was neatly tucked under the car seat stood out the most in this arsenal, its texture akin more to a feather than steel. It was stained a deep red at its tip. Curious. Perhaps the attorney could appreciate it at a time where he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack because he was obviously kidnapped by the monster hunter he met online. Surveying the room again didn’t yield much information of interest, mainly just stuff animals or magazines.

Well, that and the IV connected to his arm. According to it he was in some kind of hospital or ambulance before he ended up in some freak’s car. Although he already knew from the smell of lycanthropy the identity of said kidnapper at this point.

Speaking of the IV … he wasn’t bleeding anymore. When Claude looked down to check for injuries he found himself wrapped in a coat with the same insignia he was trying to remember before. Huntsmen United. Was that the only blanket that dog could spare?

Suddenly the thought of Doberman and him unconscious brought a new, pressing worry. The man outstretched his wings, checking with as much care as his running mind could give. Surprisingly his wings were still intact, in fact, someone took the effort of folding them so that they wouldn’t be crushed against the car seat. Beige patches linger along what he can see of his back, with what Claude could only assume were kids-bandaids lined around his wings and the base of his injuries. According to the clock at the front of the car it had been hours if not days. It was remarkable that he had been unconscious for that long in the monster-hunters care and that scoundrel hadn’t at least taken a taste test.

Being stitched up inside a place like this was a welcome change of pace.

Of course this wasn’t the time to appreciate the potential complexity of his abductor, especially when he heard the muffled sound of someone talking outside.

"—I tired that! ‘T didn’t work! Yeah.. mhmm .. I will … Slán, Slán."

…

“God I’m never askin' her for advice again. What a bitch."

So his internal monologue is just as colourful as how he speaks with others? Not too much of a surprise. The sound of jingling keys lasted longer than expected, almost like the man was struggling to get into his own car. He made a small ‘woohoo’ to himself when he got the door open, celebrating the little victory to the air around him. And apparently Claude. The look on the werewolves face when he realised the other was awake and watching him was priceless. So was his outfit! Forgoing his usual uniform, which to be fair was probably in need of a good wash, the younger man was in a cropped v-neck t-shirt and cargo pants. The shirt had the text ‘hair of the dog that bites’ while the trousers had clearly seen better days, faded and stained. Daire’s clothes were just revealing enough to show a complex profile of what were most likely work related injury scars. Ignoring that was the glowing-tattoo-elephant in the room, which apparently lined the others neck, arms, waist, hips, spine and chest. The same colourful kids-bandaids from before were on Doberman’s neck, covering the name of a certain Hellblazer.

"Ah shite - thought I had longer to work out n’ apology."

He was holding a cluster of plastic bags which he half hazardously tossed onto the seat next to Claude. From the looks of it the werewolf had gone to 7-11 for food. There was also a bag full entirely to the brim with scratch cards. That was to be expected.

"Welcome to the land ‘f the livin'."

( @lt-doberman )

Claude absentmindedly thumbs against the thick scar that ran down his shoulder blade, just around his wing. The smell of sulphur penetrated the air like the freshly smoking battlefields that'd stink up the city once the fight got too close, just potent enough to make his eyes water as he blankly stares out of the tinted windshield, potential legal cases flying through his head to cut through the radio static crackle. There's no such tightness in his chest that was an omnipresence before, just a light buzzing feeling that he had half a mind to notice was complete and utter disassociation.

Complete and utter disassociation.

There was a vague recollection of consciousness fading in and out, ambulances blaring with relief spreading in his chest, but then Daire's face over his as he drags him back into his truck. At some point, he was all out of fight— Daire had overpowered him easily enough that struggling was more than it was worth, enough that when Claude had woken up in his car again, he reckoned fate was trying to tell him something.

Just keel over and die.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was an angel feather sword tucked under Daire's seat, just sloppily placed enough to give Claude an inkling of a feeling that he at least tried to hide it. He shrugs off the coat Daire laid on him, feeling an itch come on before he crawls towards the front seat, teeth grit as every movement set off stinging shocks of lightning down his spine, flourishing into deep aches that craned in his back like a bad sleep day. Well, this was worse than a bad sleep day, but Claude's eyes are dry enough to be reminiscent of it, fingers just barely brushing against the case before he hisses, yanked back by the IV in his arm. At least Daire had the good sense to keep that in his body. Unlike the knife.

His ears twitch with discomfort as he recalibrates, a headache coming on as he blinks laboriously, world seeming to spin around him. Though he wasn't out for long, it seemed like all of the world's effects were hitting him at once, nausea rising in his throat until he's dry heaving, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop his saliva from splatting anywhere where Daire could harvest it. He's only given a few seconds to adjust as Daire stumbles into his own car, freezing suddenly as if he's surprised to see his kidnapping victim wide awake.

Claude's eyes narrow with a snarl starting to form, ears pinned back against the sides of his head, while his wings raise almost instinctively, puffing up like a cat trying to make itself look bigger. Scarier.

"Let me the fuck out."

"Cmon…. Why is swiping these things so hard…"

The 7-Eleven cashier had given the older man some saving grace by taking the (stolen) credit card out of his hand and inserting it into the card reader. Pale, Freckled skin turned red with embarrassment as he realized he’d been sliding Claude’s card over the glass for no reason. God, now he REALLY had to find a way to delete this camera footage. He was fine with it showing him using a stolen credit card … but some things just couldn’t be recorded no matter the circumstances. After checking to make sure everything was in his bag (and that the Big Gulp he bought’s lid was on right) he waved to the underpaid cashier before making his exit. Bags lined down his arm like a jacket as he tried to carry them all.

Once this was all over he should see about opening a bank account. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

Doberman finished his drink while calling one of his colleagues from the UK-branch. Tossing his garbage like a basketball into the trash can … unfortunately for everyone he missed and didn’t notice. Now we can add littering to his record.

This was an important excursion. Claude was due to wake up in a few hours, it was probably for the best that he get prepared. Hopefully that rich, annoying socialite (could you even call him that?) liked hotdogs.

———

The sound of a certain man gagging filled his ears the second he started fumbling for his keys. Daire’s eyes glanced over the angel with a peculiar look. It was almost like he was excited by the prospect of him throwing up in his back seat. What a freak.

"Let me the fuck out."

The monster hunter rolled his eyes, hands twirling around his keys. The ‘click’ of the man locking his car was deafening, burned hands tucking away Claude’s now only way out. If the angel didn’t know any better he’d think the other was nervous.

"You lost a lot of blood."

Obviously. Was that supposed to make him forgive his assaulter somehow? ‘Oh thank you for nearly killing me!’ The angel didn’t follow Daire’s logic. He had no reason to be concerned after stabbing him.

"You should sit down. I brought y' somethin' to drink. Heard fluids help n’ this sorta thing."

Apparently Daire wanted to play nurse. Maybe stitching up the other was some kinda weird itch he was trying to scratch. Gross. Oddly enough though the attorney knew that theory wasn’t the case. That dog looked genuinely concerned, face nearly distorting into a pout. Well, for a moment at least. Doberman took a step forward, tossing the bags of grocery to the floor in an irritating manner, letting its contents spill all over the crowded, dirty car seat. The same intelligence was back, cold, blue eyes staring back into Claude’s like the abyss ones always warned to never gaze upon. He smiled an admittedly dorkish grin before closing the space between them.

"Asides… we wouldn’t want those stitches to open up, would we? mh? Especially after I went through so much effort to ‘fix ‘yer back."

He was decidingly less threatening without his uniform. Daire was still saying weird, disturbing things but… with a wagging tail and puppy dog eyes it lost a considerable amount of its edge.

"And why do you think that is." He growls, still stuck on all fours like he's an animal. If only everyone could see him now. Fucking pathetic. In some part of his brain he's internalized the fact that he'd meet his end in his car, but like most things Claude latches onto, he wouldn't be going down without a fight. His heart was beating faster than it should have, blood pounding with the headache as he tenses for an attack that never comes.

Daire offers him a drink with a sort of resigned countenance, maybe even regret if he were to look through the panic state survival rage had placed him in. But beyond that, he holds an iced coffee just out of his reach, and the dryness in Claude's throat just stings enough for tears to prick at the corner of his eyes. In the heat of the car, he had resigned himself to panting like a dog, but now, with sweat sticking to his skin, Daire's holding fucking Nirvana right in front of him. So of course he takes it. Snatching it from him like a cornered dog snaps at whoever's trying to help, and he gulps it down like there's no tomorrow.

Claude stares at him through narrowed eyes while wiping his mouth down, another growl stuck in his throat as Daire looks at him the same way before the first punch flew. He swears there's something different. It's the eyes. "Well, maybe you wouldn't have to fix it if you didn't stab me in the first fucking place."

"Oh it was just a stab wound - I had a colleague shoot through a man’s shoulder and they turned out to be rather chummy' yknow? We’re the same."

No bud, you guys aren’t.

Daire stretched, standing back up and making his way to the front of the car. His eyes glanced down at the sword Claude attempted to grab earlier, contemplating something before picking the blade up.

“…I, umh, admit I might have got overboard. Sorry. And I mean that. Obviously it doesn’t sound like I do… ah, m' not very good when it comes to words. Not good at anything outside hunting."

Daire made his way back, a look of silent resignation taking over. He bit at his lip, apparently a nervous gesture, which made the angel notice the red pigmentation caused by this repetitive behaviour over the last few hours. Suddenly the other knelt down, head tilted to the ground in a look of shame, hands hissing with steam as … as he held out the rapier from the case.

It was a thin blade made from the shaft and quill of a very large feather. Feathers littered the Pommel, Handle, as well the crossbar edge. It was a very pretty weapon, it looked more like a show piece than anything else. It was probably made for that, actually, to be hung up and adored… instead its beauty was tainted by crimson stains along the tip.

“It’s common practice to let someone strike you with your blade when you do them wrong, if yer' feeling good enough to quip back at me… you can whip me as much as you need. Get your anger out."

The burns were starting to worry the other, however, the brunette didn’t even seem to notice. His hand never faltering.

His hair messily fell out of place, tracing over his nose while hiding his eyes. An act of mercy, Daire would most likely break into tears if he made eye contact with Claude. He muttered useless apologies under his voice until he was out of breath.

"If you’re too weak I can do it myself, if that’s better?"

Well, it wasn't surprising to hear that whatever crowd Daire had involved himself with found this kind of behaviour second nature. The litany of scars running around his body told the tale better than any of Claude's inner monologue could hope to achieve, fingers gripping the empty husk of the drink with a crackling sound that filled the entire confines of the car. But the silence couldn't be louder than it already was, tension taut in the air like a bowstring as Daire looks at him expectantly, gnawing at his lip till he bled.

Claude watches the blood drip onto the rapier, sizzling on its feathered surface and dissolving in just seconds, and watches Daire's expression strain when their eyes meet, immediately averting his gaze with a grimace. There was just something unexpressed about this entire situation that ate away at him, not unlike a worm crawling out of an apple's core before the first woman bites a chunk out of it, showing through in his hesitance to say, or do anything. Daire was obviously presenting this blade to him as some sort of punishment, honor that whatever rules his organization set out for him that he had to follow, knees bruising against the floor of the van as he kneels, never faltering. But Claude finds it in his throat, stuck like a bad memory, unable to swallow past it as his hands stay at his side.

A lesser version of him would have taken the knife and shunked it right into Daire's throat, slicing through and crawling out of the van covered in blood that wasn't his, leaving a body to rot in the heat as he desperately tries to dial his father on a payphone. The tone would cut prematurely, with Claude staring blankly at the cubicle walls before sliding down against it, holding his head in his hands and screaming enough till everything was clear again. But he doesn't. He blinks, and he's back in reality, staring at Daire muttering apologies to nobody under his breath till Claude can't take the smell of sizzling flesh in the car.

Nausea rises in his throat as he gingerly picks the rapier up with just his two fingers, trying not to think about the imprints of the blade stuck in his palm. He takes a deep breath, dropping it on the floor and hearing the clattering echo around the walls, before crawling back to his corner.

Daire is not them. They're dead. They've been dead. For years.

"I punched you because you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were going to kill me."

"Oh."

The word came out clumsily, like he hadn’t meant to voice his surprise, breath tripping over the sound. Gingerly the other looked up, whatever Claude had seen in his eyes were gone, silently faded away when the hunter was studying the floor.

"It’s funny, the last time I crossed ‘n angel he jumped at the opportunity. Ah - it’s probably shitty' to ‘sume all feathery folk act the same! Please don’t report me to HR!"

Huntsmen United has a Human Resources team?

Huh, Claude could probably report Daire to middle management.

"I ah, didn’t think I was that scary…" You were strapped to the teeth and asking for his blood. "Huntsmen are supposed to protect civilians, I sworn my life’s work to that. I guess I can’t blame you. I’d probably punch me too."

After a moment of awkward silence he punched himself lightly in the knee, as if to prove a point. Unfortunately all that proved is he was prone to weird, unusual habits. That of which Claude already knew. A shaking hand, no longer steadied by its task as a scabbard, reached for the blade between them. Hm… but for a reason the angel couldn’t infer the brunette stopped. Pale, trembling hand inches away from the blessed metal were suddenly quick to retreat into Daire’s sweatpants. It was impressive how quiet the hunter was, pulling himself up with only the occasional ‘click’ of metal.

…

"I would’ve left you alone had I not been worried about Poachers. Trust me, I understand y' want nothing to do with me. Once yer' safe you won’t have to see me again."

His tail had stopped wagging a long time ago, tucked between his legs in a way that was comical for a grown man. Daire looked like a kicked puppy, well, punched puppy was probably more accurate in this case. His ears were pressed against his head, however, they perked up each time Claude shifted around in the corner. Betraying his interest. Eventually he paced around, a steadied sound filling the car while the werewolf picked up the groceries he’d tossed to try and look ‘cool’ earlier.

"You’ll have to eat. Especially after throwing up. Do you think y’ can handle anythin' solid? I got ice cream if not."

…

"Please tell me yer' not lactose intolerant."

While organising the mess he’d made of his crowded card the bag of lottery tickets became visible to Claude. Did he … really buy a whole bag of them?

Daire seems stumped at his admission, ticking off Claude just enough for him to barely suppress the incredulous look he'd give him in any other situation. He guesses the punch was a surprise to him too. Claude would find it just a little bit funny if the ensuing fight didn't end up with a stab wound in his back that was probably sloppily stitched up with how much it was aching, wings twitching at the reminder of how close it was to his other one. The sad thing is that it'd probably scar too, with how much exertion he was subjecting it to in the last moments of their tussle. He dreads the thought.

"I'm not goin' to report you to HR." He sighs, holding his head in his hands. For real this time. His hair was just greasy enough between his fingertips to make his grip tighten around his scalp from disgust, both from what he assumed was the hair gel and the sweat that covered the rest of his body. He probably stunk just as bad as Daire did. Like blood and desperation. At least it wasn't gunpowder. "I'm so fucking over this monster hunting bullshit I just want a nap."

Beyond the slight grazing of metal against the floor and the neurotic knee punch, Claude wasn't feeling as responsive, mostly giving Daire slight glimpses of his eyes whenever he made a movement. His spiel about poachers betrayed some level of concern that vaguely surprised him at some part in his core, but did the job of suppressing itself for him, keeping it in the vault to turn over in his mind later. There's a agonizing level of aching in his bones he could only attribute to being bone-tired, throbbing reminders killing him from the inside. The level of remorse on Daire's face was incredibly hard to fake, kind of twisting around in his mind's eye like an unsolveable trolley problem powered by whatever guilt that connected the two. And even if he was ignoring the fact that John seemed to be involved in this mess, there was just something so familiar about Daire that he couldn't place, dancing on the tip of his mind before plummeting straight over the edge.

---

Claude's half asleep once Daire says something about lactose intolerance, stirring awake to sluggish consciousness as a array of snacks is laid out almost strategically. As if he was preparing for rations.

What catches his eye first, though, is the bag full of scratcher tickets.

"... Did you use my card to buy all this?"

“Eh?”

The dog blushed, face painted in a way that was normal for Daire, but out of character for anyone else his age. Always an outlier, he is. The other kicked the bag away.

"Wait — why do you assume I couldn’t 'ave bought this myself? Sure I … did use your card, but I could’ve also stolen it, or, or … mh. Never mind."

He opened up some of the food casing, acting as if it was bait that would call Claude over. Upon consideration he realised he had actual bait! The huntsmen’s tail wagged as he reached for the Lottery Cards, clearly proud of his idea.

“Psst… I’ll let you use one if you come over here~ hehe…”

Oh that joke was not funny at all, and yet he laughed quietly to himself untill tears gathered in his eyes. He missed this.

Claude raises an eyebrow, running his fingers through his hair and slicking it back, tired of all the sweat making the strands stick to his skin. "Alright, I'm just going to ignore that."

It's not like this is the first time someone's used his card without his permission. But he rolls his eyes at Daire's obvious efforts at baiting him closer, using a hand with a beckoning motion.

"Toss them over to me. I'm feeling lucky."

“Then you’ll eat? M’ not getting in trouble for killing ya!”

But he’s willing to get in trouble for assault, kidnapping, and theft. Hm.

"If you win anything it’s our winnings, yknow? I bought em'!"

Unfortunately it seems that Daire forgot how badly he burned his hands, his leg kicking as he jerked back in pain from holding the bag along the melting flesh. This knocked over the food he’d set up… now some of it nothing more than junk he’ll have to clean out before ants come. Assuming the place isn’t crawling with bugs already.

With a huff the Monster Hunter composed himself, holding out three scratchers for the angel.

“Let’s not push it,” he grunts, holding his hand out for the scratchers expectantly. Daire seems like he’s going to hand them over, but flinches back from the pain, Claude’s eyes widening in horror as he revealed the full scale of those burns in real time. His own hand clasps over his mouth in shock, momentarily forgetting about the food spilling across the floor, eyes trained on the mangled state of Daire’s palms, holding out three scratchers as if That was worth it. Composing himself like it’s a minor injury.

“Christ. Hey are you… alright.”

