Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Look out!”

You ducked, nearly completing a full somersault in the uncomfortable way you rolled across the floor. Bullets pierced the air where you’d just been, and from somewhere you heard an ungodly scream. It was nothing compared to the foul curse that left your lips. “Watch it, Yamada!”

As usual, the Dragoon ignored your exclamation in favor of reloading. Warning bells suddenly sounded in your head, and you sharply twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the staff which slammed into the ground beside your head. The impact shook the earth around you, causing it to splinter and crack. You jumped back from the ravine forming at your feet and frantically felt the ground for your sword. Grasping the handle, you grabbed it just in time to meet another swing.

“Don’t break it!”

You scowled, a bead of sweat running down your face as you tried to push the staff away. “I’m using the blunt side!” The staff unexpectedly pulled back; the sudden shift of weight made you stumble, nearly directly into its next swing. “Anytime you want to help!”

Another round of shots sounded from somewhere behind you. “I’m a little busy!”

The staff swung at you again, and you ducked, rolling under and behind it in an attempt to gain some space. Your foot crushed through something solid, and you glanced down to find yourself ankle deep in a mole. The goblin twitched, but was quickly stilled by a sharp swipe of your sword. Despite the gravity of the situation, you grimaced. 

The chanting which had been steadily echoing in the background continued, and you saw the staff begin to shake. Taking advantage of its momentary distraction, you looked away from the possessed relic and towards the clearing you and Yamada were guarding. There, hands pressed together and resting on her knees, Sato didn’t pause in her aria despite the horde of incoming demons. Considering that most of them were goblins, with the exception of a few ghouls, it wasn’t the most intimidating sight, but Yamada seemed to be keeping busy; you eyed a rat which nearly made it to his pant leg before being blasted away.

Sato must have reached a crucial section in her aria, because the staff suddenly switched its focus. Soaring past you, it made it a full foot towards her before you managed to deliver a solid whack with the flat edge of your longsword. With the hit, it was as though you had reminded it of your annoying existence; with an air more menacing than you’d ever imagined an inanimate object could possess, it turned towards you. You’d expected another attack, you didn’t expect for it to suddenly drop, shooting down to pierce the ground with a resounding crack. 

The ground splintered once more, and you stared in disbelief. A huge, black cloud rose from the earth. 

“Fuck.”

The swarm of locust descended upon you with little hesitation; you shielded your eyes, hacking fruitlessly at the air around you. You could barely hear Sato anymore through the deafening noise of hundreds of wings. Cursing repeatedly as you fought your way through the mob, you struggled to gain your bearings in regards to the relic. 

A sharp strike hit you across the back of your head, and that was no longer an issue. 

“Fuck!”

The smack had been forceful enough to make you stumble forward; you fell, the cloud moving with you, and barely caught yourself from knocking squarely against the ground. A sharp pain flared in your wrist, and you came face to face with the goblin-rat trying to scurry up your sleeve. In what was an action fueled more by human response to killer rats than your training, you frantically shook your hand, forcefully launching the lower-level demon into the distance beyond the swarm. You sliced your hand against the blade of your sword, and smeared the blood across your palm. 

“Come out, you little shit!”

A fine mist poured out from the bloody pattern, swirling in the air around you before materializing as an annoyed Sylph. The air demon shot you a dirty look, opening its mouth to release a sound like grating metal. You barely flinched. “Yeah, yeah, I know!”

This didn’t seem to satisfy it; it frowned, swiping at the horde of locusts to momentarily disperse them then turning back to you. Another horrific sound, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Look, I know we left things on bad terms, but I’m about to be beaten to death!"

Your familiar let out a noise surprisingly close to a human scoff. You opened your mouth to retort, but were cut off by its shriek as it surged towards the remaining insects. The scream hit them and they withered, dropping to the ground while twitching with disorientation. A wave of relief washed over you, and you let out a whoop. 

“Yes!”

The Sylph swerved around, and let out another shriek. Stumbling back, you just barely missed the swat aimed at your head. “No!”

From behind your familiar, you caught sight of Yamada. He’d lost ground; now standing at least a foot closer to Sato, he was struggling to hold back both the unrelenting mass of lower-levels and the staff which seemed determined to reach the exorcist behind him and beat her to death. Sticking up one hand, you jerked uncomfortably at the shoulder as you were roughly hoisted into the air. 

“A little gentler next time!”

The Sylph chattered back to you, gnashing its teeth as it transported you over the goblin-infested ground and towards your coworker. You dropped beside Yamada just in time to catch the staff’s powerful strike across the hilt of your sword. You swore at the pain in your fingers, and stepped on another mole. 

“Goddammit!”

“Do you mind?” he snapped, sidestepping the ghoul that lunged towards him. “We’re trying to invoke his power, not encourage blasphemy.”

You kicked away another rat, and mourned the state of your boots. “I’m asking him to damn it, how is that blasphemous?” 

He moved and you leaned back to allow him to shoot in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your familiar weaving in and out of the horde, shrieking and wailing as it stunned the demons. Behind you, you caught a second of Sato’s aria. 

“...Then the Lord said to Moses, “Pharaoh’s heart is unyielding; he refuses to let the people go-”

“How far into Exodus are we?” you yelled to the man at your side. 

“Just about at the plagues,” he answered, “hold on, this is about to get worse.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, the entire cave began to violently shake. Even the demons paused in their onslaught to take cover from the quake, falling back as rocks began to fall from the sky. Immediately, your familiar took to the sky above you, stretching itself out to form a sort of barrier. Your eyes shot upwards, and you blanched at the sight above you. 

“Why the hell is the sky falling in on us?”

“Then the Lord said to Moses, “Stretch out your hand toward the sky so that hail will fall all over Egypt-” he recited, breaking off as another quake shook the earth beneath you. “Just be glad we already passed the frogs and locusts.”

You grimaced at the memory of the horde of frogs which the staff had initially spat out at you. Yamada glanced up at the Sylph. “How long will she hold that?”

“As long as I can concentrate,” you shot back, eyes wildly scanning the area around you, “which might become an issue. Look!”

In front of you, a huge wall of something was steadily rising. As it approached, you huffed a bitter laugh. “Please tell me that’s water.”

The wave crashed into you with a roar, the three of you only kept in place by the shields you quickly erected. The liquid rushed past, a stream of it splashing across your face. A rivet ran down into the corner of your mouth, staining it red. 

Yamada shot you a glance. “Not water, I presume?”

“I’m going to kill the Vatican for sending me on this mission.”

Suddenly, you felt the hair tickle against the back of your neck. “Cover your ears!” you snapped, ignoring the shocked look your coworker shot you. 

“Are you crazy? The shields-”

“I know about the shields, cover your ears before they burst!”

By now the wind had strengthened, blowing forcefully against your face even as you struggled against the sea of blood, almost as though it were being drawn into a breath. Realization flashed across his face, and he sprung into action. 

At the exact moment that he clapped his hands over his ears, subsequently ducking behind you as his shield dropped and the blood rushed into the space where he’d been, the Sylph let out a piercing scream, expelling the air it had gathered in its enormous lungs. The waves of air raced past you, colliding violently with the sea of blood. For a moment, the two elements struggled, but you began to see the liquid be pushed back. A disbelieving laugh left your lips. 

“It’s working!” 

A huge piece of hail sailed towards you, knocking the sword out of your hand and into the ocean of blood. You cursed. “Shit!”

“...Now the Lord had said to Moses, “I will bring one more plague on Pharaoh and on Egypt-”

“Almost there!” Yamada yelled, reloading his gun in one smooth motion. “Just a few more seconds!”

Something like a laugh left your lips. “What are you going to do, shoot it?” You gestured towards the mass of blood which had come to a stop only a few feet from your barrier. “It’s recharging for another attack!”

Just then, a loud, groaning sound echoed throughout the cave. Like a bad omen, the blood began to seep into the ground, the sea diminishing until it was little more than a puddle. 

“Yamada?”

His ammunition clicked into place. “Yes?”

Eyes never leaving the staff, you continued to speak. “Which plagues do we have left?”

A slight frown came over his face, his brow furrowing. “Locusts, gnats, frogs, hail…” he muttered, the seconds of inaction ticking ominously by, “boils, blood, death of the firstborn-”

Every trace of light abruptly vanished. “...and the plague of darkness.”

The breath left your lungs in a whoosh when something heavy suddenly smacked into your chest, knocking you over backwards. A flurry of blows came down upon you, beating against the front of your arms as you tried to shield yourself. 

“Sato!”

“...and he would not let the Israelites go out of his country!” she exclaimed, finishing the aria with a flourish of her folded hands. The assault on you stopped as suddenly as it had begun, a deafening cry echoing from directly beside your ear as the demon was forced from the relic. The dark cave was illuminated with a flash of light, and then all was still. After a second, Yamada struck a match and peered down at you. 

Lying on your back, breathing heavily, you directed a glare at him when he casually plucked the staff from where it lay on your chest. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He turned it over in his hands, then looked over his shoulder. “The relic is intact.” 

“Thank God for that,” you snarked, “wouldn’t want anything to happen to the stick.”

The barest hint of a smile flashed over his face; you accepted the offered hand, and hoisted yourself up. Turning to where your familiar floated, you sent it another look. “You couldn’t have intervened when the ghost was whacking the shit out of me?”

The Sylph chirped in response, a vaguely pleased look on its face. You stared wearily at it. “I thought not.” 

A hand clapped on your back, Sato appearing with a grin. “You were great, L/N! We should use you as a punching bag more often.”

“Sure, laugh it up.” Despite your words, a smile crept onto your face, turning into a wince at the ache across your chest and forearms. “I’d better get promoted for this.”

“Not until you stop mouthing off at staff meetings,” Yamada chimed in, wiping off the barrel of his gun, staff strapped securely to his back. You stuck your tongue at his back before turning to your familiar. Meeting its expectant expression, you gave it a tired wave. 

“Ok, go ahead.”

With another, slightly less grating chirp, the air demon vanished. You watched it dissipate, grabbed your sword from the ground, then moved to face the group where they were watching you. As you began to trek towards the exit, Sato skipped alongside you. “How come it does that?”

“Does what?” You carefully stepped over a pool of blood. 

“Well,” she began, “normally, Tamers must have full confidence in themselves to be able to control their familiars.”

“So?”

“So, yours vacillates between direct defiance and obedience.” The other woman barely batted an eye at walking through the filth. “I saw it take a swipe at you.”

Grumbling a bit, you dabbed at the crusted blood on your palm. “She’s just got an attitude, that’s all. I’m still in control.” Then, the rest of her words hit you. “Wait, you managed to see that even while you were in full scripture-mode?”

“She had her third eye open,” Yamada joked, and Sato lightly punched him in the arm. 

“Some of us pay attention to what’s going on.” Her gaze switched back to you. “L/N, you got hit pretty hard across the head. You should go to medical when we return.”

A grimace flashed across your face. “Ah, it’s fine, damn thing just caught me unawares. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

The look she shot you in response was thoroughly unimpressed. “Like the last concussion you got?”

“That was completely different!” you protested, “I slammed full-force into a haunted statue of Buddha, I heard mantras nonstop for weeks afterwards.”

She rolled her eyes before stepping out into the fresh air. “Yeah, right up until you passed out in the middle of your class. You’re going to medical if I have to escort you there myself!”

“Fine!” you exclaimed, wiping your bloodied boots on the grass before stepping into the car. “I’ll go to medical as soon as we return, I promise. When did you become my mother?”

“Don’t worry, Sato,” Yamada called from the driver’s seat, “she’s this grouchy with everyone.”

“Say that to my face, Yamada.”

His deadpan expression met yours. “You’re that grouchy with everyone.”

“I’m not grouchy!” His expression didn’t change, and you settled back into your seat with a huff. “I just don’t need people smothering me.”

“Grouch,” he teased, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, somewhat drowning out the sounds of your bickering as he pulled onto the road and back towards the direction of True Cross Academy. 

“I must say,” Dr. Sagami later remarked, clipboard in hand as he entered the examination room, “I’m surprised to find you here of your own will, Ms. L/N.”

You suppressed the urge to say something childish. “Yes, well, I just need you to look me over so that I can get Sato off my case. She thinks I got hit bad enough for the risk of a concussion.”

His white eyebrows raised. “Indeed? What was it this time?"

“A staff.” After a moment of silence, you grudgingly elaborated. “Across the back of the head, and on the chest and arms.”

He took in this information without comment, noting a few things on the paper. “Any residual pain?”

“Uh, yeah,” You tried to think of a spot where it didn’t hurt, “pretty much anywhere I have nerves. Look,” You sent him your most convincing expression, “can’t we just make this simple? You do your basic scans and checks, and I solemnly promise to let you know if I start seeing ghosts in closets or monsters under the bed.”

“These are the routine questions. And,” He peered through his glasses at you, “as far as brain damage goes, hallucinations are the least of your concerns. Think more along the lines of migraines, seizures, significant memory loss.”

You grimaced a little. “Well, I’ll let you know about those too.”

Over an hour later, you trudged out of medical, a proverbial cloud over your head as you glared at anyone who dared to cross your path. “Check in again tomorrow,” you muttered, “need to monitor for lasting damage. Damn those sycophants.”

“I don’t believe that’s quite what that word means, my dear combat instructor, but I applaud your creative instinct.”

Whirling around, you came face-to-face with a mass of purple. “Director!” you exclaimed, voice tinged with something sweetly sarcastic, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mephisto met this with faint amusement. “Just passing through, Ms. L/N.” His gaze drifted to the white bandage around your head. “That’s quite an injury you’ve got there; nothing serious I hope?”

You smiled at him through gritted teeth. “Just a flesh wound.”

“Good!” Moving past you, he called the next words over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my star teacher so close to the school year.”

“Up yours, clown,” you muttered, fully aware of the demon's acute hearing ability. You trudged to your room feeling slightly less malice towards the doctors and a lot more towards the self-important peacock strutting around the halls behind you. He’d known that you’d wanted to quit teaching after last year and switch to something more involved with field work, and what had he done? Given you a glowing recommendation; so glowing, in fact, that the Vatican had refused to let you transfer on the grounds that they couldn’t justify ‘depriving True Cross of such an effective teacher’. 

Well, you darkly thought, we’ll see just how effective you could be now that you were stuck here for another year. Closing the door to your bedroom behind you, a part of you noted that you should technically be working on your mission report. About three seconds later, you collapsed onto your bed. Work could wait until your brain felt a little less like it was trying to pound its way out of your skull. Shutting your eyes and willing your aching head to let you rest, you gradually drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep…

His brow was furrowed, his lips set in a frown as he surveyed the paper in front of him. His hands, wrapped in bandages and scarred many times over, turned the pages methodically. From an outsider’s perspective, the lone man seemed to be completely unaffected by the buzz of the teacher’s lounge around him. Instructors passed by, talking and occasionally laughing, but his gaze never once lifted from the page. Only occasionally did he pause, hand straying towards the pen at his side to make a note in the margins. 

On the other side of the room, a young woman placed change into the coffee machine. Two beverages later, she tucked a folder under her arm and balanced the two cups alongside a pen and stack of attendance slips. Heading towards the counter where the packs of sugar lay, she passed by the couches. 

“Hey, Yasutake!”

Startled by the call of her name, she whirled around. The hot coffee sloshed out of the overfilled paper cups at the sudden movement and, much to her horror, directly onto the man at the edge of the couch. He jerked away from the scorching liquid, an annoyed sound leaving his lips even as she began to profusely apologize. 

“I’m so sorry, Neuhaus, I mean Mr. Neuhaus Sir, I didn’t mean to do it, I’m so sorry, let me get you a napkin-”

“It’s fine.” The two words were stony, and did not help to ease her distress. Rising from the couch, he grabbed a napkin himself, ignoring her blathering while he dabbed at the spot on his jacket. After a few excruciating seconds of this, she retreated, face flushed red with embarrassment as she ran away from the intimidating summoning instructor. He didn’t immediately return to his spot, instead choosing to work at the stain a bit longer before dropping the napkin in the garbage and seating himself, however this time on the side further away. 

The frown from before deepened, and he continued his work, hands returning to their former positions as though nothing had happened…

Eyes opening, you groggily stared at the ceiling. When you checked your watch, it read four AM, meaning that you’d slept through the night. Choosing to lay in bed a little longer in the hopes of alleviating the persistent pain at the back of your skull, you shut your eyes, memories from your dream gradually drifting back to you…

Your eyelids popped open. “What the fuck?”

Staring at the toaster oven with vacant eyes, you waited for the muffin you’d bought to heat up. You’d continued with your work despite your injury, refusing to let it or weird dreams disrupt your schedule; there was less than a month left before the start of the school year, and, as much as you were dreading it, you needed to finalize your lesson plans. 

“Uh, L/N?”

You glanced to the side. “Huh?”

Yamada stood there, giving you an odd look. “The toaster is done.”

“Oh.” Looking back, you realized that he was right; you hadn’t even noticed yourself zoning out. “Huh.”

He stayed in place, watching you as you plucked it from the oven and began to peel back the paper. You took little notice of him, and quickly crammed a big bite into your mouth. A few seconds of silence passed while you chewed. 

“Are you alright?”

Pausing, you slowly swallowed before blinking at him. “What?”

His steady eyes remained on your face, his expression unwavering. “You spent a full minute staring at the oven, and you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks-”

“Are you sure you should be working with your injury?”

You swallowed your irritation at the question. “I’m fine.” Another second passed, and you stifled a yawn. A wave of drowsiness washed over you, likely causing the loosening of your tongue which occurred directly afterwards. 

“Have you ever had a dream about a coworker?”

He paused. Looking from your bleary eyes to the bandage around your head, he seemed to be wondering whether the injury you’d sustained had been worse than he thought.

“What kind of dream?”

You rolled your eyes at the implication in his tone. “Give me a break. No,” Another yawn, your next words coming out somewhat incoherent, “it was really weird, just like a basic scene out of real life. Like I was standing there, you know?”

“I see,” he responded, the tone of his voice making it clear that he didn’t know, “do you think it has anything to do with you being smacked across the head?”

Waiting to answer, you popped the late bite of muffin into your mouth and thoughtfully chewed, your brow furrowing. “Don’t fink so,” you murmured, voice becoming clear once you swallowed, “the doctors told me to look out for headaches and stuff, not dreams. Still, I wonder what made my brain think of it.”

He shrugged, then popped his head to the side as something diverted his attention. “Here’s that teacher’s aid I was telling you about the other day.”

You turned to follow his gaze, and your eyes landed on a girl who looked awfully familiar. “The one who you think is so fantastic?”

Nodding his head, you could tell he was barely listening to you. “I’ll introduce you to her-”

“Oh, that really isn’t necessary-”

“Hey, Yasutake!”

Deja-vu hit you like a truck as the young woman spun around. The coffee in her hands followed the same trajectory as in your dream; you watched in a daze as it landed squarely on the man you hadn’t even noticed was sitting on the couch. The aide’s eyes widened in horror at the same moment her target let out a hiss. 

“I’m so sorry, Neuhaus,” she exclaimed, pulling back a step away from him, “I mean, Mr. Neuhaus Sir, I didn’t mean to do it,” Rocking forward again, she seemed torn between trying to help and keeping her distance before ultimately deciding on the former, “let me get you a napkin-”

“It’s fine.”

Even you winced a little at his steely tone; the reassurance was spoken through gritted teeth. You would not want to be on the receiving end of it. A flash of pity hit you as you watched the younger woman stumble over her words before awkwardly running out of the lounge, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of What the fuck just happened?

Distress flashing across his expression, Yamada followed after her, leaving you by yourself as you stared at their retreating figures. They disappeared from view, and your gaze slowly slid to the man who had just seated himself on the opposite end of the couch. You barely reacted when one of your neighboring coworkers leaned in towards you. 

“Poor kid, she’ll be avoiding him until the year’s over.”

They waited a few seconds for some sort of acknowledgement, then sent you an odd look when you failed to react at all. You were in a stupor, eyes fixed on where Neuhaus was seated. They waved a hand in front of your face. 

“You with me, L/N?”

You didn’t shift your gaze when you spoke, the words slow and unbelieving. “Something really freaky just happened to me.”

Chapter Text

“Can brain damage cause weird dreams?”

Dr. Sagami paused while putting on his gloves. “Like nightmares?” he asked, leaning in to quickly shine a penlight in both of your eyes. You blinked, then straightened your head. 

“Not exactly.” Your tone was wry. “Just unusual.”

He noted something on his clipboard while you spoke; glancing up, he took in your ruffled appearance and dark circles under your eyes. “Well, some survivors of head injuries have reported strange and vivid dreams, but it’s hardly a majority. If you don’t show any other symptoms, it’s more likely just the sign of an overactive imagination.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “Do I look like the type to have an overactive imagination?”

“Have you been sleeping badly?” He carried on, ignoring your sarcastic question. A heavy exhale breezed through your parted lips, and you grudgingly conceded. 

“Yes, doctor. I sleep completely through the night, but it’s as though I don’t get any actual rest.” Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you began to chew on it. “I’ve been sleep deprived before, and this isn’t that. It’s as though something is sapping my energy from me while I’m unconscious.”

The older man let out a thoughtful hum. “Have you tried meditation?”

Staring at him in disbelief, you needed a full second before you could formulate a response. “That’s it? I tell you something’s sucking from my soul, and you recommend ‘concentration’? Can’t you give me some sort of drug that will knock me out?”

He shrugged. “If you’re so worried about it, go to the curse-breakers and get yourself checked out. I won’t risk giving you anything with that head injury, especially not a sedative. It may be that you’re not entering a deep enough mode of sleep, meditation might help you to relax.”

You muttered something unflattering under your breath which he chose not to hear. “In any case,” he continued, “I’ll be here for any further questions you might have as we continue to monitor you for any long-term effects.” He suddenly perked up as though something had occurred to him, and victoriously tapped his pen against the clipboard. “I know: how about you keep a journal of everything you’re dreaming? It could help you to delve deeper into whatever it is that your subconscious is trying to process.”

A full second passed in which you forcibly kept yourself from saying something nasty. “Right,” you finally replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Completely caught up in his chosen obliviousness, he sent you a satisfied smile. “Good! That does it for today, same time tomorrow?”

You were already halfway out the door by the time the receptionist noted you down for the following day. Although you weren’t willing to admit it to the old goat, his idea about the curse-breakers hadn’t been a bad one; you pulled out your key, slotting it into the nearest lock and opening the door to appear in a room made of stone. A passing exorcist caught your eye and raised his hand in greeting. 

“Hello, L/N.”

“Hi, Suzuki.” Glancing around, you directed your following question to him. “You got any idea where I can find someone to help me with a problem?”

He nodded. “What kind of problem?”

“Not sure. Maybe possession, maybe a curse. That’s part of the problem.” 

“I see.” Gesturing for you to fall into step beside him, he changed direction, turning back the way he had come. “Is it an object or a living being?”

“Definitely alive.”

He led you past several workstations covered in scrolls and various tools to stop in front of another door. Briskly knocking, someone yelled from inside. “It’s open!”

When the two of you stepped inside, you were enthusiastically greeted by a figure in a lab coat. “Well, what do we have here!” Moving forward, you clasped hands with the curse-breaker. 

“How’s it going, Tachi?”

The other woman grinned, strands of escaped hair from her bun brushing against her face. “Haven’t seen you in a while, what’s up with the gauze?”

You frowned, hand reaching up to brush against the bandage. “That’s actually part of the reason I came to see you: Sato, Yamada and I were sent on a mission last week to retrieve a possessed relic, and I sustained a blow to the head from the fetish.”

“Ouch,” she remarked, “but I’m a curse-breaker, not a doctor. You think the demon latched onto you or something?”

“Something like that. I’ve been having issues with sleeping ever since it happened: I can rest for hours, and I’ll still be exhausted when I wake up.” You paused, clearing your throat. “And I’ve been having weird dreams.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of weird dreams?”

“Weird,” you stubbornly repeated, “I thought it was a fluke at first, but they’ve been steadily happening over the past few days, all with the exact same theme.”

“What theme?”

A pregnant pause ensued. She unwaveringly stared at you as you avoided her gaze. When she spoke, her tone was dry. “I assume it’s something horrible if you’re willing to lose effective help rather than tell me about it.”

Your eyes slid to Suzuki in the doorway. Taking the hint, he discreetly excused himself, closing the door behind him at the exact moment Tachi rounded in on you. 

“Well?”

“They’re about another exorcist,” you whispered, hurriedly continuing as soon as you saw the look on her face, “not like that, it’s some weird, mundane fortune-teller shit.”

She blinked. “Fortune-teller?”

Shifting uncomfortably, you tried to get the conversation over with. “I’ll dream about something, and then the next day, it happens.” An irritated sigh left your lips. “It’s not as interesting as it sounds; it’s all boring as shit. I just want to get a good night’s sleep without having to watch this dude do paperwork.”

“So it’s a him, then?”

 You glowered at her. “You’re dead wrong if you think I’m going to tell you who it is.”

Resting her head on folded hands, she hummed thoughtfully. “Too bad. Still, it’s an interesting problem. What are your theories?”

“At first? Brain damage.” At her expectant look, you elaborated. “I was thinking something along the lines of residual demonic energy.”

Her head tilted to the side as she peered at you. “That’ll be easy to check. Are you sure it has to do with the mission?”

You sent her a doubtful shrug. “It’d be a hell of a coincidence if strange things started to happen to me for some other reason than me getting conked over the head with the Staff of Moses. Anything's possible, I suppose.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” She dropped into an office chair, rolling herself across the floor to grab something from a different desk. “I thought the staff hadn’t been seen for decades.”

“Well, now it’s been both seen and felt.” You grimaced at the memory. “Yamada and I endured a speed-run of the ten plagues.”

Sounds of rummaging sounded from her workspace. “Hmm, frogs.”

“Amongst other things.”

Emerging from behind the mess of her desk, she triumphantly held something up in her hand. Before you had the chance to ask what it was, she grabbed your arm, swiftly locating the vein and stabbing it with the syringe. 

“Ow, fuck!”

Drawing back, she held the vial up to the light. “It’s not blue.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you exclaimed, holding the bit of gauze she handed you against the puncture wound. “You can’t just go around stabbing people!”

“Oh, hush.” She waved a dismissive hand and fed the blood into a small machine. “I didn’t stab you, I only drew some blood.”

“Unexpectedly!”

A slight frown pulled at her lips. “Well, then you should have expected it. You’re an Upper Second Classer, you ought to know that the first trace of demonic influence lies in the blood.”

Biting your tongue, you were suddenly reminded of why you didn’t spend much time with your former classmate. Your attention was diverted when the machine let out a small beep; the curse-breaker whirled around in her chair and checked the results. 

“Well,” she cheerfully remarked, ignoring your stony expression, “now we know for sure what it isn’t!”

“I need something to ward off nightmares.”

From the way she took you in, you imagined the woman in front of you could see that already. Mrs. Moriyama had greeted you as soon as you’d entered the supply shop despite the late hour, and now patiently listened to your explanation. Something about the way the older woman looked at you put you at ease, and for the first time that day you felt yourself relax a little. 

“Hm, let me see.” She pulled at various jars on the shelf at her side, occasionally glancing back at you. “For yourself?”

The single word was spoken bluntly. “Yes.”

A low hum resounded in her throat. Choosing one jar, she set it on the counter before moving towards the many drawers which lined the walls. You stood there awkwardly as she worked; her practiced hands pulling bottles and boxes from their places until she carried a sizable pile. She excused herself for a moment before disappearing to the back of the shop. 

You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet as you waited. After the many fruitless efforts of the day, you’d been more than a little frustrated; that combined with the fatigue of a week’s bad rest was enough to put anyone in a mood. Here, in the dimly-lit atmosphere of Futsumaya, where the smell of herbs and incense wafted through the air, you felt a scrap of peace. 

The kindly shopkeeper returned, two items in her hands. “This is a poultice of German chamomile and ginkgo leaves: Apply a bit of it each night before you go to sleep.” 

Nodding, you accepted the mixture. She held out the other. “This is a sleep sachet, place it under your pillow. And this,” Moriyama produced a small box, “is ginger tea.”

You accepted it with slight skepticism. “Tea gets rid of bad dreams?”

She flashed you a smile. “No, but I’ve never known it to hurt.”

A small smile managed to pierce through your fatigue at the remark; you thanked her and were almost at the exit when she called out to you. 

“If you’re suffering from nightmares, it often helps to talk about them.”

You stared at her for a second. God bless this kind-hearted lady, you thought, but there’s no good way to tell anyone I’ve been dreaming about Neuhaus’ lesson plans.

“God-fucking-dammit!”

Rolling over in bed, you buried your face in the pillow and let out a muffled scream. The tea had been delicious, the poultice had smelled amazing, the lavender in the satchel had reminded you of your grandmother, and they had all done absolutely nothing to keep you from dreaming of your eyepatched coworker. The details of the dream were still fresh in your mind; unlike a regular one, the images didn’t fade after you’d awoken. 

It was darkening outside, the setting sun signaling that the evening was about to transition into night. He sat at a desk, writing something on one of the many papers stacked in piles around him. The calendar in front of him showed today’s date. 

In the distance, bells tolled, and he paused in his work. Glancing out of the window, he noted the sunset. When he flipped his wrist over to check his watch, you were able to read the time: seven PM. An exhale left his lips, his shoulders sinking. Then, pushing the chair back with a creak, he stood, moving to the other side of the room where a small fridge stood. The light illuminated his face against the dark room, and you were able to catch a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes. 

Returning to the desk with a bottle of water, his stomach rumbled, only for him to ignore it and continue on with his work. Despite only seeing the moment, somehow you knew that he would stay like that for hours, only letting himself rest when his body was on the verge of collapse-

You punched one fist into the pillow. If you had to endure one more night of this man neglecting himself, you were going to go insane. It was more of the same every time you closed your eyes: Neuhaus doing paperwork, Neuhaus refusing to eat, Neuhaus rolling out of bed with three hours of sleep; you’d seen him summon a demon once in all of the nights he’d plagued your sleep. What was the fucking point, you asked yourself; it wasn’t as though you could change any of this shit. 

You abruptly sat up in bed. It was early, not yet four in the morning, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. The small part of your pride that hadn’t succumbed to the week of fatigue protested against the idea which had struck you so suddenly; the struggle was short. Standing, you threw the sheets off of yourself and prepared to go into town. 

“Neuhaus!”

He turned at the call of his name, a frown already in place. This turned to brief surprise when he glimpsed you, face drawn and marked with exhaustion alongside something vaguely pissed off as you stormed towards him. Stopping in front of him, you jerked out your arm. 

Slowly, he looked down to the plastic bag in your hand. It took him a second before he reacted, taking it from your grasp and reaching inside. When he pulled out the plastic container, he stared at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“It’s soup,” you clarified, your tone clipped. This did not change his blank expression, and you leaned in. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”

With that, you pivoted, marching back the way you came without so much as a glance behind you. He continued to stare at your retreating figure, gaze only moving once you disappeared from sight. Once more, his eyes slid down to the to-go container, marked with the emblem of one of True Cross’ restaurants. They lingered on the cartoon mascot of a bear in a chef’s hat before returning to burn holes in the now-empty hallway. 

Halfway across the academy, you paced through the halls, everyone around you giving you a wide berth as you made your way to an ornate door in the center of the school. You didn’t hesitate in front of it; your knuckles only briefly rapped the wood before you swung it open, landing in the Director’s office without additional announcement. 

“I think I’ve been cursed.”

Chapter Text

“My, what a dramatic entrance,” Mephisto cried, “extra points for style!” Leaning forward onto his fists, he sent you a sharp grin. “What seems to be the issue?”

For the first time since your burst of pissed determination that morning, you paused. 

“I got hit with a stick, and now I can’t stop having dreams about Neuhaus.”

Whatever the demon had been expecting, that had obviously not been it. His expression shifted, surprise momentarily showing on his face before it was replaced by bright curiosity. “Pardon?”

Dropping into the chair near his desk, you let out an irritated huff. “When I got hit with the Staff of Moses, something happened to me. Every time I sleep, I dream about him, and the very next day that exact thing occurs. Believe me,” you interjected, noting how his mouth opened to speak, “it’s not just some weird workplace fantasy; I literally dreamt of that time Yasutake spilled coffee all over him a few hours before it took place.”

“How fascinating,” he crooned, “and you have no idea why he was chosen as the subject of these visions?”

You shot him a glare, spreading your hands wide. “Do I look like I know shit? I’m only here because I’ve exhausted every other resource and I can’t work like this once the school year begins. Every time I wake up from one of these ‘visions’, as you call them, I feel like I just pulled an all-nighter; I’m tired, I’m behind schedule, and I’m royally pissed at whatever fucker wormed its way into my brain so if we could please get on with it-”

He held up a hand. “Say no more, I am your humble servant.” Despite his noble words, there was a devious glint in his eyes which made you wary. “I presume you’ve taken this query to the curse-breakers.”

“Yes, no trace of anything.”

Humming, he leaned back in his seat. “Meaning that, whatever has happened to you, it’s certainly out of the ordinary. How very interesting, I must thank you for informing me of this.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited,” you snarked, “what are you going to do about it?”

His palms turned upwards in a shrug. “For the moment? Pure observation.” Noting the furious expression on your face, he smoothly continued. “As delightful as your explanation was, it’s better for me to see things myself in order to find out more.”

“If you think I’m letting you inside my head-”

“That won’t be necessary.” His eyes glinted once more. “I believe I’ll conduct a few experiments of my own.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of experiments?”

His hand waved in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, you’ll know them when you see them. Have you been recording everything you’ve dreamt?”

After a second, you nodded. He clapped his hands together. “Marvelous! I want you to continue to write them down in this.” There was a puff of lavender smoke, and a kitschy diary appeared in his hand. You stared at the plum-colored quilting on the cover. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Everything you write will also appear in a duplicate which I possess.” He held up an identical book. “This way, there’s no need for constant exchanges of information.”

Reluctantly, you accepted it from his grasp. As you turned it over in your hands, you noted the heart-shaped lock. “They don’t make these in black?”

“Do make sure to document everything you see; you do your part, I’ll do mine, and I’m sure we’ll get this pesky little problem sorted out in no time.”

“Are you?” 

A sharp smile flashed across his face. “Of course, Miss L/N, what earthly reason could I have not to help?”

On the way out of his office, you realized that you could think of quite a few, earthly or not. An uncomfortable feeling began to spread across the back of your neck; maybe, you mused, you should have been a little less obvious in your dislike of the demon with a malicious streak. You weren’t sure to what lengths Mephisto would feel justified in going, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring that he was the only person to know the full extent of your problem. 

Or, you added, that you had to rely on him to figure it out. 

Well, you didn’t have to sit around and swing your feet while he conducted his ‘experiments’; just because you hadn’t found a solution so far didn’t mean that you wouldn’t eventually. You just had to persevere, and something would come of it!

“Have you been sleeping at all?”

Jerking awake, you blinked in an effort to regain your bearings. Coffee in hand, Yamada looked down at you with an unimpressed expression. “You know, it’s dangerous for you to be neglecting yourself like this.”

“‘m not neglecting myself,” you muttered, rubbing drowsily at one eye, “I get a full eight hours every night.”

“Right,” The single word was intoned with heavy sarcasm as he pulled out the chair beside you, “that’s why you’re nodding off in staff meetings. If you’re going to lie to me, you could at least do a better job.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue; staring into the void, you thought of the images your short-lived nap had offered you. 

He moved quickly, drawing up his sleeve to reveal the sigils beneath the bandages he usually wore. Behind him, wisps of silver materialized, seeming almost familiar in the way they gradually began to take shape-

“Hey, are you even listening?”

You started once more. Looking over at your friend, you wore a guilty expression. The annoyance on his face slowly melted away, shifting to something concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Carefully considering your words, you slowly replied. “Just a little burnt out, I guess.”

“Already?”

The question wasn’t very tactful, but it made you snort. He frowned, whatever he had been about to say cut off when Mephisto popped up at the head of the table. 

“Welcome everyone! As you’re undoubtedly aware. this is the last staff meeting before the official beginning of the school year, meaning we have quite a bit to discuss…”

Mind drifting, you tuned out the director in favor of mulling over your dream from before. It had been cut short by Yamada’s interruption, but you could have sworn Neuhaus had been about to engage in a fight. At his rank, that should not have been surprising, but in the last weeks you’d rarely seen him in action. As you’d told Tachi: you mostly watched him do mundane things (usually paperwork); what had brought on this change?

“...a record number of students…”

Despite yourself, your eyes strayed to the man himself. The two of you rarely crossed paths; in fact, you hadn’t spoken since the time you’d given him soup in a sleep-deprived rage. You winced a little at the memory, but couldn’t bring yourself to really care. He looked the same as always; his expression serious, frown firmly in place, there was nothing to indicate any sort of change from the previous years you’d known him. So, you reflected, why him?

“...shortages due to changes in faculty…”

Fuck, there wasn’t any point in thinking about it; you’d run mental circles around yourself a hundred times at this point, whatever the reason was, you wouldn’t discover it like this. 

“..and you, L/N.”

There was a lull in the meeting, and you glanced up to find everyone looking at you. Mephisto quirked a brow. “Is that agreeable?”

“Of course,” you smoothly replied, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t heard a word he’d said. The cutting smile he immediately sent you did not put you at ease. 

“Wonderful! In other news….”

Leaning over to your right, you tried to discreetly catch Yamada’s attention. “What did I just agree to?”

He shot you an irritated look. “Seriously?”

Glancing at him, you attempted to silently convey just how much you didn’t need his judginess. It seemed to work; huffing a little, the expression he wore was less than happy as he nonetheless leaned towards you. “There’s been reports of demonic activity at the west edge of school grounds, you and Neuhaus are supposed to investigate as soon as the meeting’s over.”

“Why me?”

The other exorcist didn’t immediately answer, waiting for a convenient lull in the director’s speech. “You wanted more field work, didn’t you?”

Yes, you thought, and normally that slimy rat refuses to give me any. Your eyes rested on the demon in question as thoughts raced through your head; what was Mephisto’s game? It could hardly be coincidence that he paired the two of you up, but what information could he glean from a simple investigation? Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well.

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully; despite how it may have seemed, you usually paid better attention to these sorts of things on the off chance that any of it actually turned out to be important, but you caught relatively little of today’s. Between the exhaustion which you were beginning to think would accompany you to your deathbed and the upcoming mission with the man who haunted your every un-waking minute, your mind was not in a good space to be thinking about schedules and last-minute additions to the lesson plans. A part of you pitied whatever freshmen were going to be saddled with you; buckle up, kids, your teacher is short on both patience and grace. 

