“Sorry folks, I don’t think I’ve met the head douche. Would you like to leave his number?” He can’t help but huff as a fists flies into his gut. It’s a bit more than a turn of phrase considering what they’ve been doing with their blades, but Alastair’s fairly certain the fist hits at least one organ. He decided not to keep track with what was happening to all of them. Something pulls and he stares at their faces instead of whatever is in their hand. The one who’s loved having their hands all up in his chest cavity glares at him before turning to their two compadres.
“Maybe we should just kill him. Father knows he deserves it well enough.”
“I’ve already been dead once fly brain. Pretty sure you won’t like me the third time.” He keeps the cocky smile on his face, but even he can pass out from blood loss. He already can’t feel his fingertips and the very edges of his vision are blurrier than normal, but they don’t need to know that. One of the others who had been in the background steps forward at that.
“Is your name Alastair?” Al feels like he’d salute in mockery if he could move his fucking hands.
“Got it right on the first try. You should reward yourself.” The angel glowers but doesn’t respond to the taunt.
“Are there any other Alastairs in Hell?” Alastair shrugs as much as he can.
“I suppose anything is possible.” The angel turns to glare.
“See, we haven’t even got the right one!”
“And what if he’s lying,” asks angel douche one.
“What if he isn’t?” The third angel clears their throat, effectively silencing the two others. Come to think of it, Alastair isn’t sure he’s heard this one speak the whole time.
“Enough. Let him go. If he does know something we can just find him again.” The first angel snarls, but cuts him down, scraping the edge of the devil’s trap as they do so. As soon as his hands hit pavement and he can feel the power of the seal lifting off him, Alastair teleported into the bathroom of his apartment. He crawls, arms shaking, into the bathtub, so at least he won’t ruin his damn carpet.
“Well fuck,” he mutters shakily, starting to pat his pockets for his phone. Finding it, and discovering it’s not in the worst condition he’s ever seen, he enters his contacts to find the number that was given to him reluctantly. “Hope the bastard picks up.”
