The Devil and the Servant
Warning: adult themes, sexual themes.
The panic and guilt that settled deep inside Alaric was not going to leave any time soon. He'd just watched as rats dug their way through Raphael's belly and into his intestines. The sounds of those little creatures would haunt his dreams for months... for years! He'd been a petty thief in his life before this, not some sick and twisted murderer.
"I'm sorry, Raph," he said, his voice a low whisper as the drow woman walked away and gave them some privacy, though he knew it was not complete privacy. There was a small curtain drawn and that was it. If they spoke too loudly, and too familiar with each other, she would know something was going on.
The shock of it all settled deep inside his bones. Even now, he knew that clerics could heal, and within an instant, wounds were completely gone and mended. He'd seen it before in his life. It wasn't the healing that was bothering him, it was everything else that had happened. It was the horror of what he'd had to sit and watch, as Raphael squirmed on that table. How a devil had stood over him and tortured him, and laughed while doing so. Was that how all devils were? And did they all hate Raphael so much?
What had the Archdevil's son done to make them detest him so? Was what Raphael had told him the truth, about how he was helping mortals? No wonder devils would dislike him. Or was it something else? Was Raphael such a terrible devil that even other devils couldn't tolerate him? After what he'd seen these last few weeks... he wasn't sure. Raphael had been nothing but kind, and in turn... he'd gotten him strapped to a fucking torture rack and eaten alive.
"I... I don't know if I can do this..." His hands were shaking, blood on them. Raphael's blood. There was no heat from it, either, it had turned cold now that it had exited his body. There definitely was no devil within, because if there was, his blood would be burning hot. Instead, it was all caked and dried as it clotted against his palms and fingers. Hells, he felt like he was going to be sick again.
It was difficult not to give the tiefling a sharp look. There was no way he was going to allow Alaric to back out now. He needed that contract, by any means necessary! A little blood and torture wasn't going to make him stop, and he certainly wasn't going to allow it to make Alaric turn fearful.
Raphael sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, where he carefully pulled his shirt over his shoulders and placed it beside him. It was covered in blood, and it would do no good walking around in it. His pants were also soaked in blood, but they would remain on until he could get himself properly cleaned up. He was beginning to tire of being covered in his own bodily fluids.
"An unfortunate turn of events, I agree," he spoke, though his voice was level. He did not lay blame on Alaric, despite the fact that it was entirely his fault. If only the tiefling had listened to him and left him alone. A lesson that he would learn from, Raphael would make sure of, but in his fragile state, he knew that this required a certain finesse. A certain humane touch.
Raphael placed his bloody hand against Alaric's arm, which caused him to flinch, but their eyes met, and his expression was soft behind the curtain and where other eyes could not pry.
"Such is a day in the Hells, my dear."
Alaric's brows arched. "You just had rats eating your guts , Raphael," he whispered in horror. He wanted to pull back from the touch, but he found that he couldn't. Despite it all, Raphael's touch was grounding in a way, keeping him there so he wouldn't flee, so he wouldn't fall to his knees and scream obscenities.
That was the difference between them, though. He had lived a normal and dull mortal life in comparison, outside of the thrill of stealing. Raphael had been brought up in the Hells, a place where torture was just second nature, just the average part of a devil's life. Even now, the man hardly looked shaken by any of what had just happened, and that made Alaric feel weak, as if he was the one that had been the victim of torture and poor Raphael hadn't. How did any of that make sense!?
Yes, evidently. Raphael had been there. He was very aware of what had just happened to him. Fortunately for the cambion, his anger only fuelled his ambition to thwart his father. Telling Alaric that would be a foolish mistake, though. He had to lay it on thick, but also remind the tiefling that this was common amongst his people.
A soft hum left his lips. "You make it a habit of seeing me at my worst," he mused, it a small tease to try and lighten the mood. "But do not let this plague your mind. As you can see, despite my current state of uncleanliness, I am intact." His stomach still needed to be properly wiped clean, he desperately needed a bath, and he needed to get out of the soiled clothes he was in. Beneath his pants, his smalls were also soaked in blood, and it was beginning to stick in uncomfortable places.
Alaric shook his head, taking a few breaths to try and gather himself once Raphael's hand left him, lingering for a moment longer than it probably should have, though playing it safe within the watchful eyes of the public. They may have been in the infirmary, but debtors and healers were still walking around, and there was another unfortunate patient across the room, moaning and groaning over something that he couldn't quite understand considering it was in a higher Infernal dialect.
"How can you be so calm about this?" he asked, his hands still shaking, and still covered in Raphael's blood. Hells... he was probably going to never look at rats the same way ever again!
Raphael's expression turned to something more concerned. "Would you prefer I cause another stir and end up in another unfortunate situation? Anger is a dangerous reaction, Alaric. One that is wasted on devils." Said the devil that threw such dramatic temper tantrums as his father. Completely and utterly valid, in Raphael's eyes.
No. No, of course not. Of course Alaric didn't want anything to happen again. He worried at his bottom lip. If this happened just because of a little bit of water, then what was going to happen to him over sneaking through Mephistopheles' personal belongings and stealing a contract to free Raphael? He'd be that one on that torture rack, and it sure as shit wouldn't be rats trying to eat him. It would be worse... far, far worse.
"I... I need a minute. I can't think straight. My head's all over the place with this." He pressed his fingers to his forehead, and he could feel them shaking still, until suddenly there were hands at his wrists, warm hands, and Raphael had stood from the bed. One hand moved from his wrist, and even though it was covered in blood, it was still warm and soft as it moved to take his chin.
Alaric was shaking like mad. He was weak. Disturbed by the sight of devilkind and their tortures. Good. That meant his guilt would eat at him for what he had done. Raphael could use that to his advantage, and he fully intended to.
"I understand that this has been quite the ordeal for you," said Raphael, his voice gentle, a smooth rumble between the two of them. Gently, he manipulated Alaric's arm down with the careful guidance of his own. "A reminder of what life is like in Cania, and Baator. Particularly as their prisoner." Because he was the victim, and Alaric had to remember that.
The guilt that was already sitting inside his chest seemed to pool all the way into his belly, and Alaric felt the sting of tears at his eyes. He pushed them back, trying to focus on those soft, brown eyes instead.
The cries he'd heard in that chamber still echoed in his ears, and his lips parted as he took a few more breaths to try and calm himself. It was not fair. It wasn't fair that Raphael had been dragged away like that, all because he was dehydrated and going to pass out. Didn't his father know that all of these mortal things that he wasn't used to would make him suffer? He supposed that was entirely the point, wasn't it... This was the Hells, and just because Raphael was the son of the Archdevil, didn't mean he got a free pass from their structured society.
"I didn't know... I didn't think..."
"No, you did not," Raphael affirmed, though the way he said it was not harsh. It was a firm statement, and one that he hoped Alaric would learn from. His hand moved to the tiefling's cheek, where he held it, a thumb moving across his dark red skin.
"I will not hold your ignorance against you, Alaric. You did what any good mortal would have. But let this be a lesson, that each act we perform within the Hells comes with its consequences, and if you are to see your sister again, then there is only one voice that you should listen to. And that is mine ."
