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“King, I’m gonna have to bench you on this one,” Meliodas states, glancing over a piece of parchment.
“What! Why? Yesterday you said you would need me!”
“Yeah well, I just got new intel. We can handle it, I’ll just bring Gowther instead.”
King’s jaw drops. Normally, he would jump on the chance to sit out, but he’d been bored out of his mind the past few weeks. The downside to having such a badass team is that there really aren’t many people to fight. The Grandmaster keeps calling them in for ridiculous meetings and petty criminals, meaning not only boring work but shitty pay as well.
So here they are. This is their first real mission in months, and Merlin had made it out to be a big deal. She said King would be an ‘exemplary tactical advantage’, which had flipped Meliodas’s poker face on almost immediately. He hadn’t outwardly disagreed, but King knows he was less than pleased with the idea from the beginning.
“Gowther doesn’t even want to go,” King finally argues. He likes following Meliodas, he really does. Despite his overall idiocy, the Captain is a good tactician, and King trusts that he’s making the best call given the information. But if there’s a chance he’ll change his mind...
“What do you even want the money for, you can always just leech off the Cap’n.”
Meliodas sends a dry look in Ban’s direction. “Fuck you.”
“It’s not about that!” King defends. “I’m not an avaricious pig, not that you would understand.”
“Of course I fucking don’t, are you even speaking English?”
“Was he speaking too quickly?” Gowther cuts in. He’d moved closer to peer over Meliodas’s shoulder at the letter, but is now staring openly at Ban. “Which part were you unable to understand?”
“Oh forget it,” Ban groans, rolling his eyes and turning back to the kitchen. Gowther wanders after him, leaving King and Meliodas alone with Escanor dozing on top of a table.
“I want to help.” King clenches his fists at his sides, pushes his shoulders back determinedly, and holds his breath as Meliodas stares him down. If he decides right now that he really doesn’t want King coming along, there‘ll be no arguing with him.
Finally, Meliodas shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Alright then!”
King wishes he could feel like he’s won.
But all he feels is a growing sense of dread.
“Diane, you’ll stay out here,” Meliodas explains, motioning to the edge of the forest. “We’re going to flush them out the back while you make sure no one gets away.”
That was the only briefing they were going to get. Sometimes King wishes the Captain would plan things out more, but he has to appreciate his efficiency. Simple instructions are more flexible and easier to remember- ideal for working with idiots like Ban. And as long as they were all on the same page in regards to leniency on casualties, there isn’t often much need for orders. Brute strength generally does the trick.
Leaving Diane to figure out her own situation, they circle around to the front of the building, keeping to the underbrush for no reason other than “it’s way cooler”. The windows are dark, but the Captain assures them there are people inside.
“Sleeping?” Ban asks mildly, not sounding at all concerned about ambushing a bunch of unarmed people from his own race.
“Nah... I think they’re playing poker!” Meliodas’s voice gets more excited with every word, and King has to step in before he tries to suggest joining them.
“First floor?”
There’s a pause as Meliodas considers, probably listening to their hearts or something equally stalker-ish, then he shakes his head. “Second. Near the front.”
Ban steps out from the bushes and strides right up to the door. “Alright, stand back~”
King’s eyes widen. “Wait-“
The door crashes down with a sound equivalent to Mother Catastrophe.
“Real subtle Ban.”
Ban shrugs. “Maybe they’ll come running down and we won’t have to climb any stairs.”
Meliodas’s super-hearing must be busted because no one shows up. They slip through the entryway unobstructed and King can’t make out any sound from above them. The whole place is eerily silent, actually.
“Are you sure they’re in here? I don’t hear anything.”
“You’re right, I must have been hallucinating,” Meliodas responds, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Ban laughs way too loudly and King can’t stop himself from groaning. He can’t wait until the fighting starts so he can watch the guy get torn to shreds.
His eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, but not quickly, and he sees the others pulling their helmets off for the tiny amount of increased visibility it might offer. He doesn’t follow their lead because, unlike them, King will die if he takes a surprise knife to the head.