He shouldn’t technically be feeling empathetic towards the guy that got him stabbed, but those burns looked severe enough that it’d pose a problem if he didn’t get them fixed now. How long was he holding it for? Why does he care in the first place? He takes the scratchers anyway, but… “… We should probably go get those burns checked out before they get infected.”

There’s a we now?

"Oh - no, no - infections aren’t real. Can’t believe you believe in that, ya' dusty old crow."

Daire looked down at his hands with a grimace before smiling back up at Claude. After a moment of consideration he … licked his hand? Ugh? WHY?

“Look, cleaned. Perfect now."

No definitely not perfect.

“SHITE. You need coins for these, right? I’ll find one."

The monster hunter shot up, now facing away from the angel as he rummaged through his boxes. Magazines tossed aside as he looked for something the other could use for Lottery Scratching. Eventually he pulled out a jar of old Pound Stirling.

“Let’s see…." He struggled to open the lid.

Once Daire licks himself he's over it, fully letting a face of horror show through while part of his mind was still running circles around the scratchers held tightly in his hands. He was going to scratch around the edge of the tickets just lightly, enough to prolong the exposure without fully spoiling everything, and his breath started to pick up with the anticipation.

Claude peers at Daire with bated breath, bursting out in laughter once he brings out a jar of fucking pounds. "HAHAAHAHAHA WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?? A FUCKIN' JAR??"

"…What’s wrong with it? Just ‘Luck Money’." The man stuck his tongue out as he tried to open the lid, nearly biting said tongue off when celebrating to himself for achieving the task. "—or are you just surprised I have any.”

Is he insecure because Claude assumed he couldn’t pay for their food? Yes.

Daire handed the Attorney the glass container of spare change, stretching to himself. His joints made a small ‘pop’ sound.

“M' going to patch myself up. I might need to fix your bandages too, I think, ah, let me check the guidebook."

The guidebook in question appeared to be a Wikihow article on his phone. Charming. Really in good hands here.

“Untill then…. Uhhh … take the bag.”

Leaving the angel unintended with a bag of Lottery Scratchers was a smart idea.

Claude shakes his head with a chuckle that doesn’t seem to end, completely glossing over the implications. Maybe he was mean for assuming it was his credit card. Immediately, at least. “No, no it’s just— didn’t expect that you’d have a whole fuckin’ jar at your disposal. God that’s funny…”

He wipes a tear off the corner of his eye, grunting in acknowledgement as Daire pulls up his phone. Suddenly, he’s a lot more concerned over the wound in his back, now. But the scratchers seem more important. Claude had already itched off just a little bit off the cover, taking out a pound to scrape off the rest. First one was a dud, but it always was. That much he knows, but the second one? Oh, the second one, he knows he’s got this in the bag, yes, yes he’s got this in the bag. Second one’s a dud too. But the third time’s the charm, right? So he scratches off another one, sucking in a breath until his eyes gleam with giddiness.

He sees it before he’s done scratching, trying not to make a sound before confirmation. But he sees it, and yelps in excitement once it’s fully scratched out. “YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT IT BEING LUCK MONEY HAHAHAA— JACKPOT!!”

Daire was going through an emergency Med-Kit that apparently was designed for supernatural emergencies and not civilian ones. Putting aside the thing of exorcist salt, the handcuffs, and cross it looked like there was normal stuff as well! First the werewolf grabbed a water bottle he had been drinking out of before acting with a look of regret, (he didn’t have many & this looked like a waste of water.) he soaked some of his bandages, humming to himself. Right as he finished wrapping his hands Claude raised his voice, anxiety spiked in the dog as he glanced back over, expecting the worse.

“Don’t yell!" The monster hunter held a bottle of medication in one hand, interestingly Claude had a hunch by the amount of blacked out text on the canister that it was not a pain-killer allowed in the US. Just a theory (there was literally hazards symbols and skulls on the bottle.) "y' scared me!"

…

“Omigod - Omigod - Omigod!”

Oh well he switched up quickly. Daire took the ticket from the angel, holding it up to the light. His tail wagged wildly behind him, actually hitting Claude’s knee as he excitedly checked its validity.

“I can’t believe we won this…” WE?

Claude whoops, mind honed in on the scratcher held between his fingers to notice much else, wings starting to flap with excitement before it cramps and he curls in on himself with a grunt, eyes squinting shut in pain before shaking it off like a dog. "Y'cant can EXCITEMENT like this, Daire! HAHAHA— I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, IT'S BEEN 10 YEARS AND I'VE STILL GOT IT HAHAHAHAH—"

Claude shakes his head, cheeks starting to hurt from how wide he was grinning, looking up at Daire as he held it up to the light. With how much his tail was wagging, Claude wanted one, too. "YEAH WE DID! KID, GIVE ME ANOTHER SO WE CAN GET MORE!!"

“Why is this helping with his pain more than the medicine…” Daire muttered under his breath.

Maybe taking care of Claude could wait. It was nice to see him happy. When the monster hunter looked back and saw his tail wagging he groaned, holding it in his hands to still it like that would help at all. The second he let go it started back up.

"Aye, Aye sir."

Daire tripped having forgot he placed the bag next to the attorney's seat. Hm. Maybe he should clean up his floor. Wretched thing, covered in food and trash. Oh yeah, Claude had to eat.

When Claude looked up the dog was holding out a tub of ice cream as well three lottery scratchers. Is this a trap?

Claude suppressed a chuckle at Daire trying to calm his own tail down, watching it go back up before looking back down at the scratchers, a pout appearing on his face faster than he could take it off. Jesus. Is this really what he's been reduced to? A clown over 50 dollars? Really, Claude, you should be more— Daire holds out 3 more scratchers just in front, trying to coax him into eating something.

The only thing that's starting to fill him up is the sound of a coin scratching off foil coating. But he digresses, looking up at Daire with a bit of his attitude coming back. "You think that's good for my health?"

"…Yes? What’s wrong with it? Are you allergic to strawberries?”

His attitude was nullified by the others obliviousness! No!

“If you want something else I can go out. Uh, or deliver something, you make delivering money, right?"

A chance alone, then? He could escape, run away, or plot to murder this damn dog as he pleases.

hm….

"But we really need to change yer wraps soon. Apparently you could die! Well, according to Google…"

"So now you believe in infections... newsflash, i could have died when you stabbed me too." he grumbles, craning his neck over his shoulder self-consciously. There's an awful lot of gauze wrapped around, but Daire was true to his word. He was careful about it. "y'know, it's kind of ironic that you're the one treating my wounds considering you're the reason i have 'em."

He's allowed to rub it in a bit, right?

"but I actually prefer chocolate." Claude scuffs his foot against the floor, looking solemnly at the tattoo running around his ankle. A formality while leaving the walls, they said. As if it'd stop poachers from trying anyways. He doesn't really want to be alone right now. So the strawberry would have to do. "Or coffee. But whatever. Hand it over. This truck's like a sauna."

... When did Daire take his shoes?

“Burning up? That’s bad, right? I hear it in medical dramas all the time.”

He watches medical dramas?

The monster hunter huffed, taking away Claude’s bag of scratchers as a reprimand. If he was going to be rude … no fun or wimsy for him! Despite the angel complaining about how sweaty it was in here the dog reached for his coat, shaking it out before struggling to put the nasty thing on.

“Oh birdy, I’m a professional, obviously I know how to stab a beast without killing it."

Oh so Claude’s a beast now? Ignoring the fact that he hadn’t meant to pull out the blade, such an injury was still dangerous.

"Taking care of one is a different story. Lucky m' no father."

Thank god daire doesn’t breed. That is for the best.

Claude grumbles at the nickname, image of a certain bastard appearing in his mind before dissipating in the fog. His heart sort of aches in response while Daire somehow pulls his coat on. “Don’t call me that.”

Hearing all this talk about Daire’s so-called professionalism brought into question the fact that Claude absolutely figured that pulling out the knife was unplanned. Since the intention was probably to neutralize him, anyways. Though, he wasn’t fond of the fact that Daire took away his scratchers in response to a well-justified complaint. So much for free speech. “I guess the fact that fuckin’ Wikihow’s got your back on keeping me from dying’s such a great source of relief in hindsight then.”

“But yeah. Lucky that you’re no father. It’s tougher than you think—“ Almost let slip that he’s got a kid at home. You’d think he couldn’t get any dumber.

"Don’t bash what’s keeping you alive. Last time I checked yer' supposed to say ‘thank you’ when someone saves yer' life. You wanna practice?"

‘Keeping him alive’ like he didn’t ABDUCT Claude from an ambulance. Oh he’s sure a hospital would take much better care of him than that damn dog watching a YouTube tutorial.

"It’s pretty hard to do stitches for a guy who burns you to the touch. I could be a proper saint."

It looks like the monster hunter was trying to get the AC working in his car. Considering the horrible sound of the truck rattling he must’ve got it on. This is ignoring the fact it wasn’t any cooler in here.

…

oh claude fucked up.

"How do YOU know that? Hm? Fletching at home I don’t know about? Didn’t think you for the retiring type.”

Wh? Retiring?

“I’m not going to thank the guy who put my life in jeopardy even if he’s trying to save it now.” He rolls his eyes, potential insults running through his head before he lands on one, smiling a little. “Though Daire, I could put in a word to HR about your treatment of a poor NYC citizen such as myself if you mess up, saint and all.”

Daire’s no goddamn saint. But then again, as if he was either. Claude was feeling pretty satisfied with his snapbacks before Daire latched onto his little slip up, which then set off the deepest level of fear he’s felt in his body since he was born. Daire couldn’t possibly know that, so he rubs his neck to play it cool, nails scratching into the skin. Controlling his breathing.

“Fletchling? Me? God forbid. I’m just speaking from the broken heart of a fucked up little kid whose parents didn’t like ‘im .”

He was laying the childhood trauma angle on thick, but the discomfort was worth shielding Eve from his monumental fuck up. Just play it cool.

"Oh? Trying to get me fired?"

Daire had pulled out his phone, humming to himself as he scrolled. Despite the fact he was joking around with the angel he looked sickeningly serious.

He was onto him…

"N' don’t give me that bleedin' heart bullshite. Everyone has a shitty childhood."

Suddenly the werewolf had a wicked smile, the same uncanny, toothy grin plastered on his face like an idiot. He was reading out a Facebook post the other had made a few months back. Claude was talking about eve’s band event, which he posted despite the teens protest about how ‘embarrassing’ it was. Perhaps he should’ve listened.

“Now I thought lyin' went against angels whole thing. Very sinful. Don’t know what yer' so worried about, not like I’d kill a kid."

Oh so much for a fun time.

“I wonder… does ‘e bleed gold or red? Some inbetween? I hear genetically angelic DNA is like, uh, undilutable. Like holy water."

Claude's heart drops the moment Daire recites out a Facebook post from an account he was sure he had on private, but he remains steadfast, screaming at himself internally to slow his heartbeat and relax his facial expressions to appear as if Daire didn't spit out the most intentionally horrifying thing he's heard this entire shitfest of a day.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, the only self-soothing behaviour he'll allow himself to have, before he takes a deep breath, scanning Daire for any incriminating details while he rattles on about not being a child-killer while taking every single opportunity to sound like one. At some point, he lands on Daire's insignia, mentally reprimanding himself for not connecting the obvious dots earlier.

“I wonder… does ‘e bleed gold or red?"

His eyes narrow at Daire. Red. Though it doesn't make much difference. The real proof's in the glimmer. "Hey Daire. QNA's nice an' all, but you mind giving me your phone so I can call your boss? There's a Huntsmen United employee that's harassin' me and I would really hate for your company's reputation to be tainted like this."

"Harrasin' you? Ah - Why didn’t you say so! I could’ve dealt with that! M' so sorry, of course y' can make a report."

Did … Did he seriously think Claude was talking about someone else? It was hard to tell. For all we know this man is just utterly stupid, he trips over everything, says all the wrong words, and believes everything he’s told without question. Complete idiot. If it wasn’t for those moments of competence one would be led to believe e he was a charity case. Actually, he probably was! Who would hire him?

He held his phone out, already having opened his contacts page. Unsurprisingly Daire’s boss was titled ‘BOSSY 🪽’. Angel wings. Wait a second - why does claude recognize this number?

"Please don’t let that bugger' affect your view on Huntsmen United!”

Oh you have no idea.

Ring!

A automated message started with a wait time of 666 minutes, a horribly draining song playing in chip-tune, but just as Claude let the anxiety of being ignored hit him he heard the switch of channel. The man on the other side didn’t talk at first, sighing into the receiver.

"—This better be important, doggy."

Claude recognized that voice.

Claude smiles and nods until Daire hands him the phone, thanking every god that he could remember the name of until the absurdity of the situation hit him at full speed. Though the tension in the truck still remained thick, Claude still had to swallow past the lump in his throat and play cool until Daire inevitably realizes that the employee that he's been complaining about was quite literally him, phone shaking in his hand as his mind runs blank with what to say.

Fuck. What was he going to say again? Just run through everything that's happened, mention the stabbing and mention the creepy comments about angel blood he's made in reference to his teenaged son. Disabled, teenaged son. Rub that last part in. If this fucker on the other side had a heart, or at least, a sense of HR safety guidelines, he'd have no trouble getting Daire to either shut the fuck up and stop scaring him at the very least, or get him to fully leave him alone at the most. And just when they were starting to get along.

But there's an inkling of recognition that sparks across Claude's eyes as the number flashes, just fast enough for him to see it once. Once was enough. But his eyes were probably playing tricks on him. The angel wing on the side of the contact number probably wasn't. But it seals the deal once he hears that exasperated sigh. And that voice.

That godawful, tinny, whiny, goddamn voice.

"Hah, I can't fuckin' believe it." Claude huffs in disbelief. "Ralph, is that you?"

"Grand fucking tastic."

If Claude didn’t know any better he’d think the sound he just heard over the phone was glass breaking. Day Drinking, by chance? Funny, he used to get lectures about the subject by this Pidgeon.

"What’s the issue, Pretty Boy? Get a virus from whoring out to a succubi on national television? Did she pay well?"

Daire straighten up, fidgeting with his coat nervously. Remarkable, this loser was all it needed to get the werewolf to shut up.

"No… wait, you have my mutts phone. Did he bite someone again - I promise you won’t turn into anything. That’s only vampires."

The hatred in his voice was measurable, however the scale would break under such a weight.

“Aw. Sounds like you missed me.”

This fucker never managed to get a control over the absolute filth that left his mouth despite trying to convince Claude to watch whatever came out of his. Charming. If he didn’t hate him so much, he would have hung up the phone just like he would on any typical backwards asshole.

“And I dunno Ralph’s, you must be confusing yourself between us, see I don’t need to pay a woman to get her to sleep with me. She typically does it of her own will, but I’m sure you’re stranger to that concept. Must have hit your head on the desk of whoever you sucked off to get there. Maybe that’s why your grown ass keeps projecting.” Claude shakes his head, chuckling. “Big man in his big corner office and yet you talk like any drunkard down the store. You’re fucking disgusting.”

Whoops, he got a little carried away there. He still couldn’t have this guy hang up on him. Claude looks at Daire all straightened out. There’s bitterness at the fact that it took this unmemorable asshole for him to stop scaring him. “And no. No he didn’t bite anyone but he did…”

Huh. Why can’t he say anything. He looks at Daire. “Make weird comments about how my blood would look like and touched my wings without permission.”

"Do you imagine me sucking others off often? Still a giant fag, glad to know I’m still on your mind… even if just you pretending my mouth is on your small, limp dick. Wonder if those girly fingers of yours can even get you off."

Daire made a sound, covering his human ears at first before trying to also cover his wolf ones. The man sighed when he realised he didn’t have enough hands.

“Ah, is Lieutenant Doberman still with you? Tell him to go outside. Trust me. He can’t handle anything over PG-13. He’s …special if you catch my drift."

"—yes sir!" The werewolf bowed his head to hide how red his face was, leaving his van unlocked as he made his exit.

…

"I assure you that mutt meant nothing of it. He’s weird but not exceptionally dangerous."

That’s much easier to say when the other wasn’t stabbed by him.

"Oh, daddy got you a shinny little protective clause so you think you’re untouchable now? Newsflash, that’d only matter if you had someone to care about you enough to report it. If I killed you I bet your folks wouldn’t even notice, no risk for a lawsuit then."

Oh so he’s choosing not to comment on his weirdly sex-focused fantasies of Claude. Okay, fair.

"…and it’s not perceived harmlessness. Look, a colleague of mine clearly gave him a job as some charity, he’s not all there. Can’t even tie his shoes. I don’t know what made ‘m such a spaz… when I tagged that mutt he was a fine soldier but … now I take it as an achievement when he gets his job done. Ha. Oh it’s funny."

The older man had such an annoying laugh. It’d make a weaker person’s eardrums bleed. Probably.

"You of all people should give him a pass. Not all of em' are savants, unfortunately. But hey, it’s okay, I’m sure your son ‘ll turn out better."

Claude scoffs, picking at his nails. "As if you can kill me. You're too busy slobbering at whoever'll give you attention for rates you can afford."

Cork was always weirdly fixated on his dick, but he figures it says more about him than it does about Claude. At least he's still got that. Other than the repressed gayness that he's clearly dealing with aside, Claude was more than familiar with meeting Cork at his own admittedly lower level, which is why even he was blindsided by the absolute level of bigotry he ended up spewing out like it was a normal Tuesday morning.

There's this sense of undignified shock that grasps him deep in his chest before it twists into seething, burning rage. Enough for another crack to form on Daire's phone screen.

"Hey Ralph. If you ever say anything like that again, I'll drag you outside the domain walls and make sure the cavalry finishes what they should have started a decade ago. Remember that the only reason you're alive right now is because I didn't snitch on you when your shitty sealing spell malfunctioned in public. Keep that in your maggot-infested mind before you say a single word about my son."

“‘Don’t mention my son’ why? Going to sue me? I’m sure Krueal’s law wouldn’t even count him. He’s worse than a normal person. Let alone an angel."

Oh he was dead—

————

"What’s taking them so long…"

The werewolf pouted. Usually when something like this happened he could just block it out by playing mobile games, however with Claude using his phone he was left with nothing but his mind.