Being partnered with Neuhaus wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Usually, it would have meant a very efficient, straight-forward approach to things based on the coincidence that the both of you loathed small-talk and unnecessary interaction. Get in, get the job done, and get out; it was how you’d done things before on the rare occasions you’d worked together, and it was undoubtedly how he’d expect to do things now. 

Of course, that was before you went all ‘Mother Theresa’ on him and then disappeared without any sort of explanation. Despite the apathetic air which he presented, there was a distinct tension in the air between you, as though he were wary that, at any moment, you might jump him with a hand-knit sweater. You did your best to deal with the situation as well as possible; that is to say, you avoided talking to him when not completely imperative. 

It was dead silent as the two of you strode down the hallway together. The reports had come from the western edge of campus, which meant that you would not be investigating a densely populated area. While grateful that you wouldn’t have to deal with civilians in the event of something actually being there, it made you vaguely uneasy to know that the director was sending you to an area which was practically isolated. Unconsciously, your hand stayed towards the hilt of your sword. 

He moved forward, drawing a key from the inside of his jacket and slotting it into the locked door in front of you. Stepping through the doorway, the two of you landed in front of several abandoned buildings which had at one point been used as dorms. Looking at them now, you weren’t sure why they hadn’t already been torn down. 

For the first time since Mephisto had paired you up, both of you turned to face each other. As senior exorcist, Neuhaus took the lead. 

“We’ll start with the main building, work our way up floor by floor before moving on to the next.”

Taking your nod as sufficient acknowledgement, he started off, the two of you falling into a defensive position from which you could guard each other’s blind spots. The interior of the buildings were not better than the outside; dubiously stable stairs creaked beneath your feet as you went from floor to floor. It was eerily quiet, you noted, no birds or insects despite it being spring. The bad feeling which had irked you as soon as Mephisto had given you the assignment solidified into something much more palpable, and you prayed you weren’t about to suffer the consequences of the demon’s ill-placed curiosity. 

At the third floor out of six, you paused, your partner immediately noticing and halting beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood there; your expression was fixed with concentration as you slowly looked around the room, listening closely for something. 

Someone let out a shout when the ceiling suddenly collapsed; going by the curse which left your lips at the same time, it probably wasn’t you. Sawdust and splinters raining down on you, the two of you lunged to opposite sides, arms coming up to shield your faces from the debris. A high-pitched chittering noise filled the room as a dark shape descended from the rafters. 

You managed to find Neuhaus in the chaos. “It’s a Koks!”

This exclamation drew its attention; the kin of Astaroth chose that exact moment to surge towards you, its black claws outstretched.

“Come forth!”

Something shot past your vision, and the demon let out a shriek as it was attacked by a barrage of severed hands. Taking advantage of its distraction, you drew your sword and sliced open the barely-healed flesh of your palm. “Kaze, fight!”

A mere wisp of silver appeared from your hand, and you were forced to duck as the Koks threw a coal-tar at your head. 

“Get out of there, you brat!”

This time the Sylph burst forth, dissipating the demons she came into contact with. A thick smog of black smoke began to fill the room, and you extended your hand upwards. Your familiar moved as directed, pulling the toxic fumes into her lungs before they could reach you. 

It wasn’t good that you’d been separated so quickly; when the ceiling crashed, you’d dodged in opposite directions, and although your taming-based attacks had some distance to them, you needed to be able to guard each other’s backs. You knew this, Neuhaus knew this, and the Koks knew this, which is probably why it was trying to incapacitate you before you could join the man shooting demons from his arms. With a great howl, it heaved a chunk of flooring at you, forcing you to dive to the side and directly into the heap of rubble. Your Sylph shrieked with indignation and pounced on the demon, claws of wind clashing against claws of ash. 

A low groan reverberated through the room, and you froze. There was little time to react as you were suddenly shielded by a towering figure of patchwork flesh. The ghoul provided ample cover for you to roll onto your side, hand darting to your belt where you unclasped a grenade. The holy water covered the room in a fine mist when it exploded, causing the demon to cry out with pain. In the midst of this chaos, a hand extended towards you, and you clasped it to pull yourself onto your feet. 

Still yowling from the previous attack, the Koks was not prepared for another wave so soon; six hands pinned it to the wall, holding it in place for you to drive your sword through its stomach where you twisted it sharply to the side. 

“How much more, then,” Neuhaus steadily chanted, “will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God-”

The demon gave another scream, letting loose a flurry of coal-tars which your Sylph quickly descended upon.

“-cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!”

With a final shriek and a puff of putrid smoke, the demon vanished, leaving you with your sword plunged firmly into nothing. You freed it from the wooden wall with a sharp tug, then turned to survey the damage done to the room. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neuhaus produce a rag from his pocket with which he wiped down his bloody arm. As soon as the blood left the sigil, the ghoul vanished. Reminded of your own familiar, you craned your head to the side where the Sylph was impatiently waiting. 

“Yeah, go on.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she jabbered incoherent noise back at you. Highly aware of the other Tamer’s gaze on your back, you leveled her with an unamused stare. “Well, I’m not too happy with you either after that stunt you pulled when I summoned you.”

She bared her teeth at you and let out a sound like nails on a chalkboard. You refused to budge, and she swiped through the air for good measure. Your expression changed from annoyed to downright irritated. 

“Now look here, you little shit-”

With another irate wail and a gust of wind which blew your hair away from your face, she evaporated; the silver mist filtering back into the summoning circle tattooed upon your hand was accompanied by a stinging sensation, like the biting wind against your skin. Too tired to be anything other than miffed at your familiar’s antics, you turned around and caught your partner in the midst of re-wrapping his bandages. He didn’t bother looking up at you; his movements were efficient and precise, he tied off the knots like he’d done it a thousand times before. Glimpsing the tail end of one of the scratches which you knew went up his entire arm, you suppressed a wince. 

You grabbed a jumbo band-aid from your pocket and slapped it over your palm. The wound stung a little, but you knew it wouldn’t last. The frequent blood-letting was part of the works when it came to being a Tamer; you wouldn’t have made it this long if you didn’t know a few tricks to make the cuts heal faster. Of course, you thought, trying very hard not to stare while the other exorcist worked, you didn’t regularly draw blood with your nails. 

While brushing some of the grime off of your jacket, you snuck another glance at the man in question. Whatever Mephisto thought he’d learn by pairing you together was beyond you; Neuhaus was exactly the same as he’d always been: professional, adept, and completely uninterested in the people around him. 

Straightening, you looked to him for direction on how to proceed. His gaze met yours with the usual dispassion. “Let’s move on.”

Order given, he began to walk away, missing the skeptical look you shot towards the mangled ceiling. You swiftly fell into step beside him, and the two of you moved onto the next floor.

Three dormitories, one Koks and a whole horde of hobgoblins later, you stood in front of the Director’s desk, glaring daggers at him while Neuhaus flatly gave a mission report. The demon was the perfect picture of innocence; small noises of concern left him as he was informed of your experience. 

“How very distressing! There must be a weak spot in the wards, I’m afraid the western boundary hasn’t received sufficient attention in the last few years.”

Neuhaus didn’t respond; your scowl intensified. “I agree,” Your voice was like ice, “someone hasn’t been doing their job.”

The jab was unmistakable, but your boss didn’t even acknowledge it. “I want the two of you to get that sorted as soon as possible; we can’t have demons roaming the grounds once the school year begins.”

“Director, if I may-”

“Ah, L/N!” His utterance neatly drowned out your words. “That reminds me: I’ve given some thought to what we discussed, and I believe our dear Mr. Neuhaus here might just be the solution to your problem.”

You gawked at him at the same time that the other exorcist shot you a side-glance. 

“My problem?”

Mephisto smiled, his fangs glinting. “With your familiar, that is. Who better to help you with getting that Sylph of yours under control than our resident Tamer? You couldn’t ask for a better instructor.”

You were sure there was steam coming out of your ears from the way you silently fumed. How the hell did he know about Kaze, and how dare he use her attitude issues as a way to jockey you! For a brief moment, you considered the likelihood of successfully parting his head from his neck. 

When you spoke, your voice was low and venomous. “I’m sure Mr. Neuhaus has more important duties to attend to.”

The Tamer looked as though he might have wanted to agree with you. Mephisto waved a gloved hand. “Nonsense, I’m sure he’d be delighted to help a fellow colleague, wouldn’t you, Igor?”

If ‘delighted’ meant a deep frown and gritted jaw, Neuhaus was practically leaping with joy. After a terse second, he nodded; you stared at him in disbelief and wondered what kind of influence the Director could possibly have over him to make him agree to this. The demon in question clapped his hands together. 

“Superb! Do make sure to give me updates on your progress, Ms. L/N, I never forget an appeal for help.”

“I’d love to talk to you now, actually, if you have a moment-”

“Can’t do, I’m afraid,” he swiftly interrupted, “terribly busy with preparations for next week.”

You bit your lip and tried not to scream with frustration. “Yes, but-”

“Off you go!” He patronizingly flapped his hand in a ‘go-away’ motion. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing of any developments!”

I’ll give you a development, you thought as you stalked out of the gaudy office, how about your head shoved up your-

“L/N.”

You stopped short at the flat call of your name. Behind you, Neuhaus stood with his back to the door, gazing at you with a steely expression. Having caught your attention, he continued. “I have half an hour available on Wednesdays.”

It wasn’t as though you’d thought he was lying to Mephisto, but the offer was still surprising. You could decline, you realized, give some half-assed excuse about being too busy and just resign yourself to pissing Mephisto off, but something kept you from immediately doing so. A beat of silence passed, and then you jerked a nod. He didn’t wait to make conversation; you watched him stride in the opposite direction without so much as a second glance. 

Standing there in the empty hallway, you couldn’t fathom what impulse had made you say yes. Another thought hit you, and you realized that Wednesdays were when you were scheduled to teach the cram class. 

“Fuck.” 

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Your voice rang out clearly in the large classroom, “my name is Y/N L/N, Exorcist Upper Second Class and your combat instructor.”

As you spoke, your eyes flickered over this year’s batch of freshmen. There weren’t that many: six boys and three girls filled the seats in front of you. In the front row, a boy with blue hair caught your eye, if only for the way he was practically bouncing in his seat. Great, you thought, we’ve got a twitchy one. 

“There are five classifications of exorcist, only two of which with a heavy focus on physical combat. However,” Uncrossing your arms from over your chest, you rested your weight on the desk next to you and fixed the pages with a piercing stare, “every Meister requires skill in adaptability and quick thinking when it comes to success in the field. When worst comes to worst, each and every one of you needs to be able to defend themself without the help of weapons, mantras, or even other exorcists.” 

Was it your imagination, or were you becoming more serious as the years went on? You had a vague memory of energetic speeches and a ‘live-and-let-live’ attitude from your early years of teaching which seemed irreconcilable with your current approach. 

“If you’ve come into this class expecting a free-for-all with sharp and shiny things, you were mistaken.” Your tone came out a little harsher than intended, and you saw a few students wither. Attempting to take some of the sternness out of your speech, you continued. “A skilled fighter is an indispensable asset in battle, but it takes more than proficiency with a weapon to make yourself into one. To achieve a sturdy foundation, you must first master the basics. If you can manage this, you may then move on to more tangible methods of self-defense.”

You plucked the clipboard from where it lay on the desk. “Before we begin, I’ll take attendance: Kamiki.”

The girl on the left side of the room stuck up her hand. “Present!” 

You briefly glanced at her, noting the serious expression and purple hair. Moving on, you called the next. “Miwa.”

“Here!” 

“Moriyama.” You paused, almost missing the quiet response from the blonde in front of you. Looking her over, you thought the face looked vaguely familiar. “Any relation to Kaede Moriyama?”

She seemed shocked at the special attention. “Oh, um, yes Ma’am! I’m her daughter!”

A thoughtful hum resounded in your throat, and you resumed reading the names off of the list. “Okumura.”

“Here I am, teach’!”

You looked up, ready to fix the student in question with a withering gaze, and found yourself staring at the blue-haired boy. A spark of recognition flashed across your mind, and you faintly recalled hearing something about Exorcist Intermediate Okumura having a brother. Looking at him now, the resemblance didn’t seem all that apparent. 

“Paku.”

The somewhat mousy-looking girl next to Kamiki identified herself, and you checked the box next to her name. 

“Shima.” That name gave you real pause; there was something wary in your voice when you spoke again. “Kinzo’s brother?”

The boy let out a nervous chuckle, his pink hair only amplifying the uncomfortable flush which tinged his face as he lifted one hand to his neck. “Uh, yeah.”

Flashbacks of years past momentarily distracted you from your duties. It had been years, of course, but you still occasionally had nightmares of teaching the tireless blond. You winced at the memory, and prayed his brother didn’t take after him. 

“Suguro.”

Another serious one, you noted, if his demeanor was anything to go by; perhaps even more so than the one before. The name sounded familiar as well, but after years of teaching you could hardly be expected to remember everyone you met. That was reserved for students who were either exceptional in some way or unforgettable in another. Your thoughts strayed back to Kinzo, who belonged unmistakably to the latter. 

“Takara.”

The only notable thing about this student was the hand-puppet, which you found a little unsettling. Still, far be it from you to spend too much energy on questioning your students’ behavior; without so much as a moment’s pause, you read the last name off the list. 

“Yamada.” 

The last and only student who hadn’t identified themselves yet was the boy at the back of the class next to Takara. When you called his name, he hardly glanced up, giving you the barest nod possible before his attention was diverted to whatever he had under his desk. Your attention moved from the dark hoodie which swallowed his features to the way he hadn’t bothered to participate, and you mentally categorized this one as an oddity. Students who chose to attend cram school did not usually do so with apathy; if they didn’t want to be there, they would not make it past the Authorization Exam, so either Yamada had some hidden talent or he wouldn’t be your issue for very long. Despite how common the last name was, you wondered whether he was related to your colleague. 

“Alright,” You sharply set the clipboard back on the desk, “You’re an odd number of students, so I want you to go into pairs with the exception of one group of three. Push your desks to the side of the room, and form two rows of chairs facing each other.”

There was a second of inaction before the students obeyed, but then the classroom erupted into movement. You observed how they worked; Suguro took the lead in his own little group, directing them on where to push the table as he grabbed a pair of chairs. Kamiki and Paku were clearly established friends, the two of them worked at a distance from the others. That would have to change, you thought. 

The two loners at the back of the classroom also did their own thing, which didn’t bode well for the capability of this batch to work together as an effective team. However, while Okumura and Moryiami tended to stick with each other, you noted that they appeared open to interaction with the others. It was merely a small hint of encouragement in a sea of preconceived notions of group dynamics, but it was something. For this group, walls would have to be extensively broken down. 

“Now, seat yourself across from your partner.” Glancing in the direction of the trio, you directed your next words towards them. “Group of three, you’ll take turns.”

As the students moved to take their laces, you overheard a snippet of conversation from the group you’d just addressed. 

“Dude, my brother said Ms. L/N was a serious badass. She remembered him, do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“With your brother?” Suguro grunted, seating himself in the chair across from Shima, “You’re screwed.”

His friend paled, but seemed to recover fairly quickly. “Oh well! At least she’s hot, in a kind of stern, old lady sort of way.”

“Dude,” Miwa hissed, “she’ll hear you!” 

At the same time, Suguro kicked Shima in the shin. “Shut up, you idiot!”

You wearily mourned the day when the only Shima you’d ever encountered had been Juzo. “Is everyone settled?” After receiving a general noise of agreement, you stuck out your forearms, elbows bent at a ninety degree angle while your palms faced upwards. “The left row is going to hold out their hands like this. The other row will do the same, but with their hands positioned above their partner's. The aim of this exercise is to tap the other person’s hands before they can pull them away like this.”  

You briefly demonstrated. “If you manage to score three points in a row, you win that match and move up one spot to face off against the winner of the match next to you. If you lose, you move down. There’s four spots in each row, so we’ll have eight matches to ensure that everyone has ample opportunity to move up. Any questions?”

No hands were raised, but you could sense a general air of confusion, probably as to why this was the first exercise in a class for combat instruction. Settling back, you twisted your wrist and observed the hands on your watch. “Alright, the first match will begin in three, two, one-”

Immediately, a loud smacking sound reverberated through the room. It was accompanied by a yelp of surprise. 

“Dude!”

Suguro appeared completely unapologetic. “You’ve got to pay better attention.”

Tenderly rubbing the back of his hand, Shima looked as though he might be on the verge of tears. “Why’d you have to hit so hard?”

“Mr. Suguro,” you wryly interjected, “although I appreciate your enthusiasm, I did say tap.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

With that exception, the first match continued without incident. You didn’t pay too close attention to the first few matches; they didn’t usually indicate anything significant other than who got the hang of it the quickest. At the end of the match, the established pairs had been broken up with Suguro and Kamiki in the lead positions and Moriyama and Yamada bringing up the rear. After counting down once more, the second match began, and you settled back against the desk to let your gaze sweep over the room. 

Suguro won for the second time against Kamiki, and she let out an indignant huff. “Who cares if you win, it’s just a stupid game! I don’t see why we have to come here to play patty-cake.”

“Ms. Kamiki.” 

She froze, slowly looking over like she’d forgotten you were there. Your voice was even as you cooly met her gaze. “Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?”

The flush which spread across her face was a deep, rich red. Somewhere in the background, you heard Okumura pipe up: “Hey, she’s turning pink!”

If looks could kill, she would have murdered him right there in front of you. She crossed her arms and squared herself, clearly intending to stand her ground. “This is a combat class, what’s the point of making us play these children’s games?”

Internally, you let out a deep sigh. Why was the first week of school always so tiresome? Not bothering to lean forward from the desk, you fixed her with a penetrating stare. 

“The point,” The two words were crisply accented, “is that you don’t begin reflex training with a weapon in your hand. Would you have rather lost twice to the edge of a sword?”

Making a point of her losses might not have been the most noble course of action, but it was certainly effective. Somewhat subdued but undoubtedly still irritated, she returned to the exercise without further comment. You watched her for a second, but quickly perceived the matter as resolved and moved your attention elsewhere. The group seemed to be getting along fine without any need for intervention, so you let your thoughts drift. 

Ever since he’d sent you and Neuhaus out of his office so briskly the week before, Mephisto had been nowhere to be found. Oh, sure, he’d appear for staff meetings or to make the appropriate announcements, but as soon as you went searching for him, he’d disappear into thin air. The slippery bastard must have known that you wouldn’t take his meddling very well, especially considering he hadn’t consulted you beforehand. The next time you saw him, you were going to wring his neck for so aptly shoving you and the other Tamer together for God-knows how long. 

Your eyes flickered to your watch. Each period was fifty minutes, so you had a good chunk of time left until your appointment with Neuhaus. 

“Yes!”

You glanced over to where Okumura had just scored a point on Miwa. If not particularly skilled, he was certainly filled with enthusiasm. You had a hard time finding any points of similarity between the boy in front of you and one of the Order’s youngest exorcists; Yukio Okumura had been stoic and professional on each occasion you’d interacted, certainly nothing like the ball of blue who let out a whoop each time he won at the game. You shook your head; siblings were such an odd phenomenon. 

“Hey, you cheated!”

“No way!”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you smoothly stepped back into teacher mode. After eight rounds of this exercise, it was no surprise to find Suguro in the top spot, though Okumura making close second was an unexpected development. 

“Now, as one of you has already questioned the value of an exercise such as the one you just did in regards to combat training, I will reiterate my point from earlier.” You crossed your arms over your chest as you addressed the class in front of you. “The first step in becoming a competent fighter is improving your reflexes and overall fitness. To a certain extent, the training you do in your physical education class will cover that, meaning that we won’t be doing workouts or many more exercises like the one you completed today.”

“However,” you continued, “I will provide you with basic tasks which you can practice outside of the classroom in order to improve yourself. Then, during class, we will work on your responses to unexpected or stressful situations.”

One of the boys raised his hand. “Um, Ma’am?”

“Yes, Miwa?”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘stressful situations’?”

For the first time that morning, you felt a pang of amusement. “You’ll see. We’ll work on your gut reactions and try to shift them to a place of instinct rather than panic. For today, we’re going to spend the rest of this period doing theory, but next week we’ll be having class in the gymnasium.”

True to your word, the remaining thirty minutes were spent discussing various theoretical approaches to combat as a whole; it was dry as hell and would never actually be useful to them in the field, but it was a requirement for the class and, hey, maybe someday someone would get something out of it. You watched Okumura go from energetic to bored and then fully asleep in a span of fifteen minutes; you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little envious of the blissful way he was drooling onto his hand. 

Before you knew it, the bell rang, signaling the end of class and coincidentally the beginning of the end of your sanity. Watching the students file out of the door, you were struck by a sudden impulse. 

“Ms. Moriyama, do you have a moment?”

“Yes Ma’am!” 

She stood at attention before your desk with wide eyes, and you forced your expression into something that hopefully counted as approachable. “How is your mother, Shiemi?”

“Oh,” She seemed a little caught off-guard by the question, “very well, thank you! Well, actually, I think she’s a little worried about me being out on my own for the first time, but I’m determined that I’m going to be an exorcist!”

You blinked at this onslaught of information. “Ah, yes, well, good for you, Moriyama.” Making a vaguely encouraging gesture, you tried not to come off as callous. “Send her my regards, if you would.” She nodded emphatically, and a second elapsed before you spoke again. “I think your friend is waiting for you.”

Truthfully, you had absolutely no idea whether Okumura was lingering in the hallway, but the sheer force of her relentless optimism was a bit much for your exhausted brain to handle. She didn’t seem to take offense at the dismissal; she perked up, bowing to you before rushing towards the door, where she nearly smacked full-on into someone else. 

You blanched at the same time that she lost all colour in her face. Towering over her in the doorway and staring down at her with all his usual friendliness was Neuhaus. Moriyama looked as though she’d received the shock of her life from having been suddenly confronted with such an intimidating sight. Sure that, given the chance, she’d begin profusely apologizing, you cut her off before she could get out a single word. 

“Mr. Neuhaus. You’re early.”

The title was used mostly for posterity’s sake when addressing another teacher in front of a student; it certainly wasn’t something you’d otherwise feel driven to use. His gaze drifted over to you at your words, at which point Moriyama seized the opportunity to duck behind him and out of the room. The door closed with a click, and the two of you were alone. 

For what must have been the hundredth time since you’d lost your mind and actually agreed to this stunt, you wondered why, in the name of all things holy, you’d said yes. The tension between you was immediately apparent, and you steeled yourself for what was undoubtedly going to be a highly uncomfortable half-hour.

Leaning back against your desk, you addressed him again, keeping your voice as devoid of emotion as possible. “What do you have in mind?”

Ten minutes later, you were standing in the middle of the classroom with blood dripping down your hand. Barely even wincing at the pain, you were busy shooting daggers at the familiar who had decided that right now was the right time to air all her grievances from the past weeks. Towards the side, his arms crossed over his chest, Neuhaus observed with watchful eyes. 

“You need to get it under better control.”

You directed a skeptical glance towards the Sylph who had begun loudly grinding her teeth together. “Easier said than done, she’s always been like this.”

As if to prove your point, she threw a piece of chalk at you. Dodging it, you sharply jerked your hand. Your familiar flinched as though she’d been roughly tugged, then retreated to the back of the room with a shriek. You turned your attention back to where the other Tamer stood. 

He cooly met your gaze. “You should not cater to its tantrums. If you don’t assert your authority, it will not respect you as master.”

It rubbed you the wrong way how he repeatedly referred to her as ‘it’. “She does what I tell her to, just sometimes she likes to throw a fit about it.”

“Every act of disobedience, however small, fractures your state of control. By tolerating its defiance, you only allow it to become stronger and more destructive.”

You hated to admit that he had a point. A sigh left your lips as you ran a hand through your hair. 

“If she doesn’t respect me by now, I don’t see how I’ll ever get her to. I first summoned her when I was seven, that’s hardly conducive to a strict authoritative dynamic.”

For the first time ever, you saw something flash through his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was harsh. “You should not have been allowed to perform blood rituals at that age.”

You suppressed a snort. “I wasn’t. Still, it happened, and she’s been my familiar ever since, bad attitude and all. Though,” you noted, shooting her a contemplative glance, “it seems to have gotten worse lately.”

Now that you thought about it, it had started up about a few months before the Staff of Moses had done its best to clobber the ever-loving shit out of you. There was no event significant enough in your memory to place as the cause of this shift in attitude, making the timing unusual. While you’d contemplated this, the other exorcist hadn’t said a word, but now his gruff voice rang out in the empty room. 

“Your bond was forged amateurly, without the proper foundation of authority. Your failure to rectify this over the years has led to a total lack of control on your part. If you don’t correct this immediately, you’ll become a danger to those around you.”

That seemed a little extreme; forgetting just exactly who you were talking to, you slipped in your defense of the Sylph. “Kaze’s never hurt anyone, she only ever directs her anger towards me.”

There was a pause, and a stony gaze was directed towards you. “For now,” His words were like ice, “until it decides to be more extreme in the limits it tests. You should remember, L/N,” It was the first time he’d addressed you by name, “that you are dealing with a demon, not a pet.”

You might have winced at that if you hadn’t had so much practice in keeping your expression even. Taking a moment to consider his words, you looked over at your familiar. A pang shot through your chest upon glimpsing the face which had accompanied you for so many years. It was indisputable that you’d grown fond of the Sylph, perhaps too much so. Her tantrums had accompanied you since adolescence, but so had her more pleasant moods, and to this day you’d never met anyone who could communicate with the air demons as fluidly as you. 

In your youth, your fellow students had been jealous of the close connection you’d had with your familiar, but they hadn’t had to develop a tolerance for the horrific noises and wailing tempers like you did. Even now, you were certain you’d lose your hearing at an early age (hell, you felt lucky it hadn’t happened already). She’d become a part of you, a sort of temperamental guardian angel who liked to hurl things at your head when displeased. You’d poured your soul into her and had been rewarded with a bond unlike any other. 

Looking at her now, you wondered whether you hadn’t just been enabling the whims of a volatile demon. As much as you might not have appreciated his haughty tone, you respected his capabilities as an exorcist and, more importantly, as a formidable Tamer. Damn the man, he raised an undeniable point. 

Turning stoic eyes onto him, you let go of your pride. “Alright. What do you suggest?” 

Chapter Text

“An order should never be repeated,” His tone was clipped and assertive, clearly carried over from years of teaching students, “if your familiar doesn’t obey, sever the connection at once.”

You paused. Wary of voicing stupid questions, you took a moment to examine what his words meant in regards to your situation. Tearing a piece of paper might not have been too big of an issue, but the summoning sigil was tattooed onto your hand. To completely dissolve the link, you would have to pierce past the epidermis in order to separate the lines of ink embedded in your skin. 

“It will take time to heal a wound that deep.”

His head inclined in a slight nod. “The only way to evidence your control is to show the demon that you can and will break the bond if provoked. It is an unpleasant sensation for both parties, and your familiar will be loath to frequently experience it. After the initial stage in which you may have to repeat it several times, your familiar will not be as quick to test you.”

It sounded all well and good the matter-of-fact way he put it, but the reality remained that such a violent rupture would unquestionably take its toll on you as well. You were well aware that your bond was an unconventional one; the two of you were much more closely intertwined than most Tamers with their familiars, meaning that the act of tearing the Sylph from you, however temporarily, might end up being excruciating. To conclude, it wasn’t an especially appealing course of action. 

Nevertheless, you stuck out your palm. Locking eyes with the furious Sylph in front of you, you steeled yourself. A short prayer crossed your mind in this second of inaction, something along the lines of please, Kaze, please behave for the first time in your life-

“I command you to withdraw.”

She let out a mighty screech, then grabbed hold of a chair which she splintered between her palms with a crack. You observed the demolished wood with a sense of resigned acceptance. Taking in a breath, you drew your sword, eyes never leaving the demon in front of you as you held the blade directly over the sigil instead of the spot just above it where the flesh had been pierced so many times before. Not realizing the significance of the action, Kaze screamed again, the gust of wind only adding more to the chaos of the room. You let the blade fall, and watched as it neatly sliced the summoning circle in two. 

Then, you went into anaphylactic shock.

“My dear, you can’t imagine how distressed I was to hear of your state.”

With all the force you could muster while joined to an IV and heart monitor, you glared at the demon perched in the chair beside your hospital bed. When you spoke, your voice was croaky. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

The Director made a vague gesture, hands never leaving the top of his cane. “Duty calls at inconvenient times. Now,” He leaned forward, “tell me more about what happened; despite my many questions, I barely got a peep out of our Mr. Neuhaus. The paramedics say that they were summoned to the cram school classroom?”

His voice lifted with unabashed interest at the end of his question, and you fervently wished you could strangle him. “What happened,” you gritted out, “is that your meddling nearly got me killed. Any more bright ideas you’d like to pounce on me? Maybe you should pop us over to Gehenna and ‘conduct an experiment’ where you observe how long it takes for Neuhaus and I to get our shit rocked-”

“Ms. L/N,” the demon smoothly interrupted, “I assure you that I have no intention of doing such a thing.” Despite the pacifying words, his cat-like eyes gleamed with interest. “Then you mean that your reaction was triggered during instruction?” 

You leveled him with an expressionless visage. “Until you clue me into what you’re trying to accomplish with all of this, you’re not getting any more information from me. Surprisingly, I object to playing guinea pig, especially when it means being tossed into harm’s way.”

Perhaps sensing the impasse you’d reached, the demon heaved a dramatic sigh. “Such mistrust, I truly have no idea where it comes from. If you insist, then I shall explain my thought process to you.” He leaned back, spreading his hands in a wide gesture. “You asserted that your dreams were prophetic, but you had never attempted to change their outcome. By encouraging interaction between you and the subject of these visions, we can ascertain whether the version of the future you see is beyond influence.”

You were beginning to see what he meant; your brow furrowed with thought. “Whether the events I see in my dreams are the way things might be , or the way they will.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So far they have hinted mostly towards the former theory, although, interestingly enough, it seems as though they are adapting to our manipulation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember last week’s staff meeting?”

Your expression darkened again. “You mean when you sent Neuhaus and I right into the arms of a Koks?”

As usual, he ignored the dig. “The night before, there was no hint of the altercation, but when you nodded off after I’d decided to assign the two of you together, your mind took the opportunity to warn you of the upcoming fight. It appears that, with the right intervention, former prophecies can be rendered obsolete.”

It was horrible to find out that his past decision had actually been grounded in something sensible rather than pure spite. “And the training with Neuhaus?”

His fangs flashed in a grin. “Why, what better way to keep an eye on him? I hardly imagine that he would take it well if you began to follow him around, Ms. L/N.”

“Whereas he’s thrilled to have to spend time with me otherwise.”

“Now, now,” The Director wagged a finger, “sarcasm is the first step to pessimism. You do want to solve this, don’t you?”

Your tone was very dry when you spoke again. “I would prefer to do so in a way which doesn’t include spending copious amounts of time with someone who’s even more reluctant to do so than I am. If you keep throwing us together, he’s going to grow suspicious.”

“Who, me?” His voice was arch with faux innocence, “I only control school affairs, not who gets paired together on missions from the Vatican.”

You didn’t like what he was implying. “Mephisto-”

“If I’m not mistaken,” he plodded on, “Mr. Neuhaus possesses two Meisters in addition to that of Tamer: Aria, and Doctor. You, I believe, are conjointly a Knight?”

“What of it?”

He clapped his hands together. “Well, then what better team could True Cross possibly ask for? That combined with the fact that he’s training you for your promotion to Exorcist Upper First Class-”

“My what?”

“-makes it the most natural thing in the world for you to see lots of each other. Oh,” he added as though it were an afterthought, “I’m considering offering some of our cram school students an additional course this year, one which focuses on wielding their familiars in battle-”

“Mephisto,” you ground out, forcing the demon to cut himself short, “slow down, or I’ll have another seizure.”

“My apologies.”

You pressed a hand to your temple. “If you’re going to do this-”

“We, my dear.”

“-then you’ll have to do it a little more subtly. Exorcists work in teams, not pairs, it’ll look odd for us to be an exception. Neuhaus isn’t stupid, he’ll know you’re up to something.”

The Director shrugged. “That may be inevitable; all the more reason for you to solve this issue before it ever comes to pass!”

“I thought you said ‘we’ were working to solve it.”

He smiled again. “Naturally.”

The scene in front of you was a familiar one; the hum of quiet conversation before the start of the weekly staff meeting was the same as usual, with the exception of an empty spot where you would have sat. Arriving last second like he always did, Yamada dropped his bag onto the floor next to his chair and shot your seat a quizzical glance. 

He turned to his right. “Hey, Fueguchi, have you seen L/N?”

“Haven’t you heard?”

His brow furrowed. “Heard what?”

The other exorcist leaned in a little closer, placing one hand between them on the table. “She’s been in medical for the past few days, some sort of seizure, I think. Her classes had to be covered last minute, it’s been a mess.”

“A seizure? From what?”

“Not really sure, but I’ve got a friend in medical who said it was similar to an allergic reaction.”

Yamada leaned back in his seat, confusion written clearly across his face. “An allergy? Like something she had to eat?”

The other exorcist shrugged. “Don’t know. The paramedics were summoned to her classroom.”

“During class?”

Fueguchi blinked. “No actually, now that I think about it. I’m sure I would have heard about it from the students. At the very least, they would have been dismissed from class for the remainder of the day in order to recover from the shock of watching their instructor nearly die.”

“Die?”

As though the person through whose eyes you were observing the scene suddenly began to back up, the scene shifted, becoming less focused on the two exorcists in order to show a wider shot of the room. Another exorcist sat at the other side of the table, his mouth set in a frown as snippets of their conversation drifted over. Though from a casual observer’s perspective his countenance did not appear to change, you were suddenly made aware of his hand on the table, and how it imperceptibly clenched even tighter. 

“Oh,” Feuguchi waved their hand, “don’t worry, The Director has been in to see her and apparently she’s alright. Luckily she received medical attention very quickly, and just needs to rest up for a while. She should be back any day now.”

Your friend didn’t appear quite as satisfied with this explanation. “What in the hell was she doing that caused such a severe attack?”

“No clue, you’ll have to ask her yourself when she’s discharged.”

When you woke, it was to the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Laying there, you stared at the tiles of the ceiling, and thought. 

You thought about what Mephisto had told you. While you still disapproved of his methods, his idea about discerning the nature of your dreams wasn’t a bad one; in fact, it actually spoke to some thought being put behind his actions. It was odd, you admitted, that the vision had changed accordingly when Mephisto had decided to send you and Neuhaus on a mission together. Was this done consciously? If so, it raised the new, more disturbing question of what was controlling them and to what end. The thought of some omniscient being being able to read your minds did not exactly put you at ease. 

Carefully, as to not intensify the pounding in your skull, you rolled over. Whatever was going on, you were on limited time to figure it out. How limited, you weren’t sure, but it wasn’t only Neuhaus realizing that something was going on which worried you. The way that you were scraping along could hardly have been called sustainable; another month of this, and you would be spending more than a couple of nights in the medical wing. Answers to your questions were few and far between, meaning that, if you didn’t have time to wait for them, you were going to have to take a more direct approach. 

A crease formed between your brows. From what he’d said, Mephisto would be devising some way of getting you and Neuhaus more involved, hopefully in a manner which didn’t scream of demonic direction. There would only be so many plausible excuses for the continuous pairing up before someone would start getting suspicious, and the last thing you wanted was to have to explain the situation to the man himself. Seizures weren’t the most fun thing you’d ever experienced, but you thought you’d rather have another reaction than see the look on the Tamer’s face when he realized you’d been dreaming about him for weeks. 

The mere thought made you cringe. No, the investigation would have to be carried out as quickly as possible. 

Having reached this (somewhat redundant) conclusion, your thoughts drifted back to your dream. A pang of guilt shot through you as you realized you hadn’t told any of your friends about what had happened to you; personal issues aside, it was common decency to let the people in your life know when you knocked upon death’s door. You’d send Yamada a text, if only so that he wasn’t confused at the staff meeting tomorrow, and he’d be sure to promptly inform everyone else. He was like that, painfully efficient and organized to the point of occasionally becoming overbearing, which was probably why the two of you got along so well. Behind the sarcasm and bickering, you cared deeply about each other, making it all the worse that you wouldn’t have remembered to text him if it hadn’t been for the vision.

Huffing a weak laugh, you let your hand rest against your face. If he knew how sentimental you were getting, he’d never let you hear the end of it. There were few other people you would categorize as close friends, and yet the two of you stubbornly refused to acknowledge that you actually liked each other. It was, you mused, much like having an annoying little brother. 

You were still smiling at the thought when a realization began to creep up on you. It had bugged you for a while now, ever since you’d woken up, but it wasn’t until that exact moment that you recognized what exactly felt so odd. 

You blinked. 

You didn’t feel completely exhausted.

The woman next to you was observing you with keen brown eyes. Pausing in opening your cup of ramen, you stared at her. 

“What?” She didn’t answer, and you raised a hand to rub at your chin. “Do I have something on my face?”

“You’ve been acting weird,” Sato proclaimed, gaze never wavering. “I want to know why.”

Blunt as usual, her words rarely failed at hitting the nail on the head. You paused again before slowly feeding the noodles into your mouth, using the reprieve of chewing to try and figure out what to say to that. 

“Weird how?”

When in doubt, feign ignorance. Her stare took on a tinge of something decidedly unimpressed. 

“You’ve been distant lately, like there’s some great thought occupying your mind, and I rarely see you outside of school hours. When I do, you’re all,” She made a vague gesture with her hand, “dazed. It’s been a week since you were discharged, are they keeping you on painkillers or something?”

“I wish,” you sighed. “Sagami seems to have seized the opportunity to enforce his personal vendetta against me; if I were taking drugs, they wouldn’t be from him.”

“So what?”

“What what?”

She let out a huff of annoyance, and crossed her arms over her chest. “So what’s wrong with you? Ever since our last mission, you’ve been acting all strange, I don’t know why the Director keeps sending you on missions when you’re clearly suffering from some sort of long-term effect-”

“Hold that thought,” you cut in, setting your cup on the counter as your attention was captured by something outside the lounge. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“And the running off!” This addition was called after you as you strode away; “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking around!”

Her words fell on deaf ears as you jogged after the man who you had glimpsed passing this way. Reluctant to yell his name in a crowded hallway, you waited until you were closer to gain his attention. 

“Neuhaus.”

He briskly turned, something like surprise flashing in his eyes before it was replaced by a vague wariness. 

“L/N.”

Not willing to waste any time, you got straight to the point. “Have there been any changes regarding the scheduling of our sessions?”

You were answered by his blank stare. After a moment, almost as though he’d hoped the issue would resolve itself on its own, he spoke. “I had not thought you would continue.”