They step through one more doorway, and King realizes with a sudden jolt why Meliodas hadn’t wanted him to come along.
The walls are lined with wings—large, ornate wings of every color displayed proudly near the top and cases of small translucent ones reaching a third of the way up the wall. And there’s a box near the entrance overflowing with them, with blood still drying along the edges.
Fairy wings.
They’re fairy wings.
King feels like he’s going to be sick. He is going to be sick. Why did he come here why didn’t he listen why are humans like this whywhywhy-
“Hey old man, we’re going now,” Ban’s annoyed voice cuts into his thoughts, and King pushes back the panic to look past him at Meliodas, who broke away from staring thoughtfully down the hall to glance curiously between King and Ban.
“Captain-“ King pleads, and his voice cracks in the middle but he can’t find the energy to care. Pathetic, Ban is here, don’t be such a baby, stupid stupid stupid.
“We’re taking them down,” the Captain assures him. His eyes glow in the moonlight, radiating confidence like the leader King has always wished he could be. “This ends now.”
It will never end. They can destroy this one group of hunters, but there will always be more. It wouldn’t be a business otherwise. It will never end because King is too weak to stop it. His people are suffering and he’s been spending his nights getting drunk and ogling Diane.
Trembling with an emotion that’s too diluted to be described as rage, King takes a step closer to the wall. Many of the wings are ragged along the base, as if they had been ripped straight off their owners with no regard for them at all. Maybe collectors think they look more authentic that way. Maybe they just get some kind of twisted pleasure at the idea of causing pain. Whatever the reason, it’s beyond messed up, beyond anything the human mind should be able to come up with. They aren’t even being used to make medicine, just displayed like trophies for some creep to flaunt around.
It‘s sick.
And it’s humiliating that his race has been reduced to this. He was supposed to protect them and the proof of his incompetence is sitting right in front of them.
He wants to hide it all away, forget who he used to be and start all over. Covering it up could become his new goal, weaving lies and secrets for centuries and changing more and more every day until there’s nothing left to connect him to Harlequin. No one would ever find out and he would be free for the first time in his entire life.
If it weren’t for the guilt, he would. The opportunity had been handed to him neatly wrapped with a bow and everything—the new name, look, identity, purpose.
But the guilt won’t let him move on. His sister is waiting for him, relying on him to come back to her. His people need his strength, minuscule as it is, to protect them and their home. Fairies aren’t exactly trained to fight, and most don’t even have weapons, leaving Harlequin and the forest’s natural defenses to keep them safe. He can’t just leave them.
(But he already has)
He tears himself away from the displays. Ban and the Captain have made their way to the other side of the room, peering into a dark doorway, so naturally he drifts closer, squinting through his visor at the only thing in there.
It’s a girl, lying neatly on a metal slab with her hair splayed around her head like a halo of light. Dried blood runs down her sides from the gaping hole in her abdomen. King can’t see if her wings are still attached. He doesn’t want to.
“Did you know her?” Ban asks quietly.
Yes.
Her name was Enthana. He taught her to make necklaces like humans, decades ago. She had been entranced. She... she shouldn’t have died like this.
King wonders how many of the others he had known, how many of those wings came from people he’d talked to and played with. How many had come from children. He gives a noncommittal shrug and turns away before he bursts into tears.
Ban doesn’t say anything else as they continue on and King comes to the conclusion that this must be a nightmare. A relatively tame one, certainly, but there’s no way this is real. Ban looks far too thoughtful and dead fairies are far too prominent.
The stairs creak underneath them, adding two significant points to the creep factor. Even though it doesn’t make any difference, King lifts himself higher away from the floorboards.
As soon as they hit the landing they’re surrounded. Ban and Meliodas tuck their helmets under their arms and somehow manage to look like they just arrived at a bar, shoulders relaxed and grins only slightly predatory. King rolls his eyes but does his best to match his posture to theirs. Luckily he’s standing in the back, because the end product resembled a particularly fat and deformed cashew.
“Well then,” Meliodas starts with a grin. “It looks like you’ve got quite the following, Marrok.”
“And who might you be?” A well dressed man steps away from the crowd, accent long and smooth.