…yeah, that won’t do.

Daire fidgeted with his coat pocket, making a sound of excitement when he felt something cold inside. He must’ve grabbed the angel’s phone while cleaning. Oh you lucky dog.

Well, if the god of the hunt gifted him this entertainment, who is he to say no?

“Wh— oh … why is this line going down? Fuck what do I do. I suck at this game."

Candy Crush was a bore, it seemed fun but colour based games always upset the man for some weird reason. The rest of Claude’s apps were also a bust. ‘tinder’ had nothing to do with fires and the gameplay was far too repetitive. 'LinkedIn’ was too complicated for him to understand which character to pick. Oh and don’t get him started on Genshin! It sounded so promising but the loading screen was so long…

‘Stocks’ was fun enough, at least. Invest in game currency which make your racing character go up and down. Fun. Wonder why he kept getting so many pop-ups.

!!!!

[ ‘Kiddo’ IS CALLING.]

“AHH! They found me. Shite—"

Obviously this is a punishment for him using Claude’s phone without permission. Whoever ‘Kiddo’ was, they probably were sent to take care of Daire for kidnapping, theft, and attempted murder. FUCK. Play it cool. You got this. Just pretend you’re him.

“Hello?”

God he sucked at American accents. He just slowed his voice down.

Daire hears a sort of commotion from inside the van, assuming the two to be having a very strongly worded disagreement over whatever Huntsmen United employee dared to harass his new friend Claude while he wasn't looking. Since Daire has faith in him, he elects to focus more on the pressing matter of the call looming in his face, sweat beading on his forehead from the sun shining overhead.

On the other side of the call, there's a voice that sounds like it matches up exactly with the young kid Claude's had on his inner lockscreen for the past 3 years. Sap.

"Dad!! Dad where have you been!! I'm still at school!!! Please pick me up!!!"

…..shit.

Admittedly Daire wasn’t good with children. In fact he had no idea what one would normally say in such a situation. God… he hasn’t even been to a school since 6th grade.

Was Claude in good enough condition to drive? He wasn’t even supposed to stand or move around yet. That man hasn’t eaten anything, only had an iced coffee, and was wearing dirty bandages. Maybe the werewolf could make his way over to that laundromat he brought all their clothes to. He’s friends with the owner so they said they’d hold onto that fancy suit for him.

Hey! Task at hand! Focus! What would that crow say!

"Umh—" his voice cracked before the other attempted to reach Claude’s register, clearing his throat. "Dad’s in a work meeting… kiddo? Can your friends pick you up?"

Daire was worried he didn’t sound enough like Claude, hand practically shaking. He kept muttering posh things to ‘stay in character’, like ‘golf, watches, fancy cars’. It was surprisingly working.

Eve's quiet for a while, with the background noise of the hustle and bustle of school filling in the silence. There's an inhale that's probably in deliberation, before his voice picks up on the speaker. "... Hey dude can you just pass the phone to my dad? If he's asleep then just wake him up, ok?"

Daire could probably sense a hint of exasperation in the kid's tone, but it runs under the radar because Claude kicks the van door open with a level of strength that could have surprised the werewolf had the doors been locked.

"STUPID FUCKING BASTARD!" Claude's barely recognizable until he smashes Daire's phone against the asphalt with a growl, huge grimace stretching out his face with furrowed brows from visible rage. The thing crumples against the road, electricity crackling, his wings raising with obvious aggression. "AND STAY GONE."

Aw man, his phone!

"Oh dad's pissed. That explains things lol."

"—OI! MY PHONE!”

Daire went to check on his shattered device, however social etiquette forced him to stay holding Claude’s. He made a sound of discomfort as his own neurosis got in his way, now nervously stomping his feet under him.

“Oh, crow, how did that report go?” The man brought a hand to the receiver of the phone, worried that the teenager would eavesdrop. Ha, EVEsdrop. God he’s funny.

"While you ‘ere on call your … uhhh ‘kiddo’ called."

He practically threw the device at the angel, probably scraping his knee with the level of momentum he had when he dodged to the ground. Now clutching his broken phone like a baby.

“Aw… jailbroke it for nothing."

Oh poor guy. His ears pressed to his head.

"What report?" Claude huffs, chest falling and rising with effort as he looks back to Daire, suddenly aware of the enormous amounts of sunlight blessing him despite the sweat covering his body. He must have forgotten that this was an option. "Oh, that report. Y'know what Daire? Your limp dicked boss can go fuck himself. I'll deal with him later."

Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, after all. But if he could leave the van willy nilly, what was he doing here, again? Claude almost considered booking it with his new found freedom, but the second Daire mentions a kiddo, his ears perk up, feathers twitching as he catches his phone, immediately cradling it against his ears. "Hey bub, what's up?"

While Daire lamented over the loss of his phone, Claude taps his foot against the asphalt, sitting down on the pavement edge, laying out apology after apology with promises of pleading forgiveness and bribes with drink names that admittedly sounded good. He didn't seem to have much sympathy for the broken phone crackling in Daire's hands, more focused on getting his son to forgive him now. "I'm coming to get you, okay kiddo? Just sit tight."

It was destroyed. Utterly crushed.

Sure, Daire knew how powerful an angel was, he’d seen one destroy far more in seconds - even if that memory is buried far into his psyche - but this wasn’t a fact of worship. Usually such a feat would be looked at in admiration, hell, the last time Cork crushed a beer can the dog thought it was an act of god. However…. This wasn’t a display of strength. Claude had - accidentally, he reminded himself - destroyed his phone. Was he really on the verge of crying over losing messages with someone who literally can’t respond? God he’s pathetic. Daire composed himself quickly, hiding his shaking hands by shoving the fragments of his device in his pockets.

Don’t be a crybaby. Don’t be a crybaby.

"Don’t they have school busses ‘ere—“

!!!!

If only a cryptozoologist was here, the theories about angels’s paternal instincts would go insane. Doberman himself was thrown for the loop. He assumed the Krueal Family was the type to throw their eggs out of the nest.

"Psst, you shouldn’t even walk right now. Can’t you just call his ma' and have her do it?”

After a moment it appeared the werewolf noticed his mistake.

“…fine, I’ll drive.”

Claude bristles at the mention of Eve's birth mother, clearly striking a decades-old nerve before huffing, seemingly shaking it off. He does notice that Daire's a bit mopey about his broken phone, which was to be expected with the force of how hard he threw it against the ground. Oops. Sometimes he surprises himself. "Don't worry about that old thing. We'll get a replacement on the way."

He pats Daire on the shoulder half-heartedly, grimacing as his back stings from the effort. "I need you to swear me something in the car, though."

“A replacement won’t have all of my photos…."

The man whined, trying his best not to look upset. Of Course that was hard with his tail tucked between his legs. What a baby.

“Um, I’ll be in the car … sir?”

Was he calling Claude ‘sir’ because he thought the angel was still on call? At least he’s trying to make a good impression on Eve.

As he entered the van his hand lingered on where the other had touched his shoulder, smiling lightly. Oh, he liked pats.

"Yeah it will." He raises an eyebrow at him, expression incredulous. "We'll just transfer over the data. Couldn't have hit it that hard, what with my busted shoulder and all. It'll be fine."

The "sir" wasn't anything new in general, but from Daire, it was a welcome change of pace considering he was about to get murdered by him a few seconds ago. Claude grumbles under his breath, trying not to feel too bad about destroying the guy's phone now that he's seen his tail tucked between his legs. He forgets things have sentimental value, sometimes, but it's too late to feel guilty now. The damage had been done.

Once Daire got into the driver's seat, the tension in the van shifted to Claude, who stared straight ahead with a grimace on his face, wings tucked behind him. "Y'know. I had a talk with your boss. Him being a dick aside, I need to trust that you won't hurt me or Eve goin' forward. I need you to swear on it."

"A promise? Oh ’m great with those.”

A lie. He hates promises. There was a time they didn’t stress him out… ah, but that was before a certain magician. He could still feel their promise around his neck like a leash.

"So? Blood oath? That your thing? I can grab a knife from the back."

Like usual that damn dog found a way to make everything creepy. However there seemed to be a genuine conflict in his eyes. Was it so horrible to not be able to kill the Krueal family? Eventually whatever Daire was considering came to a close, he gripped the others hand tightly.

"It’s my job as a huntsmen to never intentionally hurt a civilian, angelic or otherwise. I promise my very soul. Cross my heart and hope to die. This isn’t a hunters ritual, but, here…"

Daire let go of the angels hand, now holding his pinkie out.

“I pinkie promise.”

Is he serious?

Logically, Claude had no reason to bank on the sole fact that a promise would stop Daire from hurting Eve if he really wanted to, but considering what he'd gleamed from their sparing interactions where they weren't engaged in direct combat, Daire was actually a pretty nice guy. His own neurosis and occasional weirdness aside, his boss's words struck a chord in Claude to the fact that he seemed mostly harmless— but the stab wound in his back begged to differ. He had to have some sort of insurance to fall back on, just in case.

And promises like this had weight to Angels.

From the effect it had on Daire, he could assume it was the same for him, with that stormy conflict in his eyes as he deliberated over slicing his hand open to swear that he wouldn't be slicing his son open. Just great. But before Claude could begrudgingly agree to the blood oath, Daire pulls out his pinky instead. His hand aches with how hard the dog grasped it, and he shakes it off before he locks pinkies with Daire.

"You're insane."

“Wh— I’m not!”

A concerning detail is that the symbols lining the man’s arm glowed when they pinkie promised. Hopefully that won’t come back to haunt Claude later.

“I got tested! They just gave me a little pill' n' I was fine!"

Oh, sure dude.

"Now…" Daire leaned back, scratching at his neck with just enough force to peel the bandages lining that ‘tattoo.’ "Where’s that' wean? Hm? Cmon' I won’t bite. I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Why was he so excited to pick Eve up. God this was a mistake. Surprisingly though, his kidnapping van was very wheelchair accessible. As long as Claude moved those guns.

"Yeah you are. But all of us are, so." Claude feels just a tiny stab of guilt that those tattoos worked as he assumed they should have. He knows bindings when he sees it, but jeez, he's a terrible person deep down, isn't he? "D'you think that was a rabies vax pill or they just gave you a Vitamin C and told you it'd fix everything?"

He leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably with another grimace. He sees Daire's neck tattoo glow under those hairline bandages, with just a glimpse of John's name peeking through like a death omen, and his mood worsens. Beyond the thought that, of course it was John of all people to be involved with Daire, Claude wasn't looking forward to the inevitable confrontation where if John finds out about their little scuffle, he'd be absolutely fucked. And not in the fun way either.

He snaps back to reality with Daire excitedly asking about his kid's school address, and even though a past version of him would be hyperventilating, the double guarantee of those bindings calmed him dangerously so. Enough for him to completely bank on the fact that his bind would hopefully work as intended. If they were even binds. "Wean? You got a funny selection of words. Uhh, he's like, around the bend. I'll give ya directions."

“Oh they probably gave me a sugar pill. Meds’ aren’t real, Crow."

At least they finally agreed on something.

“Oh and I don’t have rabies. For the record."

He only foamed from his mouth because he was excited! Actually, he had a sticker saying he got his vaccines on his dash board. Quite the messy front seat. Claude was quick to notice the photos taped to his window. One was of daire and a man he didn’t recognize in a cowboy hat, the cowboy looked utterly wasted. One of them was a girl with long black hair, along with… deer antlers? She was doing some kind of gun trick. Failing some kind of gun trick. Finally one was of — oh.

One was of John Constantine. Younger, in a purple coat, messing with Daire’s hair. It was signed 'your man-crush’. Huh.

It was a cute photo.

The rest of the front was just that dogs usual mess, ignoring the occasional blood stain.

"I didn’t think my words ‘ere weird. Yer' the one who speaks all … uhh .. fancy. Is that an angel thing?"

Claude always regretted letting the monster hunter drive. Daire followed his directions, yes, but he was such a bad driver this felt like a death march. He didn’t even have turn signals.

"That's real reassuring, man." Claude mutters, picking at the skin around his nails as Daire swerves around another corner. He'd complain about the strain it's taking on his wings, which stung with every crane of his neck, but he's not so eager to take on the alternative of taming the absolute beast that was Daire's fucked up steering wheel. With the condition he's in right now, he probably wouldn't be able to take it if there wasn't any power steering. Which he assumed there wasn't, with how the dog was yanking it around.

Claude sighs. He misses his BMW.

In the monotony that comes with the thrill of being yanked around by Daire's godawful driving, his eyes start to wander, passing over the clutter on his windshield, focusing plainly on the people in his photos with some interest till his eyes widen on who it lands on last. John. Just a touch younger, but still John. Still those eyes and still that face in that coat, now purple this time. Claude swallows past the lump in his throat, trying to suppress the urge to rip that photo off his windshield and bring it closer to turn it over in every possible way. He swallows past the penned writing over it and tries to focus on Daire's voice, mind running blank while he wracked his brain with what to say, what to respond.

"Huh? Oh, yeah uh. Probably." he murmurs, rubbing his neck. "Yeah. I mean you use some pretty archaic words."

“‘Archaic’. Well that’s just rude. Mean. If I ‘was your captain I’d’ wash y’ mouth with soap."

Daire almost hit a lamp post, this caused a slew of curses to escape him. Not very huntsmen like.

"So uhhh… what’s he like? Your kid… what’s his name… Evan?”

He already forgot.

"I assume he’s a musician. That’s cool. Is he like the annoying one’s orrrrr?"

The man hummed to himself, turning on his radio. It seemed to be connected to a number station, only the occasional ‘1 1 … 6’ coming through. Creepy. Why is he always creepy.

“Actually if he’s anything like you ‘m sure he’s a bless’n to be around."

"He's nothing like me." Claude says this quietly, with weight in his voice that wasn't dedicated towards a sarcastic intonation for once. "I thank Ouroboros above that he isn't every day."

Evan would have actually been a good name had his mother not picked it for him. Sometimes he wonders why he still kept it like that, Eve would have been spared much more grief growing up… but it was borne of selfish desire, as always. It’s not like he’d see her ever again. It’s not like Claude would let him. Some things should stay in the past.

He scuffs his feet against the half-carpeted, half-exposed floor of Daire’s van, grimacing at the slight scratches on his ankle from the struggle. Seems like Daire forgot to patch those up. His heart rate had mostly adjusted to the wolf’s erratic driving by this point, hand rising to hold onto the handlebar by the window as if it were second nature after every sharp turn.

"He's like. A gamer, I guess." Claude would be sour about the fact that he's starting to slack on classes for said games, but he didn't really want to unpack all of their familial issues in a car with a stranger. "He's always on his Switch and playin' stuff. Sometimes he gets those 2 player ones so I can play with him too. But he hangs around the band kids because of his partner. So I guess that's good. And FYI, I'm going to ignore what you said about washing my mouth out with soap. Because we'd be here for days if you tried."

He's filthy.

Eve’s school was getting closer, but so was the rising need for Claude to figure out how exactly he’d have to explain all of this. The kid wasn’t exactly suspicious of him by any means, no, but he would be worried if he saw the hastily stitched up stab wound on his back and the bruises around his neck. At least if it was anyone else, they wouldn’t doubt a thing, given his track record. The radio calmed most of his thoughts, static filling the silence in between them.

“Oh I’m sure he’s more like you, then y' think. Even if ‘ts small things."

A shame the front didn’t have seat belts, that might help Claude’s back from the constant pain from being shaken around like a soda can. Daire kept looking over at the angel (instead of the road, please look at the road) when he made a sharp turn, eyes inspecting him like somehow Claude would shatter like glass. Eventually he started to put his arm out in front of the other, trying to catch him from falling forward.

"I always' thought I was nothin like my mother," ‘mudder’, oh that’s a way to pronounce the word. "Y’see she was all put together n’ I was … me. She was a lot like y’ actually, same eyes."

The werewolf had a much gentler expression when he spoke of his mother, it was almost bittersweet. Well, bitter was a strong word, that dog never got too sad looking. Mild-sweet. Vaguely-melancholy.

"But after her death I laughed at a joke n’ realized…. ‘Well shit, that’s her laugh’. Hadn’t heard her in years. Thought I’d never see any of her again. Y’get what I mean?”

No, he really doesn’t.

"’E probably has your laugh. Your smile. Maybe he also makes that scrunched up face at people when annoyed. He’s your son, as long as yer' in his life you’ve already infected him. Nothing you can do about it now.”

Daire was failing to parallel park.

"Games are fun. Had a friend who used to let me play the ‘CPU’ role, ‘as great at it."

Oh I’m sure you were. Bud.

Oh I’m sure he’s more like you, then y' think.

Claude's mouth dries out at the thought, trying to hide the expression of abject horror on his face before he swallows dryly again. Eyes watering with the knowledge that what he's saying shouldn't be affecting him this much. This deeply. But Daire was right. Even if Claude didn't buy that faux-sappy shit about how everyone's a mosaic of their experiences and the people you meet and all, he's right.

When Daire brings up his mother, though, that's where it gets him, memories of warm rays of light in endless sunflower fields transforming the car into a graveyard of broken hearts. Clinging onto apron strings through teary eyes, looking up at her stern face while she looks back at you with what you hope is love. What you hope is love. Daire's got the same expression on, with that nostalgic reminiscence that speaks of a simpler time, simpler past and simpler present when nobody knew anything better and when you were still innocent.

It settles in his throat like a jammed bullet. Seeing himself in Eve haunts him deep down to the core. And his wretched existence continuing on in him long after he's gone makes it worse somehow. In his heart of hearts he doesn't grasp how Daire sees this as a good thing— though his mother was a different case, surely, how could this apply to him? He was the singularity that's behind most of the bad shit that's happened to his family.

He’s your son, as long as yer' in his life you’ve already infected him. Nothing you can do about it now.

Nothing you can do about it now. Yeah, right. He's already tried.

"Your mom sounded nice. I hope she was nice." He falters. "That's all a kid needs when he's growin' up, I guess—" Claude had more to say, but he's interrupted with the jolt of Daire backing into the car behind him. "OI! WATCH IT??"