And had probably wished so as well, you couldn’t help but think. 

“Where there’s an issue,” Your serious voice rang out, “I intend to resolve it.”

Never mind that the issue you were talking about was not the same that he thought you were. He didn’t seem convinced, and thus continued one of the longest exchanges you’d ever had with the man. 

“You had a seizure.”

“All the more reason to continue,” you smoothly responded. “If her hold over me is so strong that dissolving our bond sends my body into shock, then clearly something needs to change.”

He regarded you for a moment. You knew you had a point; hell, your point was based off of his point, but the fact remained that his instruction had led to a prolonged hospital visit. To most people, the risk of killing a coworker would overrule any arguments they’d previously made, not to mention that it didn’t exactly look good for a teacher to continue instructing someone after it had been proven to be fatal. In total, the risk was high and the benefit low, but something told you not to leave until he’d given you an answer. 

In this case, your stubbornness paid off. “Wednesday,” Came the curt answer, “after your class.”

You nodded and tried not to show how pleased you were to have judged him correctly. Having achieved your goal, there was no reason to prolong the conversation, and you swiftly returned to the lounge where Sato was waiting for you. Upon your entry, she shot you an incredulous glance. 

“Want to tell me what that was about?”

Not particularly. “Oh,” Your voice was light and nonchalant, “I caught sight of Neuhaus in the hallway and remembered I needed to confirm something about this year’s cram class. The Director has spoken to me about the two of us possibly offering a joint course in preparation of the Certification Exam; you know, for the Tamers.”

She narrowed her eyes in a squint. “True Cross hasn’t ever offered that before. When did he come up with this idea?”

“Not sure.” Then, noting her somewhat skeptical tone, you continued. “I don’t think it’s a half-bad one, provided we have any Tamers in this bunch at all. It’d help to better prepare them for field work, and would be a great advantage during the exam. Have you heard anything about what this year’s will entail?”

When Sato shook her head, strands of auburn hair brushed against her forehead. “No, nothing so far. Of course, I’m not teaching this year, but usually word gets around by now. They must be planning something very special.”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “Why this year?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, no idea.” Her gaze suddenly sharpened. “This combat class for Tamers, is that what you and Neuhaus were doing when the paramedics were called?”

For a second, you simply stared at her. How in the hell she knew about that, you weren’t sure; so far she was the only person to reveal any knowledge of who had been with you when you’d had your seizure. Most likely she was friends with someone in medical, but it was still uncanny how she managed to probe out the exact thing you didn’t want her to look into. 

“Yes,” you finally replied, “He stepped in for a moment after my class to discuss things, and then I had my attack. I assume he called for help.”

Her gaze remained unwavering, and you had the eerie feeling that you hadn’t fooled her at all. The timely chime of your phone momentarily distracted you. Eyes flickering down to the screen, you took stock of the new message. You felt a keen sense of relief at the convenient excuse placed before you. 

“Sorry, got to go and pick something up.”

You grabbed your half-full cup of ramen off of the counter and made a bolt for it. Behind you, Sato watched you leave,her lips gradually settling into a thoughtful frown.

Chapter Text

You stood, leaning against the countertop while Tachi rooted through the piles of “organized clutter” around her workspace. “I swear I put it right here,” she declared as she pushed aside a number of what looked to be hybrid handguns. One teetered precariously at the edge of the table, and you gingerly pushed it back. 

“No rush.”

She frowned, then held something out behind her. “Here, hold this.”

You took the small container which seemed to be, uh, vibrating? Eyeing it warily, you turned it over in your hands.

“Is there something in this?”

There was the sound of something falling. Emerging from the cabinet into which she’d been leaning, she pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Hm? Oh, that. Nothing special, just a specimen that I’m studying.” She resumed her search, this time turning her attention towards a pile of packages next to the door. “Did you know that some beetles eat human flesh?”

Your hands froze in their movement. Slowly, you set the case down, then slid it across the marble until it rested a good distance from you. Tachi didn’t seem to notice; finally, she returned with a small wooden box in hand. 

“Here it is, no idea how it got over there. I swear that Suzuki moves my things when I’m not watching.”

It was more likely that she rearranged while Suzuki wasn’t looking. Taking the box from her grasp, you admired the intricate designs carved into it. She watched you with a half-grin. “Pretty, isn’t it? I had to call in a favour to get it so quickly, but it’s the genuine article.”

“Thanks."

Her shoulders lifted into a shrug as she rested one hand on the counter. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Your little problem is interesting enough for a dozen favours.”

“Don’t call it my ‘little problem’,” you replied, tilting back the box’s lid. “It makes it sound like a rash or something.”

In the box, wrapped in a layer of some natural cloth, lay a white dreamcatcher. You didn’t remove it from the box, choosing instead to keep it inside for safekeeping. Despite this, you couldn’t help but admire it by lightly tracing a fingertip along the hoop’s curve. All the while, Tachi watched you with those unsettlingly bright eyes. 

“You think it’ll work?”

The box slid gently into your coat pocket. “Worth a shot.”

You hadn’t meant to be funny, but something about the words seemed to amuse her. She smiled, a secretive, enigmatic tug of the lips, and propped her chin upon her fist. After a second, she spoke: “Has anything worked so far?”

The tone of her words was a little patronizing, as though they were directed towards a stubborn child. One more, you found yourself bristling in her presence; your temper flared, and it was all you could do to keep your tone civil. 

“With varying degrees of success.”

Her smile remained infuriatingly knowing. “What’s worked the best?”

Your answering silence was heavy. Finally, you responded, and the manner in which the words came out made it clear that you were not eager to impart this information.

“Proximity to the subject.”

Tachi tipped her head back to let a rich laugh fall from her lips. Her eyes sparkled. “Now you’re using my language! Let’s call him ‘the subject’, then; I haven’t lost hope that you’ll tell me his actual name, but until then it’ll have to suffice. Now,” she leant forward with interest, “this is an intriguing development. You’ve been spending more time with him, is that correct?”

“Tachi.”

She waved a dismissive hand at the word of warning. “Oh, I know, you don’t want me to figure it out. Still, if the dreams decrease in severity when you increase the time spent with ‘the subject’, that carries some compelling implications.”

You took the bait. “Such as?”

“For one, it might mean that you’re being guided.” Her tone had become marginally more professional as she entered her field of expertise. At the same time, she used the flat of her hand to push back one of many unruly curls from her forehead. “In that case, the fatigue could be seen as a manner of punishment for refusing the prophecies’ direction: You do what they want you to, and it lessens.”

That sounded too much like direct spiritual influence for you to be comfortable with this new theory. “That would mean that something is actively trying to make me easier to manipulate.”

“Or someone!” she cheerfully added. “It might not be as negative as it sounds; think of it as divine guidance. In another time, you’d be honoured as a prophet.”

You sent her a look filled with meaning no words could convey (if you tried, though, it would be something along the lines of: “When I find the fucker who decided to ‘ honour me’-”).

“On the other hand, it might be that by giving in and interacting with ‘the subject’, your subconscious isn’t using as much energy to fight against the visions.” She gleefully continued her theorizing. “Meaning that your symptoms are only a side-effect of your mind’s resistance to foreign influence.”

“Meaning, in fact,” your voice wryly rang out, “that it’s my own brain that’s screwing me over.”

The other woman grinned. “Not in so many words, but yes. It’s a long shot, but we could arrange for you to undergo a sleep study so that we can monitor your brain activity.”

Despite yourself, you shifted uncomfortably. “The stuff with all the wires and probes?”

“What, does that scare you?”

Not particularly, but the thought of Tachi being in charge of the study did. You could just see her now, impulsively satisfying whatever sudden theory popped into her mind while you were hooked up and at her mercy. As senior cursebreaker (one with a formidable personality at that), you couldn’t imagine any of the timid, meek-faced juniors she tended to surround herself with being especially effective at stopping her. 

“I think I’ll stick with the box.”

If she was disappointed by your answer, she didn’t show it. She was still calling after you when you made your retreat from the research lab: “I could always find a priest to bless you!”

The door closed heavily behind you. Well used to your visits by now, Suzuki sent you a nod as you passed him in the hallway. You returned the gesture and continued on your way. It was your day off; there were no classes to teach or prepare for, and the meeting with Tachi hadn’t taken up much of the day. There were several possibilities open to you, but nothing which sprang to mind sounded particularly appealing: You knew that Yamada was busy, and your last encounter with Sato had not made you eager to see her again so soon. 

There was always paperwork, you mused, but it was a beautiful day outside and something made you loath to waste it by shutting yourself indoors to work. By chance, you glanced out of a passing window and caught sight of a couple of students milling around outside. They seemed to have just returned from one of the nearby shops, and had made a sort of picnic for themselves by spreading their jackets out on the grass and sitting on top of them. 

You could have smacked yourself for not thinking of it sooner; yes, of course, you had some errands to run in town anyways, why not add a couple of more frivolous stops to your journey and make a day of it?

Pleased with the idea, you didn’t delay in setting it into motion. A few people greeted you on your way into town, mostly fellow staff members and the few students who had inexplicably taken a liking to you. It had been a long time since you’d put any energy into being perceived as likable by the teenagers who entered your classroom; you were competent and well-respected, you didn’t need to win any popularity contests (those, invariably, were won by colleagues who tried to be ‘fun’ and halfway succeeded, or those who happened to be notably good-looking). Teaching had never been your end goal anyways; it was a stepping stone towards greater things, that is, if Mephisto ever agreed to let you leave. 

Even thoughts of the demon weren’t enough to sour your good mood. On the way back from the dry-cleaners (God, bloodstains were hard to get out of clothing), you stopped by one of the minimarts to grab a package of dorayaki. You’d just popped one of the sweets into your mouth when a flash of blue caught your eye and you turned your attention a little further down the street. There, emerging from a grocery store with his hands full of bags, Rin Okumura was desperately trying to keep pace with his brother. 

Neither of the students appeared to notice your presence as they passed by (Yukio, striding unhurriedly, whereas Rin looked as though he might be about to strain something), and a slight smile tugged at your lips at the lecture you could give Rin on maintaining situational awareness. It seemed you weren’t the only one running errands, though you were surprised that they appeared to be buying their own food. Didn’t most students take meals in the cafeteria?

Shrugging the thought off, you were just about to continue on your way when something made you pause. It was a faint feeling, but one you had learned to listen to over the years; the feeling that, somewhere around you, something wasn’t quite right. 

A new sharpness filled your gaze as you scanned the area around you for its source. Aside from the usual bustle of a Saturday afternoon, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual. 

Your eyes rested on a dark shape atop one of the surrounding roofs. It had escaped your notice at first, but the longer you looked at it, the more the feeling solidified. It was some sort of bird (a crow, probably) perched at the edge of the supermarket from which the Okumura brothers had only just emerged. In itself there was nothing particularly unusual about its presence, but it was the only one of its kind that you could see and that feeling that something was wrong just wouldn’t let itself be dismissed. You continued to observe it, and then, to your immense surprise, the bird looked right at you. 

As soon as it saw you, you knew that it was wrong. Every bit of instinct screamed at you that, despite all appearances, this was not a regular bird. Maybe it was the canny, almost human way it watched you; its beady eyes refused to budge even when louder, more interesting things happened on the street below. Coming a step closer, you tilted your head back to get a better look. 

The bird didn’t move. All it did was stare at you while you stared back. You were just wondering how close it would let you get when a loud voice sounded from further down the street, and the crow’s head snapped to the side. There was very little warning before it took flight; its black wings beat powerfully against the air as it soared into the sky and down the street from which the noise had just come. You followed its path with your gaze, and landed on the back of a bright blue head of hair. 

A frown tugged at your lips. The brothers were a good ways away from you by now, but it had unmistakably been Rin’s distinctive voice which had drawn the bird’s attention. The possibility that the teenager had trained the animal to come at his call flashed briefly across your mind before you dismissed it with a wry shake of the head; crows were notoriously intelligent, but you doubted that Rin Okumura had the patience to train himself, much less another being. 

And yet. It had waited for him outside of the store and even now was following him as he trekked back to the school. If it had been anyone else who saw them, they might have thought nothing of it, but you couldn’t shake the impression that your instincts had given you; whatever was going on, it had to do with Rin Okumura, and it did not seem to be good. 

You told yourself that, no, you were not following the teenagers. It just so happened that you were heading in the same direction, that was all, and the fact that you would be able to keep an eye on them while you did so was just a convenient coincidence. If either of them saw you, that was certainly what they would make of it; just a chance meeting with one of the staff. 

Still, as you trailed towards True Cross Academy’s living quarters, you did your best to stay out of sight. It almost pained you that neither of the brothers noticed either you or the weird crow tracking their every move. From Rin, you could understand, but Yukio? Either being around his brother caused him to let down his guard significantly, or you were better at this sort of thing than you’d thought. 

They were headed for one of the older dormitory buildings. When the living plans had been released for this year's batch of students, you were almost completely sure that the freshman had been housed in the more modern buildings on the other side of campus. Why would these two have a whole building to themself? It wasn’t as though there was a lack of space; True Cross had only recently undergone extensive renovations, and besides, you didn’t think it was beyond Mephisto’s abilities to conjure up an additional room if needed. 

The more you thought about it, the odder it seemed. You knew Yukio Okumura, had even met his adoptive father, and he had never struck you as anything out of the ordinary. You were sure that, age difference aside, he had not been treated any differently during his training as an Exorcist and now as a fellow teacher. That being said: If anything had changed since then, it was with the arrival of his brother, Rin. 

Your frown deepened as you observed them disappear into the building. The crow had gotten too close to the pair for you to follow suit, but now you were safely out of eyeshot and could pursue at will. 

When you finally discovered it, you knew that your instinct had been correct. Looking down at the corpse in the grass, a graveness fell upon you. From a cursory examination you could tell that this animal had been dead for some time, a concerning discovery since only minutes before it had been able to move. The smell rising off of its body was that of any rotting animal with the addition of a hint of sulfur; the odor was distinct even alongside the other, more egregious smells. 

Rising from where you’d knelt to examine it, you scoured the area around you. It was very quiet, almost eerily so. There were no other students in the area; hell, there was nobody else at all as far as you could see. Your eyes lifted to the surrounding buildings, tall and shadowed enough for someone to keep themselves hidden. 

Through an open window, you were able to catch wisps of conversation: It was one of the brothers, judging by the sound of it, but the exact words were difficult to catch. Having made no further discovery and without any desire to eavesdrop on them, you momentarily abandoned your investigation. The sun still shone as brightly as it had that morning, but you were unable to shake that sober feeling that something was deeply, deeply wrong. 

Chapter Text

A sharp pain flared through his eye. It had been hurting more, lately, the near-electric spasms coming frequently and with additional force. He knew why, of course he did, but it didn’t make them any less painful or the pain any less annoying. How pathetic - all these years of training, and the one thing he couldn’t defeat was embedded in his own head. Not much longer now, only a few more days until-

The scene flickered, and there was sudden darkness. You could still hear those thoughts, still feel the lingering sensation of burning in your left eye socket. Faint sounds of chanting echoed through the space; it didn’t sound like him, didn’t sound like anyone you knew. It stretched on and on, growing with intensity even as you gradually got the feeling that, whatever it was doing, it wouldn’t be enough. You clapped your hands over your ears when it grew to a deafening level, causing the pain to spike as it burned, burned, burned-

You awoke to the feeling of hot ash on your face. The reaction was instantaneous, but it took you a moment to regain your bearings as you knelt there, breathing heavily at the other side of your bed to which you had instinctually pulled yourself away from danger. 

In front of your eyes, glowing softly in the darkness at the head of your bed, the dreamcatcher lay, smoldering. Its feathers were singed, hoops and netting burnt while whatever remained was stained with soot. The string from which you’d hung it seemed to have completely disappeared, turned into ash along with the rest of it. 

You stared at it. For a second, it seemed as though you might even say something, give some curse or noise of frustration at the situation. Instead, after this moment had passed, you rolled over, reached the floor, and promptly fell asleep.

It burnt?

You barely glanced at the text which had popped up on your phone. Tachi might be free to schedule herself as she pleased, but you had a class to prepare and very little time in which to do it. Only slowing because of the person in front of you, you shot the cursebreaker a message back. 

Soot and embers. Seemed to have some effect on my dream. Details later. 

Regardless of the succinctly dismissive way in which you’d ended the message, you heard the telltale ping! mere seconds later. 

Did you see it catch fire? 

What colour was it? 

Any odd smells? 

The three notifications followed each other in quick successions, pausing only momentarily before the noise started up again. 

What kind of effect? 

Your lips thinned with irritation at the constant interruption, and you pulled out your phone once more. 

Fill you in later. 

The answer followed almost immediately:

Did you see him?

“L/N.”

You liked to think of yourself as someone not easily startled, but you swore you felt your soul leave your body. Smoothly pocketing your phone, you turned to meet his gaze. 

“Neuhaus.”

God bless the training which allowed you to disguise that your heart had leapt into your throat. He levelled you with the same blank expression as always; you could only guess at what lay behind it. Probably disgruntlement that Mephisto had obligated him to take on an extra class for the boot-camp mixed with displeasure that he’d agreed to help you with Kaze. Mix in a little general hatred of everything which forced him to interact with anyone else, and you thought you had a pretty fair picture of Igor Neuhaus’ brain. 

All of this you kept to yourself. Falling into step beside him, you made for the classroom which you’d be temporarily using. Your fellow exorcist made no attempt at conversation, but eventually you were forced to speak. 

“After your session with them on Monday, we’ll know to what extent our following lesson will be. In the unlikely event that all of them turn out to be Tamers, we’ll need to have sufficient material planned.”

He gave a silent acknowledgement. Taking the nod for what it was, you continued. “I don’t expect that we’ll have more than a couple in this year’s batch, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. As to the specifics of the material itself, I am open to suggestions.”

This exchange had taken place while you walked, by now you had reached the room. A couple of other teachers passed by, and you sent one a nod in greeting. If Fueguchi stared at you and Neuhaus a little as he went by, you chose not to think about it. 

The next hour was purely professional; when it came to your work, both you and Neuhaus were remarkably competent and efficient. It was decided that - depending on how many participants the course ended up with - you’d implement a series of tests for the prospective Tamers: They would focus mostly on finding that calm, fearless mindset for summoning even in stressful situations as well as exploiting the advantages their individual familiars could offer them. 

You ran through several hypothetical situations with him, but the entire time your mind was occupied with thoughts of last night’s dream. It had definitely not been the usual kind: No matter how much of his actions you saw, you’d never seen things from inside his head before. And that was undoubtedly where you’d been; who else would be in your dreams complaining of burning pain in their left eye?

It had been weird, but considering that the rest of your dream had been full of loud chanting voices and the fiery rage of some mystical being, it didn’t exactly rank highest on the list of odd shit which had happened to you. Still, you thought while continuing to pay attention to the task at hand, it had been different. 

A few aspects stuck out to you in particular: Neuhaus was not only experiencing increased pain in his eye, but he also knew why. Granted, that could be put down to the aches of an old wound (your grandmother used to swear that her arthritis would flare up on the anniversary of her husband’s death), but it hadn’t seemed like that from the way he spoke about it. No, he’d been somewhat resigned to the pain, but he’d also implied that ‘in a few more days’ something would happen to ease it. 

Despite your efforts to keep the content of your thoughts hidden, you frowned. The only thing happening this week was the boot camp, and you highly doubted that had anything to do with it. Watching angsty teenagers struggle over team-building exercises didn’t seem like the type of activity which would lift your colleague’s spirits to pain-relieving extents. The whole thing was probably none of your business anyway, but it was hard not to be curious when the man’s personal life had decided to intrude rent-free into your subconscious. 

You were forced to momentarily abandon the topic when it came time for the second half of your arrangement. Neatly placing your notes on lesson material to the side, you stood and made your way to the center of the classroom. The first thing you did was pull something out of your pocket and hold it out to him. Neuhaus stared at it. 

“It’s an EpiPen,” you clarified.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

Despite the question, he smoothly took it from your grasp. His hands were bandaged, as always, but you noticed that they appeared to have been freshly wrapped. 

“Our last meeting resulted in what was essentially an allergic reaction.” You watched as he turned the device over in his hands to glance at the directions. “To save us both the hassle of involving Medical: If it happens again, stab me.”

His hands paused, and he levelled you with a blank expression. After a moment, he spoke. “You have no idea whether that will work.”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t. You know how to use it?”

Neuhaus nodded. “Middle of outer thigh.”

He stated it very clinically, and you briefly had the impression of being an example on an anatomy chart. Unconsciously, your hand dropped to rub against the spot in question. “Good. Shall we begin?”

Your colleague didn’t question your request any more; you noted that he slipped the EpiPen into the pocket of his dark coat. Without any more delay, you drew back your sleeve and began to undo the white bandages wrapped around your palm. When the flesh was revealed, the summoning circle bore no sign of having ever been sliced in half. 

“When you summon your familiar,” His low voice rang out, “you may be faced with an initial burst of retaliation.”

You were busy rolling the sleeve into place above your elbow. “Sever the link, I know.”

“No.”

That caught your attention. Glancing up, you made eye contact with the other exorcist. Uncrossing his arms, he began to speak: “Self-injury is not a sustainable method of control. It should be implemented if necessary, however you must learn to completely dispel the demon at will.” 

A second passed in which you let his words wash over you. “You want me to banish her?”

His eye might have twitched at the last word. “The process of summoning and expelling may be repeated after each sign of rebellion. In the event that the demon becomes truly ungovernable, the link must be severed once more.”

You weren’t exactly eager to repeat that process. Tossing a glance to the sigil upon your palm, you thought his instructions over. Kaze would undoubtedly be angry after what you’d done, would you be able to exert your will upon her? The idea of total dominance still didn’t sit quite right with you; you would have preferred a sort of cooperation, a bond between equals. Neuhaus was right about some things, that was for certain, but was he right about this? Was the only correct dynamic between Tamer and familiar that of complete authority? 

Pricking your thumb upon the edge of your blade, you smeared blood across the sigil. It didn’t take long for the Sylph to show herself: A recognizable rush of sensation came over you when she poured forth, all silver mist and biting wind as she let herself be summoned. You hadn’t realised just how odd it had felt to be separated from her until the moment the bond surged back to life; it was like you’d been granted a reprieve from the pain of an old wound and only now remembered what it felt like; the ache was nostalgic, almost comforting as it settled above your lungs. Mist materialised into form, and you steeled yourself. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the hail of fury which lay in wait. Kaze had magnified into a form ten times the size of her usual; her body filled the classroom, the mist expanding to rattle against the high walls and ceiling. Her features were hazy, her burning eyes the only distinguishable element of her expression before sharp teeth showed themselves in a gaping maw of nothingness to accompany the ear-shattering scream she hurled towards you. The sound was devastatingly loud; enough so to knock the surrounding furniture into the air and against the rear wall. Kaze shrieked, and it was as though all who heard it were briefly transported to the depths of Gehenna. 

You vaguely remembered that you’d locked the (soundproof) classroom door behind the two of you. Whatever you might have felt in that moment, your hand did not shake when it rose to stretch out towards the Sylph, fingers splayed so as to clearly display the bloody sigil upon your palm. Everything stood still in the aftermath of that terrible noise, and then you spoke, voice low and firm. 

“You will obey me.”

The discarded furniture slowly began to rise into the air around you, shaking with the force of a fury so great that the wood threatened to shatter. In the midst of this chaos the two of you stood, unmoved. Beside you, Neuhaus had not shown any signs of panic, although had you looked at him you would have been able to spot the device which he had silently retrieved from his pocket. Your attention was locked solely on the entity in front of you; once more, you continued in the same low tone. 

“Stand down, or you will be banished.”

Kaze took that about as well as you’d expected: The chairs and desks which had until now been suspended around you began to erratically spin, the air grew thick and heavy with a building pressure, and the Sylph drew in a deep, deep breath. 

You did not give her a chance to exhale. Drawing your hand back, you wiped the blood across the front of your shirt. The wound stung, but the action seemed to interrupt the Sylph in whatever she had been about to do; she recoiled, then surged forward as though to attack you herself. Having anticipated this, you stuck your palm back out. 

“I command you to withdraw.”

The sensation that followed was that of all the bones in your hand trying to grind each other to a pulp. The sigil itself seemed to move, blurring slightly before your vision. The pain shot all the way from your hand up your arm, but you gritted your teeth and strengthened your resolve. 

Another wail swept through the room as the Sylph began to dissipate; her silvery form turned even more vaporous as she was gradually drawn into the summoning circle. The noise was worse up close, but it barely penetrated the fog of concentration which had descended over you. The steady exterior you’d initially projected had begun to crumble away; your shoulders shook with effort and beads of sweat ran down your face. Still, you didn’t falter, and the air demon fully vanished with one, last, irate sound. 

The room was unnaturally quiet. It was just you and Neuhaus, your unsteady breaths echoing loudly while the other Tamer stood, silent. A good minute passed before either of you spoke; you were somewhat surprised when he broke the silence first. 

“Now, do it again.”

You faintly wondered if you’d ever get to the point of having used so much scar cream that your skin would become immune to it. Now, lying on the floor of classroom 4A, you thought that the skin of your thumb might scar over just to spite you. A pair of boots approached, and you held up a bleeding hand. 

“Don’t stab me, I’m just catching my breath.”

You accepted the hand which extended towards you, then hoisted yourself up off the floor. Stumbling a bit initially, you steadied yourself before you could fall back over. A wave of nausea came over you, and you groaned. “Shit.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could just barely see his hand twitch towards the EpiPen. Neuhaus waited until you looked stable enough not to fall on your face, then took a step back. You collapsed heavily into one of the few chairs which had escaped your familiar’s wrath. 

“Same time next week?”

Hs eyebrow quirked. “Will you be prepared for the demonstration on Tuesday?”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Sure,” you gasped, “never been better.” There was a pause in which you took in another heavy breath. “You’ll let me know in advance about the number of Tamers?”

Neuhaus nodded. His class would take place on Monday, plenty of time for him to shoot you a message about how many participants to expect. A part of you hoped that there wouldn’t be any at all so that both Mephisto and his schemes could fuck off out of your afternoon. You weren’t counting on it, though. 

Twisting your wrist, you noted the time. “We have another ten minutes.”

His answering look was tinged with skepticism. “Can you stand?”

Taking in another breath, you pulled yourself together and rose heavily from the chair. By this point he knew better than to argue with your stubbornness; he simply turned his focus towards whatever nugget of wisdom he was about to impart. Having expected him to dive into another lecture, his beginning words surprised you. 

“Your willpower is commendable.” His cool gaze met yours. “As is your composure. Were it not for your faulty bond, you would have long been promoted.”

It was amazing how he could manage to make a compliment sound so backhanded. Despite this, it was hard not be pleased at receiving praise from an exorcist so well-respected. Your lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Thank you.”

He plowed on as though you’d never spoken at all. “Your dependency on your familiar weakens you. Until you have asserted complete authority over it, I suggest you practice summoning others.”

You swallowed a nasty remark. “Few Tamers have the ability to successfully summon a variety of demons.”

“Few attain the rank of Upper First Class.”

A tense silence followed. The meaning of his words had been all too clear, and it was hard not to let yourself be rankled by his authoritative tone. Neuhaus might have been the best Tamer True Cross could boast of, but you weren’t exactly wet behind the ears yourself. You had over twenty years of experience under your belt, and for all his talk of control and authority you’d never been a liability on the field. It was difficult to take such blunt critique with a smile, especially coming from one of your peers.

He exhaled. “Begin small, if you must: Coaltars, goblins, lower-level demons which can be easily controlled.”

Something about his words made you stand to attention. “Goblins?”

His nod was slightly impatient. “Rats, mice, moles-”

“Birds?”

The question had been spoken contemplatively, almost lightly, but it caused Neuhaus to stop dead in his tracks. The other exorcist levelled you with a stony gaze, his expression completely unreadable as he stared at where you were thoughtfully staring back. A second passed, and then he spoke. 

“No.”

You were not so easily dissuaded. “But they could, couldn’t they? If not by goblins, then by what?”

Another second passed. “Ghouls,” he gruffly responded. “The corpse of any animal can play host to them.”

An answering hum resounded lowly in your throat. Your eyes were keenly observant as they met his; it was as though some wordless shift had taken place in the atmosphere between you, something sharper, almost dangerous surfacing in the way you eyed each other. 

At that exact moment, the bell chimed, and the both of you were reminded of who and where you were. Grabbing your coat, you shrugged it on. “I’ll see you Tuesday for the course.”

There was no need for him to respond. You unlocked the door, leaving it open behind you, and exited out into the hallway. All this you did in an unaffected manner, but you could feel the eyes burning holes in your back all the way down the corridor. 

It being a Sunday, there were no classes to teach; you briefly considered stopping by the Director’s office to discuss your suspicions, but something held you back. Despite his apparent willingness to help you, you couldn’t rid yourself of your initial impression that the demon could not be trusted. 

Your phone lay heavily in your pocket, and you realised that you’d promised Tachi details of last night’s events. Despite that being the case, you felt no desire to do so immediately. Though only minutes ago you’d been on the verge of exhaustion, there was no fatigue dragging you down as you strode through the Academy now. You stopped to wait on a group of students passing by, and a familiar face caught your eye.

“Mr. Okumura.” 

Yukio Okumura paused where he had been heading towards the old dormitories. Turning, he wore an unreadable expression. “Ms. L/N.”

You wordlessly fell into step beside him. “Is everything in order for this week’s boot-camp?”

It wasn’t in your nature to make small talk, however the other exorcist could hardly comment on it. His father may have been Paladin, but you still held seniority over Yukio and thus were well within your rights to ask about his class. Still, his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, it is.” Then, perhaps realising that this might have come across as curt, he continued: “Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?”

“I suppose you will be reusing the model from last year?”

Rounding the corner, you passed a couple of girls who giggled upon seeing Okumura. The boy tried to pretend not to see them, but a flush dusted across his face. “Pardon?”

The same two girls blanched when they noticed your severe expression. “Last year’s instructor decided that the cram school students should sleep, eat and study in the same space to foster a sense of community while preparing for the exam.” Your brow wrinkled. “Of course, with this year’s student count being as high as it is, I suppose there are fewer viable spaces for such an initiative.”

“Actually, we’ll be in one of the old dorm buildings.”

The two of you had come to an intersection in the hallways. His words made you look at him sharply. “Which one?”

His answering expression told you that he was unsure as to why you were taking such an interest. “Near the west side of campus, where I-” He corrected himself: “Where my brother and I live.”

That same bad feeling settled between your ribs. You took a moment to think your next words over.

“How is your brother?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed again, and you suddenly were faced with the full force of Yukio Okumura’s suspicion. His answer was clipped, tone completely monotone. “Rin’s fine.”

There was a hint of warning there; warning against what, you didn’t know, but it was obviously a touchy subject. The younger exorcist was looking at you like you had suddenly become a threat, his proverbial hackles were definitely raised. You let the subject drop, sending him a nod before making your way down the adjacent hallway. 

Okumura, Okumura, Okumura: It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that his name kept popping up in connection with odd situations. Why were he and his brother practically quarantined from the other students? Why were they subject to demonic observation? You couldn’t dismiss Neuhaus’ odd reaction when asked about the bird; you hadn’t even referenced it directly, but you’d had the distinct impression he knew exactly what you were talking about. If that were the case, how was he involved and why? 

For the life of you you couldn’t think of a reason for him to take any special interest in the boy; Rin Okumura was perhaps slightly above average in practical coursework, but decidedly below when it came to theory or anything that he found boring. The fifteen year-old was easily excitable and a constant stream of chatter, not exactly qualities you thought your colleague would find endearing. 

Whatever he was doing, there had to be a reason. Despite your misgivings towards his abrasive personality, Igor Neuhaus was one of True Cross’ most respected exorcists, not to mention the best Tamer out of the bunch. You held immense professional respect towards the man and it was hard to imagine him involved with anything nefarious, especially in connection with a student. 

As solid as this reasoning may have been, your instincts would not let you dismiss the matter. The cogs in your mind turned rapidly as you made your way back to your quarters; Tachi and Mephisto could wait for the moment, you were in no state to talk to anyone. 

Sitting in the middle of the floor on crossed legs, a frown splayed over your lips. There was complete silence while you let your mind work; the door was locked and windows bolted shut. Outside, the sun shone, but this completely escaped your notice as you stared at the floor in concentration. 

It wasn’t clear how much time passed like this, but you eventually moved, placing one hand palm-up in front of you. The sigil bore flecks of dried blood, but was otherwise untouched. Another long moment passed, then you drew your sword. Dried turned to fresh, and hints of silver began to creep from your palm…

Chapter Text

Kamiki and Moriyama. 

You received this rather succinct message just as you had dismissed one of your afternoon classes. The number was unfamiliar, but you didn’t need Caller ID to know who it was from. 

The news caused an uncharacteristic smile to flicker across your lips. Kamiki and Moriyama: The two girls could not have been any less alike. It would be interesting to see what familiars they had chosen for themselves; you were particularly looking forward to finding out what sort of demon shy, timid Shiemi had summoned. The girl in question had not struck you as the assertive sort, but maybe that would change now that she had a skill which set her apart. Aside from all that, you took a more personal sort of pride in the fact that the only Tamers out of this year’s batch were girls. 

Glancing at your watch, you noted the time. You were holding an early evening study course for the older students training for exams, but that was a good two hours from now. The practical thing to do would be to review the coursework for tomorrow - now that you knew how many students to expect - but you made no move towards your quarters. Instead you stood there, frozen like a statue at the head of the hallway. A passing student shot you a confused look, but you didn’t even see them; your eyes were distant, fixed upon nothing as you stared into empty space. 

Then, suddenly, you sprung into movement. Students moved out of the way of your determined stride towards the other end of the school; anyone who’d attended one of your classes did their best to stay on your good side, leading to the almost comical sight of the sea of students hurriedly parting as you stalked down the hallway. You chose the first doorway out of sight from the masses and inserted your key into the lock. 

On the other side, you stepped into the foyer of True Cross’ Archival Room. The name was misleading: It wasn’t so much a room as a never-ending maze of files and (more recently) computer records on everything from the various departments’ bookkeeping to the personal files of every student who had ever walked its halls. He’d never confirmed it, but you had a feeling that Mephisto had had a hand in making it as impossibly difficult to navigate as possible; the only people who could easily find their way around it were the Archivists - or, more accurately, the Archivist (singular) and her peppy apprentice. Finding yourself at the mercy of the former, you heaved an internal sigh. 

“Hello, Mrs. Akiyama.”

The older woman glanced up from her work with a frown, the beads connected to her eyeglasses swaying with the movement. This frown did not budge upon glimpsing you; knowing not to engage in meaningless small talk, you got straight to the point: “I need to check the personal files of two students.”

She didn’t even blink. “Do you have clearance?”

It took all of your composure not to cuss the old lady out. “Yes,” you tersely replied, drawing the badge which you had shown her over a dozen times already. She leaned forward, peering through her glasses before giving a reluctant sigh. 

“Names?”

“Okumura, Rin and Yukio.”

The Archivist gave a little scoff as she rose from her desk and started off into the maze. “You and the rest of Japan.”

Her words made you frown. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t immediately respond, and you were forced to pay attention to the many twists and turns she was leading you through. Shelves and shelves of filing cabinets stretching from floor to ceiling surrounded you on all sides. The only source of light down here were the harsh fluorescents; if you didn’t succumb to the maze, the headache those terrors triggered would finish you off. 

Pausing in front of a certain cabinet, she pulled out one of the drawers and promptly presented you with two files. “I’ve learned their location by heart.” Her acidic voice rang out, eyes squinting mistrustfully at you. “Hard not to, what with the crowd that’s been clamouring for them.”

You didn’t even glance at the files you’d taken from her grasp. “There have been others asking for these files?”

Another little huff left her. “Everyone with proper clearance has had a look at that file, and many without have tried. You’d think members of the staff would have better things to do.”

You ignored the barb; your eyes gleamed sharply as you stared at the other woman. “When did this happen?”

“Not long ago,” she replied, “right before the school year began.” Then, as though deciding whether or not to tell you more, she eyed you. “I disapprove of all this fuss about the son of a celebrity.”

“A celebrity?” you echoed. “You mean Shiro Fujimoto?”

Her answering expression was not amused. “Of course, who else?” The bundle of keys at her waist jingled as she passed by you. “I’ll return in five minutes, don’t touch anything else while you’re here.”

Again you bit back the urge to say something crude. Well aware of your limited time, you cracked open the first file and began to read about Yukio Okumura, Exorcist Middle First Class. There was little there you didn’t know: Under the tutelage of his adoptive father, he’d become the youngest Exorcist in True Cross’ history. He notably held not one, but two Meisters and had scored the highest out of any student on this year’s entrance exam. 

You quickly scanned through the rest. Something compelled you to move on to the next file and, with three minutes remaining, you began to read about the other half of the Okumura twins. Most of it held little significance: His less-than-stellar academic history, his track record of getting in trouble. The fact that he and his brother had fallen under the Director’s guardianship when Fujimoto died was interesting, but more so because you couldn’t imagine Mephisto being fully responsible for anyone’s children, much less those of the former Paladin. Then, just as you were about to turn the page, your hand froze. 

You stared at it. Your fingers were already slotted in between the current page and the next, but the paper wouldn’t budge; it was as though some invisible force had glued them together. Pressed for time, you shot a glance towards Mrs. Akiyama’s desk before discreetly drawing your sword. The blade sliced neatly between the pages, but as soon as you turned from one to the next, the entire file blazed red-hot against your hand. 

Dropping it with a curse, you rubbed the blistering palm against your jacket and stared at where the file lay innocently on the floor. When the Archivist rounded the corner a moment later, the file cabinet was closed and everything lay in its original place. The older woman took a moment to scrutinize you, then checked to see that the file was intact. 

She glanced back up at you. “I could have told you that you wouldn’t find what you were looking for, none of them have.”

You decided to take advantage of her uncharacteristic chattiness. “What’s that?”

The older woman shrugged. “Whatever it is, half of your colleagues want to find it.”

“What about Neuhaus?”

Her gaze suddenly sharpened. You knew you’d taken a risk by asking for information so directly; now it seemed that she was weighing whether or not to grant your request. She crossed her arms over her chest and slightly jutted out her chin. “Igor Neuhaus was the first to request access.”

This was confirmation of what you’d already suspected. Before you could think about it for too long, the other woman spoke up again. “Whatever you’re seeking, L/N, leave it be.” A wrinkled finger tapped against your closed fist. “There’s a reason those measures are put into place.”

As usual, there was no fooling True Cross’ resident Archivist. You let yourself be led back to the foyer without comment, though you did toss a glance behind you at the rows of shelves. 