“Meliodas, Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins.”
Terrified whispers break out among the men, and they collectively start to shuffle away. So they’ve heard of them. Good.
“So you know why we’re here?”
“They’re gonna kill us!” someone shrieks. Then he tries to run straight past them, which... not smart. Ban sidesteps to neatly catch him by the arm.
“We don’t want to kill anyone if we don’t have to,” Meliodas says calmly.
“Actually, I’d very much like to kill you,” Ban corrects but disappointingly doesn’t act on.
“Everyone drop your weapons. Otherwise, well, I can’t guarantee control of my men.” Meliodas pointedly threatens.
“Whatcha gonna do then, kill us while we’re defenseless? Is this how the legends earned their reputation? Filthy cowards!”
King bristles with rage, but Meliodas just chuckles darkly.
“Who here wants to test that theory?”
Nearly every weapon in the room clatters to the floor at once. By Gloxinia, these people are pitiful.
Tugging roughly at the man in his grip, Ban scowls and taps his helmet impatiently on his knee. “This is all well and good Cap’n, but I didn’t sign up to babysit a bunch of shitwads.”
“They’ll come quietly,” Meliodas says sweetly. Two more swords hit the floor.
Meliodas is far too passive. Wanting to keep everyone alive, what a load of crap. These people don’t care about life and Meliodas needs to realize that. They kill for the fun of it, and they won’t stop until someone stops them.
Permanently.
Morrok snarls. “You’re threatening us? We didn’t do anything wrong! We’re helping people! Curing them!”
King opens his mouth to shout back, already prepping to skewer him, but Meliodas cuts in.
“It’s illegal.”
The sympathy in his voice is satisfyingly fake.
“Oh please, those animals don’t have feelings. They’re better off-“
King never gets a chance to hear the rest. Red explodes across his vision and he throws himself forward with everything he has. Chastiefol pulverizes Marrok and everyone behind him, blasting a hole straight through the wall.
Through his raging tunnel vision, King might have caught a glimpse of the Captain’s raised eyebrow, but that only made everything worse. He draws back, splitting his spear into fifth form and trying to decide how many more people he’ll have to kill before his anger is satiated.
A shattering sound from behind grabs King’s attention for a second too long. He spins, but the attack comes from a different direction entirely—a club right to his head, sending his helmet flying. He shouts, retaliates, presses a hand to the gash over his ear. People are screaming and leaping out the hole he’d created. Ban moves to intercept them and King is shooting past him, long past rational thinking.
Outside is nice. He can see Diane circling around to the side and smell the grass on the wind.
As much as he wants to, he doesn’t slow down for any of it. He darts into the coverage of the trees, fixated on one fleeing man. The need to catch him is overwhelming. King can’t bring himself to focus on anything else.
That becomes a problem approximately six seconds later, when a couple of the other escapees pounce on him from behind.
And another club connects solidly with his head.
King shrieks, completely losing any remaining shreds of control over his magic. His weapon crashes to the dirt at the same moment he is forced to shift back into his natural form.
His balance is smashed. Body too small and light, center of balance too low. Large hands wrap around his middle and throw him to the ground. He has no choice but to fall, to submit to the pressure on his shoulders, keeping him pinned against the dirt. A second person gets a hand on his chest and right leg. A third grips his neck tightly enough to bruise.
“Suck-ups,” one hisses. “Acting like you’re any better than us.”
King gasps for air. Something warm and wet hits his cheek, then his throat is free.
“Strip ‘im.”
Despite his struggles, it’s not difficult for them to get King out of the armor. He only starts to panic when they brush against his soft clothes underneath.
“Are you sure this is him?” A bony finger jabs into his side.
“Yes dumbass, he was with Meliodas.”
King tunes out their conversation and musters all of his energy to throw a kick. It connects with a flabby thigh, but when an ugly laugh grates at King’s ears he’s forced to concede that it hadn’t done any damage whatsoever.
“Wrong choice, worm.” All the hands leave him except a pair holding down his abdomen. At least his clothes are still on.
“Meliodas will kill you,” King gasps. He probably won’t, but it’s a nice thought.