"—Oi? ‘Oi don’t tell m' how to drive!"

Rookie Mistake Claude: You should never backseat drive with a monster-hunter. Apparently. Especially one who has a tendency to stab people. Daire huffed, barely managing to avoid scratching the cars ‘in his way’ (parked neatly in a row.), now stopped in front of the entrance. This was not a parking spot, however the werewolf apparently decided this would be faster for Claude.

"…She was nice, kind in her own way. Like you, I think. Maybe she was n’ angel. Ha, no - She wasn’t."

When Daire stopped the car everything felt quieter. It no longer cried with overuse, cans now still instead of flying around in the back, the car stopped making that ‘hiss’ when it turned, nor did the AC unit make that horrible ‘sccccc!’ Sound. Funny enough that white noise was familiar, its absence something greater in this car. It was like a coat of silence, both men not ready to say the first word. Eventually the dog smiled, looking back at his mess of a ‘house.’

“Go get ‘m. I know y’ don’t want me to come with. Ah - shit, actually do you need m’ help to you walk? Y' look…"

…

“…is there a nice way to say ‘dying’? - You look ill."

Hopefully Eve didn’t notice. They’d have to come up with a pretty good lie… perhaps a mishap when bowling?

"Maybe you should learn how to actually drive properly then." Claude huffs, dusting off his shoulder while his feathers shed from the stress. Whoops. He better clean those up before Daire notices and shoves them into his glove compartment. Though he doubted if they'd be any good, anyways. He peeks out the window and tries to ignore the pindrop of dread that caught him once he realized it really was Eve's school outside.

He was picking his only son up. In a van where more people have died than been saved. With a guy who stabbed him in the back. Shirtless. Bleeding. Stabbed. Outside his fancy ass prep school.

At least Ralph didn't handle his PR anymore, but he was sure to make Eleanor tear her hair out over this when she realized that he's been missing from work for around 6 hours now. He'd make a remark about Daire's spectacular driving skills, but he's still got that look on his face. That vaguely sad, nostalgic face. "Bless little you if she was anything like me."

Then the issue of actually getting there was brought up. He'd be lying if he was confident that he'd be let in past the entrance in his current state, but with Daire's parking right outside the arch starting to worry him, Claude didn't have much choice but to grit his teeth and bear the pain. "Well, I was considerin' the idea of stopping by an outlet to get some clothes and a replacement for your poor poor phone, but now that we're here..."

He looks to Daire, suddenly aware of how rough he looked. "D'you think they'll let me in without my shoes?"

“…oh shite, was supposed to do that, wasn’t I?”

Daire’s face did this odd thing when he felt guilty, it scrunched up in that sorta way when you expect a ball to fly towards your face. Or a hand. The huntsmen’s hands seemed to shake around in some kind of defensive self soothing behaviour before he bolted out of the car. What the—

"I’m sure I have something you can wear.”

Oh, he was jumping to apologise in some way.

"Shoes… ah, here, I use these ‘n the winter."

Pink, glittery light-up slippers. They were a size too small for Claude’s feet, size too large for Daire. They squeaked. The werewolf had tossed them towards the angel without looking.

…

"I know I have a coat somewhere."

While looking for an article of clothing he had that the other could wear, mumbling to himself a mix of ‘shit’ and ‘sorry’. In his hurry Daire held out a coat he’d do nothing more than to never see again, only looking up when Claude grabbed it from him.

It smelled just like John, ignoring the hint of dried blood.

“Hm?”

Daire tensed up, he went to reach for the article but there was nothing wrong in letting the attorney examine it.

"Ah, if you want you can borrow my shirt, in uniform n’ all.”

This was more of a bargain than anything else, clearly the man had made up his mind.

I mean. This wasn't ideal, but he'd like to be let in to the premises instead of being stopped at the door.

This wasn't the worst state he'd been in for the receptionists to turn him away (Ouroboros forbid someone shows up just a little tipsy at their kid's school), but maybe it was just bad enough that it'd be the final straw. The thought of wearing those abysmally glittery slippers aside, Claude really had to keep his eyes from widening once Daire pulls out that purple coat, albeit a bit more bloodstained and dirtied than the last time he saw it perfectly preserved in the photo.

Was it wrong to want to touch it? His fingers twitch, outstretched as he takes it from Daire as gingerly as he could afford to, grimace making its way onto his face as he tries not to fixate on the smell. He misses that smell. It was becoming increasingly aware that Claude was embarrassingly obsessive about someone that Daire seemed to have a questionable relationship with, and though any sane person would have returned the coat back (with maybe some level of hesitance), Claude found it within himself to mumble out a quick lie about the coverage it'd give him while holding it dangerously close to his chest. Like a fucking pervert.

"I think I just need the coat."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daire gave him the croptop too. Claude thinks it's ridiculous since John's coat did a great job of covering him, save for the awkward bunching in the back where his wings folded up against it, but now that he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he realizes that Daire was right.

He looks fucking ridiculous.

The croptop was short on Daire, but it was shorter on him. It barely covered anything substantial while the coat was reduced to an off-shoulder jacket due to the giant excuses for wings on his back giving him constant back pain and problems. And of course it was drafty as fuck. Claude attempts to pull down the hem of the shirt, muttering uncomfortably as the wind bites at his exposed torso. What else wasn't exposed at this point. If people were nosy enough they'd be able to see his V-line. Fucking office pants and how low-waisted they were. And where the hell did his belt go? He'd at least be given the grace to be embarrassed about this in private, but of course Daire was breathing over his shoulder in anticipation of helping him walk over to reception to hopefully procure his son back after they'd called off security.

This better work. Claude leans gingerly on Daire's shoulder, ready to carpe the fucking diem. He's picking up his goddamn son today, whether anyone likes it or not.

Daire didn’t have the best grasp on his mind at times, especially when it came to that occult detective. Hot rage would fill his mind before dissipating into white, flashing sparks down his stomach. Like butterflies if the butterflies were more akin to maggots. Thinking about John made him feel like he was rotting. Somehow a part of his body had already been taken from him, flies left in its absence.

That look of obsession, of something clouding in his abdomen before he could snuff it. Claude’s look as he put the coat on, like he’d bite Daire if the werewolf tried to take it from him. Like a predator. Oh, they were the same weren’t they? Both were ruined by John Constantine.

The brunette fidgeted with his coat, buttoning up his bare chest sloppily. His waist not even hidden as he only covered up his pecs. Priorities.

"One foot… two foot… or is it two feet..”

OKAY. Claude didn’t need his help walking that bad! However the counting wasn’t for the attorney. The monster hunter was whispering the occasional nothingness into the others ear, clearly occupied by the smell of that rotten coat. Oh they were both sick.

Surprisingly security didn’t question them. This was surprising considering Daire was still armed. Perhaps later the attorney should make a complaint. Safety concern.

When the dog caught a glimpse of how fancy the school was he let out a little ‘oh’, clearly intimidated by its aesthetic. He felt like a pest.

“Damn you make money.”

Yeah he does!

"Course I do." He grumbles, slippers squeaking. This fucking blows.

John's coat is itchy. Its age was showing, chafing against Claude's exposed arms and back, sensory hell in the making with the strands of hair that kept sticking to his forehead. It was like that big snake in the sky wanted him to suffer, because every single parent he's ever known from the most important circles he's supposed to care about were playing present, and stared him and Daire down as he tried not to stumble down the halls. Eve would probably be down this turn, around the bend in the classrooms when Claude got too late for him to wait outside in the sun-basking areas.

Every step was agonizing through having to ignore the stickiness of the coat against the sweat on his skin and the ache in his bones, since he was hellbent on finding his kid without stopping for breaks. Daire had probably noticed as much since Claude was starting to feel feverish against the cool airconditioned air that broke right through the flimsy protection of John's coat, with his eyes threatening to close shut. Why now? When he'd already come so far?

Course he always quits at the last moment. But he hears the familiar rolling of wheels, and his eyes snap open, ears perking up. It's Eve.

"Dad???"

"Cmon, toughen up. Don’t want to soil yer' image in front of the tot'."

Daire muttered quietly, so close to the others face that Claude could smell what the other ate. Actually the angel wasn’t nearly that good at identifying different fast food burgers but you get the idea.

"Oh he’s so small. Bite sized angel."

Perhaps it was a bad idea to refer to someone’s kid like food when he was already worried about you harming them. Daire smiled lazily, tail wagging.

It was a well guarded secret but that dog loved kids. Oh they’re so silly, babbling on about whatever. Even when they get to this annoying, argumentative size.

Suddenly the man felt almost insecure. Teenagers were judgmental! He didn’t wanna look like a weirdo next to Claude’s cool, gamer son. God he needs friends his own age. The werewolves thoughts were racing, worried about embarrassing the man he’d done enough to already. 'God I should’ve brought my cap’. His ears made him feel more monsterish than usual, an old insecurity bubbling up in his throat. Pale, freckled hands now fidgeting with his coat. Oh highschoolers would eat him alive.

In reality he wasn’t jumping to impress a, what, 14 Year Old? His mind must’ve been playing tricks on him. For some odd reason Daire felt that same spark of kinetic energy that followed Daciana around. A magical conduit, she was. Something subconsciously made him stand at attention, impress his captain even when he knew it wasn’t her.

Oh he’s pathetic.

"Sorry I didn’t bring ‘m all in one piece. Yknow how it is… game nights. Adult stuff. He beat my ass n' billiards."

‘Billarjes.' ….

Claude pants, shaking his head, before tilting his jaw towards his son, who’s already made his way over.

He’s like a puddle’s reflection of the man leaning against the wall with his gaunt face. What Narcissus glimpsed for just a moment before crashing into the waves. He’s innocence incarnate. With baby fat and a neon purple streak running down chocolate brown hair that looks eerily similar to Claude’s unsettled mop. Purple was everywhere on this kid, but what was most evident was that he was loved. Fully. With stickers pasted all over his wheelchair made perfectly for him to fit.

Eve stares up at Daire with twinkles sparkling in his eyes like he’s the coolest kid he’s met on the block. He looks at his tail and ears with barely suppressed interest, fingers tapping on his chairs armrest before he looks at his father with clear concern, wheeling closer before Claude straightens up like he’s never felt pain in his life. Daire could have sworn he was a different person from the way he was acting, face melting into a practiced smile as if to say hey, nothing’s wrong. And it worked, because he bends down to give Eve a hug, and the kid hugs him. It’s like magic.

“Sorry about being late, kid, got a bit held up after work.”

Eve huffs, and Daire notices the glint of cochlear implants clipped behind his ears, no doubt made custom just for him. “That’s what you always say though.”

“Eh, it’s always true, so.” Claude motions to Daire. “This here’s my new work friend. Daire. Treat him nicely.”

Eve smiles at Daire, if not a bit awkward about it now that he’s expected to be polite. “Coolios. Nice to meet you, Mr..?”

“Oh he doesn’t have to treat m' nicely! Respect is earned, Crow. Umh… Sir. Mr. Crow?"

Daire laughs, patting the angels back before he remembers what was going on under that coat. He visibly cringed when he realised what he did, shaking his hand before burying it into his pocket like he was burned.

"Ah, it’s not Mr, It’s Lieutenant Woods. Present."

Whenever Eve seemed to fidget the man’s ears - dog ears, which the teenager assumed cost good money - would move up. Were they noise activated? Each ‘tap’ would grab the monster hunters attention.

“…Nice to meet you. Uhhh Eve. Is that short for something? Like that anime I always hear about..”

Why does his dad know a furry-anime fan? What’s happening. Is Eve on a game show?

“Ehvan-Gelon? That one? I ‘ear there’s orange juice in it."

While stimming inside his pocket the brunette found a coupon he’d picked up for himself. Yes! Daire thought he’d lost it!

Claude looks like death warmed over when Daire's hand connects with his back, swaying slightly with a restrained grimace. Eve, however, seems to sour at the correction instead, a slight kink in his expression as his mouth tugs at the corner. "Oh. Are you like, military or something? Part of the cavalry? Dad, I thought you.."

He trails off as Claude gives him a look, shrugging before shoving his hands into his pockets. ".... M'kay. Lieutenant. Nice to meet you..."

The kid doesn't seem all that invested, probably subjected to more than many infuriating first meetings with forgettable business partners, but visibly perks up once Daire mentions anime, eyes widening in excitement. "OOH— WAIT, YOU KNOW—"

Claude gives him another look, and he quiets down, stepping closer to Daire to stare up at him, paying close attention to how the man's ears perked up with every tap. Maybe he was doing it intentionally at this point, trying to gauge just how reactive they were without being caught. "... You watched Evangelion?"

"Cavalry? Oh, uhhh, something like that. I’ll uh, tell you when you’re older."

Daire glanced at Claude like he asking for permission to reveal anything about himself, weird.

Looking down the monster hunter realised he had a pin on his coat, a badge actually. His Huntsmen United Badge. The old thing actually looked like a rusted lawyer pin. He awkwardly unclamped it from the collar before panicking on where to put it. He broke code, stuffing it in his other pocket. Eve didn’t even recognise the badge, this only made him more suspicious.

"Nice to meet you too."

The cropped ear perked all the way to alert, now standing upright on his head. Daire made a sound, manually dragging it down. Meanie. Apparently the mechanism in his suit got stuck?

"I only watched a little. They’re about to meet the next pilot. She looked cool, red Eva."

Maybe his dad had brought this weirdo here to distract him from how late he picked him up. It was working.

"I liked the blue one! Uhhhh rem?"

Close enough.

While talking the werewolf kept looking at the angel curiously, tail wagging as he awaited orders. It took Eve a moment to register it was because the older man was socially awkward and didn’t know where else to look.

"…Funny enough I didn’t think you’d like a show about killing angels.”

Eve mumbles something under his breath, the heel of his sneakers tapping against the footrest of his chair, while Claude watches the conversation over like a hawk. Finally being overbearing enough to haunt the hallway without saying a single word. Maybe that's why Daire was fidgeting around so much.

He's used to the feeling of someone breathing down his neck.

Eve's more focused on Daire's ears to notice his suspicious badge hiding activities though, eyes widened with more obvious interest as he battles with the conflict of trying to be as subtle as possible about his fixation without alerting Claude to reprimand him for disrespecting social dynamics. He was never much good at them, anyways. Though, with how Daire's acting, Eve finds himself relating more than he should... both of them looking to Claude for invisible guidance. Maybe him being military wasn't as bad as he thought. Unfortunate happenings.

"YEAH Asuka's my goat! It's too bad that she gets nerfed later in the seas—" He winces. "Oops, spoilers sorry. But Rei is also cool, yeah!"

Claude grumbles at Daire's last comment, wings twitching in defiance while Eve laughs. "Yeah actually that's the reason Dad doesn't like Evangelion." He elbows his father a bit, grinning up at him. "You do know that it's like fiction right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah yeah. Still creepy. Big robots are alright, though."

“It’s not ‘really’ fiction, actually. Sure the story is but I can count on my hand a few hunting society that made human-piloted Angel-Elimination technology. I wonder if any 'f em still work."

“…..”

“Just kidding, ha ha."

He wasn’t. The man’s eyes had that same spark of light that Eve got when discussing his interest, ignoring the fact his hyper fixation was monster-killing machines he actually was just like the teenager.

"I wonder if piloting a mech would be like those old planes I used to use. Hm…"

he picked at his lip when talking, hands having a welcome distraction from messing with his coat collar.

“If that’s the case I could teach you to pilot an Eva. Ha, oh I’m so cool.”

You are! Don’t let those haters from the dog competition tell you otherwise!

“I wonder if my licence still counts for anythin'."

Eve tries to stop his mouth from dropping, till it dropped anyways. "That's so cool though? Angels must've been really strong for the hunters to... oh." There's a hint of delayed fear that shows through his face before it's blocked by Claude's wide frame stepping in between them, a low growl starting in his chest before it stops. Not very subtle of him.

"Enough about that now. Let's get to the car and get your phone fixed." Claude glares at Daire before glancing over at Eve, "And I'll get you a drink at like, 7/11 like you wanted."

"YIPPEEEE!!"

"I’ll pay!”

The Monster Hunters says this, however he is holding out Claude’s credit card. What an ass. Once the man walked by him Daire made a face mocking the other, clearly in Eve’s line of sight.

“But we still have ice cream n’ my car."

With no AC or freezer, it was probably almost all melted. Or diseased. That wouldn’t stop a certain dog from eating it though.

Daire walked in front, clearly excited for his phone. His boots made little clicks as he essentially skipped down the hall, reading out every poster or nameplate he saw.

“…oh, unless y’ don’t want me buying yer' little bug' anythin'. Safety concern n' all."

It was a honest mistake he forgot to ask first, social etiquette more of an after thought. However something about the way he said it felt like a test, a threat. Like he was baiting the angel to test his limits near others. Daire laughed to himself, stopping briefly to make sure the two had caught up.

"This really is a fancy school. Wonder how good their afterschool programs are.."

Claude wasn't having any of Daire's faux-innocence around Eve. He'd predicted that the conversation would turn sour eventually, but Daire, as always, managed to surprise him. Truthfully, his opinion of the dog seemed to waver with every interaction, Ralph's dismissive words about him stirring a pit of uncertainty in his stomach while every action said otherwise. These probing questions, currying Eve's favor, the almost timed disrespect. It's calculated.

Well, Claude isn't going to lose. Even when he feels his body giving up on him, almost like the last bit of of his energy's been spent now that Eve's in his care. But he's no simpering bastard. He snatches his card out of Daire's hands with a chuckle, leaning on the foot that hurts less while he watches the werewolf skip ahead. Daire really did a number on him. Eve was steadily overtaking Claude as he struggles to keep up while appearing completely and totally fine, but had the sense to cast concerned glances whenever his attention was battling between paying attention to the shiny new guy.

Though, Eve isn't stupid. He's probably noticed the shift in the air by now. Just playing stupid. Like Daire. Kid would probably confront this at home once Claude's gotten rid of the damn dog.

