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Reigen really doesn’t like bringing attention to the part of himself that can’t help but play the hero. So, when there’s no one around to watch him charge unarmed into an abandoned warehouse seeping blood from under the door, he’s actually quite relieved.
He really wishes he had a gun. Or a knife. Hell, he’d be happy with a stapler.
(Not Mob, though. Reigen is doubtful of his ability to forgive himself if he ever let a kid wind up where he is.)
Either way, he can find the time to curse his bleeding heart when he’s not standing before the precipice of a wet, gorey mountain of body parts, pinned down by a set of keen ember-yellow eyes.
“Hello?” Reigen calls cautiously, not allowing fear to slip into his voice. Whatever the thing behind the eyes is, it had almost definitely killed everything in this room, and Reigen really isn’t looking to be another head on the pile. “Who are you?”
His heart pounds a bruise against his ribs. Slowly, very slowly, he takes a step back. It’s already seen him, but if he can get close enough to the exit he can run and call the police…
The thing lets out a breath that fogs and coalesces in the air. Reigen blinks — it’s not cold. It’s not even close to cold.
It takes the smell for Reigen to realize it’s exhaust.
The creature is human in the way a doll is still a doll after you cut off its head and replace it with a knife. In fact, it’s exactly like that — if the knife was huge and had other, smaller knives that spun around the edge. And if the hands also had knives, or chainsaws, or whatever. You know, for good measure.
The revving sound it makes as it steps out from the shadow of its victims sends pins up Reigen’s spine.
“Um, hi,” he says, struggling to keep his voice at the regular octave. “What’s… your name?”
Something in the mound of dismembered members twitches. Almost faster than Reigen can blink, the thing drives its arm into the pile and starts churning. New blood sprays all over the old blood coated like a second skin on its body. Whatever was moving stops.
Right then, no running. Think: has it displayed any aggression towards him? Sure, it had clearly killed the population of a large residential street, but Reigen has no idea why. It may have been attacked first. He takes a breath and composes himself.
“Hey,” he says, in the way one might speak to a lost dog. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, and… and you’re not gonna hurt me. I just came in because I noticed something wrong, alright?”
The thing twitches a little. Reigen hopes that means it’s listening to him.
“What’s happening?” he continues. “Are you, uh, okay?”
As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, the thing jerks violently. Its eyes flash a bright, sulfuric yellow, and the chainsaws on its arms start to hum.
Three things happen in very quick succession after that. One: Reigen makes the choice to run regardless, and two: the thing speaks.
It has a vice-like jaw and long, stiletto teeth. Neither move as it talks, the voice seeming to come from somewhere deeper.
“...Hug me,” it says, barely more than a whisper.
Three: he vetoes thing one.
Reigen really doesn’t like bringing attention to the part of himself that can’t help but play the hero. This includes Reigen himself, as it tends to get him into situations that include great bodily harm. However, he has a duty as an adult to ensure the safety of children, regardless of gender, race, or quantity of sharp edges. Japan’s birth rates are too low to be tossing out the lives of the next generation like candy.
Besides, Mob is always talking about second, third, fourth chances. He supposes, somewhere along the line, he had rubbed off on Reigen.
He takes a step forward, then another, then another. His shoes stick a little in the half-dried layer of blood encrusted on the floor. The creature tilts its monstrous head up, welcoming, almost begging the approach of simple human contact.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Reigen hisses to himself. Then, gritting his teeth, he wraps his arms around the chainsaw boy.
It’s like one of those fairy-tale transformations. The frog receives a kiss from the beautiful princess and turns into a handsome and charming man — the demon that smells like blood and gasoline melts in thick globs off the boy’s face, dripping onto Reigen’s shoulder with an unpleasant warm sensation.
Suddenly, all of the boy’s weight slumps onto Reigen. He stumbles back, struggling to readjust.
“Woah, okay, easy…”
Slowly, he eases him down onto the floor. Reigen would prefer somewhere that wasn’t slick with blood, but he doesn’t think it would make much difference to the condition of the kid’s clothes. After only a moment’s hesitation, he takes off his suit jacket and tucks it under the boy’s mat of straw-blond hair.