Your evening class passed without incident, although you were fairly sure your older batch of students were very quickly nearing a state of total burnout. You’d initially offered a course so that they’d feel a little more prepared, but all it seemed to do was intensify the prominent atmosphere of stress. Still, you did your best, and by the time the last of our students shuffled out of the classroom you were ready to sack out on your bed. Before you could even think about heading towards your quarters, your phone pinged with a new message. 

Breach of wards near west dormitories, no serious injuries sustained but exorcism unsuccessful. Request for immediate backup. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach at the same time that you quickly used your key on the nearest door. When you stepped into the common room of the old dormitory, you were confronted with the sight of the entire cram class. A quick scan told you that no one was seriously harmed, although Paku lay on a cot in the corner and Rin Okumura looked more than a little worse for wear. Everyone looked up at your entrance. 

Yukio Okumura stepped forward, and you gruffly addressed him: “What’s the situation?”

“A Naberius managed to make it into the girl’s bathrooms,” he reported, the lines of worry on his face only minutely softened by the presence of backup. “Rin and Ms. Moriyama managed to hold it off until I arrived, but it escaped through one of the windows. I had everyone gather here until the perimeter could be searched.”

“A Naberius?” Your voice was very flat. Glancing back towards the students, your lips thinned into a straight line. “You stay here until the others arrive, then conduct a thorough search of this building as well as the neighbouring dormitories. I’ll leave immediately and try to catch up with the attacker.” 

He didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded. There was a noise of surprise somewhere behind you when you unsheathed your sword, but you took no heed of your audience as you drew blood and activated the summoning sigil. 

Kaze caught you when you jumped out of the nearest window. Silver mist gleamed like a beacon against the dark sky; the Sylph had her arms hooked under yours to hold you steady while you glid around the buildings, eyes scanning your surroundings. The demon couldn’t have gotten very far, but so far there was no sight of it. You were sure that more backup had arrived by now; it would probably be a better use of your time to circle back and help them search the dorms. 

At that exact moment, you caught something out of the corner of your eye. Further towards the west edge of campus, near where you had been sent to deal with the Koks, a dark silhouette stood out against its surroundings. It didn’t move a muscle as you approached; you gracefully stepped onto the edge of the building and came face to face with Neuhaus. 

You silently stared at each other. Behind you, Kaze moved with the wind, her luminous form casting deep shadows across your faces. The breeze carded gently through your hair, but the two of you were as still as statuettes. 

“There was a breach in the old boy’s dormitories.” Your voice was low and filled with something softly dangerous as you gazed at the other exorcist. “Doubtless that is where you were headed.”

He didn’t respond. Your eyes flickered from his face to his sleeve, then to the white bandages wrapped around his hand. They moved back to his blank expression, and he finally spoke. 

“You should not be scanning the perimeter on your own.”

Your hand rested lightly on the hilt of your sword. “Did you see the demon escape?”

For the first time, his gaze moved away from your face and towards the distant dormitories. Another long moment of silence passed. 

“It was a Naberius,” Your voice rang out; he turned his head slightly towards the sound. The words lingered for a second longer before you continued to speak: “We strengthened those wards only recently. Someone let it in.”

“Is that an accusation, L/N?” His voice was filled with a deadly sort of calm. 

“Just an observation.”

Something uninterpretable flashed across his expression. “Continue your observing,” he cooly commanded, “you’ll find no demon here.”

You didn’t doubt the truth of his statement. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of the blood dripping from the cuff of his sleeve. 

By the time you arrived back at the dorms, Yukio had left the students in charge of a different exorcist in order to help with the search. Entering the common room once more via the window, you ascertained the current state of things with the woman in question before turning your attention towards the students. Your eye fell on a thatch of bright blue hair. 

Rin Okumura looked a little uneasy as you silently approached; he and Moriyama were sitting together on one of the mats, looking up at where you’d halted near them. After a second, you addressed them. 

“Mr. Okumura, Ms. Moriyama.” Your gaze passed over the scratches littering the boy’s face and arms. “You’re lucky to be alive.” After a second’s consideration, you added: “Good job.”

Okumura immediately perked up at the praise and Moriyama flushed a deep shade of red. Before either of them could say anything, you continued. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

You listened intently to the story they told: How they had heard the girls’ screams, discovering the Naberius, Rin holding it off while Shiemi tended to Paku’s wound. You had not interrupted them a single time while they spoke; now, your brow furrowed, you waited a moment longer. 

Finally, you glanced up at the two students. “Did it say anything?”

Moriyama stared at you in confusion, but you saw the blood drain from Okumura’s face. “Say anything?” he stuttered, “Why would it say anything, other than the freaky noises it made?”

“Naberius are one of the few types of ghouls that can talk, albeit not very well.” Your gaze was unrelenting. “You’re sure it didn’t speak?”

After a moment, you knew you had won. “Well,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “maybe it did say something about doing the bidding of its master, but I didn’t catch all of it.” 

Moriyama whipped her head to the side and stared at him. “Rin!” she exclaimed, “That could be important, why didn’t you tell this to Yuki?”

You presumed ‘Yuki’ meant the other Okumura. Rin’s face reddened with a nervous flush. “I forgot, ok!”

The girl’s expression immediately turned apologetic. “I’m sorry Rin, it’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You cleared your throat, and both students looked at you. For the first time, your expression showed a hint of strain. “Thank you, Mr. Okumura. That is the extent of my questions.” Your eyes rested on Shiemi. “Ms. Moriyama.” 

Even after the events of the night, her expression was filled with such bright optimism. Usually those sorts of people drained you, but you found yourself looking down at her with an air of consideration. After a moment’s deliberation, you continued to speak. 

“Tamers are rare amongst exorcists, but it's rarer still for a Page to possess such innate initiative when it comes to their craft.” You paused, observing the way she had begun to glow. A sense of resignation settled over you at the knowledge that, if you said your next words, there was no way you’d be able to maintain a guise of disinterest towards your students. 

Her eyes were practically shining already, and you decided to bite the bullet. “I was pleased to hear that you possessed the ability,” you stated, “and I will be anticipating your participation in tomorrow’s class.”

Swiftly turning on one heel so as to avoid any joyous outbursts, you made your way to the other end of the room where Yukio Okumura had just returned. You gave him a nod. “No sight of the Naberius.”

His shoulders slumped. “We were unable to find any clues as to how it got past the wards. It’s unfortunate, but these things do happen.”

“Do they?” His brow furrowed at the edge to your voice. There was distinct strain in the way your jaw was clenched, your lips tugged into a frown as you levelled the exorcist in front of you with a piercing stare. “They shouldn’t.”

The boy bristled. “I got there as quickly as I could-”

“I’m sure.” Your expression became slightly less harsh as you gazed at the young exorcist. Despite his qualifications, he was only a teenager, and at that moment he looked his age more than ever. Your eyes flickered between him and his twin brother. “Watch over your students, Mr. Okumura,” you finally said. “Someone is playing a dangerous game.”

It was dark. That was the first thing you noticed, the overwhelming darkness which flooded the entire room. Your right hand stung with a familiar ache, but all you could focus on was the sound of something coming closer, closer, closer…

Everything blurred into a mess of sensation. The dream was gradually slipping away from you, images flashing across your vision before disappearing into the void. You grasped at them, but they slipped through your fingers as soon as they’d begun. Someone was fighting, you knew it, someone who you would recognize if you could just wait a little longer-

The Naberius reared back, and you’d only just caught a glimpse of Rin Okumura’s alarmed expression when the entire scene burst into blue, blue flames. 

Chapter Text

“You cannot allow Neuhaus to take part in the exam.”

It was two o’clock in the morning, an early hour even for demons who don’t necessarily require sleep. Behind his desk, Mephisto was bundled in a fluffy, rose-coloured morning robe. His hands curled around a take-away coffee cup, and he occasionally sipped at its vanilla-flavoured contents. His appearance was in stark contrast to yours: Underneath your long coat and dark boots, you wore a pair of utilitarian pajamas. 

The Director took another sip. “Whyever not?”

Your eyes narrowed in a decidedly hostile expression. Leaning forward, you laid the facts before him: “His behaviour over the last week has been alarming, if not downright unstable. He has been stalking a student, Rin Okumura, and I am almost completely sure that he had something to do with last night’s attack.”

“Indeed?”

“The night before, I dreamt of him summoning a Naberius. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but both the timing and the circumstances fit. You know that those wards wouldn’t let a mid-level demon through, not when you had us strengthen them at the beginning of term.” Your lips were pulled into a severe frown as you spoke. “Someone had to have summoned it and, other than myself, he’s the only Exorcist at True Cross who could have. Add that to the fact that I found him immediately in the area with bloody hands, and you practically have a conviction.”

Mephisto had listened pleasantly enough thus far, but his answer to your expectant pause was not at all what you had been hoping. “But you don’t, do you?”

You stared at him. “What?”

“You don’t have a conviction.” His lips parted in a lazy smile. “For that, you would need definite proof.”

Your expression became tinged with disbelief. For a long moment, you simply gaped at the Director. “Is this some sort of joke?” you finally managed. “The evidence against him is damning, and you haven’t had any issue believing my ‘visions’ until now!” 

He covered a yawn. “Ms. L/N,” he began, “any accusations of this weight against a senior member of the faculty have to be based on actual, solid proof, not dreams and conjecture. As interesting as your theory is-”

Your hands slammed on the desk. 

“We are talking about children!” Your face was inches from his as you visibly seethed. “Students who you hold responsibility for and whose lives are repeatedly being endangered. Noriko Paku very nearly died last night, and there’s no telling what would have happened had Okumura not intervened.” 

He spread his hands in a shrug, not in the least affected by your fiery words. “Unfortunate as last night’s events may have been, I see no reason anyone should be harmed in today’s exam.”

“Let me summon the demon,” you pleaded, having realised that your former tactic was getting you nowhere. “I can do it just as well as Neuhaus, and then the exam can take place as planned.”

A flicker of amusement showed in his expression. “Igor Neuhaus holds seniority over you, my dear. I’d be accused of favouritism if I usurped him for your agenda.” 

You could have strangled him right there and then. “My agenda,” you hissed, “is to keep Rin Okumura alive, not to obtain a promotion!”

“Is this stubborn belief that the boy will be harmed by any chance the result of another dream?”

At this point, you were staring him down from where you towered over the desk. His words, spoken so unconcernedly, only intensified the daggers you were shooting the demon. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that trying to kill your employer would not be a good career move. 

“Something very bad is going to happen to him. Everything has been pointing to it for weeks, and last night…” You exhaled. “Last night, I saw him consumed by blue fire.”

Mephisto’s eyes lit up immediately. “Really?” he crooned, leaning forward on his elbows. At this point, your faces were inches apart. “Now that is very intriguing.”

“It’s satanic,” you snapped. “Something is after that boy, and Neuhaus is actively trying to help it.”

“My dear,” The Director did not seem particularly moved by this conclusion, “if you’re so worried about it, you’re welcome to act as an additional supervisor.” His fangs glinted in another smile. “We’ll be watching every second of the Certification Exam, I assure you that nothing can happen to our treasured students as long as we’re there.”

Amazingly, this did not inspire you with confidence. You observed the demon sharply; Mephisto looked the same as always, though at that moment he let out an exaggerated yawn. He crossed one leg over the other, and you noted that he was wearing plush slippers with rabbit ears. It took a good second or two for it to sink in that he really wasn’t going to do anything at all, at which point you pulled away from the desk. 

“I will.” Your voice was heated. “And, so help me God, if that boy dies-”

“Better not to think of such a tragic, yet unlikely scenario.”

“-I will take things into my own hands.”

He pleasantly smiled. “Is that a threat, Ms. L/N?”

The doors were already slamming behind you. The sound of your heavy boots echoed loudly throughout the empty corridors; the sound of muttered cursing followed shortly behind. Passing by a secluded niche, you let your hands slam against the wall. “Fuck!”

Had anyone been around to witness it, you might have regretted the sudden outburst; as it was, you were alone, and all that could be heard in the total silence were your heavy breaths. A second later, you straightened, your mask of composure fully intact. If anyone had happened to look out of their rooms, all they would have seen would be a teacher taking an unusually timed walk. What they wouldn’t have seen was the way your thoughts were whirling, mind running at a thousand miles per hour as you tried to decide on a plan…

It wasn’t every day that you taught class with a man you’d accused of attempted murder. You and Neuhaus had, irritatingly enough, arrived at almost the exact same time in order to prepare for class; this had given you very little time to mentally steel yourself for the next fifty minutes. 

There had been no acknowledgement of last night’s events: He’d greeted you, you’d greeted him, and you’d set to work on clearing the room. If it was weird to see him at all, then it was even weirder to see him do something as mundane as push chairs and tables around a classroom; despite knowing that he was unlikely to suddenly jump you, you found it highly unsettling to be in such close proximity and for him to do nothing. 

Ten minutes before class was set to start, Moriyama trotted through the door. She looked a little nervous at being the only person there, but it was overshadowed by the enthusiasm which lit up her expression as soon as she glimpsed you. 

“Good morning Ms. L/N!” She bobbed in a bow, and then turned her attention to your colleague and repeated the gesture. “Mr. Neuhaus!”

For a second, the two of you wore exactly the same expression. His lips thinned into a polite smile. “Ms. Moriyama.”

Had you been a lesser woman, your jaw would have fallen on the floor. For the last two months, the most you’d gotten out of him was a backhanded compliment, and he actually smiled at his regular students? It hit you with a start that either A: He toned down the unfriendly persona when around teenagers who might actually be scared by it, or B: He was specifically a dick to you. 

You had the feeling it might actually be a mixture of both. Remembering your manners, you forced a smile even less warm than his had been. “Good morning, Ms. Moriyama; you’re very punctual.”

Even that little bit of praise made her visibly light up. “Oh, I wouldn’t be late! After what you said last night, and getting the opportunity to train under two such amazing Tamers-” Realising that she had begun to ramble, she flushed. “I’m really looking forward to today’s lesson!”

Her enthusiasm was endearing. You were starting to like Moriyama; in a hesitant, somewhat wary way. Anyone with that much energy unsettled you, but the girl was growing on you. In any case, she was better company than the room’s other occupant. You sent her a slightly more genuine smile. 

“I’m glad to hear that.”

At your side, Neuhaus shot you a look. Perhaps he, too, was thinking something along the lines of how you’d felt upon seeing him interact with a student.

Moriyama insisted on helping with any final preparations, which is how you found yourself watching her copy various sigils from a textbook onto the chalkboard. Neuhaus was busy doing the same but larger on the floor behind you; every so often, you could hear the sound of his compass scratching against the flooring. It was really a ridiculous-looking device. You rarely summoned anything other than Kaze and she required no fancy spellwork; you couldn’t imagine lugging that thing from class to class, much less using it on an actual battlefield. 

At five minutes past the time class was supposed to start, the door closed heavily behind Kamiki. She was clearly out of breath from running; this state of agitation did not improve upon seeing that Moriyama had already arrived. You half expected some cutting remark, but all the girl did was awkwardly flush. 

“I’m so sorry Mr. Neuhaus, Ms. L/N. I lost track of time, and…”

Neuhaus frowned, but you spoke before he could. “That’s alright, Ms. Kamiki, put your things to the side and join us.”

From what the students had told you last night, Kamiki had been in the thick of the fight. If the worst trauma she’d sustained was that which caused her to come five minutes late to class, you could count yourself as grateful. It was true that she didn’t seem her usual self; her usual confidence was nowhere to be seen, and you observed with faint concern how she couldn’t even look at Moriyama. Shit, this was going to be a problem. 

It did not take long for it to come to light just how big of a problem it would be. You’d barely passed out the summoning sigils when the girl froze, her eyes filled with something akin to horror as she stared at the piece of paper. Moriyama already had a baby greenman (you should have known) perched on her shoulder when she turned smilingly to where her classmate had turned to stone. 

“Show them yours, Ms. Kamiki, it’s so amazing!”

She still hadn’t moved, but the sound of Shiemi’s words made her expression scrunch slightly. Faint concern turned to rapid alarm when you saw the tears well in her eyes. Stepping hurriedly back, Kamiki pushed the paper away. “Excuse me,” Her voice was strained, “I have to use the bathroom.”

With that, she ran from the room. Moriyama watched her with wide eyes, likely wondering what on earth she had said. You and Neuhaus exchanged a glance. In that split second, an entire discussion took place, and you briefly cursed the fact that you were a woman. Biting the inside of your cheek, you moved towards the door. 

“I’ll be right back, go ahead and continue.”

You would have much rather guided Moriyama through her newfound abilities than chase down crying girls to the women’s restroom, but Neuhaus was unfortunately not in a position to fulfil the latter obligation. Let him comfort the angsty teenager, you thought, since he’s so chummy with his students. It turned out that he could have performed the task after all: You didn’t make it more than a few steps in the direction of the bathrooms when you caught a flash of purple in a neighbouring classroom. Cursing yourself once more, you tentatively approached. 

Her head jerked up when you lightly rapped your knuckles against the door. Her eyes were red, and the sniffling coming from her nose told you that she had, indeed, been crying. A feeling of awkwardness washed over you as you approached, but you refused to let it show.

You drew out a chair at her side. She had yet to say anything; in her place, you would have been horribly uncomfortable as well. Hell, you were uncomfortable even now. You gave her a second to adjust to your presence before you spoke.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Kamiki?”

She sniffled again, but didn’t meet your eyes. “I can’t be a Tamer.”

Suppressing your initial urge to stare at her in confusion, you reevaluated the situation. The four words on their own didn’t tell you a lot, but you had the sneaking feeling it had something to do with last night. You tried to decide on the best way to approach this.

“Why not?”

Finally, she looked right at you. Her expression was faintly disdainful even amidst her distress, but you could tell it wasn’t aimed at you. “I don’t have it in me, I can’t even keep control of my familiars!” Her voice rose in volume as it rose in pitch. “Last night, I couldn’t do anything!”

Ah, so that was it. She seemed to regret the outburst; another flush coloured her face while she gradually deflated. Her arms crossed over her chest. “Moriyama was the one who saved Paku, she didn’t even hesitate to run and help us.”

“What Ms. Moriyama did has no bearing on whether or not you can be a Tamer.”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance, but you spoke again before she could get a word in. “It’s true that you faltered; maybe you could have done more, but you didn’t. You didn’t, because you were scared and inexperienced and because you were unsure of yourself. Had you not ripped up the summoning circle, it is very possible that you might have been seriously hurt.”

“However,” you continued, “those things have nothing to do with your competence, and everything to do with the fact that you were an adolescent faced with a situation which would make most adults falter as well.” Your expression softened slightly. “Do you think none of us have ever been scared?”

She stared at you, and you watched her ire gradually fade. “I can’t control them.”

“Not now,” you agreed, “but you will, when you have been taught how. Were you born knowing how to read?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Your palm turned over in a meaningful gesture. “Do not reject talents which you have not yet even begun to understand. Few can do what we do, Ms. Kamiki, ours is not an ability to be cast away on a whim.”

With that, you stood, looking down at where she sat. “I will return to the classroom, I suggest you do the same when you are ready."

A part of you wondered whether you had been too harsh, but something told you that the girl in front of you would not have responded well to a sappy, heartfelt speech about perseverance and the unlocked potential in us all. Besides, any attempt you would have made at such a speech would have been more uncomfortable than inspiring, so you settled for the truth, however harsh it might be. 

It turned out to have been the right decision; a mere five minutes after you’d entered the classroom, Kamiki followed, her head held high and face bearing little to no trace of her previous tears. You acknowledged her presence without comment.

“Now, Ms. Moriyama, show me what you did last night…”

It was quickly becoming very apparent that you and your colleague subscribed to different philosophies when it came to your craft. He was not as blunt with the students as he was with you (again, you weren’t sure if he did it on purpose), but his language stayed mostly the same. A few times you had to hold yourself back from objecting to something he said; the only reason you stopped yourself was out of respect for another teacher and the fact that you weren’t eager to ramp up the antagonism between you. If it had been you alone teaching this course, you would have put more emphasis on learning to understand one’s familiar and its quirks rather than learning to squash those quirks completely in the pursuit of total control. 

You let it rest for now. You would have plenty of opportunity to present your own outlook after the Certification Exam when Neuhaus would return to his more advanced classes, leaving you as the girls’ sole instructor. Their training would have to go beyond the regular combat class, maybe you could arrange for a change in their schedule so that the three of you could meet for an extra hour…

“-outside of class and emergencies, do not attempt to summon your familiars.” Neuhaus’ voice was stern, leaving no room for dispute. “This ability is not something to be toyed with. Until you have reached a sufficient level of mastery, any contact with your familiar should be treated as potentially dangerous.”

You couldn’t fully suppress your wince. He wasn’t fully wrong, per se, but to phrase it like that was not the key to encouraging productive collaboration between Tamer and familiar; if the girls were too scared to summon them, then there was no way for them to become more attuned to their familiars' nature. Moriyama seemed to understand her greenman pretty well already, but Kamiki had experienced harsh rejection. Too much of Neuhaus’ cautionary approach, and she would end up stunted. 

Some of this dissatisfaction must have shown on your face: Barely blinking, he turned his focus to you. “Do you have something to add, Ms. L/N?”

Fuck. Now the attention of the entire room was on where you leant against the wall, arms crossed over your chest and expression hopefully not conveying the feeling of having just bit into a lemon. You met his gaze directly. 

“Although caution is commendable, I believe that an overabundance of it can lead to self-doubt.”

“Whereas lack of it can lead to death.”

His tone was just as flat as before, but you knew you didn’t imagine the glint of challenge in his eye. Fine, you thought, pushing yourself away from the wall, let’s do this. 

“Control stems from confidence in one’s ability, not fear of it. A Tamer should let their actions be guided by instinct, not by apprehension.”

“And yet,” he countered, mirroring your stance as he leant in, “confidence often falters in the chaos of combat. Instinct is only meant to keep you alive, not to ensure a victory.”

“As base as it may be,” you snarked, “the instinct to survive is not something to be ignored. Or would you recommend suppressing all instinct in favour of cold, calculated decision-making?”

In the middle of this rapidly escalating discussion, the students’ eyes flickered between you. On the other side of the argument, Neuhaus smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, too sharp and showing too much of his teeth to be considered anything even approaching friendly. You found it unsettling. 

“I would recommend,” he intoned, words slow and deliberate like a tightening noose, “that you rely less on dumb luck and more on technique.”

If it had lungs, the room’s would have frozen. Your usually impassive expression was undermined by the fire which had ignited in your eyes as you stared him down. In the silence which followed, you could have heard a pin drop. 

“Only a fool mistakes suppression for control.”

“And only a child interprets a lack of inhibition as self-expression.”

Somewhere in the background, you thought you heard Moriyama’s familiar let out a tiny noise of distress. You smiled, the upturned corners of your lips at odds with the pure malice which radiated from your eyes. “I wonder, Mr. Neuhaus,” Your voice was dangerously soft, “what will happen when you are faced with something you could not foresee. It must be terrifying, the thought of having to act by skill alone.”

Despite their fraught dynamic, the two girls exchanged a bewildered glance. 

“And I, Ms. L/N,” he replied, the undercurrent of his words decidedly heated, “when you are forced to use your head instead of relying on reckless impulse.”

You might have indulged in the reckless impulse which seized you as soon as the words left his lips had the school bell had not chosen that exact moment to ring. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the students slump with relief. With a crisp air of finality, you turned to them. 

“Excellent work today, ladies.” Your voice was as cool as it had ever been. “I will see you at the Certification Exam. Good luck, and don’t lose your heads.”

Neuhaus said something as well, but you couldn’t hear him above the blood rushing in your ears. The girls ducked into a quick bow before hurrying out of the classroom. As soon as the door had closed behind them, a weighty silence settled over the room. 

“You’ll be at the Certification Exam?”

You didn’t bother to look at him. “Yes.”

The single word rested in the air between you like the pressure before a storm; heavy, dense, the thrumming of something coursing through the atmosphere, something that warned of electricity, of lightning, of a force no one could control. The sound of his approaching footsteps caught your attention, and you finally turned. 

He stood in front of you, his expression devoid of that combative, almost aggressive air from before. Instead he gazed at you with a blankness so complete that it made you vaguely wonder if the other exorcist had a switch to turn his humanity on and off; did his control really reach that far? You’d heard of the calm before the storm, but this was different, this utter absence of anything which could warn you of his next move. You, whose instincts were so intrinsic to your survival, looked into the void which stared at you and found it infinitely more menacing than his previous show of antagonism. 

“That was not originally the case.”

Your own eyes were filled with cool defiance as you unflinchingly met his gaze. “I take a personal interest in the safety of my students.”

The two of you stood across from each other, taking no notice of the world around you as you stared each other down. His eye flickered to where your right hand had shifted towards the sword at your hip, then returned to your face. You might have imagined the slight upward twitch of his lips. “Do you not trust the other supervisors?”

“Have they given me a reason not to?”

Both of you knew that it wasn’t a real answer to his question. Your eyes just barely narrowed as you asked the question, and you noted that some of the blankness faded from his expression; suddenly, his lips curved into a smile that was neither pleasant nor particularly convincing. 

“I have no doubt that our students will benefit from the additional supervision. Have you already been assigned a partner?”

You eyed him warily. “No.”

“No? Perhaps the Director will assign you to join me in overseeing the summonings.” A sharp glint came into his eye even as his voice remained flat. “It might prove to be enlightening.”

“I’m not concerned with enlightenment as much as I am with making sure that no one gets hurt.” 

His brow just barely quirked. “Why should they?” Then, after a second: “You cannot imagine that I would lose control.”

“No,” you icily agreed, “whatever happens, I am sure it will be exactly what you intended.”

Chapter Text

“Your elbow’s in my ribcage.”

In the dark of the supply closet, Yamada pointedly jogged your arm with his. This movement caused you to knock against the other wall; you forcefully elbowed him back. “Is it?”

His irritated huff echoed through the small space alongside the sound of clothing on clothing as he tried to put some space between you. Given that you were two adults in a space intended for cleaning supplies and spare classroom materials, there wasn’t much room which hadn’t already been taken up by your cramped bodies. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you had about an inch between the walls; you were not prepared to go either in front of or behind the other exorcist (not that that would have afforded you much more room). A thunk resonated through the closet, followed closely by the sound of Yamada cursing. 

“Hit your head again?”

He almost caught you right in the face when he raised his hand to rub at the aching spot. “Why did you have to join at the last minute?” he complained. “I was supposed to be in here alone.”

You repressed your initial instinct to elbow him again. “I didn’t choose to be paired with you.”

From the peephole which afforded you a view of the room outside, you watched Yukio Okumura lecture his class on the merits of teamwork. You couldn’t hear much of what he said through the walls of the wooden closet, but that didn’t bother you; all you needed to know was that the exam would be beginning soon. The fact that they all looked equally miserable shouldn’t have cheered you up, but it was hard not to feel a little sadistic when you’d been trapped in a closet with Yamada for the last fifteen minutes. 

Speaking of, he let out another huff at your words. “Who else did you think you’d be stuck with? Everyone else was already in pairs!”

“Not everyone.”

You could imagine the eyeroll he gave in response to your stubborn answer. “Fine, not everyone, but Neuhaus always does this part of the exam on his own so he doesn’t count.” Your usually levelheaded friend seemed to become more irritable at such close proximity to you. “If Your Highness is so unhappy with my humble presence, she can hop out of the back door and go join him. Oh, wait,” His knuckles rapped pointedly against the back of the closet, “there is no back door!”

“Shh,” you hissed, having just observed the power go out. “It’s beginning!”

In the classroom, sudden lights flashed as the students pulled out their phones. You caught glimpses of their startled expressions; a little light came in through the windows, but otherwise the room was shrouded in darkness. A bit of movement caught your eye, and you stared mutely at the way Shima carelessly headed towards the door. This was not going to go well. 

Sure enough, there was a slight pause when he opened the door and came face-to-face with Neuhaus' creature. There was the sound of the door clicking gently shut again, and then all hell broke loose. 

You winced at the thought of what might have happened if this was not a practice combat situation; with his delayed reaction, the ghoul could have taken the opportunity to punch through the door and Shima, not just the former. It did not get much better after that: The students were too busy panicking at the huge demon which had somehow made it into the classroom that none of them noticed it preparing to attack; another round of screaming began when it spat black fluid throughout the room. You winced once more. 

An amused noise echoed from Yamada’s side of the closet. “Is this what you’ve been teaching them?”

At that exact moment, the room was overtaken by a flood of huge branches. The both of you stared in disbelief at the enormous display of power from Moriyama’s familiar, backdropped by the deafening noise of the branches cracking and twisting into place to form a barrier in front of the two demons. 

Your mouth curved into a wild grin. “Yes, it is.”

It was even more difficult to understand what the students were saying now that the ghouls were steadily breaking their way through the branches, all the while groaning their low noise. All you heard was the vague, panicked noise of them trying to figure what to do, and then Rin Okumura suddenly turned towards the door. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from cursing when he began to climb through the branches, in the direction of the enemy. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Did you teach that-” Your friend’s words abruptly cut themselves off when your hand grasped the handle of the closet; grabbing your wrist, he yanked it back. “You can’t go out there!”

In the dark, you pushed back. “He’s going to get himself killed!”

“If you exit now, the entire exam will be over, you can’t just-”

“Oh, for fuck’s-” 

A sharp noise echoed when you slapped his hand away, followed closely by the sound of you unsheathing your sword. Beside you, you felt Yamada jump. “What are you doing?”

He ducked from the spray of woodchips, cursing as the hilt of your sword thunked awkwardly against the wall next to his head. “What the fuck!”

You dug the blade further into the back of the closet, carving away at the ancient wood layer by layer. There was nowhere near enough room for the entirety of your sword so you were forced to hold it at an angle, your downward hacking movements lacking entirely in finesse. It stuck in one particularly stubborn bit of the grain and your brow furrowed as you tried to dig it out. 

Yamada had pushed himself as far into the corner as possible. “L/N, what in the actual-”

“I’m taking the back door,” you snapped, wrenching the blade free before resuming your onslaught. 

“We’re next to the wall.”

A horrible cracking sound could be heard as you grasped the last chunk of wood and wrestled it free. In the spot where it had previously been attached, only large enough for your foot to fit through, you could see the beige drywall. You began to slash at the surrounding wood. 

“You’re going to stab someone!” Yamada hissed. “Namely, me. There’s a reason you don’t use a sword in close quarters, especially in the dark!”

The closet shuddered when you tore a particularly large chunk from its back. The hole in the wood was now large enough for you to just squeeze through; using your sword as a makeshift (if totally shitty) saw, you pierced through the drywall and began the excruciatingly slow process of carving through its layers. The confined space soon began to fill up with fine particles of dust. 

“Y/N-” He tried one last time, but with a final heave and a well-aimed kick, you broke through the wall. It was a tight squeeze for you to swing feet-first through the hole; covered from head to toe with dust and debris, you rolled into the darkness of the hallway. 

Demonic plasma littered the ground in both directions. Swallowing a curse, you surveyed your options: Where would Okumura be likely to have led it? A light went off in your mind as you noticed the smaller footsteps; the boy had headed right, in the direction of the Equipment Room. 

Smart kid, you thought; return power to the building, and the lights would come on - flood the rooms with light, and the ghoul would be rendered powerless. Breaking into a sprint (and likely littering the area with splinters), you disregarded the boy’s path in favour of a shortcut you knew would get you there quicker. With every second that passed, you grew more and more anxious; at one point, the floor shook with the force of a great impact, causing you to stumble forward. It only took you a second to regain your bearings, but you knew all too well that a second could make the difference between life and death. Not bothering to brush the plasma off your clothes, you hotfooted it towards the source of the crash. 

Before you could make it to the room, the lights turned back on. You weren’t sure whether that was good or bad: Either Okumura was fine and had made it to the breaker panel, or something so horrible had happened that the exam was cut short. Finally glimpsing the sign on the door, you used your full weight to swing it open and came upon-

Nothing. 

Your heavy breathing echoed loudly in the empty room as your eyes took in their surroundings. Any thought that perhaps you’d been wrong about Okumura’s intentions was disproven by the state of the room: Plasma littered both the floor and walls, mingling with what looked like blood on the upper level. If that hadn’t worried you, your surveil of the lower level did: Your eyes caught sight of it, and you froze; scorch marks. 

The absence of a corpse gave you some hope. Still, as you retraced your steps to the outside, you realised that you’d only just missed whatever had happened: Traces of blood and ash pointed you down the other hallway, the longer route which Okumura would have taken from the classroom. There was no time to waste on prolonged investigation of the fight scene; once more, you spurred your legs into action. 

The hallways were eerily quiet, though as you neared the classroom you could gradually hear the sound of muffled talking. The door came into sight, and you’d just barely brushed your fingertips against the handle when something roughly grabbed your arm. 

For the last five minutes, you’d been in a state of high stress. For the last five minutes, you’d been completely ready to rush into a fight. For the last five minutes, every muscle in your body had been coiled in anticipation of having to act without thought. When you felt that hand on your arm, you didn’t think; you swung. 

A grunt of pain accompanied the dull sound of fist hitting skin. Pain flared across your knuckles at the same time that the hand released; with a hiss, the figure stepped back, and you realised with a start that it was Neuhaus. Blood had already begun to seep down the front of his face by the time he pinched the bridge of his nose, staining his mouth and jaw red. Fist still raised, you stared at him in disbelief. 

He spat blood onto the floor, and you snapped out of it. “What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same,” he snapped, voice muffled even as he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Do you make a habit of attacking other members of the staff?”

“What were you doing, sneaking up on me like that?” Then: “Where’s Rin Okumura?”

The annoyance in his expression was clear as day when he jerked a bloody hand towards the door. “Where do you think?”

The movement exposed more of the hand under his sleeve, and the blood-soaked bandages reminded you of why you were there in the first place. Shifting back into a defensive stance, you had yet to completely lower your hands. “I saw the state of the Equipment Room, just what exactly were you doing?”

His eye glinted with something dangerous, his head tilted up to lock gazes with you. “Following orders, of course. What were you doing there? As I recall, your role was to remain inside the classroom, out of sight from the students.”

You ignored the dig and took a menacing step towards him. “Whose orders, exactly?”

“What’s going on here?”

The both of you glanced to the side. Yukio Okumura stared at you, his eyes shifting from Neuhaus’ bloody nose to your state of disarray. For a moment, his eyes rested on a wood-chip embedded in your hair. Without so much as sharing a glance, the two of you stepped away from each other. 

“Nothing,” Neuhaus flatly bit out, the hand at his nose covering most of his blank expression. Yukio shifted his focus to you, and you sent him a sharp smile. 

“As he said, nothing at all.”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t look convinced. He looked once more between the two of you before his chest fell in a slight exhale. The exorcist checked his phone. “We’ve been given the signal to go in, the exam has concluded.” 

Your hand extended in a somewhat sarcastic gesture. “Be my guest.” 

The words lost some of their biting edge from the way your lungs were still trying to catch up with the rest of your body; they came out heavy, stilted, even. Shooting you one last look, Yukio replaced his phone and opened the door to the classroom. There was a moment where neither of you wanted to turn their back on the other in order to follow behind him; finally, brushing your palms on your coat, you stepped through the doorway, Neuhaus close behind. 

Yukio’s voice rang out with authority. “What’s going on here?”

The group of students gaped at him. A quick tally of the group told you that everyone was present, although a pang of worry shot through your chest when you saw Moriyama’s unconscious form. Just as quickly as they’d noticed him, the students’ eyes slid to you and Neuhaus on either side of Okumura. Rin especially seemed to lose all colour in his face, his eyes widening as soon as he caught sight of your colleague. 

“Yukio!” he cried, stepping towards his brother. “He’s an ene-”

Whatever he’d been about to say was transformed into an “oof” as a foot stepped on his back and shoved him to the floor. The bewilderment on your students’ faces only grew in intensity upon glimpsing the Director sailing down from a hole in the ceiling, his foot planted firmly on Rin’s back. 

“Oops, sorry!” He now hung from the ceiling rafters. “Hiya! Good work, Pages!”

Mephisto ignored their questions and exclamations of disbelief; snapping his fingers, he flashed his canines in a grin. “You don’t think I’d let a mid-level demon get in here, do you?”

The dramatic reveal of your colleagues emerging from their hiding spots was somewhat undermined by the sharp noise of surprise Mephisto gave upon seeing you. “Ms. L/N!” he exclaimed, drawing the attention of the entire room; his eyes bounced from you to your companion, then fractionally widened. 

“Mr. Neuhaus!” His tone was filled with barely suppressed glee as he glanced from Neuhaus’ bloody face to your general chaos. “But, however did you…”

At that exact moment, the wardrobe burst open. Yamada emerged, dusted with a shower of splinters and sawdust, the door wide open behind him so that the entire room could see the hole in the wall. You felt thirteen pairs of eyes shift from it, to you, to the absolute mess on the inside of the closet, then back to where Neuhaus had only just dropped his hand from his nose. The pair of you stood there rigidly, like twins in an unwilling circus act. Mephisto quickly snapped back into focus. 

“Doctors, please see to their injuries.” 

You tuned the rest of his talking out. Yukio had moved to check on his students as soon as the word was given, the others followed suit. One of your colleagues began to move towards Neuhaus, then thought better of it and changed direction. A hand landed on your shoulder, and you came face-to-face with Yamada’s furious expression. Uh-oh. 

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, voice low so as not to draw any attention. “Are you crazy or something?”

You were keenly aware of Neuhaus burning holes into the back of your head. “Look, I know how it seems-”

“Really?” His voice was arch with disbelief. “Because it seems like you hacked through the wall and then disappeared. What were you doing?” His eyes flickered over to Neuhaus, and his voice lowered even more. “And why does it look like you clocked Neuhaus in the face?”

“What brought you to that conclusion?”

The look he shot you was not amused. At that exact moment, you realised that a bruise had begun to bloom across your knuckles, turning them bright red against the black of your coat. You let your hand drop to your side. “It’s a long story.”

“Ms. L/N?”

Your attention was momentarily diverted by the soft call of your name. Turning, you met the gaze of one of the Doctors. He smiled sheepishly. “Do you need anything?”

Brushing a frizzed strand of hair out of your face, you tried to act as though you weren’t playing host to half of an ecosystem. “No, thank you, I’m alright.”

When you turned back, your friend’s ire had fractionally lessened. You tried for a smile, but all you got was another frown, albeit less heated than before. Yamada let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have to make my report, but don’t think we’re not discussing this afterwards.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shot you another look, but left without further comment. As you watched him make his way towards the others, a faint prickling rose on the back of your neck. 