There's a level of self-conflict on a personal level he's yet to uncover, flipping between the genuine sympathy he's had for Daire (or was it pity?) and the equally as pressing fear that's been grasping his throat for the past hour he's had to navigate with the huntsmen, and while Claude was determined to keep things as amicable as can be, he wasn't sure if he'd be up for another tussle.

Because Daire could beat him to death without breaking a sweat.

"I don't want you buying nothing because you're not gonna be able to afford it on pennies." He grunts. "Plus Eve's banned from soft drinks. This soda's an apology drink though, right kid?"

"Yup! It's the least you could do!"

So was the phone.

“On pennies? I have a 5!"

One singular fiver. Amazing.

"What makes the drink soft? I thought hard drinks were alcoholic… damn, kids already drinking?" Then he’d really be like Claude. "Or is there an inbetween. Permissible drinks…”

The hunter hummed to himself, glancing back at Eve occasionally. He was trying to understand the sticker references on the teenagers wheelchair, unable to recognise much. Actually that was a lie, He knew plenty about the media, the problem was he kept spacing the names. Daire walked past the other, tail within arms length.

Was there a bandage stuck in it from earlier? Poor guy didn’t notice, the bright pink adhesive holding on by a thread.

"Crow, should I put those scratchers n' the front? I assume he’s sitting in the back."

Obviously he understood he’d have to move everything else. Unless kids were allowed guns. Hm. He was, so maybe it’s a parent’s decision, he should ask— oh that look was deadly. Making eye contact with Claude once was all it took for him to finally shut up. Deflating into his blood stained jacket. Angel blood. The faint glittery spark shimmering when the light caught the stain.

“We’re sitting in the back. You know the directions to my office.” Because he’s sure as hell not leading him to the penthouse. Eve opens his mouth to protest before Claude gives him a look, and then he shuts up, just as quick. The halls felt longer than usual but he’d have to attribute it to the fact that his pelvis seemed to be caving in on itself with how many aches he’s getting in his joints. If his doctors weren’t concerned about his body’s condition, they would be now once Claude eventually gets a checkup.

Though, drinking in the bathtub seemed like a more attractive alternative. That is, if he even manages to make it out alive. He had to play this whole schtick off as if they were totally playing nice enough for Daire to drop them off willy nilly, and drive off with a brand new iPhone to boot. And to think he felt a tiny stab of guilt for destroying that old brick, too.

Eve was the last straw. As always. Maybe one day he’d do the best thing for that kid and see himself out. But until then, he’d let Eve lean on him while Daire gingerly lifts the chair into the back, ignoring the way he moved away weaponry with his free foot, tail bumping against things as it wags. What the hell did he have to be happy about, anyways? He’s made Claude fear for his life like 4 times just in this hour alone. At least he’s shut up by now.

If Daire didn’t know any better he’d think Claude was mad at him. Aw man :(… what did he even do this time? He always seemed to scare civilians away. Weird. Must be the ears.

"Yer' no fun. It’s so lonely up here when the cage is up."

Good, that’s the point. The werewolf pouted as he set the cage up, locking it half hazardously. How did he even get a patrol car? While setting up he started humming to himself, the sound random white noise from a memory the dog didn’t care to remember. Claude remembered though. That sound was an echo of the past, one of many hunter’s songs they’d sing or hum while working. When driving in the cold in a rusty car. When dealing with meat. With prey. He’d hear it from greasy men in leather coats, twirling around guns. Haunting. It was sickening how daire seemed to mutter it out of habit.

"Kid, Think I got the aux working…. Here, connect your Spotify.”

The hunter stared at Claude knowingly, smiling at him goofily while he fished a cord through the fence blocking him from the others. At least there was a barrier between them, that helped with the building anxiety.

Eve immediately pulls out TikTok and manages a few obnoxiously loud scrolls while Claude glares at Daire through the bars, mouth stretched in a grimace. Though he's had enough of hearing phonk for the rest of his life, the almost calming monotony of his son's incomprehensible FYP introduced a sense of normalcy that lasts... just until a few seconds later where Daire starts humming a tune that makes his heart drop straight to his stomach.

There's just something about it that makes him want to throw up, sweat beading on his temple while he looks wide-eyed at Daire, Eve, then Daire again before the once sticky-hot atmosphere in the car melted into freezing cold. And he's staring into space, blindsided as his body betrays him with a migraine that aches and a mouth so dry it's starting to feel like he's back in that van. But his ears twitch, perking up as the shifting of cloth snaps him back into reality, Eve leaning over to connect his phone to Daire's rotten speakers, blasting Hey Daddy by Usher while talking about some blue-eyed king.

And suddenly, Claude's just covered in sweat. In John's old, bloodstained coat. In Daire's cropped shirt. With his son sitting right next to him cracking jokes with the hunter in the front like it was nobody's business. And his throat is dry.

"Yknow, I had a mission at a … what was it called .. a ComicCon, very interesting. Lots of ‘cosplayer’. Don’t know what they play but they all liked Gojo."

What was the cavalry doing at ComicCon?

"Oh and this girl named Miku."

HATSUNE MIKU?

Daire’s car made a horrible sound each time the man turned. Additionally it would somehow turn up the speaker while sparking whenever he used a turn signal. Was that a fire hazard? When the sound got too loud the hunter covered his dog ears with his hand, huffing.

“Everything okay back there?"

Blue eyes lingered on Claude in that coat for far too long, face turning sour long enough for even Daire to notice what he was doing. He cleared his throat before looking back at the road, barely avoiding the dastardly ‘bird flying across the road who clearly has a death wish’. Ha, maybe that was Claude’s cousin.

Eve didn't know how to feel about Daire. On one hand, his dad seemed to grimace at every interaction between them, but on the other, Daire seemed informed on a lot of things that would be hard to fake if he was trying to curry favor. It's too authentic in a way that's difficult to calculate unless one's actually been there. I mean, there was also the part where Dad did introduce this guy as his friend, so maybe he wasn't that bad after all.

And Dad's nothing if not unfriendly.

He was talking about Miku, too!! And Gojo!! There's clearly some camaraderie that's to be made of the situation, Dad's bad mood nonwithstanding. So Eve continues to laugh at Daire’s jokes, showing him TikToks he found funny while the wolf looked over his shoulder to react, even while driving. So attentive! And maybe because he’s being so reactive, Dad’s not saying anything to stop this whole trip from happening! Sure, Daire may have spooked him a little in the beginning with that joke, at least he thinks it was a joke, but he earned it back through all this Pokémon Go talk! Eve can barely feel the road running under the car as Daire swerves through a street lamp, sure that Claude’s done worse under less amounts of excitement.

It’s only 15 minutes in until Eve notices that Claude’s been dead silent.

It’s Daire that points it out, blue eyes sobering in the silence of the car now that Eve’s playlist is put on pause. And there’s a slight stab of guilt at the kid’s heart as he looks to his father for the first time since the ride’s started. And beyond the ill fitting coat and the weirdly modern crop top, Eve realizes he looks like shit. A thousand yard stare straight through him like nothing around him exists, ears twitching while his mouth was frozen in a thin grimace, hands shaking on his knee. Eves heart drops as he hesitates, gingerly taking his hand in his before Claude mutters something illegible in what he assumed was Ouroboros Enochian. He never taught him.

“mater, ignosce, lap ol zir crip g nor.” he shivers. “Ol zir weak. Da g lasdi, ol kneel. ignosce ol.”

But these words were familiar. He’s heard it through the bedroom doors when Dad was bad. Though now, Eve wonders if he ever got better.

Daire was not good with emotions.

He never was much good with anything.

A younger him tried. Oh how he’d sit near the very things he’d help slaughter only an hour later, making conversation about silly nothings. The boy would even put his gun down, what an idiot, everyone knows you should never lower your weapon when a monster is watching. They weren’t human, they will take advantage of human weakness. Sometimes you have to learn that the hard way. That bite still burns, even if the scar had faded. Suddenly the car was too cold. He was trying his best not to shiver. Even if the coat fits now it still never kept him warm.

The car stopped suddenly, parked shoddily in a parking lot just a little away from the 7-11 they meant to be at. Eh, a little walking never hurt anyone.

…

"Kid, let’s give yer' dad a minute. Cmon, I’ll pay."

Daire tried his best not to look upset, however his voice gave way to some unkept anxiety.

"He’ll meet us inside."

The werewolf got out, ready to help Eve out of his truck, tapping nervously with his feet. The energy was tense enough that the man’s ears pressed against his head.

"While we’re ‘n there you can tell me more about those domain expansions."

Eve's face scrunches up in a frown. It looked all too similar. "No, I'm not fucking leaving him like this, are you serious?"

How could you make me want to leave him now? His eyes meet the werewolf's with a strained sort of tension, upset visible while his hands hold Claude's more firmly, ignoring the way it's rising to clasp together in a prayer. "Dad's gotten in... episodes like this before. I can help him. If you don't want to be here that's fine, just don't... just don't wait for me to join you."

Of course it was leading up to this. Why didn't he notice the signs? Why didn't he notice the fucking— Okay, now he's crying. That's not. That's not good. He can barely see Daire standing there uncomfortably still through his tears, but he suppresses a hiccup before wiping his tears down his sleeve. God, this was embarrassing. "Genuinely dude, it's, uh." It's fine. Say that it's fine. "It's aight."

Before Eve can look at his father, he's already done it for him, eyes snapping back into focus before he mutters "shit." under his breath. Eve's wrapped in a hug that smells like shit, but Claude's holding him so tight he knows he's back. His wings fold over the kid, laser-focused on him, till Claude turns his eye to Daire.

Men weren’t supposed to act like that.

Boys who cried were too weak to survive, men who cried were monsters.

Something about the way Claude was choking, was hyperventilating, praying, it stirred a memory of his father. well, it couldn’t have been his father, he was a proper man. Unlike Daire. Poor eve, he didn’t have a good role model. He’d surely grow up too weak to become a man.

Perhaps Claude and him were both runts. There’s always next litter.

"….ILLSEEYOUINSIDE."

The words came out like vomit, the man was surprised they even came out in the right order. He practically dashed off, controlling his breathing as he entered the store.

He hated crying.

Good thing he wasn’t.

He wasn’t!

….

God this is awkward. How’s he going to drop those two off. Maybe if he waited long enough they’d rot in that car. He wished.

The store was silent like a shot's just gone off once Daire manages to stumble through the doors. And of course, everyone's eyes beeline directly on him. Subject numero uno. Course, he would be fine with all this attention had it not been followed with the sound of the doors opening behind him, again.

What. The. Fuck.

Claude's standing taller than he's ever seen him. Wings tucked neatly behind his back while Eve leans on his cane, right by his side. He looks just as he did when Daire first met him. Irrevocably disgruntled with a grimace on his face. But Eve's face still betrayed just a touch of horror, just enough for Claude to lean down and send him off to the soda stations while he walks over to Daire.

"Let's go get our snacks now. C'mon."

What was that saying Angels always said in the movies? 'Do not be afraid.’ Yeah, Claude should come with that disclaimer.

Not to say Daire was scared in anyway, he’s far too cool for that I’m certain. The man took a step back regardless of this apparent braveness, nearly knocking over a thing of chips.

"Are you always this confusing. I thought - you - I…" the werewolf was getting whiplash from Claude’s recovery. "Fine. Fuck. Glad t' see yer acting normal again."

Normal was a stretch.

" I - m' sorry about your back."

Did he think that whole breakdown was because he stabbed him? Oh he really IS stupid. To be fair the hunter had no real way to know what he did. Silly guy.

The brunette’s tail wagged wildly when he walked past the pre-made hot dogs. Looking back at Claude however seemed to make him remember his mission, tail drooping as he made his way to the objective.

"I will crash if you do that again, birdy."

Was that a threat?

"Don't call me that. I told you."

Claude leans against the frozen aisle refrigerator door, expression unreadable as he watches Daire walk away from him, then stop once he looked back at him. If he could say anything, he'd say that Daire was scared of him.

Good.

The victory in his chest feels shortlived since it's muted against most of the others swirling around in his throat, like an oilspill. But there was one that stood out against the mess and that was recognition. Of what? Daire doesn't know yet. But Claude doesn't either. He walks behind him, barely making a sound— because he's following Daire's method. Every single inch of lean, tilt, and weight memorized in an infinite combination of technique, put to use on convenience store floors with fuzzy pink slippers. And he's getting closer. So agonizingly slowly that the aisle seems to stretch into infinity, slowing time itself as he pads up to the wolf.

"Y'know, Daire." He starts, ignoring much else the wolf had to say. "I've realized a couple things about us."

We ruin everything we touch.

Daire’s eyes traced Eve, quietly counting their distance. He didn’t want to fight in front of the poor kid. He was like a puppy.

"I realised something too. Didin' know we ‘ere sharing."

By that tone it was obvious the other was trying to test where they stand with each other, now acting not as if Claude was fragile, but instead in a way that implied the angel was much like a bomb.

Whatever Daire had noticed the words seemed stuck in his throat, how unfortunate, he appeared all there for once. Those sharp eyes glaring into the father’s soul. After a moment of hesitation the dog came up with a replacement, holding out a thing of chips as he waited to see if that man was paying for it.

"You hate me. How rude. I actually thought you were cool too."

!!!!!!

The tension seemed to leave the monster hunters body when he saw something out of the corner of his eyes, dropping the bag in a discarded motion on the floor. By the time the angel caught up to Daire it was already too late. Why was he looking at dog treats.

And why was he so excited about them? This is ruining Claude’s moment.

“Oh they have my favourite flavour."

Well, we have to get his favourite flavour, right guys?

Claude scoffs.

"I don't hate you. C'mon. Don't be so sensitive." Again, unreadable. Maybe if Daire were to take him at face value, he'd actually be able to believe it. If he was affected by the hunter's glare, it's not noticeable, eyes narrowed in what seems to be annoyance. Like he's lost the plot. With no trace of the state he was in at the car. Like it didn't exist.

Confusing. The angel straightens up and crosses his arms, looking over at Daire before grabbing some canned coffee and Monster out of the fridge. He gets a generic ice tea and tosses it at Daire. "Get your doggy treats and everything else. I gotta get home soon."

Daire made a face at the iced tea, looking annoyed before - oh - something on the bottle made him smile. Who knew all it took was peach flavoured drinks to get him to shut up.

This was ruined by the treat comment.

“These aren’t ’doggy treats’. Humans ‘ave em all the time! I’m not a dog!”

…

"I just need em for my teeth.” He mumbled, picking up a bag while looking down in a mopey manner.

"If ‘ere in a hurry I can just drop y’ off at your place."

Nice try. Daire fidgeted with his hands, was he worried about his phone taking too much time? Claude was the one who broke it!

"’D just charge my phone bill to yer office. That works, yeah?"

Dangerous precedent letting him send Krueal & Co invoices. He’d probably try billing them for anything he didn’t want to pay.

"As if I'd be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice." He says, walking behind Daire, staring holes into the back of his head while his grip tightens on the coffee can. For a hunter, he thought he'd know better than to turn your back on someone you've just monumentally pissed off. He wouldn't put it past Daire to see him as that little of a threat, though. So his grip loosens anyway, "And If you're eating literal dog food those are, in fact, doggy treats. I hate to break it to ya."

The air was... weird. Eve's around in the corner of the store, probably twiddling his thumbs waiting for Claude to finish whatever he was planning. Soda couldn't have taken this long, but Claude's plan couldn't have either. He's not going to just attack him in the middle of the store. The first time didn't go so well, and honestly there wouldn't be a second time if he tried. So what was he planning? There's a sense of thinly veiled murderous intent that's just barely in the atmosphere when Claude stalks behind Daire.

It's not like he could do anything substantial, anyways.

"I'll get you your goddamn phone, but you're not mooching off me no longer. This convenience store run is paid for by my blood, sweat and tears only because I don't wanna see your card decline at the aisle."

"But Daire," he stops, slippers squeaking against the tile. The dog knows it's on purpose. "You really fuckin' confuse me. I mean, one second you're tryin' to kill me after scaring the shit out of me, the next second you've pulled my kid up on my facebook to prove a point, swore that you weren't gonna hurt him, and then interrogated 'im in a way he wouldn't notice. Beyond that, John's name is on your neck, and then you sang that fucking tune. What the hell is your deal."

"Tell me. And don't lie to me."

"I won’t. Can’t lie, actually.”

well that’s a paradox.

"I think my deal is pretty obvious, oh you’ve figured it out too, haven’t you?"

The man turned his head up to look at Claude, not bothering to turn around. Luckily the angel knew where the others hands were, one hand had prematurely opened the dog treats while the other shook something in his pocket. Probably a weapon, knowing that dog.

"Someone sent me to check on some invasive ouroborian vermin."

That shit-eating grin was gone, a serious look on the werewolves face. Well, he wasn’t really a lycanthrope was he? That ‘infernal smell’ oh, Claude you idiot. He’s a hellhound. The devil brought the treat to his mouth, biting at the soft-chew.

"Is that what you want me to say? I baited you online, jumped on your interest and wormed my way into your life? Why state the obvious. That’ll bore you. It bores me!"

The angel post was bait.

And Claude fell for it.

"Genuinely felt bad, of course, it’s only an identification mission so I didn’t mean to hurt ya'. Just my nature I guess. M' sure you get it. Of course you probably don’t believe me… but hey, if that’s true why won’t you call the Divine Paladin?"

…

"Nah, I don’t mean it. I’m on your side actually. Got a gift horse…"

Daire looked away, too lazy to keep his head craned up. He took the phone out of his pocket. What remained at least.

"If you fix my phone you’ll find a treat. All 7 of the angel poaching locations Huntsmen United still operates, along with who buys…. Sounds like a pretty great gift, not to toot ‘y own horn."

He didn’t answer about John.

"M' a pretty good business man, I know."

Claude hums. Shifts his weight to the other foot, wings twitching. He'd figured as much. No wonder his blood burnt him. Hellhound and all.

"Great. You got me. Congrats on lurin' out the most easiest Krueal to lure out. I'm an attention seeker at heart, y'know?" It was obvious in hindsight. A better version of himself would have the decency to be embarrassed if he wasn't high off his victory. It's just his luck that they played on his ego just enough to use him as the bait. But then again, Claude was always nothing but consistent.