“That so?” The man isn’t looking at King. He seems to be wiping down a long stick of metal, circling the small clearing. King twists to watch him.
“Y-yes. Just let me go now and maybe he’ll make it quick.”
The man laughs again. “Bold words runt. It’s too bad you won’t live long enough to see if they’re true.”
King does not like the sound of that. He scrambles at the grass, listening for the familiar hum of the spirit spear that he’s nothing without.
A breath later he blinks, and it’s that focus that allows him to hear a weapon sliding through the air above him. He flinches, cries, but he’s helpless to stop it from crashing into his leg. And his stomach. Again. And again.
The pain is real and sharp. This is not a nightmare. It’s vivid and blurry and fucking painful.
It’s only when they start dragging him by the broken leg, head bumping and scraping against every rock, that King finally passes out.
Move.
He has to move.
He’d lost time. His temples are being rubbed raw by a blindfold and his entire body feels like an open sore.
Four people are holding him upright, which is a bit of overkill in King’s opinion; he’s got the muscles of a well-developed twig. They notice as soon as he tries to move, jeering and dragging him forward. King calls to the sacred tree but his weapon doesn’t respond, and he’s terrified of what that implies.
“Looks like the traitors aren’t as tough as the legends say!”
King’s head is spinning. The world is so blurry, filled with faceless people and reaching hands that he can’t escape—smudged visions that aren’t his own because his eyes are clouded by darkness. The angles are skewed, like he’s looking on from above. He sees himself. He sees nothing at all.
“Pathetic,” one sneers. His voice is laced with disgust, and King flinches away, desperately tugging against the death-grip on his arm. God, the worst part is these idiots aren’t wrong. This is pathetic.
He feels cold water when he’s shoved to his knees and decides that pathetic or not, he needs help or he’s not going to make it out of this one alive.
“Cap-“ King tries to call, but his head is being shoved forward and he can’t breathe.
There aren’t many things King is afraid of. Losing Diane is the main one. Large fires, the Captain’s cooking, sometimes Escanor. Never the forest and never drowning. The forest is his and the water keeps it alive. He’d never seen even a trace of a single reason to be scared of it until now.
He feels cold seeping into him from every angle and his lungs are burning but the forest won’t respond. He’s pushed deeper, struggling desperately, but the hands don’t let up, pinning his weakened limbs to his sides.
Suddenly the pressure is gone. His arms flail uselessly; with his clothes weighing him down and his muscles groggy there’s less than no chance of reaching the surface. Everything is dark and his throat burns and it hurts in ways he’s never experienced before—the pressure and the cold killing him from the inside. There’s nothing obvious or sharp like an open wound, it’s air too thick and movement too slow.
The fight drains out of him. He’s going to die. He’s going to leave behind more people who are relying on him. Why do they keep relying on him?
(Then the darkness warmed, and his consciousness drifted.)
More hands. More pressure.
Air.
King is coughing up water before he fully processed that he was free. His head is still throbbing, but not nearly as bad, and his eyes aren’t covered anymore.
“-s fine.”
“Why the hell’s water still coming out of him then?”
“He’s just clearing out his lungs. As long as he’s coughing-“
Damn it.
People are talking over him. They‘re still here. They‘re still here and he can’t give them another chance to kill him. So, knowing full well that attacking without a weapon will result in definite failure, he swings a wild punch at the nearest voice.
In King’s defense, there aren’t many other options. It’s a fight-or-die sort of situation. Besides, if he’s lucky enough to catch the right spot, it won’t matter how pitiful his muscles are, the bastard will know pain.
He does not catch the right spot. His fist makes contact with solid muscle and the person grasps his wrist, gently pulling him closer.
“N-no!” King jerks away, and surprisingly, the captor lets him. His voice becomes soft, calming. Easier to process.
“-you’re okay, it’s just us. You’re safe. It’s all good,” he’s whispering. King pries his eyes open, blinking away water and tears, because there’s no way.
“Captain?”