Blood gone cold soaking into his knees, Reigen sighs and gently presses two fingers under the boy’s neck. His pulse is flighty, but strong.
He opens his eyes. They are a warm brown-orange, like old wood in sunlight.
“Hey,” Reigen says. “You with me? Can you tell me your name?”
“Hmgh?” the boy grumbles.
“Your name,” Reigen repeats, louder and clearer this time. “Can you tell me?”
The boy’s head lolls, tongue poking out between sets of shark-teeth. Reigen frowns, furrowing his brow. “Where do you live?” he tries. “Do you have someone I can call?”
They make eye contact. The boy shakes his head incrementally.
Reigen swears under his breath, combing a hand through his hair. “Great. Another basket case.”
Not allowing himself time to overthink, Reigen hikes his arms under the boy’s body and picks him up bridal style. “Right then, you’re coming with me. I’ll… well, I’ll figure something out.”
They boy smiles.
“...Nice,” he says, then passes out.
+++
By the time he gets back to the office, it’s fairly dark out, which Reigen is immensely grateful for. He’s really not sure he could have passed off that much blood as a ketchup stain. His arms ache, but more so because of the distance rather than the weight. The boy is far too light, and his skin is frail and chapped. Up close under the streetlight, Reigen can see the grimy bags curled under his eyes.
Reigen purses his lips and nudges the door open with a hip. As he navigates up to his office, he takes care to look around each corner for anyone else that might be out on a nighttime escapade. Cameras were no bother either. Reigen hadn’t seen the little red lights on those things blinking since he first bought his room.
Finally, he enters his office, covered in blood and carrying what very much appears to be a dead body at first glance.
“...Master…?”
Reigen stops in his tracks.
“Ah. Hello, Mob.”
They both stare at each other. Mob, who had previously been sitting on the floor, is now standing. Eventually, he breaks eye contact and looks over the blood-soaked body in Reigen’s arms.
“Are you… okay?”
Reigen laughs, a little hysterically. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s not my blood! Or, um, his.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
Silence, again.
Reigen grimaces. “Mob, you should go home. This isn’t… you shouldn’t have to…”
Mob dutifully ignores him.
“I’ll get some towels, master.”
+++
Reigen does the best he can to get the boy cleaned up. He pulls off his shirt and pants, which have become almost solid with dried blood. This reveals… something Reigen isn’t sure if he should have expected or not.
There’s a black pull-cord coming out of the boy’s chest, right between his abs. Secretly, Reigen had been hoping that whatever all that was, it had been resolved, like some sort of temporary demonic possession. However, he can’t deny the truth he’s seeing.
For a second, he takes the cord between his fingers. If he pulled, would the demon come back? Or could it only be done by the boy? Did the boy even have control over his transformation?
Reigen lets go of the cord, rubbing between his eyes to assuage the headache forming there. First Mob, now this guy? Does he magnetically attract powerful, unstable teenagers?
Putting that thought at the back of his head for now, Reigen uses one of the towels laid in a makeshift bed to wipe down the blood from the boy’s skin. Then he locates something of acceptable size and make in the bottom of a still-unpacked box and redresses him. Mob helps by finding a large plastic trash bag and collecting the bloodied rags to be discreetly disposed of.
Exhausted, Reigen pours a cup of instant coffee and falls into the armchair adjacent to Mob. He takes a sip, flinching when it’s hot enough to scald his tongue.
“So,” he says, setting the cup aside. “Why were you here so late? It’s past your shift by at least an hour.”
Mob doesn’t look away from the boy. “I came in for work and you weren’t here. I was worried. You weren’t picking up your phone.”
Reigen frowns and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, there are a number of missed calls. He must not have noticed in his adrenaline-fueled semi-rescue mission.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he apologizes, guilt staining his tone.
“It’s okay,” Mob says, smiling incrementally. “I’m just happy you’re alright.”
Reigen takes another sip of coffee. It’s not so hot now that he can’t taste the bitterness, which he can’t decide is worse or better.