But an angel poaching ring run by a big name monster-hunting company? Oh, he didn't expect that. But then again, he wouldn't really put it past them, considering they were the ones that were responsible for Krueal's Law in the first place. Though the memory trip was unpleasant at best and traumatizing to his son at worst, Claude was at least thankful that part of his brain worked enough to recognize that haunting tune. That hum, the way the air itself felt heavy, the slapping of palms on knees to the beat, the scraping of blades against their scabbards. Daire's insignia. It was unmistakable.

That, and that pigeon trying to run circles around him. He'd have to think about the implications later, considering their history. But it was from the top. Daire was just a pawn.

Honestly, he should have noticed it sooner. But he was never all there. At least when Daire omits John from his little monologue, he realizes his theory was correct. Watching that stone-eyed hunter come back was a breath of fresh air. Sure, reconstructing Enochian runes with John's signature cipher solely from glimpses of bindings he'd burnt into his memory while steadily losing consciousness from blood loss was difficult. Oh how he suffered. But it was all worth it.

Reconstructing and retooling pure magic wasn't something he did willy nilly. The last time he did something like that was in the van, and that put him out of commission for months. But today, oh, today, it worked. Blood dripping from his nose as he connected the last few dots, trying not to cackle to himself while Daire was still out of it, out buying food for a rotting body. He's still got it. He just needed a bit more information before he could do something substantial. And when Daire walked in with that stupid croptop, it was all he needed. What he saw on John filled in the rest.

He's figured out the bind. But Daire doesn't know that.

He'll rewrite it, if need be.

He just needs one chance.

"Oh, I believe you, Daire. It's nice that you're on my side with all this. And it's soberin' that I don't need to call Daddy for help, y'know?"

Honestly, it's great news that this dog is on a leash. Claude's got someone on his side, whether he likes it or not.

"I did get you. Ha, that was pretty cool of me. I’m sure you agree."

He didn’t. But of course the huntsmen knew that. Despite how the ‘werewolf’ acted he wasn’t stupid. His freckled hand reached out to examine Claude’s feathers just as he did when they met, this time withdrawing his hand last minute. Like it was a test. Oh you ass.

"Hmm… Happy enough that m' on your side for y' to get me a Big Gulp?"

Daire was consistent at least. Dropping into his dumber persona to avoid the conversation turning towards a subject he disliked. Of course it wasn’t all an act, he seemed genuinely just a tad silly. Humorous. Full of whimsy in fact. The concept of spending Claude’s money was exciting enough for the man that he stumbled, some of the dog treats spilling on the floor.

….

"Nevermind, go pay, I’ll clean this up."

There’s nothing wrong with putting those back into the bag for later right? 5 second rule! Damn curse his hands. They wouldn’t stop shaking. Something about what he said to Claude made his body burn. He hadn’t broken any real rules, so why were those binds still boiling his lungs? Poor thing didn’t realise that it wasn’t John punishing him again. It was himself. Unable to steady his hand the dog shoved them in his pockets, muttering something under his breath in a language Claude didn’t understand.

Daire glanced at Eve, contemplating something before deciding to follow behind him and not Claude. The angel would probably chew him out after all.

A part of him wonders if Daire really noticed. He was laying it on thick with the last sentence, but it seems to fly over his head, or, knowing that dog, tucked away for later. Maybe he'd be privy to his own sense of manipulation in time. Though, Claude knew at this point that Daire was just trying to test him. Rile him up. Get a sense of the level of aggression someone like Claude would let show after just being let in on what was basically a giant threat.

Help me help you. I won't tell on you if you won't. Stupid dog.

It's just his luck that he'd have to pay. While Claude went to fumble with finding his missing card, Daire had pleasure of witnessing Eve on a call with the one person he didn't want here. The Divine Paladin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"No grandpa, I don't think you should come over here, but like I'm legit worried about Dad." His voice is sort of hushed against his phone, with the notion that Claude would probably be disapproving of if he was to overhear. "Yeah, I dunno. OK, don't tell him I told you, but he had one of his.. things in the car again."

If Daire could just focus a little bit, he'd be able to hear the overflow from the receiver. Juuust a little bit.

"Yeah. I dunno when the last time was. It's OK grandpa, I'm fine. I'm scared for Dad though. He started praying in Enochian again..."

Just a little bit more.

"It is good that you're worried about your father, my dear. But remember, you are just a child. It's difficult to deal with matters such as these, especially when it's your father. Please allow even your aunt Grace or even Amelie to come over and assist you with the situation. He may not appreciate it at the moment... but that's what family is for. To help. Please promise me that you will call us if needed. Your father is not receptive to our efforts, as you may know. Though it is unfair to keep this burden on you, we rely on you, Evelyn."

Oh.

Does Daire feel... bad?

that poor boy.

Face all bunched up in worry. In pity. In something that daire didn’t understand. (Love.)

He’d apologise for putting Eve through this one of these days. Once he was safe. It was Daire’s job to protect the innocent. Once this was over he should get that kid something as a reward for it all. Maybe ice cream? Who doesn’t like ice cream…

Well, Daciana didn’t. But that’s more an unfortunate side effect from her hatred for sweets.

Shit, Daire had to do something about this.

"Evan, is that a girl? Oh what a player."

Daire’s ears were raised, clearly in an alert position from his eavesdropping. Fluffy.

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell yer dad. I can keep a secret."

He was joking around but his face had this obvious anxiety that broke to his eyes. Whatever Claude had said to him seemed to have struck a nerve. The man’s hand hovered to the kids phone, finger floating near the receiver.

"Oh shit, She can’t hear me, can she? My bad."

Yeah, 'she' could hear you. The monster hunter grabbed the younger’s drink, taking a sip without permission.

“Mm, what flavour is this? Y' got good taste."

Eve whips his head to face Daire with momentary surprise, something stuck in his throat before he covers his phone with his hand. Not as calculated as his father with these matters, it seemed. "Whuh— Daire? Oh uh. No? It's my grandpa. Lyre's at work, I can't call 'em now."

Shit. He wasn't supposed to mention any incriminating details. Grandpa was fine, right? He's basically Goku.. but Lyre wasn't. Oh god. Dad's gonna be so mad at him. Oh no. Lyre's gonna be so mad at him too. Play it cool. PLAY IT COOL. Just as Eve was going to say something (he wasn't much sure of what he'd exactly say to pull himself out of the hole he dug for himself), Daire swipes his drink outta his hands and takes the biggest sip that's been sipped before it turns into a gulp. Of his White Monster mocktail with a shitton of sparkling grape juice and apple nectar. Fuck. He really hopes Daire doesn't throw up all over the floor like Dad did that one time. His mixology isn't that disgusting, right?

“Mm, what flavour is this? Y' got good taste."

OH. SWEET.

"It's actually a custom blend."

“Oh it was great! Reminded me of that time I drank punch spiked with holy-water. Yeah, hurt my stomach like hell.”

Oh that’s… not a nice comparison.

“‘Grandpa huh? Hope yer’ not botherin’ em!"

Daire grabbed the phone, not pulling it closer but not letting Eve yank it away either. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"Liar? That’s a horrible name. Why would you call yer’ girlfriend that…."

The dog pulled the phone towards himself, smiling just so that his tension wouldn’t look as off putting to the teenager. It was still very obvious he was trying to avoid something. Was he that scared of him?

“Hiiii sir! Sorry to cut your call with that little scamp but Claude actually has me on a tight schedule. Yknow how it is, worried to let go of my leash n’ all. Ha, yeah well… Eve n’ me were just leaving. You can call him again later if you need."

…

The hellhounds eyes scanned the convenience store, looking for that damn angel. Maybe he was distracted buying scratch-offs. Hopefully.

Daire holds his breath as he waits for the response, heart pounding in his ears as Eve opens his mouth to process what just happened, but then closing it in resignation. He looked just a bit spooked. He'll make it up to him later. He hopes. Aldric is silent on the other end, but Daire can make out the slight noises of breathing, just barely audible.

"... Very well. Carry on."

The tone cuts, and Eve yanks his phone back, tossing it to his other hand while he shakes the hand that Daire grabbed off. "Um. Why'd you do that, Daire?"

"Honestly man, You're kind of. Scaring me. Haha." He leans on his cane, looking right up at the werewolf. Cracking a smile that's meant to be disarming. Poor kid. "What were you... trying to do with my call?"

That voice.

…The brunette tensed. Something about it scratched a distant memory. A car, totalled into a ditch. Blood everywhere… and an angel protecting him from an unseen monster.

"What was I doing with your phone? Was it not obvious? I was trying to stop you.” (From ruining my mission.) “…From making a big mistake.”

Good catch Daire. Half truths, what a wonderful thing.

"It’s not nice to do that to your father! Snitching on him, really? People who love each other don’t go behind their backs like this! Asides…"

Doberman breathed through his teeth, tapping his foot.

"Who’s to say they won’t trust his parenting skills anymore and take him away from you?"

The dog handed the drink back, wiping his mouth in a way that hid how disgusting that mix was. God, did this kid eat nails?

"I’ve seen it happen before. You’d have to live with your mother… and no one wants that."

Eve's expression tenses as Daire rattles off. There's obviously an undertone of something that this guy was trying to gain from the situation, and considering that Dad told him specifically to avoid him at all costs, this interaction should technically never be happening... God knows where Claude is. He'd look around to see if he's behind any corners but cringes at the thought of signalling any fear or anxiety to the wolf standing over him, blocking the overhead light.

They can smell your fear.

Though, he's heard this rhetoric before. Everyone tries to use his mother against him. Admittedly, it might have worked better if he was younger. And more naive. But he's not as stupid as Daire thinks he is. Or Dad, for that matter. So Eve takes the drink back, leans on his cane, lips pursed in a thin line. "Man. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I've never met my mom. You can't use someone I don't know against me. And Dad's the only one that's stood up for me. He's stronger than you. Don't try and create a rift between us when you know nothing."

It sickens him, actually.

“‘Create a rift’. I’m not trying to create anything. Not my fault what’s already there…. Look, Evan, keep budding yer’ nose where it doesn’t belong n’ you’ll end up with it chopped off. Trust me! I’m just trying to help you guys.”

That wasn’t a lie. He really was.

“Please… I’m trying to do what’s best for your family. Don’t fight me on it."

He genuinely looked so horrified. Shaking. Something was building in Daire’s throat, bile probably, that he barely avoided getting on eve’s shirt. Swallowing it at the last minute.

"I need you to listen to me. I…"

Whatever daire was going to say seemed to be interrupted. His eyes… dilated, losing some of that sharpness that his eyes had. Dulled, it looked like something had dulled in the dogs mind. Face eventually turning into some dumb grin. Whatever he was going to say was lost. Tail wagging now.

“I uhh… I….”

The man glanced down, making a small sound in excitement when he saw the bag of open dog treats in his hand. Like the conversation hadn’t even happened the other grabbed a bitestick, now chewing on it happily.

"Oh these r’nt bad. Y’ want one?”

There's a whirlwind of emotions that grasp the kid as Daire steps closer to him, almost a man possessed. Eyes wide in fear and shock, adam's apple bobbing in a swallow that never went through. He'd be lying if he wasn't terrified, just inching away from him as he just keeps insisting. Upon insisting. Upon Insisting, and then, he's gone, just like that. It's fucking horrifying, actually. Eve wasn't completely aware of what was happening, with Daire going from this scary man looming over him to... whatever he was now.

To see the intelligence leak out of his eyes. The dilation and the simplicity of his expression. The horror building up in Eve's throat as he wobbles on his cane, grip unstable. His tail wagging. Oh, it was sick. Playing out like an episode you couldn't skip through, like a glitchy cutscene that everyone blocks out of their minds. And the worst part is, you could never blame him for it.

"What the fuuuuck." He couldn't even stop it. Eve has to manually shut his mouth, sneakers squeaking against the tile as he stumbles, falling back on the aisle. Maybe this is why Dad said he could be dangerous. But Daire offers him a bitestick.

So he reaches out to grab one.

His fingers twitch in the space between when Claude's shadow appears in front of them. "You two done?"

“Eh? Yeah!”

Claude caught that look in Daire’s eyes. Oh, The emptiness was back, great. Blown pupils, one eye just slightly more dilated than the other. It was creepy, the angel remembered hearing something about how brain damage does that to someone. Maybe he should ask Grace about it.

Eugh.

Daire reached for Claude’s coat, tugging at it to amuse himself. The monster hunter laughed to no one in particular before he remembered he SHOULD NOT DO THAT. Now composing himself.

…

"’Ts phone time isn’t it?"

His ears were twitching. He went to scratch it, rubbing them in a way that messed with his fur. Hm. Loser.

Claude bristles. Eve looked terrified. There's overwhelming guilt at the fact that he allowed this to happen. To see what would have happened. Just standing on the other side of the aisle. Course that dog was trying to get him to stop. He'd deal with the coming intervention later. Eve was just looking out for him, after all. Even if by his standards, the kid should have never seen him like that in the first place. Years and years of weakness should have been enough to instill in his body where his mind failed, that Eve was never to be a bystander to his struggles.

The kid's gone through too much as is.

Claude's fist tightened in John's pocket, holding onto the lighter that he swiped in with the rest of the admittedly impractical laundry list that Daire had him buy. He presses the edge of his nail against the clip, just flicking at it, as if one wrong move wouldn't set a fire in his coat. Granted, that bastard had probably done it before, anyways.

It smelt like shit and blood burnt over a fire. Smoke wouldn't have saved it. Hell, it would have added to it.

But Claude digresses. Daire's reset was admittedly horrifying to watch, with something stuck in his throat, but added more to the findings he had to write down somewhere when his mind would betray him. John must have set a threshold for his emotions to breach, rules instating themselves directly after. Poor bastard. Magic like this was disgusting. It was no surprise that most was outlawed back in the domain. Though, in a part of his mind, he curses the fact that a slight thought still rung in his head about what Daire did to deserve this. It scares him, just a little bit.

But now, it's phone time. Claude shuffles over to Eve, just barely placing a supportive hand on his shoulder while tilting his jaw at the door. "Yep. Out. Let's go."

If John thought he was bad…. It probably was horrible. I mean the Hellblazer is usually one to underestimate others if anything. Horrifying.

"Whatever you say bossman!”

He mimicked a cigarette, letting the dog treat lay limply inbetween his mouth in a smug grin. Was he mimicking John?

did - did he know about John and Claude? Was he implying something?

No probably not. The man walked in front, clearly not understanding the tension behind him.

“Sooooo who’s going to sit n’ front? It worked so badly last time, cmon, don’t leave me alone up there!”

So needy.

Did he really think the breakdown was because they were fighting in the back?

The man tripped on his shoes, nearly choking on the fake cigarette when it fell back into his mouth. He coughed, face showing real distress. Poor thing.

Claude rubs Eve's shoulder in a comforting, repetitive circle that the kid seems to sigh into and appreciate, anxiously taking a sip of his little concoction as Daire skips ahead. He's less conscious of the tension in the air as he was in the school, now focused on his phone. Ugh. He's lucky that Claude promised him.

"Let's go now, kid." He murmurs over to his son, who looks up at him fearfully before nodding. "It'll be over soon."

Claude tries not to make a sound when Daire trips, resisting the urge to help him up while he was hacking out the remains of his bitestick. That's payback for the cig mime and the mini-crisis it gave him. Though, luckily, John never left a paper trail with him. At some point he was sour, but now it was more of a blessing. Though they haven't talked in some months.

The car ride was where things got tricky. He's not sure how much of Daire's requests he was to deny before his jig was up, but he wasn't done observing all that he could gleam from these interactions. If all he did was deny the dog what he wanted, he'd never have a chance to see how he'd act all happy up close. Though the problem of Eve was there, considering the kid was still spooked. Fuck. It broke his heart.

"You think I'm leavin' my kid in the back for you? You gotta move up the ladder for that, Daire." He grumbles, rubbing Eve's back as they walk to the car.

This kid, however, had other plans, mumbling a little snapback. "So is John higher up then?"

Shit.

“Hm? How low am I compared to John? If I smoke will you sit up front?”

Honestly Claude expected more of a reaction from John being brought up - oh. his ears were pulled back now, a barely visible scowl on his face that the dog disguised as neutral. Yeah that’s more like it. Seems no bind could make him normal about that occult detective.

Was he upset that John was hypothetically higher than him? Huh.

"’Sides maybe Eve wants to sit up here with me, yeah? Ever think of that.”

No he didn’t, because the kid clearly was about to have a panic attack.

The monster hunter got ready to help the other inside the truck as needed but realized that Claude had that under control. He made a small sound to himself before putting the dog treats in the back (for later) and climbing into the front. He was looking for some task to help them with.

Huh, that’s weird.

There was new scratch marks that Claude didn’t notice before along the doors of the van. Wonder what that’s from. Creepy.

Claude bites the inside of his cheek as he stares down at Eve, who coincidentally looks away. Little shit. It’d be laughable if his disdain wasn’t so obvious, ears pinned back against his head with that grimace tugging at his lips. He knows barely concealed hatred when he sees it. He grew up in high class society, for crying out loud. Either way, Eve’s little comment was sure to bite him in the ass later, but for now, nothing was concrete.

“Why d’you care, eh? Jealous?” He scuffs his foot on the concrete, new aches and pains introducing themselves. John always smoked in the car, anyways. Not around Eve, though. That was the one thing he asked of him. “You think Eve wants to sit with a dusty old dog like you? Course he wants to sit with his old man, eh, kid?”

Claude elbows Eve a little, but he doesn’t seem to be in the mood. Murmuring something while sipping from his soda. Mm. He’d have to take care of this when he gets home. Daire’s phone was the last stop before they’d be dropped off at the office. If Claude was being honest right now, he’d probably have given him his address had he been tired enough. He eyes the scratch marks as he helps Eve in, kid scrambling immediately for his switch. Trying to distract himself.

Fuck.

“Jealous, no. Curious, yes."

Whatever anger lingered under the surface didn’t escape as much more than a glare, Daire already back to his easily distracted self. The man was fumbling for his keys, glad to currently have some kind of goal.

Get his phone fixed.