It’s definitely him, all wild blond hair and electric green eyes, crouched just outside King’s personal space. He beamed when King said his name, but kept himself still and non-threatening, as if anyone could be scared of him when he smiles like that.
Relaxing marginally, King pushes himself onto his elbows and glances around. Ban is leaning against a tree further back, looking extremely bored, and six guys are piled near the edge of the bushes. No one’s dead, so Ban must’ve shown up after the action, just in time to watch King’s humiliation unfold. Wonderful.
“Hey there King! How’re you holding up?” The Captain waves a hand across his field of vision, and King instinctively tries to track it with his eyes. He probably isn’t very successful, but Meliodas doesn’t give any indication either way, smile bright and eyes neutral.
“I’m fine,” King mumbles, blushing madly as he shoves the hand away. “I could’ve handled it.”
“You joking? We just dragged your half-dead ass from the bottom of a river,” Ban snarls.
Meliodas shakes his head, so subtly that King assumes Ban will miss it. He generally isn’t the sharpest sword in the armory. In fact, it’s almost impressive how thick he is; King has watched some of the things he’ll let people get away with by claiming ‘foreplay’, and they make him genuinely fear what Ban considers the limit. If you want him to take a hint, you have to shove it down his throat screaming.
But he must’ve been paying extra attention this time, because he scowls and pushes off his tree. “Whatever.” Without looking back, he pauses just long enough to mutter a nearly silent “glad you’re okay, Sloth” before disappearing into the woods.
Meliodas reaches up to run a hand through his hair, and it’s only then that King realizes he’s soaking wet. Obviously he couldn’t have fished King out of the water without going in himself, but it’s different knowing that and seeing his hair dripping in his eyes and his shirt clinging to his skin. Has the Captain always looked so young?
“Don’t worry, I told him their mage got you,” he says, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. There weren’t any mages in that building, or at least, there weren’t any who were anywhere near that level of skill, but King understands. It’s a surprisingly thoughtful gesture, and not one King would have ever expected from him.
“Oh. Um-“ King dissolves into shuddering coughs, rolling weakly onto his side. He sees Meliodas make an aborted motion toward him, but when no contact ensues he shuffles closer, unsure of what he’s even hoping for. His sister’s hand rubbing shapes into his back or his best friend combing fingers through his hair, maybe. Nothing he’d get from his Captain of all people.
Only a second passes before a hand rests on his shoulder. It feels more uncertain than anything, as if he’d never touched another person with the intent to comfort before. Which, come to think of it, is probably pretty close to accurate. None of them had really had ideal childhoods, and Meliodas had never mentioned anything about a family or friends. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it’s the little reminders of how badly life has screwed them over that suck the most.
“Thanks,” King mumbles, and Meliodas moves closer without saying a word. They sit in silence for a few blissful moments, water sloshing gently against the bank next to them, and share each other’s warmth.
The wind bites King’s wet skin when Meliodas finally pulls away to check for injuries. “Things got pretty intense back there,” Meliodas comments, still looking King up and down. And things had gotten rough, mostly due to King’s incompetence. Not to mention his blatant disobedience.
“I’m so sorry Captain! I didn’t-“
Meliodas taps his own shin twice. “You okay to fly?”
King looks down. His leg is completely shattered, yes, but why the Captain thinks that has anything to do with his ability fly is beyond him. “I... o-of course I am! But I’m trying to-“
“Let’s get going then!”
With a groan, King shifts to follow after him. He knows better than to take it personally- Meliodas just gets like this sometimes- but it’s still frustrating, even worse when his head is throbbing and the guilt is shredding his lungs.
He pushes off, but the moment his body leaves the ground it feels like he’d just been slammed into a brick wall. “AHH!” He hears himself make an embarrassing yelping noise when he hits the ground and immediately wishes they had never dragged him out of the water.
Meliodas is looking back at him with a teasing grin. “Need me to carry you?”
“Shove off,” King mutters, humiliated. Meliodas kneels next to him and slides an arm under his legs and around his back, this time much more confident with his touch. Automatically, King’s fingers curl into the cloth over Meliodas’s chest—something he instantly wishes he could take back, but it makes him feel stable enough that he tentatively leaves them.