Turning cool eyes on Rin Okumura, you wondered: You wondered how he had taken care of a ghoul all by himself, you wondered where the fire had come from and how he remained unscathed. You’d seen the scorch marks with your own eyes, had watched the fire consume him the night before, how could he stand there arguing with his brother like nothing had happened? 

Something obviously had. If nothing else, his reaction to Neuhaus’ presence had told you that much. How come the boy didn’t say anything more? The Director was his guardian, why didn’t he tell him? Why not inform his brother, who might not be in charge but who could definitely lodge a complaint? What could be so horrible, so compromising, that he would keep his teacher’s dangerous behaviour a secret?

It made your head hurt. Granted, that might have partially been due to the span of emotions you’d experienced in the past twenty minutes; the entire situation was one large headache. Delving into your students’ personal lives and motivations was not in your job description, but protecting them was. 

Your gaze flickered from the blue-haired boy to where Neuhaus was looking one of the other students over for injuries. It only took a second for him to glance up, and for a tense moment your eyes locked. You vaguely wondered what - if anything - your expression betrayed; his was inscrutable as usual, although you knew you didn’t imagine the increased air of hostility between you. His jaw was clenched, his face still bore flecks of dried blood. If he’d suspected your distrust of him before, now he knew for certain. You hadn’t laid all your cards on the table, but your hand was no longer hidden: You knew, he knew, the only thing neither of you knew for certain was the exact extent of the other’s knowledge. 

Your own jaw clenched in return. Indecision plagued you like a recurring illness; you’d tried - and failed - to intervene, where should you go from here? Mephisto had made it clear that he would not aid you, but you weren’t sure of your chances should it come to a full-fledged confrontation between you and the other exorcist. Your instincts told you that this was only the beginning: Whatever he hadn’t succeeded at today, he would try again tomorrow.

Following that line of reasoning, you should confront the issue as soon as possible. Had it been anyone else, you might have done just that. 

Something lurked underneath that impassive facade, something dark and powerful, just waiting to be unleashed. If he had strayed this far, then you had no idea of what he was capable of; going guns-a-blazing into a fight with someone who you suspected of working with demons wasn’t the best decision even when said person wasn’t one of the most skilled exorcists you knew. 

Your fingers curled into a fist, and you forced yourself to look away. You had to do something.

It felt wrong to be sitting on your bed at a time like this. 

Laying stiffly atop the mat, you stared at the ceiling and tried your best to quell the awkwardness you felt at the prospect of what you were about to do. The ticking of the clock on the corner only impressed the passing of time further upon you; with a wordless curse, you shut your eyes and began to speak. 

“Look, whoever you are,” Your tone, stilted and forced, showed just how little you were enjoying this task, “God, demon, higher being. I don’t understand how this all works, but I need you to show me what to do.” You shifted uncomfortably. “I need to see what he’s going to do next. A child’s life hangs in the balance, if that makes any difference. If this is demonic I know you won’t give a damn, but there’s got to be some reason you chose me for this.”

The room around you was completely silent save for the steady tick, tick, tick, resounding from the clock. “Right,” you continued, “I don’t know how you’re supposed to end this sort of thing. I won’t promise to be your devoted follower or anything, but I will do my damndest to save that kid. That ought to count for something.”

Again, no otherworldly response followed. An exhale breezed past your lips. “Alright, I guess that’s it.”

Without further delay, you reached for the thermos at your side. Filled with one of Futsuyama’s concoctions, it was one of the many mixtures you’d initially tried out when you’d been faced with the visions. Though it hadn’t stopped them from coming, it had effectively knocked you out for the entire night. Now, having carefully measured the dose, you knew that it ought to last for at least a couple of hours. The bitter taste of herbs washed down your throat as you knocked it back; you pulled back with a slight grimace, and counted the seconds. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…eight…nine…ten…eleven…twelve…

Underneath closed eyelids, your eyes fluttered. 

…thirteen…fourteen…

The room was quiet. It was one of the dormitories, that much you could see, but it looked to be mostly abandoned. Wait, no, there were a few books lying around - signs of at least one occupant, albeit one with few possessions. The scene grew closer, almost as though you were walking towards it, and as it did so you noticed that one of the beds seemed to be occupied as well. 

Your hand drew to your side. 

There was no prior warning of the compass which stabbed firmly into the body. Before you’d even had the chance to feel horrified, a distinctive ‘click’ sounded behind your head. Turning, you locked eyes with Yukio Okumura’s stormy expression. 

“I thought you weren’t going to kill him,” he bit out, “Mr. Neuhaus.”

Your lips stretched into a lazy grin. Glancing from the empty bed to the exorcist behind you, the voice which left your mouth was not your own. “Well done, Yukio.”

A gun fired, but the sound was lost to the void which swallowed you up. The next thing you knew, a searing pain flared in your right arm. There was no time to stare at the bloody lines upon the skin, no time at all before sigil produced demon and you were tossing yourself into the thick of the fight. You were mad with it; mad with pain and adrenaline and a wild delight which surfaced as soon as your vision was consumed with blue fire. Everything hurt, then; not just the wound on your arm but everything; your lungs tightened, a heat building in the burnt flesh of your eye as your ears rang with a woman’s voice which fearfully screamed your name. 

No, not yours, his. 

Before the fight had even begun, you knew it was over. You didn’t care (he didn’t care) whether you died (he died), didn’t care about anything other than facing that fire once more and dragging it down to hell at your side. Your head spun from loss of blood, but all you did was grit your teeth. Faces swam as a sword was held at your throat. 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not the blade or the boy or the blood which steadily poured from your wounds. All that mattered were the words you forcibly bit out, filled with so much anger, so much regret, so much of everything you had not permitted yourself to feel until now. 

Those words, and the hand you plunged through the child’s stomach. 

You woke with a painful start. Your entire body burnt as though fevered; like you’d just barely escaped the flames from your dreams. This heat lingered with especial intensity at the site of his wounds: Your eye stung like it had a few nights ago, and you checked your arm for phantom gashes only to find unblemished skin. 

It had been night; you knew it had been night. Tossing a glance out of the window, you noted the bright colours of a setting sun. Anxiety gripped your heart like a hand, but you forced yourself to remain calm. The visions had shown you events from the same day before, but the prophecy might also have portrayed tomorrow night. Wracking your brain for any hint of what day it had been - a comment, a loose calendar page - you curled your fists with frustration. You had nothing. 

Think. You couldn’t rush into this, but time was quickly running out. The vision had granted your request, and yet you still had no idea how to prevent it. Instinct told you-

You paused. As though hearing them on a record, words from earlier that day floated to mind. Turning them over, you contemplated their meaning. Slowly, your eyes slid to the stash of herbs and potions you’d collected over the past months. Then, eyes moving to the flesh of your palm, you stared at the sigil. 

You tossed a contemplative glance at your room. It was so quiet, so solitary, so far away from the busy centre of the school. The ticking of the clock kept up, but by now the sound had faded to the back of your mind. 

Your hand closed around the hilt of your sword.

Chapter Text

The hallway was not one of the busier ones; being as late as it was, few people were around, but it was by no means in a secluded part of the school. Near the other teachers' living accommodations, it was only a small distance away from the more central areas, like the teacher’s lounge where you were currently headed. 

If there was one useful thing about the constant dreams, it was that you knew his routine: After eating the bare amount of sustenance (the food he ate couldn’t be classified as anything else) and pushing himself to the limits with each day’s training, stage three of “Igor Neuhaus’ guide to neglecting oneself” was to forgo sleep and work, either in his own quarters or in the solitude of the teacher’s lounge. It was a toss up between the two, but as you were understandably reluctant to go barging into the man’s living quarters, the lounge it was! 

This instinct quickly proved to have been correct: Upon entering the room, you were greeted by the sight of two lone figures; in one corner, surrounded by a mess of coffee cups and stacks of loose papers, Fueguchi looked to be in the middle of last-minute grading. They didn’t even glance up when you entered; by the dark circles under their eyes, you guessed that they had other things on their mind. 

Seated on the couch, the other figure gave no outward acknowledgement of your presence, but you doubted that he hadn’t noticed. In a stark contrast to the other teacher, Neuhaus’ work was neatly stacked on the coffee table in front of him; everything was sorted in identical beige folders. In one hand he held a plain black pen with which he occasionally made a mark on one of the pages. This hand paused when you stopped directly in front of him. 

“I need to talk to you.”

Your words seemed to shock the otherwise silent room; Fueguchi started, sending you a wide-eyed look which told you they really hadn’t noticed your entrance. In front of you, the other exorcist slowly tipped his head back. 

His gaze was flat, his voice even more so when he finally responded. “Now?”

“It won’t take long.”

A few more seconds passed before he gave a slight nod. Very aware of your audience, you jerked your head towards the door. “Outside.”

In the background, Fueguchi stared at the two of you. The page in Neuhaus’ hand fell neatly on top of the others. Wordlessly, the other exorcist stood; you took no delay in pivoting on your heel and leading him towards the empty hallway. As soon as you were satisfied that you were out of sight/earshot, you turned to face him. His expression betrayed nothing, but you knew you didn’t imagine the wary air he carried. There was a beat of silence. 

“I’m here to apologise.”

He blinked. It was probably the closest you’d get to a full-bodied jaw drop. 

“The way I acted during the Certification Exam was both unprofessional and inappropriate,” you continued, refusing to let your expression shift from its blank state. “I did not intend to assault you, however my reaction afterwards was not befitting to a member of the staff.”

Was it your imagination, or had he marginally relaxed? In the quiet of the hallway, the silence which followed your words was deafening. 

“Your apology is accepted.”

Unconsciously, some of the tension released from your shoulders. Despite his pacific response, his next words carried no friendliness. “Is that all?”

At your nod, he turned in the direction of the lounge. “Oh,” Your voice rang out from over his shoulder, “just one more thing.”

There was no further warning; his face had barely become visible from where it turned towards you when it was engulfed in a cloud of thick smoke. The Tamer’s eyes widened with alarm, but it was already too late; mere seconds after it had been inhaled, the drug took effect. 

You caught him as he crumpled to the floor. Swallowing a curse, you heaved him further into your arms; with one arm over your shoulder, from a distance it appeared as though you were playing escort home to a friend who’d had a bit too much to drink. The hallway was empty, but that could change at any moment; grappling with the deadweight, you grabbed the key from your belt and managed to insert it into the nearest door. It opened without issue, and you proceeded to lug the unconscious man through the doorway. As swiftly as it had opened, the door shut behind you, cutting off not only the outside world but also the realisation that, back in the teacher’s lounge, Neuhaus had left his things behind.

Months ago, when you’d first dreamt of a temp spilling coffee on your colleague, there was no way you could have imagined it would lead to this. 

From the opposite side of your room, you stared at the other exorcist with an air of resigned disbelief. After having seen so much of him in your sleep, he ought to have looked less out-of-place in your room, however you supposed part of it had to do with the circumstances of why he was there. Oh, and probably also that he was tied to the foot of the bed. 

It was weird to see him like this. Usually he was in a state of constant alertness; you’d never seen the man with his guard really down, definitely never asleep. The lines on his face weren’t as deep when he wasn’t actively frowning, though you noted with slight amusement that the downward tug of his lips carried over even in unconsciousness. Still, he looked younger, less burdened; not so much like a man with murder on his mind and more like one whose age was only just pushing forty. 

From over his shoulder, Kaze chirped at you. You ran a hand over your face before tangling it into your hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to knock him out for this long.”

A sound much like a warble escaped from her mouth. The translucent bonds around his wrists grew and deflated as though she had just stretched her hands. A second passed, and then another, more subdued cry echoed through the room. Despite your uneasy state, your lips tugged into a smile. 

“Yes, you’re doing a great job.”

Her expression became distinctly pleased. Opening your mouth, you might have said more if the man in her grasp hadn’t chosen that exact moment to stir. The movement immediately put you on high alert; with sharp eyes and bated breath, you watched as he began to wake.

It was a slow process. The beginning shifts were lethargic, heavy, like his mind was struggling through molasses in order to rejoin his body. His eye fluttered open, and you tried to pinpoint the exact moment that the two reconnected: He simply stared at you at first, gaze distant and unseeing as it once more became accustomed to vision, and then his eye fractionally widened.

Yep, that was it.

He stared at you. You stared back. Slowly, his gaze travelled from you, to the room, and then to his arms, restrained on either side. He took in the transparent bonds, visually following the silver mist to where it joined the rest of your familiar. He stared at her, at which point Kaze bared her teeth in a grin. After a second, he looked away, and you noticed that his survey ended where his hands were encased in a pair of thick mittens. 

Despite the situation, you felt a spark of amusement. He studied the room around him with closer attention, gaze briefly resting on the few personal items you had lying around before finally settling on the corner of your room covered in jars and bottles of teas, poultices, herbs, and various other sleep aids. 

“I assume these are your quarters.” He eyed the many bottles. “Valerian sleeping powder?”

You allowed your head to incline in a slight nod. He shifted his attention back to where you sat, cross-legged on the other side of the room. “A risky move, to hold me captive so close to the rest of the school.” He didn’t sound particularly worried about his current position. “What if I cry for help?”

Had you been any other teacher, he would have had a point. “Considering that there’s nothing around us except for empty classrooms, I doubt anyone would hear you.” One leg stretched out in front of the other even as your hand firmly remained on the hilt of your sword. “I was provided with…unconventional quarters at the start of the year.”

Translation: You’d been a bit too mouthy in expressing your frustration to Mephisto about the Vatican’s decision to keep you on at True Cross, and then ‘somehow’ you were saddled with a living space on the shit side of campus. Just close enough to the central area to be inconspicuous, and just far enough to make it a pain in the ass. For the first time in your career, you found yourself grateful for the Director’s pettiness. 

Even after you’d called his bluff, the other Tamer didn’t appear concerned. He craned his head to the side in order to get a better look at the bonds holding him in place. 

“What’s the plan, then; use your demonic lackey to hold me here indefinitely?” His attention returned to you. “If so, I won’t insult your intelligence by pointing out the glaring flaws.” 

God, he was insufferable. His nose was still bruised from the other day; you tried to recall the satisfying feeling of jabbing him in the face. “You may find the method more effective than you think.”

As though to prove your point, the bonds shifted in place around his arms and wrists. He watched this with an impassive expression. “Stronger than ropes, more difficult to break. However,” You could tell when his voice took on that lecturing tone, “in this case, a double-edged sword.” 

His chin jutted ever-so-slightly towards Kaze’s form over his shoulder; you knew the gesture’s meaning before he ever opened his mouth. “How long will you be able to restrain us both?”

If his words held a taunting edge beneath all that detachment, you didn’t let it bother you. In fact, your lips tugged upwards in the tiniest of smiles. 

“It would be difficult to handle two unwilling beings. I would most likely not be able to assert control for more than an hour, two at the most.”

Something akin to consideration surfaced in the way he silently looked you over. “That does not seem to disturb you.” Then, before you could answer the unspoken question: “What is the purpose of this?”

“Why do you want Rin Okumura dead?”

The change in his demeanour was subtle, but you caught it nonetheless; the impassiveness left his eyes, replaced by something hard and unyielding. You were vaguely reminded of the myth of Medusa, of how a single glance could turn someone to stone; if he could have, you reckoned Neuhaus would have liked to petrify you. 

“Another accusation?”

Your brow quirked, but otherwise your expression betrayed nothing. “Not quite. Answer the question.”

He didn’t give in that easily. “By whose authority? If I am to be interrogated, I would be interested to know on what grounds the allegations against me are based.”

“Your plan is to stab him in his sleep.”

Your words visibly caught him off guard. Your eyes were unrelenting as they bored straight into his flat expression. “You lured him into danger the day of the exam, but this has been going on far longer than that: Accessing his student file, spying on him and his brother, even going so far as to send a Naberius after one of his classmates with the knowledge that he would try to step in.” Your chest fell with a light exhale. “You were only testing him at first, but that’s not your intention now, is it?”

For a long second, he was silent. “I suppose you have sufficient proof to back all this conjecture?”

Your eyes flashed. “I’m not concerned with bringing you in front of a judge.”

“I see.” His voice rang out after a moment’s pause. “Hence the vigilantism. I must say,” Here, he tilted his head slightly to the side, “I am surprised you did not take your suspicions to a higher authority.”

“Like Mephisto?” The way you scoffed his name made your opinion of the demon clear. “Don’t think me as naive as that; I’m sure he knows something of what you’ve been doing.” You cooly surveyed the man in front of you. “Nothing of note happens within these walls without his knowledge, possibly alongside his blessing.”

“You think him a traitor?”

“I think him a narcissist with a love for drama. Now,” The hand on your sword pointedly tightened; at his back, Kaze seemed to grow in size, “answer the question.”

He raised a brow. “And if I don’t?”

“Don’t test me.”

“How threatening,” he cooly replied, though you could tell he was not completely oblivious to the vulnerability of his position. “I would have enjoyed it had you decided to confront me directly instead of resorting to subterfuge.”

That made you smile. “It was your idea.” The other exorcist simply sent you another blank expression; tucking your legs further under each other, you began to elaborate: “You were right about one thing: Dumb luck is not something to be relied on, especially when it comes to an opponent as formidable as you.” You theatrically tapped the hilt of your word against your skull. “So I ‘used my head’.”

His fingers curled slightly at the same time that his expression turned distinctly unamused. Not expecting a response, you continued: “The most difficult thing to figure out was how to restrain you without giving you the means to draw blood; with ropes, you could theoretically cut into the skin to make it bleed, and I wasn’t willing to try my luck with handcuffs.” There was a pause. “Well, you can see where that took me.”

From where she floated mid-air, Kaze was behaving unusually well. Once in a while she twitched impatiently, but for the most part she was a perfect angel. You were sure Neuhaus had noticed this already, however what exact conclusion he’d drawn from it was beyond you; in any case, you figured it meant that he was gradually beginning to understand the power dynamics of your situation.

“I suppose this same reasoning applies to my hands?”

Despite yourself, you let out a somewhat awkward cough. “I worked with what I had. You could have used your nails to dig into the palm.”

The red mittens stood out like a beacon against his black ensemble. The whole thing looked rather ridiculous, you’d be the first to admit it; especially when paired with his serious expression. Still, you’d had to improvise, and the luxury of a more dignified choice was not one you’d been afforded. If, despite all your precautions, he did manage to break free and chose to murder you, then you would know why. 

You sobered. “I won’t ask again.”

Slowly, the bonds around his arms began to tighten; the silver mist slivered up his shoulders, resting pointedly just above his collar, at the base of his throat.

“Will you really go so far on conjecture?”

The pressure increased. “Further.” 

The vapour climbed higher and higher, and even the man in front of you could not suppress the instinct to raise his chin in an attempt to escape it. All levity had left the atmosphere; your expression became hard and unrelenting as your eyes tracked Kaze’s ascent. Only when it had reached his jawline, now encompassing his entire throat, did you halt its course. 

Even with his neck bared, Neuhaus did not give off an appearance of fear. In fact, a challenging glint rose in his eye as it made contact with yours; his chin squared, he spoke once more in those low, gritted tones. “You’ll make yourself a murderer.”

“You were planning on doing the same,” you bluntly stated. “You and I have both killed before to protect those under our care, why should this be any different?”

The question caused something wild to surface in his expression; for the first time, you caught a glimpse of that fire he’d worn in your dream. “You sentence me for an aim identical to your own,” he spat. “You know nothing of the truth, nothing of those you put your life and reputation at stake for.”

You frowned. “Enlighten me on how murdering a student constitutes the greater good.”

“A student?” A sudden, hoarse chuckle left his lips; you found the sound disconcerting, even more so when it was accompanied by the frenzied look in his eyes. “Then you really are ignorant of the stakes you have stumbled into.”

There was the sound of sliding metal, and then your sword leant against his throat. “Final warning:” The words came out harsh. “Why are you trying to kill the boy?”

His head tilted back as far as it could go to meet your sober gaze. His jaw grazed the blade of your sword, but he didn’t even seem to notice the line of red which began to seep from the cut. “Because that 'boy’, as you call him,” he darkly hissed, “is an abomination, the son of Satan.”

Chapter Text

Between the pregnant pause which followed his words and the way you were staring at him, expression overcome with obvious disbelief, it was not hard to guess at the direction of your thoughts. Finally, an irritated groan left your lips. 

“I knew I gave you too high of a dose.”

Indignation flashed across his face at the same time that you turned your focus to Kaze. “Are you applying too much pressure? His brain might not be receiving enough oxygen.”

“I’m not delusional,” he snapped. “Rin Okumura is the son of Satan.”

“Look,” Your voice held an incredulous edge, “I wasn’t too fond of old Fujimoto either, but comparing him to the devil is an exaggeration. What is that supposed to mean, anyways?”

The Tamer in front of you closed his eyes before inhaling deeply. “Shiro Fujimoto,” he bit out, voice filled with impressive restraint, “was merely his adoptive father. He is not whom this matter concerns.”

You blinked. Absorbing the implications of Neuhaus’ statement, your expression morphed from disbelieving to completely bewildered. “Please tell me you’re not seriously suggesting that Satan, the Satan-” Breaking off, you struggled for a second to find an appropriate verb. “Procreated. With a human. Which is not how demonic heritage works, at least not for the past few centuries.” Another loaded pause. “Just what the hell are you suggesting?”

“Fifteen years ago, Fujimoto and Mephisto conspired to conceal the existence of two children born of a union between Yuri Egin and Satan.” His tone was akin to that of a teacher explaining something very obvious to a student. “The Vatican sent him to eliminate them, but he lied and hid the twins in his own monastery.”

There followed a lapse in the conversation. Unblinking, you gawked at the other exorcist. 

“Shiro Fujimoto,” Your voice held a somewhat strained edge, “the former Paladin, hatched a plot with Mephisto to spare the life of Satan’s kid?” By now, the sword had fallen away from his throat; though you were too distracted to notice, Neuhaus visibly relaxed. 

You continued your tirade: “Even if I humour the suggestion, as ridiculous as it is, that only raises a thousand more questions.” Your gaze met his. “Why on earth would he spare the son of Satan? Not merely that, but take him in as his own? No,” You emphatically shook your head, “it makes no sense at all. What possible reason could he have to commit treason?”

“Mercy,” he replied, his tone indicating just how much distaste he felt at the thought, “a foolish idea that the child could be raised as a human, without any demonic influence.”

The words made you stop short. In all this confusion, you hadn’t even thought about the boy who he claimed to be the product of this forbidden union. However well the pieces gradually began to fit together, you shook your head once more in rejection of the concept. 

“You’re really suggesting that Rin ‘falls asleep in class’ Okumura is the antichrist?” Your scepticism was clearly displayed. “He hardly seems to have world domination on his mind.”

Neuhaus’ brow furrowed. “His power has only just begun to awaken; with each passing day, he loses more and more of his humanity.” His lips tugged further into a frown. “If he is allowed to reach his full strength, the destruction of his father will once more be unleashed upon Assiah.”

It was hard not to be affected by a claim like that. You’d been lucky enough not to experience the Blue Night fifteen years prior, but you didn’t have to look far to see its lasting effects. For a moment, you allowed yourself to consider it: If what he said was true, if the boy really was a ticking time bomb, wouldn’t it be less messy to deal with it now rather than when he was stronger? 

It wasn’t difficult to understand the other exorcist’s line of reasoning; no one short of Fujimoto had been a real match for Satan’s power, and the old man was dead. At the moment, Rin was vulnerable, untrained and unprotected by anyone other than his brother. Hell, you’d have very little issue, all it would take was an unexpected attack or a bit of poison slipped into his food. Mephisto certainly wasn’t taking his role as guardian seriously, who would stop you from killing the boy if you so chose?

Without meaning to, your thoughts took a slightly different route: Rin, joking around with Shiemi and the others, drooling into his hand in the middle of class, jumping into the practical exercises with almost infectious enthusiasm. You saw the fifteen year-old’s face, lit up with that grin he usually wore, and a sick feeling pooled in your stomach. 

“Why not go to the Vatican with all this?” The sword in your hand moved in a vague gesture. “They would handle the matter, probably even send the Paladin. If you didn’t intend to spare his life, why go along with this scheme?”

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he grit his teeth together. It was a small gesture, barely noticeable, but you caught it all the same. It only took a second before you were flooded by a wave of realisation. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “I see.” 

And you did; after months of dreams, after the last vivid vision, how could you not? A sober air came over you as you let the sword drop completely to your side. The two of you wordlessly stared at each other in the ensuing silence. It was difficult to think of what to say; all too easy to remember how the eye felt as it burnt out of its socket, how that voice screamed a desperate cry. 

If he had called in the Vatican, he would have forgone the chance to kill Rin himself. Not only that, but he would have run the risk that they might, for some unknown reason, decide against executing him. You did not find it hard to imagine the argument Mephisto might make;  something about using him for the order, containing his power, harnessing his potential-

“I’m sorry.” His gaze darkened, but you continued before he could get a word in. “I won’t let you kill him.”

“Then it seems we’re at an impasse,” he remarked, and your head inclined in a nod. 

“Seems so.”

He regarded you with an almost questioning air. “Do you not think I will fight your attempts to stop me?”

“No, I imagine you will.” The admission came easily, followed closely by a tired sigh. Sheathing your sword, you crossed your arms as you lent against the wall. “Had you thought about what this would mean? Even if Mephisto was willing to turn a blind eye before the deed, he would not admit to doing so afterwards. You’d be on your own.”

“What is it to you?”

You fixed him with a no-nonsense expression. “You’re really going to throw away your entire life in order to get revenge on a fifteen year-old? He wasn’t born, he had no part in it.”

“He is his father’s spawn.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “And my mother was a mystic with a habit of summoning creatures then not banishing them. I turned out fine.”

His voice was wry. “That is up for debate.”

“And anyways,” You ignored the taunt, “once it’s over, what then? Will you live in the shadows, forever chaining yourself to a demon’s bidding? Hell,” Here your voice turned skeptical, “Mephisto’s not the best employer even now, you think he’ll make life enjoyable once you’re on the run?”

His jaw clenched once more with irritation. “None of that is your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” you exclaimed. “How many exorcists at your level decide to become teachers? Virtually none, as we are both aware.”

“What difference does it make?”

For a second, you didn’t respond. “It makes a difference,” you finally replied, “because it would be a tremendous waste. I won’t deny that you’re powerful, probably more so than I, but that doesn’t inherently make you an effective instructor.” Your tone held a sort of flat sincerity. “You know how to teach, I’ve seen as much for myself, and I’ll be damned if True Cross loses the only other Tamer on its staff over a wrong committed more than a decade ago.”

A long silence ensued. The man in front of you did not allow his expression to betray much - if any - of what he was feeling, but you had a hunch that he had not expected such blatant honesty. Not that you blamed him; compliments between kidnapper and kidnapé weren’t exactly run of the mill, but all the same you’d thought that, up until now, you’d never tried to hide your respect for the other Tamer. A fucked-up sort of respect, considering that you currently had him tied to the foot of your bed, but respect nonetheless. 

“Will you commit treason for his sake?” 

Typical of him to change the subject. Directing your gaze towards Neuhaus’ stormy expression, you caught his eye just as he began to speak again. “If you spare him now, the Vatican will only sentence him later. Failing to report him would be regarded as an act of treachery.”

Curse the man for stating the obvious. That treasonous thought from before returned and yet every time you so much as pictured the boy your superiors would expect you to report, your stomach twisted with something dangerously close to guilt. A harsh curse left your lips at the same time that your fingernails dug deep into the flesh of your palm. 

Your eyes flickered to where Neuhaus observed you. “I know nothing of a plot.” Your mouth twisted into a grimace. “Everyone who knows anything about me will know how unlikely Mephisto would be to let me in on anything, much less of this significance. As far as the world is concerned, I could not have known.”

Something inscrutable flashed across his expression before it was hidden behind the usual mask. “The world,” he intoned; his voice became rougher. “Do you plan to silence me, then, to keep your secret?”

You shot him a look. “You have hidden it from the Vatican as well, you have no reason to reveal that I found out through you.”

“Then what?” 

The unspoken question behind his words was all too clear, yet received further elucidation as he continued to speak. “Do you expect to keep me here forever? My absence will be noted, and you cannot hold me without proof.” His gaze bordered on defiant as it evenly met yours. “If you will not involve the Vatican, then you are on your own as well.”

Another exhale breezed past your lips. “Yeah,” you admitted, hand resting leisurely on the hilt of your sword, “I am. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to simply surrender?”

His eye narrowed, and your shoulders dropped. “That's what I figured.” A hand ran through your messy hair as you tried to figure out your next step. You hadn’t planned quite this far ahead; lacking in both time and information, past you had only managed to get to the kidnapping itself. What came after was up for improvisation; a field in which you usually excelled, however in this case you were having a hard time finding a solution which didn’t end with someone in a body-bag. 

“L/N.”

The call of your name made you stop short. Fingers tangled in your hair, you glanced at the other exorcist with a questioning gaze. Once your eyes met, his lips tugged into a grimace. 

“This isn’t personal.”

You only had time to blink in confusion before he acted; biting harshly into his lower lip, he leaned forward and spat blood directly into your face. 

All the instinct in the world could not have prepared you for a move like that: Freezing with surprise, your control over Kaze flickered for the briefest second. A second was all he needed; he surged forward, freed arms knocking against yours as the two of you collided and were sent tumbling towards the floor. You twisted into the fall, your hand already shooting to beckon Kaze to your aid, but this, too, he had anticipated. 

You had barely slammed against the floor when his hand seized your wrist. There was the sound of metal unsheathing, and then a searing pain flared across your palm. Behind his shoulder, Kaze flickered out of sight. 

Your foot found his ribs; kicking him off of you, you rolled to the side just in time to miss the swipe he aimed towards your head. The blood flowed freely down your arm as you drew your sword and lunged. As you did so, the dagger in his hand glinted against the low light. 

By now he had freed both hands from their restraints, leaving them open to receive your initial attack. The dagger rose to clash against the blade of your sword at the same time that he tried to push back his sleeve. Your eye caught the movement, and you forcefully stomped on his foot. 

A grunt of pain echoed through the room. The sound of metal scraping against metal followed: He slid closer, forcing you to angle your sword at an awkward angle above your head. This left both of your hands occupied but only one of his; his hand seized your coat, and your knee jerked in another kick which he only barely managed to evade. 

This movement caused your blades to break apart, and you seized the opportunity to drive him back with a wide sweep. With your summoning sigil broken, your best chance of winning this fight was to keep him so busy that he could not reach those tattooed on his arm. He seemed to realise this as well, however there was little he could do other than jump back to dodge your blunt attack. You’d expected that, what you didn’t expect was for his arm to dart upwards directly afterwards and catch the sword at the end of its swing. All that force was suddenly directed upwards; your grip loosened in your surprise. 

The hilt left your hand, and the sword suddenly vanished from sight. A distinct thunk resounded from above you. 

Weaponless, you took advantage of your freed hands to pounce forward and catch him in the chest; the two of you went barreling against the dresser, kicking and scratching in your efforts to gain control over the dagger. Your nails raked across his good eye and he flinched, enabling you to knock the blade from his grasp. It hit the floor, tumbling under the adjacent bed. The two of you moved forward at the same time, but you were forced to a stop when his hand caught one of the boxes on your dresser and flung its contents into your face. 

The aroma of lemon balm and valerian filled the room. One hand flew to your nose at the same time that the other blindly grasped at a jar embossed with small red berries. This porcelain picture smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor, releasing a fine powder into the air which mixed with the previous concoction to form a confusing mixture of pungent valerian and the earthy smell of ginseng with sage. 

Hacking coughs and the crunching of porcelain underfoot made the background music for your continued grappling; the both of you had to contend with the conflicting effects of the drugs as you fought tooth and nail for an inch of advantage. Visibility was not good to begin with in the dim room, but the dust added additional difficulty; his foot caught against something, and you were afforded with very little warning before he stumbled directly into you. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, and the two of you rolled. His back hit the floor with a thud, knocking the wind from both of your lungs even as he continued to move, using the momentum from the fall to try to flip you over. You weren’t ready to give up the high ground; kicking his boot from where it had attempted to gain footing against the floor, you put your full weight into keeping him on the floor. The dagger glinted in your peripheral vision, however you had other issues at the moment. 

Said issue elbowed you in the ribs, and you were sent tumbling to the side. It must have looked ridiculous: The two of you wrestling like children on the floor, your refusal to let go of each other causing you to roll as an uncomfortable unit. Your hands wrenched at the collar of his coat, and you managed to maneuver yourself on top once more. A fresh pain prickled at the back of your neck, but you disregarded it in favour of wrangling with the other exorcist’s stubborn hands. 

Finally, you managed to pin a wrist to the floor. This only afforded you a momentary advantage: His free hand shot up to your jaw where it pushed you as far back as possible. Your head was angled awkwardly to the side as you tried to fend him off; his knee jerked upwards, catching you roughly in the side. This jogged you, not only making you slide uncomfortably to the side but also causing his grip on your jaw to loosen. Finally able to reach, your unoccupied palm pressed hard against the socket of his eye. 

Your injured hand smeared blood across his face. The attack distracted him enough for your foot to stretch out to the side, towards the edge of your bed. He might have been unable to see the movement, but he certainly felt it; his foot followed yours, but you suddenly changed course, bringing your knee back and jamming it harshly against the space opened up by his leg. 

He winced. Keeping your tight grip on his wrist, you twisted to the side and stretched towards the knife. Your eyes watered and head snapped back when he tangled a hand in your hair and pulled, but your fingers had already grazed the hilt. Tensing every muscle in your body, you managed to flip yourself back over, dagger firmly in hand. 

You both froze. The room was briefly filled with the deafening noise of your heavy breaths as the two of you stared at each other: His hand still yanked painfully at your long hair, but he was halted from any other sort of movement by the blade held snugly under his jaw. The edge barely grazed his skin, then a fine line of red began to seep blood. 

“Yield,” you gasped, chest heaving for air, “or die.”

His hand tightened, but otherwise he was still; any sudden movement, and the blade would slice right into his jugular. Finally, slowly, his eye closed, his head tilting ever-so-slightly back in a sign of assent. You did not remove the dagger from his throat completely, but at least it no longer dug into the skin. 

“This is how this is going to go:” The announcement was made in a slightly steadier voice as you peered down at him, your brow furrowed. “From this moment on, you give up any intention of causing harm to Rin Okumura or his fellow students. Not only that,” you added, noting the way his jaw clenched, “but your arrangement with Mephisto ends now.” 

“Is that all?” he snarked, and you shook your head. 

“No, in fact, it isn’t.” You took no note of his irate expression. “I have no fantastic notions of your behaviour after this; if you think I trust you at all, you’re wrong. Still,” Here your gaze flickered across his face, resting on the blood dripping from his lip, “I won’t kill you ‘just in case’. You’re taking the rest of this school year off, and you’re going to spend it firmly within eyeshot.”

Despite his surrender, the man beneath you looked downright murderous. “And how,” he spat, “am I to explain this sudden leave of absence while I’m off being your lapdog?”

The metaphor was spoken so maliciously that it was hard not to smile. “Sabbatical leave. Mephisto will grant it, that I will ensure. And, Neuhaus?”

His gaze locked with yours, and all humour vanished from your face. Leaning in, you pointedly scraped the blade’s edge against his jaw. “This is a one-time offer.”

The statement did not require further explanation. Though the movement visibly pained him, he nodded. 

You leaned back. Your heart was racing, more so than usual even for one-on-one combat as intense as this. You frowned at the sensation. From where you were practically sitting on top of him, it was not hard to catch sight of the occasional twitch of the muscles in his face. All of a sudden, you remembered the smells in the air around you. Eyes flickering down to your hands, you caught the way they had started to twitch as well. 

“Fuck.”

The other exorcist might have made a comment if he hadn’t just frozen into place, paralysed yet conscious. Wrinkling your nose, you staved off the impending effects of the drugs clashing against each other as you rolled off of him and onto the floor. You fumbled with the buttons on your phone. 

That distinctive ping! of an outgoing message had only just echoed through the otherwise silent room when you collapsed into a heap on the floor. Beside your outstretched hand, the phone clattered to the floor; its screen shone brightly in the dimness of your room, displaying the concise (if somewhat cryptic) message of: 

Medical assistance for two

Chapter Text

You were glad not to be in a hospital bed. 

After twelve hours of the most nightmarish state of sleep paralysis you’d ever experienced (who could have guessed that counteracting a sedative with what was essentially an energy drink on acid would have negative consequences?), both drugs had finally run their course and released you from their insistent grasp. Of course, then you’d had to reckon with the bandage around your neck, because apparently you’d rolled right onto a piece of porcelain which had only just barely missed your spinal cord. Combine that terrifying tidbit with the familiar (yet no less irritating) pain in your hand, and you’d gone straight from one nightmare to another. 

Naturally, every nightmare needs a demon. 

“My dear L/N!”

You were going to kill him. You were going to take your hands, regardless of your injury, and wrap them around his godforsaken neck until he had “deared” his last “L/N”. The son of Satan, the son of fucking Satan, hidden right under your nose like a stick of dynamite amongst fireworks. No wonder he had met your worries for the boy’s life with nonchalance; he wanted Neuhaus to attack him, wanted to see what the kid was capable of. 

Murderous intent radiated from where you sat, staring at the figure in the hospital bed instead of the demon who, in turn, insistently fixed his gaze upon you. His unignorable, lilac presence was a thorn in your peripheral vision. 

“I’m touched to see such concern between coworkers, I did not expect to find you at his bedside”

As much as you tried to keep your expression even, your eye twitched. Mephisto had a habit of knowing exactly what to say to make your blood boil; at the moment, he was as successful as ever. Your eyes flickered across the other Tamer’s face: He had yet to wake up, but you had no idea how much (if any) of the conversation around him he was able to grasp. When you were unconscious, you'd been able to hear almost everything, however he’d received two doses in quick succession - whereas you’d only received the one. 

“I’m not here to anxiously pray for his recovery.”

“No?” The Director pulled out a chair, and seated himself with a flourish. “I’m all ears, and afterwards you can tell me about your little accident.”

A quick glance around the room informed you that you were alone - suspiciously so. The staff at Medical had seemed to swarm anxiously around you when you’d insisted on sitting in the hard plastic chair next to his bed rather than stay in bed, yet now there was not a single nurse to be seen. The ward was eerie in its silence; for the first time since he’d appeared, you allowed your wary gaze to rest on the demon. 

He grinned artlessly, then spread his hands wide. “Well?”

His casual attitude made you grit your teeth. You much preferred the company of your sleeping colleague (if only for his silence). With some difficulty, you turned in your chair to face him head-on. The stiffness of this action did not escape him; his eyes shone with bright curiosity. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Your voice was low and suffused with sharp impatience, “this is over.”