He needs it for something after all!

yeah.

He was needed for something.

"I thought he’d want a break from YOU. Guess I was wrong."

Daire started humming something but quickly caught himself. There’s no way that was a subconscious thing, right? Perhaps it was self soothing behavior. It seemed to be when he had to fill space. No that wasn’t quite accurate, the tune appeared in the others throat when he was uncomfortable. Upset.

He’s upset right now? Good.

Whatever’ll get him to drive.

"Surprised y’ let yer kid near Cons' though. For someone so protective of the scamp I didn’t take you as the type to let ‘m hang with devils."

The creepy part is that the hunter didn’t sound like he was mocking him or even angry… it was something close to concern.

"Now what would I have had to do for my own flesh an' blood to want a break from Me?" Claude scoffs, decidedly ignoring Daire's intriguing little tidbit, tossing it around in his mind like a ping pong ball he didn't want to be caught holding. Eve on the other hand, mutters something that would confirm his suspicions, even an eye roll out of the corner of his vision while he pulls out his Switch. Fuck.

He wonders what the catalyst was. Focus switching from Eve to Daire as his mind races to figure out what was wrong with either of them. Though there was some sense of smug satisfaction at the dog being somewhat upset, the thought of this potentially affecting the rest of the outing before they'd all be free from this interaction-based prison was admittedly dominating the forefront of his mind. Eve's was a puzzle he'd have to break later.

If they lived to see out of this van. Of course, he was being dramatic.

Daire's stance on John was something else though. If he was so ever compelled to speak, the bud of annoyance in his chest would bloom into a full on eye-roll with the rate this dog was going at. Of course he'd heard the same drivel. John's bad news. Why would you willingly associate with him? Much less Date him? He's not that stupid. Claude isn't dating him anyways. They're not like that. Claude's heard it all before. It was the same pointless slop with no proof to back it up. And maybe, in another lifetime he'd find it hilarious that this many people were concerned over a blond man that's half his size. But Claude isn't some maiden. He can take care of himself.

"Devil's a bit much, don't you think?" He flicks his thumb and index pointer's nails against each other. Besides, Eve actually liked him. "What the hell did he do to you for him to go from your mancrush to Satan? Cheat on you with a bunch of people?"

"‘Cheat on me?’ Are you insane?"

Despite the fact he was driving blue eyes looked back to check on the sincerity of what Claude was talking about. Little things trying so hard to keep focus. Trying to stay in the moment. To warm him.

“He killed my family. Not my flesh n’ blood but my actual family. Hunted us like sport. It was horrible… he was horrible. ‘Nd he didn’t even care! I tried to stop him… so, so many times but he’s a powerful demon. And I mean demon, devil blood runs through that liars veins like ichor."

…

"That bastards playing you. That’s what he does. He’d bet yer sons life or yer own before he even risked a little hair on that stupid blonde scruff of his. Harbinger of death he is. I would't' be surprised if he was just plannin to use you for some spell. Maybe pawn some wings to get outta debt.”

The worst part is… Daire didn’t appear to be lying. The monster hunter scratched at his neck nervously, looking at the road in a way where it was obvious he was scared to look back at the angel in his back seat.

“I think you can handle yourself crow, make yer' own decisions… but don’t drag yer' son into some elaborate spider web. He can’t get out nearly as easily as y'."

…

"Shit why isn’t my radio working?"

There's a distinct feeling that dances on the tip of your tongue that can only be attributed to a pindrop of abject terror. Claude feels it budding in his throat as he realizes that there was no way that Daire could possibly be lying under his breath in this car. His first instinct is to push that nagging thought away against the myriad of other screaming wraiths in the vault, try to write it over and fantasize and justify and theorize through millions of truths and half-truths, lies and half-lies that whatever Daire was saying had an airtight response that proves oh so defiantly that no, John wasn't capable of doing that.

But in his heart he knows he is. He'd do it in a breath if he had to. It's why the words die in his throat as comebacks wilt in the chords, nails pushing crescents into his palms. He's about to curse Daire out for what he's worth, words bubbling up on his tongue once again before Eve leans back against the seat and groans. "I fucking told you Dad."

"I knew he'd be trouble when you tried to cover up what happened that one night and you promised me that he wouldn't get us into his world but now he is. You fucking promised me in the car that it'd be fine. And now Daire's holding us hostage in his car so we can get him a new IPhone after you left me in that aisle to go pay for my fucking soda."

"Eve," Nononononnonono fuck this is much worse. Fuck. Fuck. No. No this is— Claude throws a desperate glance at Daire through the drivers' mirror before looking back at Eve. Kid can't even look at him. "c'mon kid, I—"

"No!" He throws up his hands in resignation. "I told you. I'm done. I'm sick of this. You're so fucking selfish, dad."

And there's the pin drop.

“Stop fighting. Please. New rule! No fighting in my fucking car.”

He didn’t even sound mad. Just bitter. His face pushed into a pout.

“N' For the record I’m not holding anyone hostage! Fuck! If I wanted to I’d use this gun, see?”

The man pulled out a pistol while driving, almost firing it on accident. He seemed to remember gun safety, tossing it (while loaded) at his seat. Luckily it didn’t go off.

“M’ not getting anything out of this. Calm down Evan, yer’ dads in charge! It’s all his plan. Right, crow?"

…

“Unless you changed yer' mind?”

It wasn’t even like he was trying to push blame on Claude… he genuinely was just listening to what the man said. Even if he followed directions in a weird way.

The radio occasionally made ‘spk!’ Sounds, distracting the dog. He seemed to zone out what the others were saying, mumbling something to himself.

“Look, if y’ need to talk all father n’ son I can put up a privacy screen. I don’t wanna' be a part of this."

‘Priv-uh-seed.’…

"Jesus fucking Christ Daire!" Claude hisses as he tosses the gun, shooting the dog an incredulous look while Eve shoots him a death glare. Of course everything's going to shit now. "For your information, we're not fighting either!" "Oh yeah we are." Damn it, kid.

"We'll do the rest of this at home." He shuts it down. Stern. Looking over at Eve before the kid looks away from him, looking down at his switch. Fuck. His mouth opens like its about to say something, but closes back up again. Good. Not today.

"There's no need for the privacy shield," He grunts, leaning back against the seat. Crossing his legs. His hands go to adjust his suit lapels as if they were there. Pulling himself in. But they're gone. Only John's coat was left. "Yeah. We're getting your phone and you're dropping us off at Krueal and Co. Then if I need you, I'll call you again."

There's only so much he could figure out in this one visit. Though the idea of him interacting with Daire made his stomach churn. He didn't even want to think about Eve right now. Clearly, bringing him along was the wrong choice. Though, in a perfect world, he'd never slipped up in the first place. This damn dog kept fucking his plans up, only to be none the wiser when god forbid, someone feels threatened. Gun in his pocket. Dumbass.

While the two Krueal bicker there is noticeable turbulence. Like someone kept hitting every possible rock in the road. Was Daire focusing up there? After a moment he huffed, speeding up just enough for it to be concerning.

“If you need me? ‘Ts not a when? I’m hurt bird—crow. I’m hurt crow."

That damn dog remembers not to call Claude ‘birdie’ but forgets Eve’s name isn’t Evan. Yeah, priorities.

“AND! Evan apologise to yer' dad. You don’t speak to grown ups like that, questionin' everything they said! You might be right, yes, and your bleedin heart' father probably grew you up to be proper independent but it’s a matter of respect. What if I was yer' dad’s colleague? Wouldn’t wanna work with ‘m after his kid shut m' up."

That tangent sounded very personal to the hunter. Not anything Claude needs to pick Daire’s brain for. He only needed to learn more about how to use that man.

Wouldn’t want to get too attached to a rabid dog.

“Not to bud n' backseat parent. Disregard what I said. M’ no good at it anyways."

Thank GOD they had reached the shopping center the phone repair shop they were going to was. Seeing it in the distance produced a sound of relief in the driver. Fair. They got awkward pretty quickly in the car.

“Shut up, Daire. Don’t fucking start with me now. ” He mutters. Folding into himself as Eve does the same. Like father, like son, hah. The bitterness in his throat is starting to burn, dull throbs in his shoulder from being pushed up against the metal frame of his car (well, house?) in response to the sharp turns.

His good wing’s going numb, too. This entire day was going to shit and the worst part is that in his heart deep down, Claude knew he had no one else to blame but himself. It’s his fault he got roped up in this mess, hell, Eve roped up in this mess. And despite the sting in his heart at the snap of his son’s anger, he knew he was right. He was selfish. Down to the core. At some point he’d been delusional enough to think otherwise. But his true self always shows through.

You can’t hide who you are.

Beyond that, he’s in a worsening mood, thoughts running through his head at a drunken pace. It’s clear that Daire’s little tangent was inexorably colored by events of the past, but the thought of Eve internalizing that authoritarian stink of parenting advice (or was it projection?) left a smoking hole in his throat. God. He needed a smoke. There’s disgust at the urge but he needs it anyways, fingers twitching with restlessness as he mutters and looks out the window. Faint noises of headphone spillover areas through the silence in the car. Huh, kid’s playing that Zelda game. Breath of the Wild.

He doesn’t play that game in the car unless he’s trying to distract himself. Last time it was… ah.

At least they’re here now.

“Eve can wait n’ the car. Don’t worry, I’ll put the window down.”

The one window. Right.

"I’ll meet y' outside."

He wanted to go inside… alone … with Claude. Yeah, totally not a bad idea. Obviously he wanted to potentially discuss what was on his phone without the teenager overhearing but still the pitch was suspicious. Daire let his coat come undone, some of his skin peaking through. Oh yeah, they’d have to swap outfits with each other before Claude got dropped off at his office. Unless he wanted to get dropped off at his penthouse. Less chance of people seeing it.

…

Dark teal eyes studied the two in the backseat, tension stirring in his chest. He looked like he was going to say something, anything to apologise for this shitty excuse for a hangout. Instead the dog huffed, tossing a box of old hunting magazines near the teenager.

“‘Ere, some entertainment while m’ gone. I know, ‘ts boring without us. Stay safe.”

Daire fumbled out of the car, slamming the door with much more force than needed. He looked unfocused, hand picking at his lip. The dog couldn’t help but try to place himself anywhere else in his mind, trying not to linger with the guilt of it all. He was helping someone hurt such a loving family. God, Eve was so lucky. If he talked back to his dad like that he’d …… well it’s best not to think about it.

"Yeah. Doubt he'd want to come with, anyways." He'd obviously want to come with, had this been any other situation. The kid loves tech in all forms. The pieces of scrap grasped in Daire's pocket reminds Claude of the first time he found Eve with a mallet and the remains of his smashed phone, crying because he didn't know how to put the thing back together again. Course, the kid doesn't know how much of his heart he's pieced together over the years, intentionally or not.

As always, Claude was better at breaking things. God knows how many shards of his son's soul he's taken off without even thinking, a stray word, a stray action, a locked door, a bold lie. At some point it'd all come crashing down. Maybe that's why he fears the retribution.

He stumbles out of the van just the same, trying desperately to ignore the way Eve flinches as Daire slams the door harder than he's accustomed to. Beyond his bleeding heart, there's an inkling of a feeling that Daire's insistence on getting him alone wasn't based on his dangerously good looks, and more on the little poaching operation he'd dangled over his head like those treats in his hands in the loneliness of the convenience aisles.

There's only one way this goes.

Daire'd use that information for leverage. Maybe scam a little out of him too, scare him a bit. At least with his knowledge of the bind, which now seemed to stand out more against his pale skin with the recent notice, Claude could rest assured that whatever Daire would be saying was some variation of a clever half-truth or the truth with claw marks all over it. Of course, with what he's gleamed from the dog's little socialities and interactions, Daire's been doing his best to lie as much as the rules would allow him to.

Well. Claude's game.

But first, he needs a cigarette. Maybe the coat was getting to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What kind of store did Daire take him to?

This place was sketchy as hell. It wasn't just John's bloodstained coat that was making his skin crawl as he walks in with the dog, his footsteps quiet as ever, padding against the tile. He'd be hard-pressed to disagree about the idea that there's paw pads under those shoes of his. At least there's cigs by the counter. Claude swipes a few and lights them, even if there's a no-smoking sign by the glass. The whole place smelt like smoke, really, it's redundant. But not that familiar type. It's that solder that comes from welding pins together on computer boards with margins as tiny as centimeters, mistakes just waiting to happen and throw away hundreds of dollars for the newest repair to come in.

It's stacked to the brim with parts and pieces the angel could barely place a name to, only relying on snippets of information dumps he'd kept faithful to memory via animated rambles and amazon wishlists of the newest PC build his son wanted to try out. Computers more powerful than he remembers back in the 90s, with megabytes of RAM being a feat over the pennies it's worth now. He feels his bones creaking in this place just more. Lit with haphazard neons and techno beats in the background. More like a club than a breeding ground for nerds that would flock to this place after they'd extricated themselves out of lockers he'd shove them in.

He takes a drag. Smoke fills his lungs. He feels the urge to cough. He doesn't. He looks over at Daire. How he's fidgeting, with his ears pressed back against his head, coat pulled tight around his shoulders. He hates this place as much as he does. Or maybe it's just the smoke.

But he's quiet, at least. Through the overstimulating horror of it all. There's a crowd of people that squeeze by until the two get to a counter that's not empty, with one lone guy reading over what seemed to be one of those mangas. Dragonball, he thinks.

"No smoking." He starts, but he looks up at Claude and Daire and he shrinks. "Um. How can I help you? You need something... fixed up?"

"Yea." Claude tilts his jaw over, angling at the counter. "His phone. Some car ran it over."

Daire was so shy when it came to speaking to workers, or even civilians it would seem. God, this was probably why he had Claude order for him at the convince store. Tail tucked between his legs as he examined the repair shop, sensitive nose practically burning from the smell of soldering metal. Cursed melting rods and gases. He coughed into his jacket, trying not to seem overwhelmed.

He was a monster hunter, he could handle a little stick-welding!

"Put that out before we get kicked out.”

That won’t happen. They both know it. Teal eyes studied the cigarette with such barely disguised dread it was obvious he just hated smoking. Frown turning his lip downward before he could stop it. He huffed, taking a few steps away from Claude for good measure.

Moody, much?

…

When he was asked about the phone however he was quick to hide behind the angel, looking up at him desperate for the other to do all the talking. Lest he mess everything up and lose his phone. Oh that’d be so embarrassing.

"Yeah. Car crash. Work casualty. Here.”

What was up with Daire? He kept glancing at the walls, foot tapping under him like he was testing to make sure the floor wouldn’t collapse. Was he claustrophobic? Something about a small, enclosed space filled with smoke seemed to stir a secret anxiety from the hunter.

A new weakness to test I suppose.

“Is it, uh, fixable?”

The hellhound gripped Claude’s coat. Well, it wasn’t Claude’s but that damn attorney was the one in it.

He’s like a puppy, actually. It’s almost embarrassing.

Claude chews on his cig, almost seemingly in a moment of deliberation for the dog's request (well, order. Plea, really,) before scoffing. He'd so much as rather die than put it out now. Not when it soothed the beating of his heart. He'd just have to deal with it. Daire's been making his life hell for the entire day he's been stuck in that van with this ache in his back, so God forbid that he feels just a twinge of discomfort at whatever Claude's doing to piss him off now. Fuck this dog, actually.

He'd revel in the obvious disgust on the dog's face had he not been delegated to socializing duty, looking over the repairman with a less than pleased expression before looking back down on the phone again. It's pretty much destroyed. Hm. Great handiwork on his part.

He didn't think he was capable of being this strong.

"Yeah Daire I think your phone's a goner." He starts, taking a deep drag out of his cig before exhaling it all through his nose. Claude's eyes narrow at the worker behind the counter, before clicking his tongue in annoyance at Daire grabbing his coat. His coat. "Honestly, we just want the memory out. 's that possible or is it beyond saving?"

The worker itches at his chin, trying not to appear as if he was turning the gears in his head over what exactly to say to not upset the very tall man and the dog with several guns in his coat. "Um. I'll try to get it out but it'll take a while before I uh... can assess the damage."

Claude huffs, chewing on the cig more.

"Fine by me."

"Alright. Let's go." He presses a hand behind the dog's back to guide him out the store, stormy countenance worsening the more he spent time in this shop. The air outside is a welcome relief from the contained bonfire smokeshop claustrophobia trap, but Claude was still smoking.

"Now that we're outside..." The angel dusts off his bloodstained coat that wasn't really his coat. "Spill about your little poaching plan."

“Well it’s not really MY plan. M' just a … what’s the word?" An accomplice. "A grunt worker. Yknow they work me to the bone! I’d retire if I could.”

….but he can’t, could he?

"Huntsmen United prides itself on the elimination of evil… so whatever those angels r' doing must be pretty bad, right? Ha."

His face hardened as much as it’d allow, now swatting for Claude’s cigarette with half effort. He couldn’t reach it of course.

"No, to be honest with you I don’t agree with this course of action. Angels, fuck, ignoring a few outliers are quite powerful things. Quite holy things. To kill one, for whatever reason, is despicable. I did enough of that 'n my youth for a lifetime. So I did what any reasonable huntsmen would do. I located real monsters. M’ no good with code anymore but I looked into number stations that would use Angel Numbers to discuss their hunts. Quite a clever joke if you ask me. I planned to ask my boss about it, him being one n’ all I thought he’d have the same reservations.”

…

“Instead he wanted me to check on you. Pretty nasty words actually. Too Filthy, I won’t repeat." Even Daire has a limit. "But he wanted me to make sure yer son n' anyone else you might’ve knocked up in yer youth and forgotten about weren’t running around with holy DNA."

The air was thick between the two. Gingerly the other rummaged through his monster hunting coat, pulling out his Nintendo DS. Not the time for games, but hey, whatever gets him to talk. Chip-tune sound effects quietly played in between the silence.

"When I was a pup' - heh get it? - my father had me cartin' certain cargo across lines to slaughterhouses. Well, they weren’t actually slaughterhouses, more a holy-weapon farm. Usually angels died of complications outside to avoid stigmatising the area. Clever trick, I know."