“This okay?”
It hurts, but not as bad as exerting the energy to do it himself. “Fine.” King can’t bring himself to meet the Captain’s eyes, although that might be because his his vision is sliding in and out of focus. He finds himself fixating instead on the heat radiating from Meliodas’s skin. It feels nice against the chill from the drying water, so nice, but... “Are... are you sick?”
Meliodas glances down at him. “I run warm,” he says absently, lifting them both up. King chokes and presses closer to his chest, but Meliodas doesn’t seem to notice. “So where’s your sacred treasure?”
“Dunno,” King mumbles. He can feel sweat collecting in his hair and bones grinding in his leg. It hurts.
The hand around his shoulders tightens in an attempt at keeping weight off his legs. “We’ll worry about it later. For now you should get some sleep.”
There is no way King is going to pass out in the Captain’s arms like a helpless princess; he’s shown enough weakness today as it is. He’s a diamond rank holy knight for crying out loud, a mission like this shouldn’t have been difficult for him.
“The others won’t see anything,” Meliodas says, sounding way too amused for the situation. “Sleep.”
He knows the Captain is going to chew him out for this later. It’s not something he’s looking forward to; he’s never actually seen Captain lecture any of them, but being reprimanded always stings and King‘s not especially keen on experiencing it from someone he (grudgingly) looks up to.
He’s stressed and in pain, but the arms around him are warm and the concussion is dragging his eyelids down without his permission.
The fear wavers, then fades, and he presses his face into the warmth of Meliodas’s chest and allows himself to drift.
King wakes up again in his human form, surrounded by the grinning faces of his team.
Things settle back into normal after that. They fight, travel, get drunk, occasionally train. None of them tease him for his lapse in judgement, not even Ban. Maybe they see it as normal. King screwing up must not be a noteworthy enough occurrence to bring up. Whatever.
Doesn’t change the fact that he had gone against the Captain’s express wishes during an important mission. Things shouldn’t go back to normal until he’s been punished.
Only a couple of weeks later the waiting finally becomes too much.
They’re finishing up cleaning out their rooms from the inn. The others ran out ahead with terrible excuses and King is suddenly alone with the Captain.
He’s less than a second away from fleeing with a half-assed excuse of his own, but then Meliodas rolls his eyes fondly and gives King a conspiratorial smile and something in him just snaps.
“I need to talk to you!”
Meliodas tucks a hand into his pocket and motions with the other for King to continue, keeping his posture and expression completely blank.
“Listen... I- I know I screwed up that last mission, okay?
The Captain stares at him for a few moments. King wonders if maybe he should say something else.
“The last mission?”
King nods, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, with the um... with the hunters. I shouldn’t have-“
“King, that was more than two weeks ago!” King flinches, tears starting to gather in the corners of his eyes, but Meliodas plows on with gentle laughter in his voice. “You worry too much.”
“Nothing you say makes any sense!” King cries out in frustration. “Just- ugh! When are you going to get it over with!”
Meliodas seems unsure how to respond to that, not that you could tell if you weren’t looking. He presses his lips together for a moment, and King can tell he’s gearing up to tell him something bad. The Captain never hesitates, never. He’s kicking King off the team, oh gods how could he have screwed up this badly, he’s going to take away the one good thing about King’s hell that he calls life-
“Get what over with?”
Is he dense? “I don’t know. The lecture?”
“You... want me to lecture you.”
“What? No of course not. But if you’re going to you might as well just do it.”
Now that he’s said it out loud it sounds a bit ridiculous. Meliodas is the last person alive who should be dishing out lectures, and if he had a problem he probably would have come out and said it a long while back.
“I’ll have to pass you up on that one.”
King let out a long breath. “Sorry. It’s just... all of that is- was- it’s my fault.”
He can’t stop his breath from hitching, or his throat from closing up, but Meliodas doesn’t call him out on it.
“So you’re trying to take credit for catching the bad guys, huh?”
“You know what I mean! That’s the problem, you know everything!” Everything that counts, at least.
“Ah.”
King scrubs a hand across his eyes, shaking his head. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.