The glint in his eyes strengthened. “What do you mean?”

It struck you just how dangerous this was; to be here, with him, injured and without access to Kaze, alone but for the frozen presence of the other Tamer. You could practically hear the man in question lecture you on ‘impulsive decisions’ and ‘recklessness’ as your eyes narrowed in a glare. 

“Your arrangement with Neuhaus is terminated.”

It took a moment for him to respond. You briefly entertained the idea that you’d managed to strike him speechless, but upon glimpsing his near-ecstatic expression, you realised that he was immensely enjoying this new, sudden twist. Hand clasped loosely atop his signature umbrella, he leaned in. 

“My ‘arrangement’...” he mused, turning the word over in his mouth. “What an interesting way of putting it. Whatever can this phrasing be in reference to?”

Amazing: Two minutes with him, and your head was already causing you more pain than either of your injuries. 

You harshly bit the inside of your cheek. “Figure it out on your own, I’m not here to discuss semantics. From this moment on, your dealings are done: No more plots, no more schemes, you will act solely in the capacity of his employer.”

He quirked a brow. “Choosing, as I am, to entertain the notion that I have been ‘plotting’, as you put it, what exactly causes you to believe that a word from you will make me stop? After all,” His fangs glinted in a smile, “a single exorcist cannot pose any real threat to a demon king such as I.”

“How about the Vatican?”

The words had their intended effect. He visibly paused, green eyes flickering over your sober expression as though they were trying to detect a bluff. Having found no trace, he was forced to inquire further; his lips parted in another lazy grin, but you caught the undercurrent of uncertainty. 

“What condemning information could you possibly possess?”

“Nothing much,” you smoothly replied, “just the whereabouts of the son of Satan.”

A beat of silence. In that single moment, he seemed to take each scrap of information in: Your knowledge, the threat, the exorcist in the bed beside you. The conclusion as to how you’d found out was easy to reach, but it was undoubtedly harder for him to puzzle out why. 

A change came over his demeanour: That hint of malevolent delight faded, replaced by something sharper, more canny. When he spoke, the words were soft. “That is quite the claim you make.”

You didn’t have to be psychic to sense the undercurrent of danger. Mephisto might look like a large purple joke, but he was not to be underestimated; well aware of your precarious position, you chose your next words wisely. 

“My demands are simple.” Your eyes unflinchingly kept contact with his. “You stop conspiring with Neuhaus, and every once in a while you pull a few strings in my favour.”

“What kind of strings?”

You huffed an exhale. “I need to keep an eye on him,” Your hand flew towards the bed in a vague gesture, “and you’re going to help me. Exert your influence over the mission pairings for the next few months, make sure that he doesn’t get paired with anyone else. That, and he’s taking the rest of the school year off.”

The demon blinked. That bright curiosity returned, accompanied by a glint of something else as he suddenly grinned. “Why, Ms. L/N,” he practically cooed, “I would be only too happy to aid you in spending more time with our dear Mr. Neuhaus. You need only have asked!” 

“Don’t push it.”

Waving a gloved hand, he leaned back in his chair. “None of that; now that you’re in on our little secret, we’re practically co-conspirators!” 

You winced. Catching sight of the movement, the Director grinned. “Now that that’s all sorted, may I say that I am surprised by your demeanour?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to say whatever you want.”

“After all,” he continued, “the son of Satan is no regular demon, yet you seem to be handling this revelation with remarkable ease.”

You glared at him. “I’ve had different priorities.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flickered over to Neuhaus’ prone form, then to the bandage at your neck. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to disclose the events of the last few hours?”

You glared some more. He hummed. “I thought not. A shame, I do so love a good story.” 

With that, he stood, and the plush chair beneath him disappeared into a plume of periwinkle smoke. His fingers snapped, and a faint shimmer filled the air around you. Catching your startled glance, he explained: “Just a little precaution, to make sure no one was hearing things they shouldn’t.”

He made it a few steps towards the door before tossing his final words over his shoulder. “Oh and, L/N?” You made eye contact, and he grinned. “I will comply with your demands, but you ought to remember that you are a part of this now.” His eyes darkened maliciously. “Should the Vatican discover our secret on their own, then you’ll not only be a traitor, but you’ll have lost your only bargaining chip.” 

His hand rose in a theatrical wave. “So long!”

You stared after him. After the demon’s spell had lifted, life returned to the room, but it could have been dead as the grave for how much attention you were paying to your surroundings. 

The only thing which managed to even partially catch your eye was the glaring issue in the hospital bed; staring at him, you allowed a bit of the discomfort you felt to bleed into your expression. True, you’d only placed yourself at his bedside in the first place to make sure he didn’t suddenly wake up and bolt, but the action served to remind you of what the following weeks would look like. Your decisions - first, to spare his life, and second, not to report this entire rat’s nest to the Vatican - had ensured that you would be seeing a lot of each other, if only so that you could assure yourself that he wasn’t hightailing it in the direction of the teenager he wanted dead. 

You let out a groan. That was a whole other issue: You hadn’t even thought about how to approach the whole ‘son of Satan’ thing; at the moment, you weren’t sure you wanted to. Would it be considered irresponsible to just pretend you’d never found out?

Had your entire body not screamed with pain already, you might have let your head fall against the nightstand. Curse this shit, curse Neuhaus and your morality and the stupid fucking dreams which had gotten you into this mess in the first place; before, he’d been an unavoidable presence at night, now you wouldn’t be able to escape him at all!

For fuck’s sake, you thought, there was no way you’d be able to watch him 24/7. Disregarding the reality that you needed to sleep, it was simply impossible to be omnipresent; exams were coming up, and you would be busier than ever. As amusing as the thought may have been, it wasn’t as though you could bell him like a cat. 

You paused. 

Ten minutes later, Tachi answered your phone call. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to reach you?”

“Hey,” you half-whispered, every so often shooting a glance at the (hopefully) unconscious figure beside you, “yes, sorry, I know, but I have an important question.” Without waiting for a reaction, you continued your hushed ramble. “You know those collars that dogs wear that shock them when they get too close to an invisible fence?”

“...yes?”

You ran a hand through your hair and winced at the subsequent reminder of your injury. “Could you do that for a human? Like some sort of signal if they get too close to something or someone else?”

The following silence was loud.

“L/N,” Her voice finally echoed over your phone’s speaker, filled with what you could only describe as pure disbelief, “you called me after days of radio silence to ask if I can make you a human-sized shock collar?”

You winced before rushing to clarify. “Ok, that misinterpretation is on me. I don’t mean a collar at all, it could be any sort of jewellery or pendant, and I don’t want it to shock the wearer. I need something that will let me know if someone comes too close to another person of my choosing.”

“Do I even want to ask who this bizarre invention is intended for?”

“You can ask."

A huff echoed from the other end. “It’s an odd request, but I’ll see what I can do. There are a couple of wards that spring to mind, they’d have to be rewritten in order to be portable. You’d also have to have their blood.”

“Whose?”

“The person you want the ward to be geared towards, of course. How else is it supposed to recognize them?”

That would be a problem; you didn’t think your chances of surreptitiously obtaining some of Rin Okumura’s blood were very good. “Is there any way you can do it without?”

“What do you want, a miracle?” Her tone was tinged with exasperation. “I’m a scientist, not a shaman. I have no idea if this’ll work at all, but it definitely won’t work without blood. Practically all of our spellwork is based on it; as a Tamer, you of all people should know.”

Biting your lip, you tried to suppress the initial wave of irritation. “Alright, I’ll figure something out. Thanks, Tachi.”

“Does this mean you are talking to me again?”

You winced once more. “I’m sorry, I know I haven’t returned your calls-”

“I haven’t heard from you in days!” she exclaimed, “The only way I knew you hadn’t died in your sleep was that story about how you went crazy during the Certification Exam-”

“Pardon?”

“-and even that was secondhand. What’s going on with you?”

That seemed to be a recurring question lately. You heaved a light sigh, then leaned back in the hospital chair. “A lot. If it cheers you up any, I’ve discovered that my visions do not occur during drug-induced sleep paralysis.”

“During what?” After a moment, she continued: “Come to the lab, and we’ll discuss this in person.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” You eyed Neuhaus from the side before returning your attention to the phone. “I’m in Medical.”

“For yourself, or for someone else?”

“Let’s say a bit of both.” 

Your tone had been light, almost joking, but the other exorcist didn’t respond. It occurred to you that Tachi was acting unlike herself: Normally, you would have expected her to get straight to the point of interest (your visions), pepping you with questions and suggestions and trying much harder to get you to finally come to the lab for the next round of tests. The cursebreaker had a tendency to steamroll her way over the people around her and, despite your often less-than-cheery attitude, she wasn’t the type to get offended or upset. A frown tugged at your lips. 

“Is something wrong-”

“Yes!” 

You winced at the volume behind the single word. Tachi didn’t wait long to continue: “You tell me about a spiritual curio catching fire while you sleep, and then you promptly disappear! Your dreams have never had any tangible effect on the physical plane, they shouldn’t be causing things to spontaneously combust.” She took a deep breath. “The visions in your head suddenly develop destructive ability, and then you don’t answer my calls!”

A sense of realisation began to creep in. “Were you…worried about me?”

A beat of silence followed, but quickly revealed its short-lived nature. “Is there no other way you could phrase that to sound like less of a jackass?”

You blinked with surprise, but she spoke on before you could react. “Of course I was worried.” Her tone became somewhat heated: “I don’t just see you as some sort of lab rat, you know.”

“No, of course-”

Really?” she interrupted. “Because it seems that you only ever call me when you need something from me and going by how surprised you are at the concept that I might care whether or not you get hurt, you seem to think I’m some sort of detached evil scientist.”

The urge to wince for the fourth time was overwhelming. A harried sigh left your lips even as you tried to grapple with this unexpected show of emotion. “Look, I’m sorry, Tachi, I didn’t mean it like that.” You struggled to find the right words. “I’m sorry for not answering your calls.”

“You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I really don’t think-”

“L/N-” Her words cut off with an aggravated sigh. “I get that you don’t see us as friends, but as your coworker and fellow exorcist I can’t stand by while you put yourself in danger. I don’t know why you’re in Medical, but something tells me it’s not for an annual checkup.”

Her words made you freeze. They hadn’t been accusatory, but they somehow managed to feel like a reprimand. Did Tachi think of you as friends? Were you supposed to think of her as a friend? If so, had you been a complete jackass up until this very moment? A sense of panic washed over you at the many unknown variables; you’d never been that great with people (big surprise!) and that fact was not changed by the additional pressure of being put on the spot. 

“Um,” you faltered, “alright, but I can’t talk over the phone.”

Another annoyed sound began to echo, but you quickly intervened. “Really, I can’t. I swear to the Vatican that I’ll explain, however it has to be somewhere private.”

“Fine. When do you get out?”

You resisted the urge to awkwardly rub at your neck. “Uh, day or two?”

Tachi gave a noise of disbelief. “What on earth happened?”

“I cut my hand.” After a second, you elaborated. “And rolled my neck onto something sharp.” A beat passed. “And accidentally inhaled a mixture of Valerian sleeping and Ginseng energy powder. You remember what I said about drug-induced sleep paralysis?”

You counted one, two, three, four seconds of stunned silence. 

“L/N, if you don’t follow up on your promise, I’ll send those flesh-eating beetles after you.”

The faintest smile tugged at your lips. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With that, she hung up on you. You stared at the glowing screen of your phone and contemplated the conversation. Second only to Mephisto, Tachi already knew the most about your situation; would it really hurt to tell her a little more? As much as the thought of telling her about Neuhaus made you cringe, it might be a good idea to have one person (not demon) you didn’t have to lie to. 

Subsequently, that thought made you think of what she had said, and then you cringed even more. She had obviously made up her mind about your attitude towards your…dynamic, and although she wasn’t objectively wrong it still made you squirm. You hadn’t thought of her as a friend, that was true, but was that so odd? 

You could count the number of people you considered friends on one hand; you’d never identified as particularly antisocial, but it was a recurring joke that you were the designated ‘grouch’ of your friend group. Even Sato, with whom you’d only recently become acquainted, had wormed her way into your heart by sheer force; Yamada was practically your sibling with how long the two of you had been friends. Did others really see you as standoffish?

Tachi hadn’t, or at least you thought she hadn’t, however that was before you’d ghosted her. Looking back on it, you supposed it wouldn’t have hurt to shoot her a text. Keeping in touch had taken a backseat to the more pressing matter of keeping Okumura alive, but she was right about one thing: Up until now, you’d only called her when you needed something from her, and for some reason that fact bothered you more than you felt it should. 

The pain in your neck flared, and you realised that you’d instinctively tilted your head to the side while in thought. Grimacing, you straightened. If it weren’t for True Cross’ advanced healing techniques, an injury like this would put you out of commission for a while; as it was, you doubted you’d be sent on any missions before the summer. 

A sudden tiredness washed over you. Despite your best efforts, your lashes began to flutter, eyelids twitching as they fought the urge to close. The hospital chair was by no means comfortable, but your body didn’t seem to mind; slumping further and further, your shoulder finally found the side of the bed. Shortly afterwards, your head found a position on your arms. 

The ward around you slipped into silence with the slip of your mind into blessed unconsciousness. 

Chapter Text

“Is it possible for you to walk any slower?”

You shot a glare at the other exorcist and resisted the childish urge to stall your gait even more. 

“Yes.”

For one of the hottest days of the year so far, you thought you were coping remarkably well; the sun beat relentlessly upon the both of you, your dark uniforms only soaking up more of the heat. So far you’d resisted the urge to strip down to your base layers, however your willpower was gradually being chipped away by the high humidity. Neuhaus still wore his long black coat as well, but you could tell the heat was getting to him. 

Well, maybe it wasn’t just the heat. 

It wasn’t as though you’d expected him to be thrilled about the state of things once he regained consciousness, but it seemed that - with your new, forced proximity - all pretence of formality or professional courtesy had fallen away. Granted, the heat probably didn’t help his bad attitude, but you found yourself on the receiving end of the man’s particular brand of saltiness nonetheless. To put it plainly: It was like toting around a mouthy toddler with the vocabulary of a thirty-nine year-old, and it was seriously testing your patience. 

At least you were no longer trapped in Medical: The following days after your communal roll around your room (sharp, pointy objects included free of charge!) had left you wishing you had strangled the man when you’d had the chance. It seemed that Mephisto wasn’t the only one who knew how to get under your skin; in fact, going by how quickly he gained proficiency in the subject, Neuhaus was well on his way to surpass the demon in ability. Even the staff had noticed the tension between you, but it would have been more difficult not to considering that the two of you had spent nearly the entirety of your stay trading barbs and filling the atmosphere with a general sense of malice. Thankfully, once you’d been discharged and were no longer confined to the same four walls, tensions had somewhat lessened. 

Not that you’d suddenly become best friends. 

Stopping at the steps in front of Futsumaya, you cast a glance towards the man at your side. He met it. 

“Am I allowed to wait outside, or are you afraid I’ll disappear into the ether?”

You forcibly reminded yourself that irritation was not suitable grounds for murder. “I figured that it would be cooler inside,” you deadpanned, “but if you’re dead-set on roasting out here, be my guest.”

There was little he could respond to that, especially since you could see the beads of sweat running down his brow. He pushed past you without further comment, and the two of you began the slow climb up to the supply shop. With every step, you cursed the long jacket dragging you down; how bad could it possibly be for a couple of students to see you out of uniform? 

You felt your eyes drift to the side, and then a sense of childish stubbornness swept over you. If Neuhaus could bear the heat, then you certainly weren’t going to give in first. 

The shade that Futsumaya provided nearly made you sigh with relief. Glancing at the garden as the two of you passed, you did not catch sight of either Moriyama. Did the heat affect the plants growing in it, you wondered, or was there some sort of special warding in place to ensure their survival? Surely not all the plants required the same sort of environment; come to think of it, what were the odds that such a diversity of flora could all grow in the same place?

Fully engrossed in heat-wave-induced musings, you didn’t spare a thought to the exorcist at your side as you breezed into the supply shop. A slight chime sounded from the bell at the door when you entered; the figure behind the desk looked up from their work at the sound. Kaede Moriyama’s face lit up at the sight of you. 

“Good to see you, Y/N. Come for your usual order?” Her eyes flickered to the man beside you. “Mr. Neuhaus, welcome.”

Neuhaus shot you a side-glance. You doubted he had missed that you were on a first-name basis with the other woman; combined with the extensive supply of tonics and - for lack of a better word - drugs he’d witnessed in your room, you shuddered to think of the conclusions he might come to. Still, you thought as you suppressed the urge to uncomfortably wince, whatever he came up with couldn’t be any worse than the truth. 

“Hello, Kaede,” you greeted, placing the bag you’d brought with you onto the countertop. The clink of glass against glass hinted at its contents - a few empty bottles and jars which you’d come to return. “Not today, just some tea.”

She let out a thoughtful hum even as her eyes brightened. “We received a new blend last week, want me to get it for you?”

“That’d be nice.”

The wooden chair creaked as she began to stand. “If you don’t mind, you can come along with those empty jars and we’ll place them in the back.” 

Very aware of Neuhaus’ gaze on your back, you plodded after her. The supply shop was deceptively large; aside from the living quarters upstairs, it housed a large, cool room for storage of items which either were uncommon enough not to necessitate being displayed up front or that were too fragile to handle direct sunlight. The air smelled vaguely of earth and herbs, the combination of which with the even cooler temperature made your rigid shoulders relax. The thought of locking yourself in here flashed across your mind - if only in order to escape the oppressive heat outside. 

Kaede Moriyama gestured to an empty work table where you carefully set the bag. Your eyes met, and she smiled. “Any changes from last time?”

The question was spoken with an air of such soft interest that you felt yourself awkwardly flush. “Yes, actually,” you answered, telling yourself that it was merely a coincidence that you couldn’t seem to maintain eye-contact. “I’ve been sleeping better lately.”

“That’s good to hear, do you have any idea why?”

You tried not to think of the man outside. “Probably has to do with stress, or something along those lines.” Your hand rose to rub sheepishly at your neck. “I’m afraid I’ve returned one of your jars in less-than-pristine condition.”

At that exact moment, she pulled a piece of the ginkgo berry jar from the bag. Examining it in the low light, she turned it over between her fingertips. “I’ll pay for a replacement,” you continued, feeling much like a teenager who had just broken one of their mother’s things, “I would normally have had it repaired, however…”

It was hard to think of a good way to explain what had happened to the missing piece. Unsurprisingly, the staff at Medical had not been very accommodating towards your request for the chunk of porcelain which had been lodged in your neck. Dr. Sagami - who you imagined had long given up any notion of your sanity - had merely stared at you before giving a slow shake of the head. It probably hadn’t helped your case that both you and the other Tamer had refused to disclose just how exactly you’d become injured in the first place; as far as that was concerned, only Tachi knew anything even resembling the truth. 

She pulled you from your thoughts with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nonsense, you don’t have to replace it. We’d be in bad shape if True Cross couldn’t afford an extra jar or two.”

“But I-”

“And besides, with how good of a customer you are, I’m surprised you haven't broken anything before this point.” She swept the broken pieces into a dustpan as she neatly cut you off. “That’s the hazard of using old-fashioned storage methods, but there are some things that plastic will never replace.” 

You caught a glimpse of other porcelain shards inside the bin in which she discarded the shattered jar. Straightening, she set the dustpan down alongside the whisk broom. Her gaze roamed across the many shelves before settling on one in particular; she unhurriedly crossed the room, then let out a slight noise of triumph. 

“Here we are,” she cheerily stated. “Pineapple sage, cinnamon chips, holy basil.” Moriyama turned towards you, tea tin in hand. “This blend’s mostly geared towards anti-inflammation, but it should help with anxiety relief as well.”

It struck you as faintly amusing that she’d chosen to emphasise that particular benefit. Of all the people at True Cross, Kaede Moriyama had arguably seen you at your lowest most consistently. Between the late-night visits fueled by sleep-deprived desperation and your exhausted appearances the next morning after nothing had worked, you supposed it was no wonder that the older woman thought you needed the extra help. Still, it was an unfamiliar feeling for you - generally seen as incredibly competent and self-sufficient - to have someone convinced that you were in need of assistance. 

You took the tin from her outstretched hand. “Thank you.” Your eyes flickered over the label. “Pineapple sage, huh? Can’t say I’ve heard of that one before.”

“It’s unrelated to the fruit, but produces a similar smell when crushed.” She rearranged the tins to cover the empty space where the tea had been. “Do you have any idea what Mr. Neuhaus needs? If it’s something uncommon then I can fetch it while we’re here and save myself another trip.”

An awkward cough echoed through the room, and she turned just in time to catch sight of your flustered expression. “As far as I know, he doesn’t need anything.” Her gaze was completely unassuming, but for some reason you felt prompted to continue. “He was just accompanying me. That is to say I, we, both had some errands to run and happened to run into each other.” A deep flush began to creep up from your neck as you felt yourself slipping into panicked justification. “Maybe he does need something, I don't know.”

Smooth, real smooth. Nothing about her reaction signalled suspicion, but you still had the feeling of having been completely seen through. She simply smiled; you weren’t sure if you imagined the knowing glint in her eye. “I’ll ask him myself.”

Fuck, that had not gone well. You hadn’t been oblivious to the fact that Neuhaus’ sudden, constant presence by your side might raise a few brows, but you had obviously overestimated your ability to deal with (even seemingly innocent) questions about him. Maybe it had something to do with Kaede Moriyama in particular; for some reason (you were trying not to become too psychoanalytic about it) the older woman made you feel like a teenager guiltily lying about having snuck her boyfriend into the house. 

Said dirty secret had not been too enthusiastic about the concept either when you’d initially informed him that - until your (better) idea could be finalised -  he’d be relegated to following you around whenever you weren’t either asleep or in class (you did not think it would be well-received for him to become a shadowy figure in the corner of your lessons). Tachi needed time to work on said (better) idea, and for the life of you you couldn’t think of any other way to consistently keep an eye on him. 

“Are you seriously suggesting that we subject ourselves to the other’s constant presence?”

If it wasn’t obvious, this exchange of dialogue had taken place in Medical. Low on patience, you’d simply snapped back: “Give me a single better idea, and I’ll be thrilled to not have to deal with you.”

He hadn’t brought it up since. Aside from the aforementioned snide comments, he’d actually been surprisingly easy to deal with. Not once in the past few days had he attempted to sneak away; of course, it was always possible that he’d managed to do it without your knowledge, but you’d seen Rin Okumura alive and well the day before so you considered it unlikely. You assumed that he knew (or guessed) something of your deal with Mephisto and had come to the obvious conclusion that, now that he no longer had the demon’s support, any attack on a student would not be as easily covered up. You weren’t naive enough to think that the whole subject was permanently done with, but if he was momentarily deterred from any more attempts at murder then that was good enough for you. 

You followed the other woman back into the main room, tea tin in hand. The temperature change was subtle but noticeable after the blessed coolness of the back room; you didn’t know how you were going to survive going outside. Neuhaus had remained mostly where you’d left him, although you noted that he was peering at a few of the bottles upon the shelf. Upon your entrance, he glanced over. 

“Well, you’re all set now,” Kaede’s smile remained as she directed the words towards you, “isn’t that right?” At your subsequent nod, she turned her focus to the other exorcist. “Mr. Neuhaus?”

He paused. After a second, his low voice rang out: “Two sprigs of tanacetum parthenium, and a bunch of mentha piperita.”

More commonly known as feverfew and peppermint. Most commonly used for headache relief. Why couldn’t the man just ask for tea like a normal human being?

It didn’t take her long to locate the plants in question, and before you knew it you were reluctantly stepping out of the door and back into hell. You made it all of three steps before a resigned curse left your lips. 

“Fuck it,” you muttered, dropping your bag to the ground and beginning to tug at the buttons of your jacket. The other exorcist briefly left your field of vision as you turned to slip out of the first sleeve. The mass of black fabric brushed against the ground when you finally shucked it from your shoulders and draped it over an arm - you would probably have to clean it later, but for now the feeling of acute relief was so overwhelming that you couldn’t have cared less. A slight breeze swept across your shoulders - bare underneath the thin undershirt - and you felt yourself visibly relax. 

Without so much as a glance towards him, you slung the coat over your arm and continued on your way. Had you not been in such a state of euphoria, you might have felt uncomfortable shedding your uniform in front of the other exorcist. It still felt weird to be wearing something as casual as a tank-top, but you figured that whatever professional barriers had been in place had been broken when the two of you took a (literal) roll around your room together. The man had spat in your face and knew what it felt like when you kneed him in the crotch, you doubted showing your shoulders would change much about your current dynamic. 

You had just arrived at the garden gate when a flash of blonde caught your eye. Coming out with an armful of tools, Shiemi Moriyama froze in place when she saw the both of you. 

“Oh, hello Ms. L/N!” Her eyes bounced to your companion. “Hello Mr. Neuhaus!”

The soil on her hands gave you a good idea of what she had been up to; how she could stand to work outside in this heat was beyond you, probably something to do with her indefatigable attitude. Mood improved by your cooler attire, you sent her an uncharacteristically warm smile. 

“Hello, Ms. Moriyama. Keeping busy?”

At the same time, the man beside you returned her greeting as well. “Ms. Moriyama.” He seemed to hesitate. “I see you’ve recovered from the Certification Exam.”

Her gaze jumped between the two of you as though she were unsure who to respond to first. “Yes,” she finally squeaked, “I was working in the garden, and I’ve been feeling much better, thank you!”

“You did very well,” you praised, “without your quick thinking, I doubt whether everyone would have passed.”

Her face, already rosy from exposure to the sun, flushed an even deeper hue of pink. “Oh! No, um, I mean, the others helped me too, without them I would have been in a lot of trouble.” 

You wished you never had to hear a female student downplay her abilities ever again; it was almost painful, especially considering how ridiculously overpowered Shiemi had proven herself to be. You thought of the other students (Shima, for example, who had gotten this close to becoming ghoul shish kebab) and their less-than-ideal reactions at the beginning of the test. 

Some of your scepticism bled into your voice. “I’m sure you would have managed.”

She flushed awkwardly at the praise, and you once more experienced that feeling of sudden fondness. It was probably the reason that, without knowing what you were about to say, you felt your mouth open once more.

“With the right training, you’d have a good chance of rising to the top of your class.” The words left your mouth without warning. “If you are amenable, I would be willing to offer additional instruction.”

Her eyes widened at the same time that Neuhaus visibly turned his head to look at you. If you got a double take from the other exorcist, you must have really caught him off guard. Having noticed the movement, you glanced at him and did a double take of your own: Sometime since you’d looked at him last, he’d lost his coat. He now stood before you in a plain, crew-neck t-shirt. 

That smug bastard, you thought, noting the way he didn’t even bother to meet your gaze. So he had been waiting for you to cave first to the heat; it must have been literal seconds afterwards that he shed his own outer layers. You might have been able to adopt a sense of superiority towards the childishness of this action had you not formerly been doing the exact same thing. Still, you fumed even as you tried to ignore just how weird it felt to see the man in a t-shirt; maybe you’d have to reassess the possible effect of your tank top. 

Back in the real world, Shiemi had finally begun her response. “I’m honoured, Ma’am,” she exclaimed, the words coming out somewhat fast due to her flustered state, “but I really don’t think I want to be at the top of the class, I’d much rather stay back and help the others!”

You tried not to let your annoyance show too clearly; your lips pursed ever-so-slightly. 

“If that’s what you want.” The lines near your mouth softened after a second, and you did your best to swallow your disappointment. “Congratulations regardless on your exam results, I’ll see you in class.”

She didn’t seem to notice that anything might be amiss; with as much perky enthusiasm as ever, she returned both of your goodbyes and plodded off to the supply shop with her tools. Pivoting on your heel, the irritation which you’d suppressed in her presence radiated off of you as you stalked away. 

His low voice briefly broke through your reverie. “Moriyama is not the only Tamer in that class.”

“So?”

The sharpness of your tone did not deter him. “Some might accuse you of favouritism.”

An almost strained wheeze of air left your lungs, and you rounded in on the other exorcist. “You,” you intoned, poking an accusatory finger towards his chest, “are not allowed to lecture me on appropriate student-teacher dynamics.”

There followed a pause in which the only change between you was the slight tightening of his eyes - as though he were squinting at you. Maybe it was the heat playing tricks on your mind, but you almost thought you saw his mouth twitch. Standing face-to-face like this, you were once more reminded of his casual attire; feeling somehow discomfited, you stepped back with a huff. 

“Besides,” Your voice was arch with scepticism as it attempted to fill the pause, “don’t pretend you haven’t noticed her potential. That girl’s a goldmine of natural talent, even if she chooses to waste most of it playing second fiddle to ‘the others’.” 

It was impossible to miss the disdain with which the two words were enunciated. He fell into step with you as you continued to walk. “You seem to think she should be more assertive.”

“I think she needs to get out of her own way.”

“And you could teach her that?” 

He didn’t miss the dirty look you shot him. “I do know a few things beyond ‘abduction and assault’,” you snarked. “I may not be an Upper First Classer, it’s true, however I do possess a few humble scraps of knowledge.” You muttered the next bit under your breath: “Such as how to  knock you on your ass.”

You shifted your bag further onto your shoulder in order to grab your key. In all of two seconds, the two of you were in an alleyway on the other side of True Cross. This barely caused a pause in the conversation. 

“Have you mentored a student before?”

Passing out of the alleyway and into the downtown area, you began to smoothly weave in and out of traffic. “I didn’t say I’d mentor her. All I offered - and, might I add, that she rejected - were a few extra lessons.”

“Right,” The dry tone of his voice was momentarily drowned out by the sound of music floating over the speakers of the grocery store you’d just entered, “additional, one-on-one lessons geared towards furthering her ability in a field you specialise in.” He watched you grab a pack of energy bars off of the shelf. “How foolish of me to mistake it for a mentorship.”

“Look here,” you retorted, pausing in the middle of your movement, “this may come as a shock, but I don’t need you to play teacher to me. Impress someone else with your,” The box in your hand waved in a vague gesture, “blank stares and provocative comments; I've done enough schooling over the years to be unaffected by them.”

He levelled you with a blank stare. “Provocative?”

“Hiya, teach!”

You simultaneously tensed. In the split second in which you mentally shot through all feasible options to tackle Neuhaus without anyone else noticing, you saw a flurry of emotions flash across the man’s face. Your eyes shifted to where Rin Okumura was waving at you. 

You tried not to grimace. “Hello, Mr. Okumura.” Your eyes flickered to the popsicle in his hand, and you cursed the universe for stacking the odds so that you’d just happen to reach the store at the same time the boy decided to buy himself an ice-cream. If there was a god, you must have done something horrifically blasphemous in a previous life. 

At that exact moment, Neuhaus turned. Rin’s expression dropped immediately, and something like uncertainty filled his gaze as he surveyed the two of you in a different light; his blue eyes flickered from Neuhaus to you with confusion, then to the shopping basket in your hand with something more like blatant disbelief. You suddenly felt naked without the rest of your uniform.

Fuck, of all the days for you to run into not one but two of your students. 

“What are you doing out together?” he blurted out. “Are you friends or something?”

The way he intoned ‘friends’ did not leave much room for doubt regarding how intensely bizarre he found the concept. Going by the subsequent glance you and the other Tamer shared, your own thoughts weren’t all that different. Returning your focus to Rin, you raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t you have homework assignments to finish?”

The guess had not been a difficult one; he paled, and you briefly entertained the amusing notion that he thought you might be a mind-reader. 

“I’ve still got time,” he defensively declared, “It’s Sunday!”

“I’m sure you’ll choose to spend that time wisely.” You pointedly glanced at the popsicle once more. “Won’t you?”

He seemed to get the hint, but as he trudged away towards the register you caught the tail end of the words he muttered: “...just as bad as Yukio.” He abruptly paused right in front of the register. “Damn, mineral water!”

You watched him turn tail and sprint back the way he came. The curve of your lips faded as you glanced at the man who had his eye fixed on the boy’s retreating figure. It would be stating the obvious to say that he looked tense, but other than the hawkish way he was tracking the kid’s every movement, you had to say he was handling this sudden encounter better than you would have thought. Neuhaus finally broke his gaze away from Rin; when his brown eye met yours, he seemed vaguely surprised to find you watching him so intently. 

“What, shocked I didn’t jump him in the snack aisle?”

You blinked. Snapping out of it, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Could you blame me?”

His eyebrow fractionally rose, but he didn’t respond. His attention flickered to something just behind you, and you stiffened when his arm suddenly reached out towards you. For a split second, the two of you were very close; you could see the details of the summoning sigils on his arm closer than you’d ever had the chance before. Your entire body tensed at the sudden proximity; if it had been weird before, it was doubly so now that you could see the muscles shifting under his skin and had the faint smell of his shampoo drifting into your awareness. 

His arm retracted and you glimpsed the pack of instant ramen. A huff left your lips as your shoulders relaxed. 

“For someone who’s so fastidious about everything else, you sure have an interesting diet.”

Your phone chimed before he had a chance to respond. A slight curse left your lips as you tried to dig into your pocket with the basket in hand before you gave in and shoved it towards him. He glanced somewhat incredulously from the basket to your insistent expression, then took it from your hand with what was almost a sigh. Hands freed, you shifted your hold on your jacket in order to haul your phone from the depths of its pocket. 

Don’t forget about our meeting tomorrow.

You suppressed a wince. Having only been recently discharged, you hadn’t yet had a chance to fulfil your promise to Tachi; the two of you had decided on a time tomorrow morning when you had a free space in your schedule, and it seemed the other woman was taking no chances. As much as you were dreading it, you had no intention of going against your word, so every reminder of the other woman’s mistrust felt like twisting the knife even further. You still had no idea how to best approach that situation, you were hoping you’d have come up with something by this point. 

You shoved the phone back in your pocket. If some of this uncertainty bled into your expression and if the (annoyingly observant) man across from you noticed any of it, you didn’t want to know; resolutely ignoring him, you took back the basket and turned towards the register. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

Feeling like a child sitting in the principal’s office, you tucked one foot under the other as you awaited the other woman’s reaction. Tachi stared, unblinking, at where you sat on the countertop; her usually unflappable demeanour had been put on hold for a prolonged moment of pure disbelief. 

“Neuhaus?”

You were glad the walls of her lab were soundproof. Had that not been the case, then any hopes of keeping the content of your conversation to yourselves would have been shattered by the high, emphatic way she punctuated the question. Expecting hysterics, you resignedly nodded, but were surprised when - after another moment of silence - she simply let out a slight noise. 

“Huh.”

You blinked. “”Huh’?”

“That actually explains a lot,” she continued, the words spoken more to the air than directed towards you. Your brows shot up, but her next words came before you had a chance to speak. “Do you know that you’ve been a hot topic on the rumour mill?”

You stared at her, and she hummed. “I’m taking that as a ‘no’. Well,” Leaning back in her chair, she stretched out her arms, “enough of that. I guess this means that when you talked about spending more time with ‘the subject’, you meant that you had taken direct steps to increase your proximity to him?”

As tempted as you were to return to the subject she’d dismissed so easily, you resigned yourself to the fact that this was Tachi, and therefore your chances of redirecting the conversation were slim. Letting out a slight sigh, you nodded. 

“Initially, I went to the Director for help. He pulled a few strings to have us assigned on a mission, and then afterwards…” You tried to think of a good way to put it. “Let’s just say he found plenty of opportunities to shove us together.”

Her brow quirked. “Mephisto? With your track record, I wouldn’t have pegged him for your first choice.”

“He wasn’t,” You snorted, “but do you see any other cosmic beings around? After your tests failed to find anything wrong with me, I didn’t have a whole lot of options.” You rubbed at your temple. “I was getting desperate; the lack of sleep was driving me nuts, making me do things I usually wouldn’t.”

“Like what?”

The image of a soup carton flashed across your memory, and you blanched. “Do we have to go into all of that?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so easily embarrassed, you don’t think I’ve experienced stranger things around here? No,” She waved her hand in response to your indignant expression, “I’ll spare your delicate sensibilities. What happened after that?”

“As I spent more time with him, the dreams changed.” You frowned. “They were just as vivid as before, but they gradually became more… personal. I started off just watching him do things, but after a while I could feel as well.”

Tachi watched you with quietly observant eyes as you continued to speak. “The night that the dreamcatcher caught on fire, I had actually seen things from his perspective, it was as though I had somehow gotten inside of his head.” An uncomfortable itch surfaced just behind your left eye. “I knew his thoughts, feelings, it was disturbingly invasive.” 

A slight pause followed. “Of course,” you wryly added, “that was nothing compared to the chanting voices and the subsequent ‘hot-ash-awakening’.”

“Voices?”

“Yeah, it pulled me out of the vision, led me to this sort of,” You moved your hands in a vague gesture, “dark, in-between space. One moment I’m in the man’s head, the next I’m stuck in the void with a voice I don’t recognize and the worst headache in the world.”

The other woman leaned forward with interest. “What did it say?”

“No idea, it didn’t sound like Japanese. In fact, it didn’t sound like any language I know.” 

Her head tilted thoughtfully to the side even as she scribbled something onto a scrap of paper in front of her. “Too bad. And you didn’t see it catch fire?”

You didn’t note any disappointment in her expression when you shook your head. Humming, she jotted something else down. You tried to puzzle out some of the writing from where you sat on the counter, but the glimpse you were afforded only revealed lines of indistinct scrawls. She happened to glance up, and the two of you locked eyes. 

“Well?”

You didn’t need to be told twice; rearranging your folded legs, you carried on with your description. “After that, it was more of the same - minus the void. I saw things through his eyes, felt the pain that he felt, etcetera. No more fire and destruction, though.”

Her pen audibly clicked as Tachi finished writing. The cursebreaker took a moment to look over the notes, then looked up at your expectant expression. 

“You want the good news, or the bad news?”

“Is there no mediocre, ordinary news?” Her expression didn’t shift, and you sighed. “Bad.”

“Well,” she began, tone as chipper as ever, “it seems that, upon introducing an external spiritual presence, whatever is causing these visions promptly took care of it. The ‘void’, as you described it, could have been caused by the dreamcatcher’s interference. You follow?”

“When you say ‘take care of’...”

“Do I mean that I’m leaning towards the theory that, whatever it is, it’s sentient?” She paused. “Maybe. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but it seems to have some sort of defence mechanism in place: The fire certainly seems indicative of that much.”

“So what?” you asked. “The voices in my head can fight back? What about the rest?”

“You mean the increasing proximity of your visions?” At your nod, she gave a half-shrug. “Honestly, all we can do is theorise. It could be that spending more time with him lends you more insight into his character, thus giving your visions a more personal perspective. Alternatively, as we’d discussed on a previous occasion, it may be that you’re following the script and are consequently being rewarded.”