Eugh.

"But umh… lotta things changed when a beast attacked a house n’ its cargo truck. They had to cut contact obviously n’ when one house goes down the rest seem to panic like rats. My plan was to cut a few tails n' see what wall they run too, that’ll give us what we need right?"

….

“I just need the admiral off my trail. For awhile. Don’t work good on a leash."

Claude's nose twitches as the smoke stings, huffing out pale rings that expand around Daire. The dog's ears twitch, sort of folding against his head in avoidance while the circle breaks in half, like a halo around his hair. He'd chuckle at the irony if the cig didn't leave such a bitter taste in his mouth. Bleak against the February air, the last remnants of winter bite at the two as Claude turns over the information in his head, examining it from any angle he could pick out in his aching, terrible, weakened state. There's this sort of detached rage that builds in his chest at the injustice of it all, that bubbles down to the core once he realizes that he doesn't really care at all. He doesn't care at all.

Because nothing's changed, has it? The sneaking around with angel numbers on the broadcast, oh so clever, Ralph's unsurprising hand to play in all this, the focus on Eve and his potential divinity being enough to paint a target on his back. The slaughterhouses, the weapon farms, the de-cursification— all musings he's heard from scripture, sermons, and prayers circumventing disasters he wasn't even capable of comprehending just yet, and now, despite all his adult years weighing on him like a burden, there's not much he can make of it. The angels were are endangered. Stay inside the walls. The suffocating walls. Where prayers and hymns echo around with church bells ringing from everywhere imaginable. Inescapable. Everpresent. Orchestras sound in his head just as clearly as they did back then, and through Daire's musings, it's clear that they're still playing. The prophecy foretold this. The original purpose of creation.

The angel's eyes snap to the source of the boot-up chime, feathered ears twitching as Daire fumbles on it before the dog clears his throat to talk again. Itching at his binds with his free hand. Rolling hills and green pastures. Cobbled streets and horse-led carriages. Oh, Daire would love it. Straight out of a fairytale. It'd rival the medieval castles overlooking the dips of Ireland. Even that palace in London.

He's smart enough to figure out that it's all a farce eventually though. That's why he's here. Telling him all this. His plan wasn't half bad either. It's pure hunters' instincts in those eyes of his, still with uneven dilation and his tongue stuck out in concentration on whatever game he was playing. But Daire had a mind sharper than he realizes. Beyond that doggish programming of his. Enough for Claude to have a spark of faith in the two of them that they'd somehow dismantle just a single chain of command before the executioner's guillotine comes crashing down.

But first he has to kill Ralph. Or beat the shit out of him at least.

"Aren't you lucky you found me then. I almost feel bad for punching you when you were scaring the shit out of me. Who knows that you had it all figured out in the beginning, lil' genius you are." He scuffs his shoe at the end of the pavement, spitting the now burnt-edge cig at the ground before he snuffs it out. Daire seemed to be relieved by this, breath coming easier to him. The torture session was over for now.

"So what's your plan now? Can't imagine that things won't have a wrench thrown in 'em now that you've got me in your cahoots."

"Lil genius?”

It was no real surprise Daire liked compliments. Even if he put on such a stoic act a little fancy words would make his brain stutter. Yes, he was a genius. He was soooo smart. Please mention it to him again. Teal eyes studied Claude, scrutiny clear as he tried to decide the validity of such praise. That angel was nothing but cruel to him… did he really like his plan that much? What was he playing at? His tail wagged despite himself, suddenly an approaching dread picked up in the hunters stomach. Did he just react like that because of his curse? Was he acting more dog-ish than usual? Pathetic. Mortifying. He’s a grown man!

…But would a little flattery really hurt? It was true! He was a good boy. Spent months worming his way into radio broadcasts. Even more time pinpointing locations. Sure, a major part of his attention had been spent on his mission as some kind of grand distraction, however he was still a hero! Well, soon to be. Right now he’s still a butcher.

“Course m' lucky. Well I certainly don’t need the help… umh… I think a deal with y' is very beneficial. Why else would I exchange business cards? 'Nd even if you back out you’d be a very fancy royal messenger pidgeon to yer folks. Could always let em' deal with it. I Did want to see the cavalry 'n action."

The cavalry. Like he’d ever want them involved in HIS business.

“We’ll do things the old fashion way. Kill, maim, maybe some espionage. Ha, Eve can be your man in the chair. Get it? Actually, no. I will. But y' get the point. I was going to keep you and yer son out of this, actually, but I can understand wanting revenge."

It was obvious that the dogs gaze lingered on a certain damaged wing. Well, the part of it that shifted around in such a messy coat. The jacket had such unusual stains… deep blue, red, brown, and gold. Probably would sell for a lot at an art show. Unfortunately neither party would ever part with such a thing. The cold air nipped at the two, Daire’s face slightly flush from the blood running to his face. Rosey Cheeks? What a dork.

“Maybe I haven’t ironed out all the details to our new plan but, fuck, M' not scared.”

The lieutenant looked like he was about to usher the two back into the shop. Maybe check out the recovered data, have a few laughs, and delete. A cheesy, overconfident smile breached their face. It was definitely an attempt to calm the tension, however, it didn’t stay long enough to do so. Suddenly a horrified expression hit Daire, pain registers somewhere in that scowl. He coughs, wretches, binds flashing before Claude’s eye as he fails to catch himself. Blood lingers on his lip, nausea soon to follow. So that’s what happened when he lied? So weak, it was honestly impressive. His hand pulled away from the mouth, the occasional crimson staining it.

Oh. He was scared. What a funny thing to lie about.

“—Fuck, fine, m' stressed outta my mind, nh… I don’t know WHAT to do. At all. I keep messing this up… and everyone is going to get hurt. M' not that smart, n' I always fail when I put my mind to something. Happy?"

After a moment the hunter stumbled up, looking to the side in that way where it was obvious looking at the angel would be too painful.

“Yer probably better at this than me. I … I don’t know what to do. M' not some cape wearing hero… it’s … please. Don’t think highly of me. You should probably come up with yer own plan."

I hope poor Eve never sees something like that. Good thing he was in the car. So that’s why he was selling himself so hard. He’s just as scared as Claude. Great. Just great.

Claude's hard pressed to find any humor in the situation as Daire nervously rattles off about their infiltration mission like it was some silly heist movie. It's only natural that it's easier to joke about things when they don't directly concern you, nevermind the fact that the brevity of the situation crashing down on the angel was making his hands shake in his pockets. It's pathetic to think of how, when every time the dog opens his mouth, Claude's grasped with this smell of death hanging over him, air turning heavy with blood just as it did in that truck, but also the confusing sight in front of him, with no way to turn or where to go.

"I can understand wanting revenge."

Like he's not been one to wash his hands off blood glittering in the sunlight after a hunt. Claude was just lucky enough to have Daire assigned on a mission where his survival was a priority at the moment. And when they'd decide otherwise, this dog would have no real reason to keep him as safe as he's trying presently. Just a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. An admission of guilt masked by righteous beliefs of moral superiority— Daire's not like those awful, evil hunters! He's different! Killing angels is wrong! They're holy, powerful creatures, their own personhood nonwithstanding and honestly, irrelevant to the conversation at hand, who shouldn't be killed at any cost! Though he doesn't particularly relish in the hunt, the angels of course, have to end up dead. Of course he was just following orders, destigmatizing property by keeping corpses on the move, just enough to pluck their wings to the bone and pick his teeth with the shards that fly off from the hatchet swings.

Like he's meat.

Like it's a fucking joke. Like his life's, or god forbid, his son's, a fucking movie where he'd stand over the big bad and give a great speech before slamming a blade through their throat. Claude does nothing but stare, aimlessly into the distance before he's brought back by the sound of him lying, and then, him choking. It's like a bell tolling in the air, energy wavering around the dog and stabbing through as he's caught in his mistake, grasping his throat and gasping for air the more he tries to commit to it. For once, he actually sees it happen, punishment ruining the air in front of him, with the binds flashing white for just one moment as it activates. Ears twitching, flat against his head in distress, until Daire whines, like a kicked dog, curling in on himself until he makes the comeback with eyes that refused to meet his gaze. It makes him sick.

John is so cruel for this, he thinks, trying to will in himself some sympathy as he holds a hand out for Daire to grab, expression twitching in the dullness. Waiting for a command to perform. The bind accepts personal beliefs as truth. He should find the pity in himself that Daire truly believes that he's this incompetent. Like he hasn't been running circles around himself trying to figure out how to kill this fucking dog, even if he knew it was impossible. Like the fear of being hunted again wasn't present each time he smells that death off his coat.

But how could you comfort a monster?

"No such thing. I need your help. Y'think I can do this alone? Hell no. That's why you got me, and I got you." Even though there's nothing that's stopping you from killing me the moment you change your mind. Just a single text, or a call, and he's finished. Eve's dead too, and Claude's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Get up, Daire. The day is short, we've got work to do."

'I need your help.'

The sentence lingered in the trembling dogs mind. Oh how he loved that feeling. Being useful. Being needed. While the validity of such a phrase was questionable and Daire was smart enough to know better….

….Fuck, it’d be good to pretend.

After a moment of hesitation a freckled hand grasped claude’s (totally not shaking) limb in part. Scared, pitiful eyes met the void. There was no comfort in the angels gaze. That was probably a good thing, as that dog didn’t deserve it. Death lingered on him, like Thanatos this man brought many to their final moments without even blinking. A humour in that hunt only he gained pleasure from. And a certain Krueal was no different. Despite what he said about his moral purity he’d kill that man in a heartbeat. At least he knew it wasn’t one sided. If Daire let his guard down once he’d surely be dead.

If only those wretched binds allowed it.

"Well, don’t wait on 'm account. Cmon…”

He coughed, freezing for a second as if he thought his internal thoughts had triggered some unknown rule. Unfortunately it was just a normal itch in his throat brought on by the blood, bile, and mucous stuck there. Eugh.

…

"You really ‘got me’, hm? How flattering. Having m' very own guardian angel.”

Cheeky bastard. The hunter grinned at Claude like that would hide the obvious pain lingering in his lungs, laughing nervously before pushing past him to enter that shady tech-shop. Smoke be damned, he didn’t want to look weak in front of a monster. Everyone knows what happens if you do.

“Catch up, you can’t leave a kid n' a car too long or he’ll die."

Ew. Looking down the other noticed a small amount of blood from the initial asphyxiation that landed on him. His blood was a deep, blackish-purple. Fortunately it burned away quickly from being in contact with a holy being. If you could even call Claude that.

Would that be a health concern? Did that man carry any blood-borne diseases?? Actually … is that even a question.

The attorney rolls his eyes before much else could be said, coat itching against his skin as they both walk into the store, cognizant of what had just happened between them a few seconds before. There's this sort of sobering horror that worms its way down your gut once you realize that you're not the only animal in the car, and more so that Daire specifically was in no new position with the knowledge that really, staying with Claude anywhere was like being in a closed car with a rabid animal. The signs were all there, from the desperation of the wrestle to the cooldown period in the car, and now, beyond the convenience store, the angel was ready to strike at any moment.

Daire could understand why John had him as choice of partner. That hawk was just as ruthless. It's that look in his eyes that really cemented it, unfeeling despite the shiver in the hound's hands as he rises up and dusts his knees off. Truly fitting of the title Angel.

The tech shop was just as overwhelming as it was when they left, though now blessed with the promise of salvation via Daire's phone being upgraded to a shiny new IPhone that seems to have been scrambled for in the back of stock, with a hefty price tag to follow. Claude looks down at the counter, huffing, before handing the phone off to Daire. "Check if anything's amiss. Then we're done."

His wings shiver as he cracks his neck, shifting on his feet as he pays whatever amount they ask, gaze now fixated on his phone screen as obnoxious typing bubble sfx echoes throughout the room. Though, that begs the question: Who was he texting?

While normally the hunters pace was reminiscent of a predator stalking his prey, the more time Claude spent with him it started to feel like a dog chasing after his owner. The way his legs nearly stumbled on each other, fumbling to follow before he lost them. Before he was alone again.

It was unfortunate that because Daire was catching his breath when he entered the awful, fumigated tech-store he was forced to inhale a wave of harsh smoke. He looked like he’d be sick. Which was likely true. Distant memories of a tobacco scented truck filled his brain. the cold air from his revealingly stupid outfit now unbearable.

"I’ve never seen a phone so big. Where’s the buttons? How do I turn it on?"

Give him a minute. He’s trying his best.

…

"Oh. That’s how. Thank y'."

A light pink tongue balanced on the others lip, sticking it out as he surveyed the many, many files that pertained to his work. How did they all even fit on his old Phone? That was the real mystery.

Oh. Daire didn’t just check his Work account. In a moment of selfishness the brunette scrolled through his photos, sighing with relief when he saw a few old selfies between unknown faces. So happy.

…

"Yeah. Everythin's n' order."

The attorney caught a blur of colour across the screen. Dobermans reflexes just barely delayed enough for him to catch the words. Lucky. Whatever the notification was brought an edge to his eye. Pale face scrunched up in anxiety. In dread.

'Adm. boss: if you don’t respond we will assume your mission…' (read more)

A certain angel has been blowing up Daire’s phone since it was broken. Right. Claude did instigate quite a lot in that call.

…

Daire turns his phone on silent, ignoring the stream of notifications. That was an issue for the dog at a later date. Without a weeping angel behind him, obviously.

"How did y' afford this thing? It’s like magic!”

Money IS magic….

Magic is magic. Money is survival. It's what reminds Claude that he's at the top of the food chain in ways that his lack of divinity could compensate for. Most things he could handwave off. Luxury that's become commonplace with him. But when he sees the little flash of message notifications from Daire's neurotic boss it serves as a reminder that no matter how invulnerable he is now, there's forces that even the law can't claim dominion over.

Krueal's Law, like Ralph said so, was a glorified scroll. Text on a paper, writing on parchment that did nothing to protect the aching in his wings and the fear in his bones as he laid up against that tree. Wings draped over and shaking as he growls under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets to turn and storm out of the store as the smoke stings at his eyes. Just another reminder that he's prey somewhere. Some raptor he is.

Daire's sure to follow after. He hears his footsteps patter against the the road as he struggles to keep up with Claude's stride. Granted, the height difference wasn't that severe. The angel was just angry. That dog didn't know what anything was like. Not one bit. Eve's huddled up against the seat with his switch balanced on his knees. Playing some game as always with his headphones turned up, but there's the slight sheen of sweat on his brow from the heat that'd settled inside the van. Daire's joke about leaving him there for too long ticked him off even more because the least his kidnapped do was have functional a/c. This day was terrible. Trapped in a hot car.

At least he could get out. Claude leans against the open window, not missing how the kid's face scrunches up at him as he pulls his headphones down.

"Alright, we're finished up bud."

"Great. Can we go home now?"

"Yep. Waiting on the driver."

Hunting dog's always on his heels when he's out to leave, anyways.

"I was—" huff! The dog leaned against his own car, holding his side as the poor thing caught his breath. A hunter should not be put out of work just walking down to his car at a medium pace! "—was just about t' put the keys in."

Claude didn’t miss the spray of purple that expelled from Daire’s mouth. Apparently still not fully recovered from earlier ailments. It was good thing Eve didn’t see him throw up. No need to ruin his mood further.

…

Oh but how good the lieutenant was at pretending nothing was wrong. He wiped the dirt of his face with his free hand, smiling a closed teeth grin so that he could slide his tongue over his mouth and potentially clear any stains left from earlier activities. In a quick motion back to his easily excited self. It wasn’t magic, it was practiced. Had he done it before?

Funny. While Claude had spent his entire life trying to convince others he was intimidating, Daire had adapted for the opposite mission. An actor such as the Krueal could see through this act perfectly though.

"This was a fun road trip, all things considered."

Was it?

Every member was covered in blood and shaking violently. That’s not really a good indicator of fun.

"let’s get y' lot home. No more surprises from me."

It was better not to question why that damn hellhound didn’t need directions. He’d probably been lurking around their penthouse as a private eye for awhile. Creep. But bringing light to such details might upset Eve more.

Daire was probably overjoyed to let the teenager join them for this little trip. More leverage, a subtle security brought by taking his son’s peace of mind hostage.

"Eva— Eve, want t' play anything? I heard, uh, what was his name… baby-nose-money had a new song? Kids like that guy, right?”

…

“It’s all my boss has been playing at the office."

Forcing Claude to listen to BBNO$ in a hot car was evil, even for his puppy stalker. Eugh. Luckily his son had better taste than that. Right?

Right?

…Hopefully an angry Eve wouldn’t torture his father like that. Even if he deserved it.

"Oh my god I fucking hate that guy. Turn on 1-800 before Dad turns it off." Eve's got a great sense for when his father was the worst he could ever be with an idea for how he could make him worse. Including playing horrible techno-pop slop that rung his ears with the affronts to musical history it held with each beat. But he was being dramatic. Mostly. It was tolerable at the very best, even if the groan that left the laywer almost automatically said otherwise. It distracted from the fact that Daire was driving straight to the Penthouse, or the haunted look in Claude's eyes staring straight ahead without any argument.

"Y'know Daire, with your boss' personality, it really makes sense that he'd be obsessed with this guy. Isn't he too old for this typa music if my kid's listening to it?"

"But daaadd you say that I'm mature when I sit through your vinyls."

"Hey! I'm just showing you good taste! and SIT through?" At least it wasn't that Beer song about running people over this time.

---

Daire pulls up with the valet service looking around disgruntled before they scatter at the sight of Claude stumbling out with half dried blood. It's only a matter of time before Eve's wheeled out and the only thing left is for the attorney to stare down his doggish companion with darkening eyes as a sort of warning. Though, at this point in time the drop-off didn't have a sense of finality, moreso a promise that it wouldn't be the last.

Claude knows what that means, anyways. It's why he holds out a hand to shake for Daire as if they've agreed on this notion like some sick business deal, subject of: his son's and his life in exchange for a plot that runs deep into the heart of the organization with roots of his own threatening to close in. What plagues his heart, however, if, and always was the titular question, if he was strong enough to live to the end of it.