He pauses.
“...Hey, wait, do your parents know you’re here?” Reigen asks, alarmed.
Mob stiffens a little. “Um... I told them I was having a sleepover with some friends… they were so happy, I knew they’d say yes.”
Reigen stifles a laugh. Mob really is growing up, lying to his parents and all.
“Whatever,” Reigen shrugs. “It’s true enough.”
In one motion, he throws back the rest of his coffee.
“I’ll find us some blankets.”
+++
Reigen starts his day not dissimilar from the last, with one simple difference of company.
“Master, I think he’s waking up.”
Reigen shoots out of his chair, hurriedly rubbing the grit from his eyes. Mob beckons him over from his post at the boy’s side, which Reigen has not seen him vacate since their breakfast of mini bagels.
They both hover uncomfortably close to his face as the boy blinks and groans his way into consciousness. He glares at them, blocking his eyes with his hand like they were their own light source.
“Ghng… whaddaya want…?” he slurs.
Reigen opens his mouth, but Mob gets there first.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
The boy lets out an impressive yawn, pushing himself into a sitting position, forcing Reigen and Mob to back away lest they collide heads, which Reigen thinks he would really not like to do with this particular kid.
“Yeah, m’fine,” he says. He blinks some more, looking around, eyes roving across the office. “Uh, where am I?”
Reigen gives what he hopes is a comforting smile. “You’re in my office, Spirits and Such. In Seasoning City.”
The kid frowns, scratching at his cheek. Then he shrugs.
“Yeah, okay.”
Reigen makes a small noise. “What do you mean, okay?”
He shrugs. “Woken up in weirder places.”
Reigen coughs into his elbow. “Right. Um, of course. Well, I’m Arataka Reigen, and this is my associate.”
Mob nods. “I’m Kageyama Shigeo, but my master calls me Mob.”
The boy sits straighter, squinting at Mob like he can’t quite see him right. “Eh? How does that work?”
Mob frowns. “What do you mean?”
“How do you get Mob from Shigeo?”
“Huh?”
He slumps again. “Oh, nevermind.”
Reigen clears his throat, interceding. “Yes, well, anyways; can you tell us your name?”
“Huh? Me? My name is–”
It is then that the phone rings.
Reigen swears, tripping to his feet and dashing to the receiver. Last second, he remembers to put on his customer service voice.
“Hello, you’ve reached Spirits and Such consultation! This is the greatest psychic of the 21st century, Arataka Reigen, speaking. How may I help you?”
In return, Reigen receives a scream. This is not wholly uncommon.
“If you are in need of an emergency exorcism, we offer a course the price of which can be negotiated after the removal of the threat–”
Another scream that crackles and peaks in the receiver. She (?) cries something about “vile spirits” and “help, oh god, please help,” and, thankfully, “at the west side park.”
The line goes dead and Reigen hangs up the receiver with a sigh.
“Mob?” he calls, digging up a spare suit jacket from his closet. “We’ve got an emergency job.”
Mob looks between the boy and the door, conflict warring in his eyes. “Master…” he starts. “Are you sure you want me to come with you for this job?”
Reigen would love to say “no, stay here and look after the guest, make friends, meet another boy your age.” He trusts Mob to be able to contain the boy if he did happen to go out of control. However, the possibility that the next demon he meets is not as friendly as the last makes him hold his tongue.
“...Of course I’m sure!” he says with fake bravado. “What will I do if there’s too many people there? I don’t want to hurt them by accident.”
Through the exchange, Reigen feels the eyes of the boy on him, wide and curious, drinking in the information passing between them.
Mob looks down. “...Yes, master. But… can we hurry?”
Reigen smiles a little, trying to convey his understanding through the small expression.
“Of course.”
With only a few more seconds spent on telling the boy to stay and get some rest, Reigen and Mob are out the door.
+++
The job is blessedly quick. They spend more time driving to the park than Mob spends exorcizing the spirits of a deceased birdwatching coalition “terrorizing” an elderly woman.
During the drive back, Mob asks: “Is he psychic?”