An arch noise resounded from the back of your throat. “Shit reward.”

“You seem to be making good use of it.” 

The statement threw you off guard; your eyes widened with the slightest amount of surprise as the other woman’s narrowed with intent. Recognizing that look of determination, you realised that you were in for another round of questioning. 

“Theorising aside,” The pen between her fingers began to rhythmically hit against her pinky, “what landed the both of you in Medical? While we’re at it, what was going on during the Certification Exam?”

Shit, of course she’d ask the exact questions you couldn’t answer; your expression involuntary twisted with discomfort. 

“I can’t tell you.”

The pen paused. Your lungs tightened as you watched her expression gradually change from inquisitive to surprised, and then finally to unimpressed. Tachi looked at you for a long moment before an exhale breezed past her lips. “This again?”

“It’s not like that,” you protested, feeling more and more ill-at-ease with each passing second, “it’s not a matter of embarrassment or trust, I just can’t.”

“Why not?” She spoke again just as your lips began to part. “And don’t tell me that it’s out of your hands, L/N, we both know that you’re not the type to accept that.”

“You’re right, and I won’t. Look, Tachi,” Your voice took on a slightly pleading tone, “it’s not about you, hell, it’s not even really about me.” You ran a hand through your hair. “The most I can tell you, if anything, is that he was going to do something very unwise and I had to convince him not to.”

“‘Convince’?”

“Forcefully.”

Something like surprise flashed through her eyes; you recognised that sharp interest. “You mean he landed you in Medical?” At your nod, she let out a faint noise of delight. “That’s certainly more interesting than what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of a mission gone wrong, but you really had a brawl with a coworker?”

“Not quite a brawl.” As soon as the words left your mouth, memories of the fight made you reconsider. “Alright, maybe a brawl.”

“So you did punch him at the Certification Exam!” she exclaimed, chair spinning slightly when she suddenly stood. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“That was actually an accident.”

She paid no mind to your half-hearted interjection. “And then you really fought each other?” Her eyes flickered to the bandaid across your hand, and recognition dawned. “How on earth did you win?”

“I’m flattered by your confidence in me,” you snarked. Her insistent gaze didn’t let up, and you grudgingly elaborated. “I levelled the playing field. Look, it wasn’t like we squared up for some big epic battle: It took all of five minutes, maybe ten, and neither of us even used our familiars. Hardly the stuff of legend.”

Tachi shot you a look. “I’m not really concerned with the ‘epicness’ of it so much as the fact that you had a physical conflict with another teacher. You know that doesn’t usually happen, right?”

“No shit? I thought I saw Tsubaki and Okumura going at it the other day.”

An abrupt snort left her. “Somehow I doubt it. It takes a certain brand of crazy to start fights with other exorcists; of course, in your case that craziness is doubled by the fact of which exorcist you chose.”

“It’s not as though I was vetting potential candidates.”

“I suppose not,” she replied. A moment of silence passed. “You really aren’t going to tell me, huh?”

The slight smile faded from your lips. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” A sense of acute inadequacy washed over you at the sound of your own words, and you felt your mouth opening again. “I promise I’ll tell you everything that I can from here on out. No more missed calls.”

Her expression wasn’t quite sceptical, but you could tell she was considering whether to accept that as an answer. A long second passed, and then - to your immense surprise - she shrugged. 

“If you’re that set on secrecy, then there’s nothing I can do to make you explain. Don’t get me wrong,” She pointedly stuck her finger out at you, “I don’t like it. At all. Whatever you’re doing is obviously dangerous and that makes it even more foolish not to tell anyone about it; you’re much too old to be acting like a secretive teenager.”

You were still waiting for the positive part of her statement. “However,” she continued, “if I inform the Director - if he doesn’t know already - then you’ll never take me into your confidence again, so I guess your secret is safe with me.”

In the midst of your surprise, a smile flashed across your face. “I’m too interesting a lab rat to lose.”

“You’d be a horrible lab rat, you’re too stubborn. You’d be just the type to ruin an entire experiment with your bizarre data.”

For some reason, you felt an inordinate surge of pride at being categorised as a ‘stubborn’ lab rat. Still grinning, you opened your mouth to respond but were distracted by a glimpse of the clock on the wall. You started. “Shit, I have to meet Neuhaus in the lounge.”

“Got a date?”

Your responding expression hopefully conveyed the depths of both dismay and chagrin her question elicited. “Don’t. I just have some papers to grade.” A slightly irritated sigh left your lips. “Until you’re able to look into those wards you were talking about, he and I are fused at the hip.”

“Cheer up,” she gaily ordered. “It shouldn’t take me that long to reach a workable solution, and besides, this could be a good opportunity for you to bond.”

“No one is bonding with anyone else.”

Tachi tilted a hand from side to side. “Bonding, research, whatever you want to call it. You can’t deny that this gives you an unprecedented opportunity to delve into your connection with him; pardon,” she dryly corrected, likely noting the way your expression had twisted at her use of ‘connection’, “your mind’s connection. You’re stuck with him anyways, you might as well get something out of it.”

“You mean other than his dazzling company?”

Her eyes flickered with amusement. “If you say so.”

You made it halfway to the exit before you abruptly paused. You turned to face the other exorcist. “Hold on, didn’t you say there was some sort of good news?”

She grinned. “The good news is that, whatever has taken up residence in your mind, it doesn’t seem to want you hurt. Did you think it was a coincidence that you woke up just in time to avoid being burned?”

That comforting bit of insight stayed with you long after you’d left the cursebreaker’s company. With everything that had happened over the past week, the voices in your head had taken a lower position on your list of priorities, but now that the immediate danger had passed you found yourself doubly unnerved. Sure, you hadn’t gotten ash in your eyes, but how thrilled were you supposed to be about the supposedly ‘good’ news that the foreign entity in your mind wasn’t out for blood?

You remained distracted by thoughts of possession and possible culprits throughout the rest of the day; you were so distracted, in fact, that you took a wrong turn and arrived at the teacher’s lounge five minutes later than you’d planned. Inside, in his usual spot, Neuhaus acknowledged your tardiness via the raising of a single brow. Not two seconds later, you dropped your bag on the ground next to him and fell into place on the couch. Not a single comment or snarky response left your lips in the time that you readied your work, pulling papers and folders from the bag at your side. 

Though you couldn’t see it, you felt his gaze upon you as you did so. A small part of you whispered that you were probably acting strange, but it fell on deaf ears. You fell into the rhythm of grading exams without so much a word towards the other exorcist, and soon enough he stopped looking for some sort of response. 

It was an easy silence. Even before all of this, you’d felt comfortable working alongside the man (mostly because he wasn’t overly talkative) so it was no great surprise that you’d be able to immerse yourself into your work with him at your side. Well, try to immerse yourself; you got about ten minutes into grading your upperclassmens' exams before your mind traitorously decided to wander: You’d done everything you could - had even gone to Mephisto for help, would there ever be a time that you wouldn’t have to worry about being infected with some sort of deific parasite?

“That’s incorrect.”

You blinked. If you hadn’t had so much practice in controlling yourself, you might have jumped out of your skin at the way the man’s low voice suddenly rumbled from your side. Mouth twitching with irritation at the sudden interruption, you glanced over to find his attention fixed on the paper in your hand. 

“Excuse me?”

The question lifted with subtle indignance. Unfazed, he lifted his gaze to lock with yours. “You marked their answer as correct, but they made a mistake.” His voice continued with its usual steadiness even as your irritation heightened. “Among the kin of Iblis, your student has forgotten Muspell.”

Your eyes flickered to the page. Tasked with naming the kin of several demon kings, the student in question had diligently listed the lineages of Amaimon, Astaroth and - or so you’d thought - Iblis. Now, as you looked over their lengthy answer, you realised that Neuhaus was correct. 

You bit back a curse. The pen in your hand moved smoothly, and soon the grade was scratched out and corrected. Despite this brief moment of carelessness, you continued to feel annoyed at the other exorcist’s interjection; you directed a frown towards his blank expression. 

“I was under the impression that you had exams of your own to grade.”

The stack of papers on his side of the table certainly seemed to point in that direction; you might have forced the man to take the rest of the year off, but there was not yet a replacement to take over his classes. The exams which had already been taken needed to be graded, and there was no one else to do it. The man took the pointed comment in stride. 

“I have finished. You have not.”

Damn the man, why couldn’t you ever seem to get the last word? You unconsciously set the paper in your hand down as you fully turned your attention towards Neuhaus. 

“You’ve finished? Completely?” The slight archness of your tone betrayed your scepticism. “You have two more classes than I do, how can you have completed everything already?”

Perhaps kindly, his expression didn’t show even a hint of superiority when he responded. “I grade the exams as they come, not all at the end of the year.”

Ouch. You weren’t completely sure you didn’t actually wince, but regardless of how expressive you’d been it was undeniable that he’d hit the nail on the head. You had the sinking feeling that, no matter what you might respond, he’d find some way to one-up you; without comment (and with some difficulty), you settled back into your work with the main difference that, this time, you were not plagued by thoughts of your prophetic abilities but rather a heightened awareness that Neuhaus was reading every word of your student’s work alongside you. 

Five minutes went by. 

“The Impure King rose in the fifth year of the Ansei Era.”

You bristled. “Neuhaus-”

“Hey, L/N!"

The both of you looked up. It was with faint curiosity that you made eye contact with Fueguchi, who you hadn’t seen since that fateful night that you’d indulged in abduction. Indeed, they seemed a little surprised as well, but you soon realised that it had less to do with seeing you and more to do with who they were seeing you with. They stared at you for a moment. 

“Yes?”

Your response snapped them out of whatever they’d been thinking; the other teacher jerked a thumb towards the door from which they’d just come. “One of your students is outside asking for you, a Ms. Moriyama.”

This time, there was no concealing your surprise. Keenly aware of Neuhaus’ gaze on your back, you rose from the couch and strode towards the entrance to the lounge. There, just outside of the doors, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot, stood Shiemi. She caught sight of you immediately and practically surged forward in her rush to start talking. 

“Ms. L/N! Thank you for seeing me, I know that it’s the middle of the day and you’re probably very busy, but I didn’t know where else to find you and-”

You held up a hand. “Shiemi, please slow down a little.”

She flushed, then took in a breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” You felt your lips fall into a soft smile. “What can I do for you?”

All at once, the energy returned, albeit somewhat subdued when compared to before. “It’s about the lessons, the ones you offered yesterday?” The words were spoken a little breathlessly. “If it’s alright, Ma’am, I’d like to change my mind!”

You blinked. Whatever you’d been expecting, that certainly hadn’t been it. After her swift rejection the day before, you’d pretty much dismissed the notion that she might change her mind; as such, you found yourself taken completely off guard. A moment passed before you were able to recover from the initial shock. 

“Of course,” you finally replied, hoping that she hadn’t noticed your momentary slip-up. “May I ask what prompted this sudden decision?”

Her expression twisted with thought. “Well, Yuki - I mean, Mr. Okumura - and Mr. Tsubaki sent us on a mission to find a ghost in ‘Mepphyland’ and Rin and I got paired together except when we found the ghost we got separated and,” She breathed deeply, “all of a sudden he was gone and there was an earthquake and part of the park was destroyed and it wasn’t Rin’s fault but Ms. Kirigakure still took him for questioning and wouldn’t even let me heal his wounds!”

Your ears perked. “Did you say ‘Kirigakure’?” At her nod, you continued: “Shura Kirigakure?”

“That’s what she said: ‘Ms. Kirigakure, Senior Exorcist First Class’” Shiemi’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you alright, Ms. L/N?”

At that exact moment, you were holding back a curse of the utmost foulness. Restraining yourself, you tried not to speak your next words through gritted teeth. “Fine, Shiemi.” The rest of her explanation gradually came back to you. “You said that she arrived on the scene after there was an earthquake?”

The blonde emphatically nodded. “Yes. Well, actually, she was sort of already there.” At your questioning look, she hurried to elaborate. “I think she might have been disguised as a student. One moment she was Mr. Yamada, and then she took off her hood and…”

For reasons unknown to you, she flushed. A different time, you might have wondered about it, but you were still reeling from her previous revelation. A good second passed before you spoke. 

“Thank you, Shiemi.” Your voice was somewhat tight, but as you looked down at her anxious expression you made an effort to relax. “Well,” you began, “this is certainly an… unexpected development, but what exactly made you come to me?”

She blinked as though she’d completely forgotten her original reason for speaking with you. “Because I could have done more!” she exclaimed. “Rin was my partner, and I wasn’t able to stop him from getting injured!” Her hands curled into fists as her gaze fell to the floor. “If I were more powerful, I could help everyone.”

Well, you thought as your mouth thinned into a line, you can’t win them all: If Shiemi wouldn’t train herself for her own ambition, this reason would have to do. Hopefully you would be able to do something about that saviour complex over time; help her to focus more on herself. 

Her eyes snapped back up when you lightly rested your hand on her shoulder. “Alright,” you said, “but it’ll be hard work.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, I’ll work very hard! I don’t mind putting in the effort if it means I can help my friends!”

Biting your tongue, you released her shoulder. “That’s good to hear.” You scoured your mind for an idea of the best time to schedule her, and then a thought occurred to you. “One moment.” 

Pivoting, you reentered the lounge. Not five seconds later, you returned with a pen and a scrap of paper. After scribbling something down, you handed Shiemi the note. 

“This is my phone number,” you told her. “Contact me in emergencies and if you have any questions regarding our lessons. I have to look over my schedule, so for now just give me your number and I will let you know about the best time for us to meet.”

She stared at the note with wide eyes. After a long moment without any other reaction, you cleared your throat. This caused her to start, after which she began to nervously play with the hem of her skirt. 

“Thank you, Ms. L/N, but I don’t have a phone.”

You blanched. Of course she didn’t, you wryly mused, this was the daughter of Kaede Moriyama - the woman who didn’t use plastic - standing in front of you. Mentally smacking yourself for the gaffe, you tried once again. “Alright,” you conceded, “then we’ll have to get you one.”

Her lips parted with surprise. “What?” she stammered. “I mean, really? You would do that?”

An uncomfortable feeling surfaced at the back of your neck. “Of course.” There she was, looking at you with those shining green eyes. You wished you could become invisible. “Our lessons may be very unpredictable, I need a quick way to contact you.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, I won’t let you down!”

She hurriedly bowed, and then before you knew it she was running the other way. Staring after her, you found yourself wondering how on earth you kept on getting into these sorts of situations; something to do with your big mouth and that annoyingly noble part of you which couldn’t seem to leave things be. A second passed, then you turned on your heel. 

You stopped in front of the couch. “Us, outside.”

Neuhaus slowly looked up at you. This curt order also caught the attention of Fueguchi, who was sitting on the adjacent couch. In your peripheral vision, you noticed their gaze flicker between the two of you. You ignored them in favour of donning an expression which hopefully conveyed to the other Tamer that yes, you were serious, and no, you did not want to argue in the middle of the teacher’s lounge. Neuhaus briefly studied you. 

The folders slipped neatly into his case, the movement punctuated by the sound of the clasps clicking shut. You snatched your own bag from off of the floor at his feet and began to shove in the ungraded exams. When that was done, you glanced up and found him already standing at the door. Your eyes locked, and his brows rose expectantly. 

Coming?

The unspoken question made you scowl. You stalked towards the door and out into the hallway without so much as a glance in his direction; the other Tamer cooly fell into step next to you, for all appearances completely at ease although he had no idea where he was being led. You slotted your key into the first available door, and the two of you stepped out of sight. 

The walls of your room had only just greeted you when you rounded in on him. “Did you know that Kirigakure was undercover as a student?”

He paused. His eye flickered over your face as though he were gauging whether you were serious, then his features settled into an almost thoughtful expression. “No,” he finally responded. “So the Vatican did have their suspicions, how interesting.”

“No, it’s bad,” you hissed. “If she’s taken the boy in for questioning, that means that she saw something. If she saw something, she’s going to interrogate the Director which means we,” Your hand gestured between you, “are only not going to be in a load of shit if Mephisto keeps his mouth shut. You see the issue?”

Something akin to amusement flashed over his face. “I thought you were at peace with your treason.”

How you wished you had stabbed him when you’d had the chance. “I am ‘at peace’ with a lot of things, but I would prefer to avoid being brought before the Grigori if at all possible.” Ire sparked in your eyes. “As a matter of fact, so should you! Why are you so apathetic about this?”

“The matter of my future does not cause me great concern.”

“If you had any sense, it would,” you shot back. “Are you just going to lay around and take things as they come?”

His tone became very dry. “Are you planning to kidnap her as well?”

“Don’t tempt me.” An irritated sigh left your lips as your hand moved from your temple to dig into your hair. “Fantastic,” you muttered. “I’m one step away from being tried for treason and my only cohort is a nihilist with an attitude.”

He didn’t respond, but you doubted he hadn’t heard you. After a moment, you unclenched your fist and watched as the strands of hair slipped through your fingertips. When you looked up, you found the other exorcist observing you. His expression (as you’d long become accustomed to) didn’t betray much of anything, but there was a certain glint in his eye which deviated from its usual blankness. You had the sudden impression that he was considering something, as though something had just occurred to him and he was watching you for confirmation. You let your hand fall. 

“Something to add?”

He shook his head, but you were surprised to note the hint of a smirk which tugged at his lips. You stared at him, eyes flickering from that slight curve to the rest of his face before you realised that you really shouldn’t be eyeing his mouth. From then on, you kept your eyes locked firmly with his. 

“I see you’ve changed the decor.”

You visibly paused at the unexpected statement. Your gaze followed his; the hard line of your mouth twitched with amusement when your eyes landed on the empty dresser. You turned back. 

“I was convinced of the merits of not keeping sedatives within easy reach.”

What a lesson that had been; you thought you’d rather take another shard to the neck than experience such a horrific state of sleep paralysis again. The words had only just left your mouth when you were hit full force by the realisation that, wait, you had brought him into your room. A wave of mortification washed over you as you recognized that, in your hurry to get him somewhere without prying eyes, you’d inadvertently chosen the first place that came to mind. No wonder he’d chosen to remark on the decor; you were sure that smug fucker knew what you’d done. 

You cleared your throat, then pushed past him in order to access the door. “Come on,” you grumbled, “I have to buy Moriyama a phone.”

Chapter Text

Swish!

You ducked to the side, dodging the baseball which flew through the air where your head had been. The ball had only just passed by you when it suddenly exploded. From somewhere behind you, you heard a chirp of satisfaction. 

Though you didn’t stop moving, you smiled. There were only a few seconds left of the training simulation left, and you intended to make the most out of what was your first time in the ring since you’d taken a tumble with Neuhaus. Your neck injury had prevented you from much physical activity until now; you weren’t really even supposed to be doing this much, but since you no longer had stitches which could be opened, you had jumped at the chance to be active without the risk of bleeding out. 

“-four, three, two-”

Your sword hit the final ball with a flourish just as the countdown ended. The sudden silence was loud; your breathing echoed through the empty training hall. There was the sound of metal upon metal as you sheathed your sword, and then you unlocked the cage door. 

You grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped your face. A sound from the side caught your attention; a slight smile on your lips, you turned fully towards the Sylph waiting as patiently as possible to be acknowledged. She let out a trill. 

“Yes, thank you, I did notice.”

With a smug expression, she floated from her place near the cage to hover near your shoulders. You suppressed another smile at the action, choosing instead to take a swig of water from the bottle next to you. Her beady eyes tracked your every moment. 

The other effect of being put out of commission by the injuries you’d sustained had been that, since Neuhaus had neatly sliced through your palm, you hadn’t been able to summon Kaze. Considering the previous training the other Tamer had put you through, you hadn’t thought it would be that big of a deal. 

You were wrong. 

Not only had your familiar not enjoyed the feeling of being so violently wrenched from your side, but apparently she’d been worried sick about your chances of survival without her: As soon as you’d summoned her again, you’d been overcome with a storm of angry, anxious chatter. It had taken a good fifteen minutes just to calm her enough to figure out the issue, after which you’d spent another fifteen trying to convince her that yes, really, you were alright. Like a restless mother she had coiled herself around your head and shoulders, making noises of displeasure at your injuries even as she refused to leave your side. You’d found yourself in the unique position of trying to comfort her, and though you’d eventually been somewhat successful she had been especially clingy ever since. 

That wasn’t the only change. A ping! sounded from your phone, and you set down the water bottle in order to check it. You hummed, talking more to the air than Kaze directly when you spoke. “‘Have not murdered anyone.’,” you read aloud, your tone dry in its enunciation. Glancing up, you locked eyes with your familiar. “Neuhaus’ idea of humour. He seems to become more creative with each check-in.”

Her tiny face twisted with displeasure before she audibly ground her teeth. She looked at your phone as though she would have liked to smash it into the ground, but you - having learned your lesson the first time you’d mentioned the man around something breakable - had already curled your fingers in an iron grip. A high-pitched whine filled the room. You let out a sigh. 

In hindsight, it should hardly have come as a surprise that she would take an immediate dislike to the only man - no, the only person - to have ever pulled such a dirty move on you during combat. No one else had ever gotten close enough to have the chance to slice through your summoning sigil, but you also doubted that anyone else had had the idea. Kaze, who was temperamental at best and downright volatile at worst, had not taken kindly to Neuhaus’ strategy. It had been all you could do since then to keep her from going off and killing the man. Your control was firm enough that you weren’t actually worried for his life, but there were a few doubts in the back of your mind as to his general safety the next time you ended up in combat together; you’d have to watch out for any ‘accidental’ injuries. 

Another message on the screen caught your attention: Your eyebrows rose as you took in the ‘missed call’ notification; when you swiped your thumb over the notification, it revealed Yamada’s number. You stared at it for a second and were just about to press the button to call him back when another notification popped up, this time from an alert on your calendar. 

“Shit.”

Your movements became hurried as you twisted the cap on the water bottle and began to shove your things back into your bag. When you’d decided to take advantage of one of the few breaks you had from Neuhaus’ company - carefully chosen as to coincide with Rin Okumura’s schedule (you figured he couldn’t very well go after the boy in the middle of class) - you’d set an alert to tell you when it was about to end. You hadn’t planned on cutting it this close, but you’d lost yourself in the euphoria of combat and had not paid due attention to your watch. You stumbled a bit in your rush to pull a shirt over your head, and Kaze let out a somewhat pointed chirp. 

“Yeah, I know, but until I can figure out some other way of keeping an eye on him, this is all I’ve got.”

Her bird-like trill echoed through the room as you continued to dress. “No, that’s unethical.” Another warble, and you lifted your head to fix her with an unimpressed look. “I don’t care if he’s a man, it’s still murder.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms as though to say ‘well, I tried!’. This silence lasted all of five seconds; you’d just begun to lace up your right shoe when she spoke; your fingers paused, and you craned your neck to look up at her. 

“What? What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. A longer round of chatter followed, during which you became more and more immersed, even forgetting that you were supposed to be in a hurry. Your brow knitted together with confusion even as you straightened, fingers falling from the yet-untied shoelaces. 

“I’ve never heard of that before,” you slowly replied. “A tracker?”

Kaze’s hand waved in an impatient gesture as she continued to prattle. Your brows rose. “A bell? An actual one, or is it just called that?” 

Growing increasingly annoyed with the many questions, she gnashed her teeth together and let out a loud wail. You defensively raised your hands. “Sorry, Jesus! You can’t just tell me about some weird ability you have to ‘bell’ my coworker and expect me to run along without any questions!”

You’d never even heard of a ‘sylph bell’, not that that was particularly surprising. They weren’t popular choices for familiars, and so you’d never personally known another Tamer with one. There were probably dozens of things that Kaze could do which you remained unaware of. Still, you were a little apprehensive of using some strange technique she’d suddenly suggested on the man she intensely disliked. 

“How does it work anyways?” you asked. “How do I know he’s not going to just disarm or remove it and stick it on someone else?”

She drew a finger across her throat in a meaningful gesture. Your brows shot to the ceiling, and your voice turned arch. “It kills him?” A chirp of confirmation. “Christ,” you muttered, “that’s a bit more intense than what I was hoping for.”

That did not seem to be the reaction Kaze had been hoping for, either. Unfortunately she did not have the chance to air her frustration in further detail; you’d just snapped back to the reality of your situation and - after tossing your shoelaces into a messy knot - grabbed your sword and strapped it to your hip. You shot her an expectant look, hand outstretched. 

“Come on, we can talk later.”

Either you were still in a grace period following your separation, or Kaze was just behaving uncharacteristically well. The Sylph blew a breath through her lips, but ultimately acquiesced and dissolved into silver mist.

Two minutes later, you were striding down the hallway towards the cram school classroom. It was more than concern for Okumura’s safety which led you this way; you also had to give Moriyama the phone that you’d promised her. Neuhaus had had a field day on that shopping trip (“Now you’re giving her gifts?” “If you say one more thing about ‘favouritism’ -”) and it would have been a lie to say that you were completely at ease with the subject yourself, but what was the alternative? You wanted to train Shiemi, you needed to be in contact with her, she didn’t have a phone; somehow you doubted Kaede Moriyama would be champing at the bit to buy her daughter a cellphone, and so it was up to you. 

An exhale breezed past your lips. Lately, it felt like you were taking on more and more responsibilities which should never have been yours in the first place; between keeping Okumura alive and supplying Shiemi with technology from the twenty-first century, you could feel yourself slipping further and further away from your prior conviction of staying out of your students’ personal lives. 

A lot of things had changed. Not for the first time you wondered how your past self would have reacted to all of this. Her resolve hadn’t been chipped at by sleepless nights and the most fucked-up of encounters with your coworker, so whatever her first instinct might have been, you doubted it would have leant towards kidnapping. 

The classroom door came into sight, but you would have known it was the correct room merely by hearing the distinctive voice which caught your ear. 

“-so anyways, do the problems on that page as homework and don’t bother me with any dumb questions!”

Your features settled into a blank expression. Yes, that was Shura Kirigakure alright. You’d crossed paths with Shiro Fugimoto’s protegee more than once; needless to say, you were not overjoyed at the prospect of a reunion. Although unquestionably talented, you didn’t like Kirigakure’s brazen manner: It was one thing to be occasionally surly (you weren’t winning any prizes for your charm), but it was another to have no filter whatsoever. The young woman seemed to have absolutely no issue saying things straight to people’s faces which most exorcists would find appalling, if not at least a bad career choice. She’d even chewed the former Paladin out on a few occasions; you figured Fugimoto had let her get away with it out of some sense of fondness. In short, she lacked the two things you valued most in other exorcists: Professionalism, and brevity. 

The door opened as the students began to emerge. Suguro exited first, and you caught the tail end of his mutterings to Miwa:

“-what kind of teacher is she anyways?” he fumed, completely missing you in his irritation. “She wouldn’t even tell us why she was pretending to be a student!”

Shima drifted out behind him, a dreamy expression on his face. “Who cares about any of that? Did you see the size of her-”

“Ms. L/N!”

The two of them stiffened at the sound of Miwa’s exclamation. “Mr. Miwa, Mr. Suguro.” You greeted them with a nod, your gaze turning slightly wry when it landed on the last boy. “Mr. Shima. Out of class already?”

You ignored the inherent falseness of your own question. Suguro seemed to take your appearance as a sign; he pounced forward with that determined expression. “Ms. L/N, do you know why our teacher for Circles-N-Seals has changed? Where’s Mr. Neuhaus?”

If he knows what’s good for him, you mused, waiting for me in the lounge. 

“I believe he’s taken the rest of the year off.” Your voice was firm and gave nothing away as you answered him. “A sort of sabbatical, I suppose. Why, do you have questions about the material?”

The boy directed a loaded glance towards the classroom door. “More like questions about the replacement.”

“Hey, rooster!”

Indignance shot across Suguro’s face like a bolt of lightning. A head of reddish-pink hair appeared in the doorway. Shura Kirigakure crossed her arms. 

“Don’t you have another class to go to or something? Stop messing around in the hallway and scram!”

“Ms. Kirigakure.” Your cool greeting echoed in stark contrast to her exclamation. Your eyes met. “Mr. Suguro and I were just talking, I’m sure he has no intention of missing his next class.” Before she could respond, you returned your focus to the boy in front of you. “If you have any questions for Mr. Neuhaus, I’m sure he could arrange for a bit of time to discuss them. Otherwise, I believe he will return to teaching after the summer vacation.”

He inclined his head in a polite nod. “Thank you, Ma’am, I was just wondering what had happened.”

With that he bid you goodbye, grabbing Shima by the collar and hauling him alongside him when he realised the other boy was too busy staring at his teacher’s chest to notice that his friends had started to walk away. You spared a moment to feel faint bemusement before you turned, locking eyes once more with the other woman. She didn’t exactly look pleased to see you, especially when she realised you weren’t going to move on. 

She leant against the doorframe even as Kamiki struggled past her. Her eyes scanned you appraisingly. “Still in this dump, huh?”

You weren’t sure whether to feel amused or offended. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I heard that you’d applied for a position at the Vatican. Guess this means we’re coworkers after all.”

How long ago that all seemed: Nowadays you couldn’t muster up even a hint of your previous anger at having been relegated to another year at True Cross (you had other issues). That didn’t mean you couldn’t feel irritated; your lips twitched with the urge to frown.

“I was surprised to hear that you had taken over Neuhaus’ position, I was not under the impression that you were interested in teaching.”

“Yeah, well,” She shrugged, “maybe I had a change of heart.” The shrewdness of her eyes belied the casual tone in which the words had been spoken. “What do you want, anyways?”

You inclined your chin towards the door. “I’m waiting to have a word with one of my students.”

“Um, Ms. Kirigakure?”

Speak of the devil. Kirigakure turned at the sudden voice, revealing Shiemi’s hesitant expression behind her. This expression twisted further with discomfort upon finding herself the subject of her teacher’s scrutiny; the girl made a noise somewhat like a squeak before she cleared her throat. 

“Sorry Ma’am, it’s just that you were blocking the doorway and I didn’t want to push past you-” Something like surprise flashed across her face when she caught sight of you. “Ms. L/N?”

Your name was transformed into a question by the way her voice lifted at the end. Seizing the opportunity, you flashed her a slight smile before diving straight to the point. “Hello, Shiemi. Could I have a moment of your time?”

Before she could answer, Okumura appeared at her side. Kirigakure was still taking up most of the doorway, but you caught the quizzical glance he sent in your direction; probably wondering what Moriyama could have done to get pulled aside by a teacher. In the meantime, his friend’s expression had lit up. 

“Of course!” She whirled around to face Okumura. “Rin, would you mind waiting for me?”

After a second, he shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirigakure was still watching you with that doubtful expression; you weren’t sure why, it was hardly unusual for you to want a word with one of your students. The thought that it might have something to do with the previous day’s events had crossed your mind, but you tried to stop yourself from falling too deep down that rabbit hole. You’d spent most of the time since hearing about her appearance waiting for the other shoe to drop; up until now it hadn’t, but you managed to find some small comfort in the fact that - had Mephisto told her anything truly compromising - you would definitely have known about it by this point. Still, you felt the weight of her eyes on your back as you led Moriyama a few steps further into the hallway, where your conversation would be a bit more private. 

You stretched out your hand. “Here.”

The box rattled slightly as she took it. You let your arm drop to your side. “Now, Shiemi,” you continued, your voice hopefully coming across as serious even though you’d pretty much just handed her what amounted to a present, “I hope I don’t need to tell you that the use of this phone is to take place outside of class. I would be very disappointed if it caused you to become distracted during your lessons.” 

The ridiculousness of saying this to her struck you even as the words left your mouth. There was no way in hell that the girl in front of you had even dreamed of using it to slack off in class; you found yourself hooked by the disturbing notion that, just maybe, you’d only said it to make yourself feel that you hadn’t completely lost your stern edge. 

“Yes, I promise!” Even through her earnestness, you could see a hint of excitement. She hesitated for a moment, and then flashed you a smile. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

The words came out softer than you were accustomed to: Usually she was so flustered that everything she said blended together into a rushed jumble of words, punctuated by her perpetually upbeat tone of voice. It was like glimpsing a different side of her; something more relaxed. It surprised you, but what surprised you even more was that you felt your lips tug into a smile of their own. You nodded towards the door.

“Go on then, your friend is waiting. I’ll be in touch about our lessons.”

As usual, she didn’t wait to be told twice; watching the back of her hair bounce as she and Okumura headed down the hallway, you once more became aware of the eyes on you. You turned and met Kirigakure’s gaze. She squinted. 

“You’re not as much of a hard-ass as you used to be. Have you gone soft or something?”

Your eyes flashed. “You haven’t changed much, I would have thought a post as senior inspector would teach you some diplomacy.”

Her otherwise unaffected expression twisted with irritation, and you suddenly found yourself on the receiving end of her temper as she stepped forward with a glare. “Listen here, L/N,” Her finger came close to actually jabbing you in the chest, “don’t think that you can pull that shit on me just because you got promoted. I’m not your student, so back the hell off!” 

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you could feel the walls of blankness falling into place over your face. Your eyes flickered from her hand to her face with pointed impassiveness before you smoothly stepped out of her reach. “Goodbye, Ms. Kirigakure.”

This curt dismissal made her sputter, but you were in no mood for further confrontation. Whatever softness had emerged during your exchange with Moriyama had promptly been replaced by shards of ice; the cold practically radiated off of you as you stalked down the hallway, the only reason you weren’t internally fuming at the other woman was because your thoughts were already preoccupied with puzzling out the bizarreness of what she had said. 

‘Promoted’? Where the hell had that come from? You hadn’t spoken to the other exorcist in years, but your rank was no secret: You’d been Upper Second Class for a while now, and had no real ambitions of moving up. You hadn’t even caught it in the moment that she’d said it, however you were pretty sure you hadn’t misheard. 

Was this some sort of mind game? Some bizarre tactic of throwing you off guard? All attempts to find a plausible reason for her statement came up short; for the life of you, you had no fucking clue why she’d said it. Maybe Mephisto had fed her false information in an attempt to screw with her; you doubted it, but it was more believable than her having pulled it completely out of her ass. 

It irked you, but you set it aside in order to go about the rest of your day. As soon as you kept your rendezvous with Neuhaus, your thoughts returned to the disturbing encounter you’d had earlier that morning: Kaze hadn’t been exactly generous with details, but her suggestion to place some sort of tracker on him which was fatal if disturbed was hard to forget. Every time he so much as entered your field of vision, you found yourself unwillingly returning to the question of ‘what if…?’. 

It felt immoral. You’d said as much to her in the moment, but that didn’t stop your traitorous mind from considering it anyway. There was no getting by the fact that it would make things easier for you; while no longer relegated to the role of babysitter, you’d have a surefire way of knowing if he was up to no good. Okumura would be safe, and you’d be able to go more than an hour or two without seeing Neuhaus. The mere thought of this freedom was enough to have you wistfully casting a glance at the door. 

Still. As much as you trusted Kaze with your life, you trusted her a little less with his and even if you hadn’t harboured doubts about her intentions, you didn’t love the thought of using him as a guinea pig for a potentially fatal technique. You hadn’t gotten this far with Kaze by overestimating your control - you weren’t about to start with someone else’s life on the line. 

Besides, you added, you weren’t all that sure it was necessary in the first place. The other Tamer, while at times not the most pleasant of company, had been suspiciously well-behaved thus far. Could it really be that he had given up his murderous intentions so quickly? You found it odd that, one minute, he’d been ready to throw his entire life away in order to get revenge, and then the next he was following you around True Cross with seemingly little to say about it. Although your warning had been seriously given, somehow you doubted that the threat of retribution from you alone was really enough to keep him in line. 

A crease formed between your brows as you glanced over at him. It was odd; you hadn’t given it any serious thought until now, what was his motivation? You’d never professed to understand him particularly well, but even you could tell that his behaviour was out of place. Granted, conspiring to kill a student wasn’t exactly run-of-the-mill in the first place; maybe it was not a good idea to hold his actions to a standard of ‘normalcy’. 

He cleared his throat, and you realised that you’d been staring. You immediately drew your face back into an even expression, but it was too late: you had no idea how long you’d been looking at him like that, eyes distant and brow furrowed. For all he knew, you were using his face as inspiration for your next bout of misdemeanours. You couldn’t fully hold back a smile at the thought, after which you caught his glance of silent judgement and quickly resigned yourself to the inevitable snarky comment which he would impart. 

He didn’t. In fact, all he did was gaze at you a moment longer with that inscrutable expression, after which he returned to his work without so much as a raised brow. Thrown off-guard, you tried not to let your surprise show too visibly. Your eyes tracked his movements for a few seconds afterwards, however he didn’t break his concentration. 

In some twisted way, there was something comforting about the back-and-forth you’d developed; you found yourself feeling discomfited by its sudden failure to materialise. An uncomfortable flush threatened to creep from your neck to your face; unwilling to show that he’d made you uneasy, you used one hand to tug the elastic out of your hair. The strands fell in front of your face like a shield, and you finally allowed yourself to concentrate fully on your work. 

Some time later, when you reached into your bag for a different pen, your hand brushed against a weighty bit of paper. Your brows drew together in momentary confusion at what it could be, but you remembered as soon as you caught sight of the envelope: Earlier that morning you’d swung by your mailbox on your way to class; the only letter of any interest had been stamped with the official seal of the Vatican. At the time you’d simply stuck it in your bag to deal with when you didn’t have class. Now that you’d been reminded of its existence, you put your work aside, pulled it out and smoothly tore through the envelope. 

Expecting it to be a paycheck or something to do with a previous mission, your eyes scanned lazily over the first few words. Your lips soon tugged into a frown as you continued to read, followed soon after by the furrowing of your brow; gradually - as though you were a marionette being tugged into place - you straightened in your seat until finally you had assimilated a posture of keen interest. You didn’t notice the way your partner looked over at where you were almost leaning into the paper; in your concentration, you didn’t even notice you were doing it. 

‘-inform you, Y/N L/N, that as of the first of the month and through the due process of consideration your appeal for promotion has been approved. Enclosed is your new identification card (ID), the existence of which renders all formerly-issued IDs void. Please return the IDs in question to the Japan Personnel Branch at-’

Your lips parted with disbelief. A second later, your free hand plunged back into the envelope and, after a moment of digging around, emerged with a shiny plastic card. You held it enclosed in your fist as your eyes searched the page for one specific bit of information. 