“I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Meliodas takes a soft step closer, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “We’re all here because we fucked up.”
(Wrath, King thinks. What a joke. Whoever had managed to break through Meliodas’s calm probably deserved what they got.)
“Diane isn’t like that,” is what King mutters, suddenly unbearably bitter. “She’s a good person.”
Meliodas smiles, and this time it seems to reach his eyes. “Never said she wasn’t!” He reaches his elbows behind him to ease back against the wall, hitching one foot up as well. “No one on this team is a bad person.”
King swallows, thinking of Ban’s protective snarl and Gowther’s soft curiosity and Merlin’s laughter. He thinks of Escanor’s passion for beauty and love and flowers.
He thinks of Diane.
“How do you know?”
“Because we’re here!” Meliodas chirps, spreading his arms.
If that isn’t the most naive thing King’s ever heard, he’ll eat the Captain’s secret ingredient no-cook soup. ‘Because we’re here’ what is that even supposed to mean. They’re here because the king decided he wanted a bunch of criminals working for him. Just because they happened to get chosen didn’t mean they were good.
Some of that must have shown on his face, because the glow in Meliodas’s eyes slips. He steps away from the wall, setting a warm hand on King’s shoulder. “You’re a good person, King, because you want to be.”
“I’m...” King starts, but he’s at a loss for how to finish. He remembers the first time they met. Something tightens in his stomach. “You really believe that?”
“I’ve met bad people King, and you’re not it. Although...” Meliodas tilts his head. “If you really want to make up for it we can start you on some of my chores. I read somewhere that good people don’t leave their hardworking and attractive leaders to do laundry by themselves.”
Kings rolls his eyes, even though he feels nothing but heavy relief. “I might have believed that if I thought for a second that you could read.”
“Your loss. I’m keeping track though, and that comment just sunk you dangerously close to ‘bad person’ territory. There are some dishes that need washing that might negate your horrible personality but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
King shoves him away. Meliodas lets him, still smiling all kind and teasing. The urge to throttle him overcomes any lingering anxiety. “Wha- I do all the dishes anyway!”
“Mm, that’s not how I remember it.” Meliodas actually has the audacity to frown like he really thinks he’s the one cleaning all of their disgusting trenchers every day.
“You don’t do anything!” King accuses. Meliodas shakes his head happily, tapping King’s shoulder on his way to the door.
“And there’s the great thing about being in charge.”
There’s a pleasant silence in the room now that Meliodas is gone, and King is hit with a sudden longing for the solitude of the trees. It was so much quieter. The only person anywhere near as annoying as the Captain was... well it was Helbram. But he provided welcome respites from responsibility; Meliodas is nothing less than a persistent headache. The guy has his moments, sure. Some of things he said a couple of minutes ago were decent. About the team. And about King...
Because you want to be.
He’s wrong though. It doesn’t really matter what you want if you can’t accomplish it, after all.
King hooks his arms over the top of his weapon and huffs. Meliodas really is a piece of work. Naive, bawdy, way too soft for someone of his ranking. The closest thing to a walking joke King has ever had the pleasure of encountering.
He’s made a few good choices though. King isn’t sure how much say he had in choosing the Sins, but he imagined it was a visit the prison and pick from the available options sort of deal—like a pet store for hardened criminals.
However it was, he’d scraped together a half-decent team. Diane is perfect, and Escanor’s not so bad. Gowther just seems misguided, although someone who claims not to have a heart can’t be considered good can they? Ban has absolutely no morals, evil all the way through, and Merlin is pretty much the same. That gives the Captain around a fifty percent chance of being right about King.
King mentally slaps himself. He knows he’s wrong. Meliodas doesn’t know the first thing about people or about King.
Intentions are impossible to fully evaluate, or to ever trust. Everyone lies. What really counts is their actions. Either you do good or you don’t.
(Years later he’ll watch his friends tear themselves apart to protect what they believe to be good, watch lines cross and boundaries dissolve. He’ll watch lovers walk the paths of killers and protectors turn on each other at the drop of a hat.)
He’s wrong.
(He’s wrong.)