Reigen takes his eyes off the road briefly to glance at Mob. He has his hands in his lap, staring out the window.
“Can you not tell?” Reigen responds.
“No,” Mob says. “I wondered if maybe… he was like you?”
Reigen purses his lips, tapping the wheel. “Uh, no. He’s not psychic. He’s…”
Dangerous? Innocent? The victim? The aggressor? A demon? A child?
He decides to be honest.
“...I’m not really sure what he is.”
Mob nods, watching the city go by in silence.
+++
Reigen and Mob silently and mutually agree to run up the stairs. He’s mostly concerned with making sure his office hasn’t been sawed in half, though he suspects Mob may have more… charitable reasons.
Reigen throws open the door to the exact same sight he left it. He lets out a sigh of relief that is quickly aborted when he realizes it’s the exact same. The boy hasn’t moved an inch from where he left him. The blankets are undisturbed. He hadn’t even laid down.
Reigen clears his throat, catching those bright brown eyes. “Um…” he starts. “Have you moved? At all…?”
The kid tilts his head, like a curious animal. “You told me to stay,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I–”
Reigen stops and thinks. Then he thinks some more.
He puts a hand on Mob’s shoulder. “Mob, your parents are going to worry if you aren’t home soon. You should leave.”
“But Master, I don’t–”
“Now, now,” Reigen waves his hand emphatically. “It’s important for a growing boy to not be loafing around all day! Go on home, now.”
“But I--”
“Oh, I know! I’ll give you your pay now, deal?”
Reigen fishes around in his pocket and grabs anything that feels like change.
“Here,” he says, holding it out for Mob. As Mob is about to take it he jerks back. “Oh, wait, sorry– hold on.”
Reigen digs around in his other pocket and adds the contents to his palm, then holds it out again.
“For the, uh, overtime.”
The constant gaze from the mystery boy suddenly grows hot and boring. Reigen and Mob both turn in sync to look at him. However, where Reigen is just confused, Mob locks eyes and they seem to have an entire conversation within a second.
“Do you want some?” Mob asks, holding out a few coins. He smiles a little, encouraging.
The boy’s mouth hangs open, his hand hovering between holding back and snatching the money from Mob’s palm.
“But… I didn’t do anything?” he says, more of a question than a statement.
“It’s okay,” Mob assures him, holding his hand a little closer. “I don’t mind sharing.”
With a look of beholding, slowly, slowly, like a stray, he takes the money.
Mob smiles a little wider at him. “We can go get something from the vending machine, if you want.”
Reigen scowls. “Don’t bother, they made that thing way too expensive. I'll make you some toast.”
For some reason, the boy’s eyes light up with stars.
“Jam!” he nearly shouts. “I mean… jam? Do you have it? Can… I have it?”
Reigen squints, trying to tell if he’s serious. “Uh, sure? Knock yourself out.”
The boy glows. Despite not really knowing what's going on, Reigen can’t help but smile.
Due to his reluctance, Reigen is forced to frog-march Mob out of the complex. He sends him home with a weary wave and a promise to text if anything came up.
Which isn’t… totally a lie. He’ll have to figure out what to even do, first. Call the police? Child services? How does he explain the pull cord? Reigen can’t very well just let him loose, but he can’t keep him trapped in an office either.
On top of that, there is the ever-present possibility that the kid just goes crazy and kills him. In which case, it is no longer Reigen’s problem.
Pulling out a mini-toaster from under the cupboard, Reigen watches from the corner of his eye as the boy crawls into an armchair. He tries out numerous positions, eventually settling on having his back against the bottom seat with his legs sticking straight up.
Whatever. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
As he’s picking open the twist tie on the bread, he realizes:
“Oh, by the way, I never got your name.”
The boy looks up from his new seat on the armchair, where he’s now trying to figure out the lever to make it recline.
“Hm? My name?”
For some reason, Reigen is reminded of twenty minutes ago, in the car, in the morning, driving back to a literal demon he’d found in a blood-soaked warehouse.
“I’m not really sure what he is.”
The boy gives a shining, shark-tooth grin.
“I’m Denji!”