A slight noise of triumph. ‘-decision made on the grounds of a satisfactory performance report as well as the personal recommendations of two senior members of the Order. The identity of any members who submit a vote of recommendation will remain anonymous to the exorcist in question for a span of five years, after which-”

You already knew the rest; it was the same thing they said in every letter: You can’t know who recommended you until five years after the fact, something to do with impartiality and ensuring that it couldn’t bite the senior member in the ass if you turned out to be a disappointment. The clause was inane anyways, because if you got to the point of being promoted you usually knew who had been willing to personally recommend you. 

Usually. 

What the fuck? Sure, this cleared up your earlier point of confusion, but knowing that you actually had been promoted only brought up the more substantial question of why. You sure as hell hadn’t put in an appeal, no matter what the paper might have said-

You visibly paused. One could almost see the gears in your head turning as you were suddenly reminded of a throwaway remark from several months ago, something to do with a hospital bed and an explanation which went something like ‘-that he’s training you for your promotion to Exorcist Upper First Class-

No. 

No. 

It took all the strength you had not to tip your head back and madly cackle with rage. Instead, your eye twitched. 

That fucker! 

It hadn’t been enough for him to simply make up the lie, he’d actually gone and submitted an actual request for promotion. You highly doubted Neuhaus had suspected you enough to investigate whether you were actually striving to move up in rank; you were sure that slimy purple rat had done it purely to fuck with you. No doubt Mephisto had supplied one of the recommendations personally just to ensure that your case was taken seriously: Of all the irritating, manipulative, motherfucking-

One. Your eyes flickered back to the page. If your performance report was good enough (and the recommendation from an exorcist high enough on the food chain), then one would have been enough, but the notice specifically mentioned two. 

For what felt like the thousandth time that day, you were stumped. If no one other than you and Mephisto had known about it, then who on earth could have submitted the second vote? You knew a couple of people at HQ, but no one who would see a request for promotion and go out of their way to supplement it. Every senior member you’d ever met flashed across your mind in quick succession; none of them fit the bill, hell, you’d never even really interacted-

“Have you finished?”

You started and knocked your knee against the underside of the table. Lips twisting in a silent curse, you sucked a breath through your teeth. Your eyes filled with fire as you turned towards the other exorcist. He showed no sign of being affected by your glare even as you opened your mouth to speak. 

“Do you mind…”

The sentence never finished; it had lost momentum in the middle, right about when you’d locked eyes with the man and been knocked over by a realisation. Sitting there, expression frozen in an uncharacteristically open display of surprise, you gaped at him. A second passed, and then he raised a brow. “What?”

No fucking way. No way in Gehenna was what you’d just thought the case; it made no sense, none at all, it couldn’t be, and yet you couldn’t disregard that it was a logical option. Your mind rebelled against itself; the fact that you were even considering it was ludicrous. 

Ignoring his question, your eyes dropped to your hand, the fingers of which were still furled around the ID. They slowly released to reveal a card identical to the one you currently possessed, save for that little bit of text which read ‘Upper First Class’. 

Despite the chaos of your thoughts, despite your pride and however much you’d previously insisted you didn’t care about being promoted, a warm feeling spread through your chest. In that moment, you were twenty again, fresh out of training and determined to prove that you could become something, someone worthy of respect. Though you didn’t know it, this warmth softened the harsh lines of your expression; when you finally looked up at the other exorcist, you were almost wearing a smile. 

You pocketed the ID. “Forget it.”

He gave no clue as to the content of his thoughts when he turned away after another moment of observation, but you wouldn’t have expected him to. You snuck a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. 

Mephisto had told him about it as an excuse to shove the two of you together: Neuhaus had known about the appeal, had known that you were supposedly training in order to attain a higher rank. A month ago, you would have laughed the idea off as ridiculous; even now you were having trouble with it: Could, would the man whom you had kidnapped, confronted and essentially shackled to your side really have gone out of his way to help your career? 

It was implausible. Then again, you’d thought that when you’d first had your suspicions about his involvement with Okumura; it seemed the man at your side made no sense at all. 

You tore your eyes away before a glance could turn into a stare. That softness had yet to fade, combined with your open hair it made you look different, gentler; the light from the adjacent window caught your features and cast them in a subtle glow. You might not have noticed it, but it did not go unnoticed, and at the very second in which you refocused on your work, an unlikely party stole a glance of his own.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck,” you sputtered, “what is this, an intervention?”

From where they had stationed themselves between you and the door of the room they’d dragged you into, Sato and Yamada exchanged a glance. It had been mere seconds since you’d caught sight of them (odd, you’d thought, to see them together in the middle of the day) and cheerfully given them a wave only for your friends to zero in, grab you by the shoulders, and haul you off to a nearby classroom. Too bewildered to react in time, you hadn’t done much of anything other than to yelp with surprise. They’d carted you off with admitted efficiency, and thus you found yourself confused and trapped 

After that significant glance, Yamada spoke up. “Yes, sort of.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

Sato nodded. “You’re going to tell us what is causing your weird behaviour.”

Her tone brooked little room for argument. You stared at them for a long moment as you internally tried to decide on a strategy: Deflect, deny, admit, explain-

“Have you completely gone insane?”

You seemed to have chosen the first. Your friends didn’t seem particularly surprised by this decision; in fact, they shared another pointed glance which seemed to imply that they had actually expected it. Miffed at the situation (and your apparent predictability), you opened your mouth for another retort. 

“Ok,” Yamada sighed, actually rolling up his sleeves as though he were about to dive into some particularly strenuous work, “so that’s how this is going to go.”

Before you could even think about asking what that was supposed to mean, he got straight to the point. “First of all,” He held out a finger as he said it, and you got the feeling that he had just named the first point of a long, long list , “your injury. You went from your usual self to some sort of distracted, sleep-deprived demon within less than a week of going to Medical, but you wouldn’t tell either of us what was going on.”

“I checked if they’d given you some sort of medication,” Sato chimed in, “but you were telling the truth about that much, so we couldn’t blame your odd behaviour on it.”

“You’re falling asleep in staff meetings, sneaking around like you’ve got something to hide-”

“I have not been sneaking!”

“-and then,” he continued, “you were sent to Medical again, which brings us to my second point.” He leant into your space and fixed you with an unrelenting stare. “What the hell is going on with you and Neuhaus?”

You blanked. It had been one thing to explain it to Tachi - she’d already known most of the story by that point - but to explain from the beginning to your two closest friends? You considered yourself a decent liar, however you seemed to have reached your limit. If you couldn’t come up with a convincing lie, then you could at least refrain from incriminating yourself further.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

An audible huff left him at the same time that Sato rolled her eyes. “Of course not,” she drawled, “let me refresh your memory: You had an allergy attack doing god-knows-what in an empty classroom with Neuhaus, with whom you hadn’t exchanged half a dozen words before this point, and he had to call in the paramedics. Ringing any bells?”

You stubbornly kept your mouth shut. “That alone might have had a perfectly simple explanation,” she continued, “if you hadn’t kept meeting him in secret. Something must have happened on that mission the Director sent you on, because I can’t think of a single other reason for you to suddenly start spending so much time with a coworker you’d barely interacted with.”

You were quickly realising that silence was not doing you any favours. “Look-”

She held up a finger. “I’m not finished. When I asked you about it, you not only brushed me off but actually ran away. Does that sound like the behaviour of someone with nothing to hide?”

“It doesn’t,” Yamada answered, “especially since Sato told me that you ran from her to chase down Neuhaus as he passed by the lounge.” His eyebrows pointedly raised. “We can’t be the only ones seeing a theme here.”

“I was asking him about our class!”

“That’s another thing!” Your friends’ voices blended together in their near-simultaneous exclamation; Yamada once more took the lead. “The both of you have been teaching here for how many years and not once has a joint class ever been offered.”

“It was the Director’s idea in the first place,” you protested, but your words were simply met with a shake of the head. 

“Since when does he involve himself in your lesson plans?” The other exorcist’s voice was heavy with scepticism. “Everyone knows that the two of you hate each other, you’re telling me you just went along with his interference?”

“Besides,” Sato added, “that’s only part of it. That doesn’t explain your behaviour, or what happened at the Certification Exam.”

Fuck, she was going there. If there was one thing which was impossible to bullshit your way out of, that was it;  so what if you’d acted irrationally, you’d thought the kid was about to be murdered! Your reasoning at the time had been perfectly sound, but you were keenly aware that there was no way of explaining this to them. 

“Let’s not go there.”

“How can we not?” Yamada seemed torn between irritation at your stubbornness and his own smugness at being able to confront you so efficiently. “You acted like an absolute maniac!” 

“I-”

“You tore through the wall!” The energy of this exclamation made him lean back, after which he began to pace back and forth. “I cannot even begin to go into how insane that is, but it’s made even worse by the fact that you did it to attack Neuhaus!”

“That was an accident!” you exclaimed, finally able to get a word in. “He surprised me, and I swung. It’s not like I went through the wall specifically to deck him!”

“Why did you go through the wall?”

Your mouth snapped shut, and your friends let out a synchronised groan. Yamada, who appeared to become more dishevelled by the second, dug a hand into his dark hair. Sato seemed to take this as a sign to take over; her cool eyes swept over you, observing how tightly you were clenching your jaw. 

“Should I even mention how you ended up in Medical again after the exam?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“I’d prefer if you weren’t so cagey about being sent to the hospital!” Yamada retorted. “One minute you’re punching him in the face, the next both of you are lying in Medical, injured and drugged out of your mind. As per usual, no one knows why the both of you had to be retrieved from the floor of your room - which, by the way,” He paused in his pacing to round in on you, “looked like a bomb had gone off in it-”

You squinted. “Who is telling you all of this?”

“-because neither of you will say a word!” His voice lifted with intense frustration even as he swept his hand in a wide gesture. “It’s like they picked the both of you up from the ‘silent, stoic and stupid’ factory, fresh out of production and ready to clam up about whatever the hell you’ve been up to!”

It seemed like he was quickly descending into hysterics. Seeing this, Sato smoothly stepped in. 

“I don’t need to point out that, since the exam, the two of you have been glued together.” She watched for any hint of a reaction. “It’s rare to see one without the other these days, we’re not the only ones who have noticed. If you have a way to explain all of this, it would be better to do it now rather than continue to let people speculate.”

That caught your attention. “Speculate?” The word came out higher-pitched than you’d intended; your friends seemed to notice. “What the hell is there to speculate about?”

A part of you was aware that you were not helping your one case by reacting so visibly, but your resolve to silence had been chipped away surprisingly quickly over the course of this exchange. Still, you didn’t quite expect the second of silence which followed: Sato seemed more contemplative than stunned, but Yamada’s mouth was open in a full-on gape. 

“Oh my God,” His words came out as a horrified whisper, “Fueguchi was right!”

Your brow furrowed. “What-”

“Are you sleeping together?”

Stunned silence. No, strike that: Stupefied silence; never before in your life had you received such whiplash from a string of words. Your mouth fell open. 

“What?” you hissed. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I didn’t believe them in the beginning,” he proclaimed, “but they were the first to put it all together!”

“Put what together?” All pretence of restraint was gone; you waved your hands in an almost hysteric gesture. “What in the everloving fuck are you talking about?”

“The sneaking-around!” He pointedly smacked the back of his hand on his other palm. “Hiding out empty classrooms, the secrecy: Not telling anyone what you were doing or why!”

You surged forward in your indignation. “That doesn’t mean we’re-” A lack of proper words made you falter. “Getting down!”

You thought you saw a vein pop over his eye as he met you with similar energy. “Fueguchi witnessed you putting in a booty-call!”

You reared back as though smacked, then proceeded to stare at him in bewildered silence. When you spoke, your voice came out hoarse. 

“Pardon?”

A hand rose to push the hair out of his face. “Around midnight the night of the Certification Exam, they saw you come into the lounge, give some bullshit excuse about ‘needing to talk to him’, and then the two of you left and never returned.”

You indulged in a heavy wince. “I had something to say!”

“All night?” His brows were at his hairline. “Neuhaus never came back for his bag!”

“We were in Medical!”

Sato clapped her hands together. “And we come full circle. Maybe we should-”

“And what about now, huh? What’s your excuse for him following you around like a love-sick puppy?”

Your eyes were narrowed in a heated glare. “He is not.”

“Bullshit!” your friend yelled. “You’re telling me one of True Cross’ most respected instructors - who isn’t exactly a social butterfly on the best of occasions - just suddenly decided he was fine with having you order him around?” Yamada’s face contorted as his voice dropped an octave, becoming what you instinctively knew was supposed to be an impression of you. “Us, outside.” Before you could react, his expression morphed into something dazed and slightly insipid. “Yes, L/N,” he crowed, voice strained into a falsetto, “anything you want.”

You could have strangled him then and there. You took a step forward (possibly with the intention of doing just that), but found yourself caught by the collar of your jacket and hauled backwards like a disobedient cat. Sato shot both of you an unimpressed look. 

“Let’s cool down, alright? No need to scratch each other’s eyes out.”

“Let go so I can kill him,” you seethed, whereupon the ‘him’ in question let out a scoff of disbelief. 

“If anyone deserves to be angry, it’s me! I know you well enough to know when you’re feeding me bullshit, and you’ve done nothing but that for the past months!” 

“I’m not sleeping with him!”

“Will both of you just shut it?” she snapped. The order effectively shut the two of you up, after which she let out a slight sigh. “You’re too old to be acting like this. Ren,” She directed her gaze towards him, “stop antagonising her. If you’re upset that she’s been keeping things from us, being an ass isn’t going to help. Y/N,” She turned to you before you’d had a chance to feel smug, “you’re not doing yourself any favours either. If that isn’t why you’ve been acting this way, then what is?”

She’d forced you into a corner, one which only a believable lie would get you out of. The words formed on your tongue even as you held back a grimace. You hated that you were about to do this. 

“He was helping me attain a promotion.”

God-fucking-dammit. 

From the other side of Sato, Yamada blinked. Whatever your friends had been expecting (probably another round of deflection), it seemed not to be that; a beat of silence passed before either of them spoke. 

“You were promoted?”

It was Yamada, but his tone had lost its fire. Now it was weaker, and his voice lifted at the end of the question in a way which implied confusion. There was a hint of something dejected there, and you quickly realised how the whole thing must have looked. Forced to switch gears from your internal seething (you could not believe that you’d had to fall back on that demon’s excuse), you cleared your throat. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but I only found out yesterday. I was planning on telling you soon, I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

When your gaze flickered to Sato, you found her brow furrowed even as her eyes watched you with a contemplative air. As your eyes met, she exhaled.

“Why didn’t you mention all of this to us?”

Probably, you thought, because I didn’t even know I was doing it. 

You squirmed a little before you felt your mouth opening to speak. “I guess…” You faltered for a second, keenly aware of your friends’ attention on your every word. Something like guilt twisted in your chest at the thought of lying to them even more. Finally, a sigh left your lips and your shoulders dropped. 

“I didn’t tell you about all of it, because I didn’t want to admit that I was trying to move up, or that I couldn’t do it on my own.” Your lips tugged downwards into an uneasy frown. “It was embarrassing to say that I might be having issues that I needed to seek out help for,” Not technically a lie, “and I didn’t want you to know about it.”

They stared at you. Yamada looked completely baffled at your explanation, but you thought you saw the lines of Sato’s expression soften. 

“That,” Yamada finally declared, “is the stupidest reasoning you’ve ever had.”

Your brows raised even as Sato shot him a look. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, really, it is. You didn’t want us to know that you were struggling?” He let out a slight huff, but it sounded more tired than angry. “Y/N, of course we knew! You think we staged this whole thing,” His hand gestured at the room, “because we thought you were doing well?”

“What he’s trying to say,” the other woman interjected, “is that we notice when you’re having problems even when you don’t want us to, because we care about you.” Her hand released the back of your coat. “As soon as your behaviour changed, we noticed. We just wanted to make sure you were alright, not to judge you for your actions.”

If you’d felt guilty before, it was nothing compared to how you felt now. Disregarding your initial instinct to balk in the face of such emotional frankness, you forced yourself to be an adult. 

“I’m sorry,” The words echoed with palpable sincerity, “I know that you wouldn’t judge me.”

That wasn’t what this was really about, you thought; they couldn’t see it now, but you were protecting them, protecting them from the horrific mess you’d gotten yourself into as soon as you’d decided to let Rin Okumura remain hidden. You cared about them too, and that was why you couldn’t tell them the truth. 

Still, a part of you countered, that wasn’t always the case: Had you told them when you’d first started having the dreams? You’d trusted the staff at Medical, you’d trusted a classmate you hadn’t spoken to in years, you’d even trusted the demon with whom you had an ongoing feud, and yet you hadn't brought your problem to the two people you were supposed to trust the most. Why was that? What kind of reasoning led you to find divulging personal problems to strangers easier than to your two best friends? Hell, in these last few months you’d been franker with Neuhaus than either of them - and wasn’t that just the most fucked up thing in the world?

You wished you could be a little less self-aware, or at least a little better at actually fixing the issues your mind pointed out to you. At the moment it was beyond you to do anything other than awkwardly wait for their response, your feet scuffing against the floor like a child. You felt like one; guilty, ill-at-ease and unprepared to be faced with a conversation of this emotional depth. 

“Y/N…” 

“So that’s really it?” Yamada picked up where Sato’s words trailed off. “All this time, you’ve been taking lessons from him or something?”

“More or less.” Also not a lie; ‘or something’ left a lot of room for debate. 

He still didn’t look completely convinced. “So maybe that explains why you were sneaking off together, but what about the rest? How bad of a teacher is he that you were sent to Medical twice?”

“That’s not fair.” You were defending him before you even knew what your mouth was doing. Your friend’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and you cleared your throat to cover your sudden outburst. “That is, it wasn’t really his fault, at least not completely. I may have pushed him a little further than was safe.”

You were starting to get rather good at all this double-speak. Maybe you looked a bit too pleased at yourself for your answer, because your friend’s skepticism didn’t budge. 

“Hm.” The hum conveyed just as much as if he’d flat out said that he wasn’t buying it. “Well you got your promotion, so I guess it must have worked, but that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been inseparable for the past week. Or is there something else he’s giving you lessons for?”

You squinted at him for the implication while internally searching for a plausible answer. Lightning couldn’t strike twice (or so you’d been told), so perhaps it was no big surprise that - when you blurted out the first thing that came to mind - it wasn’t quite as convincing. 

“He’s having a midlife-crisis.”

‘What?’ your subconscious seemed to screech even as your friends’ expressions conveyed a similar sense of bewilderment. Biting back a grimace, you prepared to stick to your guns. For the first time since the subject had been introduced, Sato chimed in. 

“What do you mean?”

Her tone was slow and careful, almost as though she weren’t sure whether you hadn’t actually lost it. You were beginning to wonder the same thing yourself. 

“Like you said, we spent a lot of time together while he was helping me train, and,” You stalled for time by taking in a breath, “I suppose we just got to talking. I won’t betray his confidence by telling you too much,” Lord, you were going to make yourself puke from all these layers of bullshit, “but when he finally decided to take the rest of the year off, I gave him my support.” 

A pregnant pause ensued. “Your ‘support’?”

If the universe had any sense of pity at all, it would have made you mute by now. “Yeah,” You tried your hand at a casual shrug, “it was a difficult decision, especially at his rank. People were bound to talk, and I promised that I would help him keep busy until the summer; you know, so he didn’t have too much time to stew on it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Yamada’s tone had long progressed past disbelief and had now landed somewhere around acute incredulity, “you’re lending Neuhaus a helping hand in his quest for spiritual enlightenment?”

The back of your neck burned with an angry flush. “It’s not that kind of a sabbatical,” you snapped, “it’s more like something for his mental health. Haven’t you ever helped out a coworker?”

“Not like that!” he exclaimed. “You’re seriously telling me that you’ve become his ‘wellness buddy’? I mean,” His gaze shot to Sato as his voice turned pleading, “what world are we living in where that is a normal thing to say? What the hell is going on?”

Although she was decidedly calmer, her eyes held a tinge of that same confusion. “I’m not sure,” she finally answered, “but I think it’s…admirable that you have dedicated so much time and effort into helping him out. No offense, but I wouldn’t really have expected this from either of you - not that I know Neuhaus all that well.”

She was so obviously trying to look on the positive side that it made your mouth twitch. Yamada looked between the two of you with an expression which showed just how crazy he thought you were acting. 

“Right, ok,” he drawled, “so you and Neuhaus are ‘bffs’. And you’re really saying that you’re doing all of this out of some ‘love-thy-neighbor’ sentiment and not because the two of you are secretly shacking up?”

At this point, you thought it might have been an easier route to just go along with the accusation he’d offered up in the first place; it was turning out more difficult to convince him you weren’t sleeping together than it would have been to agree and have the conversation done with. Still, there really wasn’t a way that you could feel comfortable confirming that you were screwing a coworker (who, you in fact, weren’t). 

You glared at him. “If I weren’t, would I spend this much effort lying about it?”

“I don’t know,” He shot you an appraising glance, “you’ve been pretty shifty about everything else. When you stopped answering my calls-”

“That wasn’t on purpose,” you interjected. “I lost track of time, I was planning on calling you back.” Your expression suddenly twisted with indignation. “Besides, and I can’t believe I have to say this, my sex life is none of your business!”

He held his hands up in concession. “You can’t blame me for wondering.”

“Like hell I can’t!” you shot back. “Do I go prying for details about you and Yasutake?”

A flush swept across his cheekbones at the same time that Sato let out a slight noise. “She has a point.”

“Oh, so now you come to my defense?”

Unbothered, she shrugged. “You didn’t really need any help. Besides, I did wonder if the rumors had any truth to them.”

“Rumors?” You stared at her, aghast. “Please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are.”

Her mouth tugged into an apologetic smile. Turning, you caught Yamada’s eye and groaned at what you saw there. “Where are people getting these ideas?”

“Um, have you forgotten about everything we listed?”

Ok, so maybe the Certification Exam had looked really weird, and perhaps it wasn’t amazing that he’d been discovered unconscious on the floor of your room, but what exactly did people think you’d been doing? 

You voiced your skepticism. “What do they think, that we have some sort of…” Your hand moved in a vague gesture as you searched for words, “weird, love-hate relationship?”

Yamada’s eyes flickered over to Sato at the same time that she resolutely refused to meet his gaze. You had the sudden impression that they’d previously had a conversation about exactly that. Your friend cleared his throat. 

“You probably don’t want to know what people think.”

Of course he would choose to answer something vague and unsettling; it was bad enough that anyone was speculating about you and another exorcist - much less that it was the subject of an apparently widespread rumor - but to have them thinking you were involved in some sort of kinky dynamic which consisted of violence one second and intimacy the next was beyond horrifying. All things considered, it was probably the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever thought about you, especially since the other half of this equation was supposed to be Neuhaus. It was almost enough to make you cackle hysterically. 

The ring of a cell phone pierced suddenly echoed through the room. A surprised curse dropped from your lips, and you shoved your bag to the side to retrieve the phone from the depths of your jacket pocket. Caller ID flashed across the screen, whereupon you couldn’t quite hold back your wince. 

You answered it. “Yes?”

“Have you actually been kidnapped?” Neuhaus’ smooth voice flowed from the other end; you thought you might die of embarrassment just from hearing it. “If so, what does this mean for the rest of our day?”

“I haven’t been kidnapped,” you hissed, immediately realizing that such a harsh tone was completely unsuited to the lie you’d fed your friends, who were listening to your call with rapt attention. You softened your voice. “Who told you that?”

“Tsubaki saw Yamada and Sato accost you in the middle of the hallway and drag you off.” There was an edge to his voice which signaled that he’d found the idea amusing. “I assumed he was telling the truth, but if he was mistaken and you actually have been abducted, will you tell them to keep you a bit longer? It’s almost time for dinner.”

“Very funny.”

“Does this mean you’ll be returning before then?”

“Yeah,” You shot a glance at the two of them, “I’d say so.” Had you been alone, you might have tacked something snarky onto the end; as it was, you simply let out a sigh. “I’ll be there in a minute, ok?”

Maybe he sensed that you’d had a long day; maybe it was just another one of those things, but he accepted this statement without remark. Hanging up, you turned to your friends; you could see the question in their eyes before they said a word. 

“So, uh…” You jerked a thumb towards the door. “I’ve got to go.”

Yamada arched his brow. “Was that your-”

“Sure,” Sato interrupted, thankfully cutting off whatever he had been about to say. Your eyes met, and your mouth tugged upwards into a grateful smile. She returned the gesture, albeit with lingering traces of her former hesitation. “We’ll talk later, won’t we?”

It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. You had the feeling that, despite her open-minded reaction to all of this, she still didn’t fully believe the lie you’d fed her. Not that you could really blame her; it wasn’t exactly your best work. Still, it was somehow endearing to see her try so hard not to show it. Struck by impulse, you reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. 

You squeezed it once before letting go. “Yes, we will.” Then, as though to make up for your constant dishonesty: “I’m sorry about all of this.”

Her eyes softened even as - out of the corner of your eye - you saw Yamada’s narrow. Beating a hasty retreat, you made your goodbyes as quickly as possible. Never had you been so happy to be out in the safety of the hallway, although your relief was short-lived when you caught sight of the man waiting for you. Uncrossing his arms, Neuhaus straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall. You stared at him. 

“Have you been out here this entire time?”

Something akin to a smirk flashed over his face. “No,” he responded, “only after Tsubaki pointed me in the right direction.” He paused, then delivered a helpful addition. “That was about five minutes ago.”

Yeah, you knew you’d been in there for a while; so what? God forbid you derail his schedule. You opened your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, but then you heard the door begin to open behind you. 

Without a moment’s hesitation you grabbed him by the arm and began to haul him down the hallway, very aware of the flush which had spread across the back of your neck. In your pocket you felt your phone buzz with an incoming message, but you were too focused on getting out of sight from your friends to pay it any attention. A faint noise of surprise left him, but he easily stepped into stride with your increased pace. 

“If I had known you were that hungry-”

Your face burned with acute embarrassment. “Just shut up and walk.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not going to help you break into the Medical Wing.”

“Do you want to spend the entirety of the summer in my company?”

A wry air appeared in the way he looked at you. “I wasn’t aware that you were taking my feelings into consideration.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, if we can get this thing to work, then you won’t have to follow me around anymore. Believe me,” you intoned, “I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the idea of this arrangement going on indefinitely. To get the warding to activate, we’ll need a drop of his blood.”

Alright, so maybe the conversation sounded a little odd out of context: Tachi - whom you were going to buy an enormous gift basket if this ended up working out - had sent you an update about the idea you’d shot at her all those days ago; by some twist of providence, she’d managed to bring a version of it to life, and now all that remained was to try it out. There was little issue in obtaining a drop of your, or even Neuhaus’ blood, however finding a way to discreetly get some from Okumura had taken a little more brainstorming. 

Deliverance had come in the form of Dr. Sagami’s big mouth. 

“You know,” the old man had conversationally stated, “you’ve become a lot better about keeping your check-up appointments.”

In what had perhaps been a sign of your growing maturity (or that being around Neuhaus had increased your tolerance for people you found irritating), you’d merely side-eyed him instead of glaring. 

“I doubt the average exorcist is any better.”

He’d chuckled at the sullenness of your tone. “Oh, you’re right that some of them have to be dragged here kicking and screaming,” His pen had tapped pointedly at your own chart, “but you’d be surprised at how many of your colleagues come in for regular check-ups.”

“What, once a month?”

“Something like that.” He’d noted something else on the clipboard before beckoning you to move closer. “Of course,” he’d continued as he checked your neck, “there are always exceptions. Take young Mr. Okumura for example: I’ve never seen a teenager so attentive to their health; ‘Be young!’ I tell him, and yet he still comes in for his daily check-up.”

The doctor had shaken his head, but your ears had already perked. “What on earth does he feel the need to check on a daily basis?”

“Oh, the usual. Blood pressure, heart rate, that sort of thing.” He’d shaken his head again. “With all the blood we’ve drawn from that boy, it’s a wonder he has any left!”

The exam had quickly shifted focus back to your health, but you’d already been hooked. You didn’t know why Yukio Okumura felt the need to have his blood tested each morning, but you did know that twins shared near-identical DNA. It was worth a shot; you had a much better chance of scoring some blood off of a vial in Medical than covertly stabbing Rin Okumura with a syringe. The only issue with this brilliant idea was that True Cross staff - especially non-medical members - were strongly discouraged (read: strictly forbidden) from tampering with (stealing) a sample of a student’s blood for their own means. Who would have thought? 

This brought you to your current situation: Trying to convince Neuhaus to help you. You weren’t about to pretend that having another exorcist - notably one who already possessed some skill in doing shady things without being caught - wouldn’t be an asset in this batshit-crazy endeavor. It was always better to work in teams than alone, and you had to keep an eye on him anyways. Unfortunately, he was choosing to be stubborn. 

“And if you’re caught?”

You shot him a look. “Two weeks ago, you were ready to kill a student, and now you’re balking at the thought of a little forced entry?”

“I’ve been reliably informed that I’ve had a change of heart,” he deadpanned, somehow managing to keep both tone and expression completely steady even as he continued to be a little shit. “I keep to the straight and narrow.”

Your annoyed expression morphed into a full-on stink-eye. “Alright,” you huffed, “since you’re too scared of a slap on the wrist from Mephisto, I guess I’ll have to leave you behind.” You saw the glint in his eye and added onto your statement. “If you wanted to spend more time with me that badly, you-”

As soon as the irritated exhale left his lips, you knew you had won. “Fine,” The word had an air of long-suffering to it, “I’ll assist you.”

A smug smile stretched across your lips. “Was that so hard?”

His lips tugged downward into a frown, but you’d grown used to his dark looks by now. In fact, you’d gotten used to him; it was going to be weird when he was no longer attached to your hip. Weird, but unbelievably relieving. Maybe you’d finally be able to let your face relax; your muscles seemed to be constantly pulled into a squint or frown when you were around him. Of course, at the moment they were in a rare smile, but that was only at his expense. God, how you missed having your own space. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out the best time to execute this mission: There was a span of about five minutes in between the day and night shift when the labs were mostly unoccupied; the day-shift staff would be getting ready to leave, and the night-shift staff would be making light conversation while they waited for the wing to clear. You figured that, if timed correctly, chances were that you could make it in, locate the vial, and make it out before you were caught. When you’d relayed this plan to Neuhaus, he’d given you a slight nod which you took to mean that he thought so as well. Overall, you felt pretty good about your chances of success. 

Your confidence had not been misplaced, at least not in regards to sneaking in unnoticed. It was almost concerning how easily the two of you were able to slip in, although you supposed it helped that you knew exactly where and when to make your entrance. You found yourself in the unoccupied lab with four minutes to go. 

There were a couple of places the vials might be stored; you and Neuhaus wordlessly took on opposite sides of the room. There was no time for chatter, no time for anything at all other than the actions which were absolutely essential. He was posted closer to the door in order to keep lookout, and so you immersed yourself fully in jimmying the lock upon one of the storage drawers. After a minute of this, it opened with a satisfying click. 

You spared a moment to smile, and then it was straight back to work. Silent thanks was sent to whoever had sorted them alphabetically; it took you less than thirty seconds to locate the tag with Okumura’s name on it, after which you swiftly removed it and let the drawer fall shut. 

The other exorcist glanced over at the noise. You held the vial up in one hand for him to see. Your eyes flickered to your watch at the same time that you relocked the drawer. One minute. 

The sound of voices made the both of you tense. There was only one way in or out of the lab, and it was undeniably from the door that the voices were coming. The approaching footsteps told you that you didn’t have much time. In that split second, you did what you did best: Improvise. 

He’d already stood when you caught him and pulled him towards you, but you had no idea whether his intention had been similar to yours. Regardless of what he might have been thinking of doing, there was no time to argue; with a final tug and the soft click of the door closing behind you, you found yourself submerged in darkness. 

The first thing you felt was the relief which washed over you at having made it in time. The voices outside of the closet you’d shoved him into were loud enough to tell you that the room was occupied; another second, and you would have been caught in the act. You relaxed, then stiffened again. 

The second thing you felt was the roughly 180 centimeters of man you were pressed against. Your initial instinct was to step back, but all that did was introduce your back to the wall: Hello back, hello wall, hello single centimeter of air in between his chest and yours. Your hand hit the opposing wall as you tried to shift some more, but this effort was stopped in its tracks when a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You barely suppressed a jump at the voice which rumbled right next to your ear. Hair tickled your ear from where his breath had displaced it, sending something like a shiver down your neck. The word had not been louder than a whisper, but the order was clear: ‘Don’t move.’  

Gradually, your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You could just make out the outline of his head (your palm was splayed out on the wall right next to it), but there wasn’t much else which wasn’t taken up by the space of your combined bodies. Faint chatter still floated in from underneath the door: The staff had yet to leave. 

You forced yourself to relax. His hand - as though acting as counterweight to your own - still firmly gripped your wrist; you could feel the warmth of his skin seeping through your cuff. That was far from the only place you were touching: Your legs were tangled with his in an arrangement which would be bound to give you a cramp after too long. Somewhere your knee was pressed against the underside of his thigh, and you thought it was his foot that you felt on the floor between your own. 

Your voice sounded in the faintest of whispers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he bit out, his voice somewhat strained. Some of his long hair brushed against your nose, and you were once more introduced to the smell of his shampoo. You were suddenly grateful for the darkness which shrouded you; you weren’t sure what your expression was making of all of this, but you figured it was a lot easier pretending your coworker didn’t have a leg between your thighs sans facial cues. 

“If I move, I can-”

His fingers tightened. “Don’t move,” he ordered, “you’re going to knock something off of the shelf.”

He shifted as he spoke, and you realized that - whereas you were pressed flat against the wall - he had gotten the short end of the stick and subsequently landed on the side of the closet which housed a built-in shelf. If you felt the wall with your hand, you could just make out where it began. You could also brush a hand against his hair, which is what you did by accident as you were feeling around. He stiffened at the contact while your hand instinctively pulled back; unfortunately your brain had not taken your balance into account and you were forced to grip the lapel of his jacket to steady yourself, effectively tugging him flush against you.

His free hand shot up to steady himself against the wall. You had never wanted to kill yourself more. 

“Sorry.”

At this new angle, he was practically leaning over you. You could feel - not his full weight - but definitely a significant portion of it, alongside every ridge and button of his clothes. Wary of ripping his coat, your hand had moved from his collar to his shoulder where it now held on for dear life. You were really, really trying not to think too hard about it, especially not about the fact that you could feel just how solid the other exorcist was under all those layers; this wasn’t technically the first time that you’d been in close contact, but you hadn’t really had time to notice your proximity when you’d been busy fighting for your life. 

Now there was nothing but time, time and the horrifying realization that, if the first night-shift staff had arrived a minute early, you might be stuck like this for the next several hours. 

You felt something hard against your thigh and quickly shifted back into focus: The vial; you weren’t sure what condition the blood needed to be in for Tachi’s invention, but you knew that blood usually wasn’t out of refrigeration for more than three or four hours at a time. If you weren’t mistaken, the next shift change would be in three hours; would that be too long for the blood to work?

A huff of air against the exposed skin of your neck made you jump. It also made you realize that you needed to get out of there ASAP, lest you die from shock first and be discovered limp in a literal closet with Neuhaus. You felt your soft breaths send the hair at his ear into a gentle sway. 

“I’m going to reach for my key.”

He didn’t give an immediate response, and you didn’t wait for one. Your free hand snaked through the space between your bodies in order to reach into your jacket pocket. Fingers grazed against smooth metal, and then your hand crossed back over in order to move the key towards the door. As you did so, you felt the fall and rise of his chest. 

Out of everything in this fucked-up scenario, that somehow felt the most invasive. It was just a second, hardly longer that you’d felt that slight movement - the intake of breath, the silent exhale - and yet it made you freeze. The man across from you suddenly seemed so human, so tangibly there and alive under your palm. It seemed a silly thing to have such an effect on you, and yet: In that second, you’d felt more wholly than ever before that - even with your history, even with all his power - he was just a man.

The key shook as it searched out the lock. At first you cursed your uncooperative fingers, but after the seconds passed and no lock could be found, a frown tugged at your lips. Tucking the key into your palm, you felt along the door for a keyhole. Your hand pulled back as though burnt, and then a long silence elapsed. 

You sighed. The sound held none of your usual ire; it sounded tired, resigned. Your words came out clipped: “It doesn’t lock from the inside.”

In retrospect, it should have been obvious: How often was there a reason to lock oneself in a supply closet? Still, the dissolved hope that you could use your key to covertly transport the two of you out of your current predicament tasted bitter in your mouth. You shouldn’t have shoved him in here, should have bluffed your way out of it or come up with some sort of excuse; you were sure Neuhaus was thinking the same thing, any moment now he’d say exactly what he thought of your instincts and their propensity to land you in hot water, how they resembled rash impulse rather than intuition-

His exhale echoed softly throughout the closet. “Can you support your weight against the wall?”

Your grip on his shoulder loosened as you tested your balance. “I think so.” Then, you added, “If I can get a hand against the wall.”

You were reminded of his hand on your wrist (after a while the foreign pressure had become unnoticeable) when he began to move. Your bodies shifted in tandem; they paid attention to the other’s balance, considered how to move in harmony until you no longer had to hold onto him for support. Your back fully hit the wall, then you slid down into a seated position. He followed seconds after. 

The both of you seemed to have reached an identical conclusion: You weren’t going anywhere for the next few hours, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. The vial sat like a boulder in your pocket, but you tried not to think about it - if you did, your mind would feel the weight of each passing second and you’d be sure to go crazy. 

Your legs slanted against each other. There wasn’t enough room to stretch out, so you had to keep them at an angle; in the darkness you could just barely make out the top of his knee next to yours. An abrupt laugh left your lips, the sound like that of a gun suddenly firing.

“Why is it that these things never happen to me around anyone else?”

Your tone was wry rather than accusatory. In fact, it was almost playful; it was as though, having resigned yourself to the situation, you were now able to bask in the ridiculousness of it. Neuhaus - who had stiffened at your initial laugh - relaxed where you could feel his leg against yours. 

“Have you considered looking inward for the answer?”

The words were gruff, but there was no irritation behind them. You grinned. “Way to shift the blame: Has it ever occurred to you that my life might have been blessedly commonplace until you came along?”

“I don’t recall asking you to abduct me.” He paused. “Or shove me in a closet.”

The statement might have come across as a taunt if he hadn’t spoken it so matter-of-factly. Blowing an amused exhale through your teeth, you leant your head against the wall behind you. 

“Touché. I don’t suppose you have some sort of obscure Tamer ability which can shroud us in darkness and teleport us out of here?”

You were fairly sure he shot you a look from the other side of the closet. When he spoke, his tone was very dry. “No.” You weren’t expecting a further response, but he continued after a second’s pause. “You?”

The question surprised another laugh out of you. Though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “Kaze’s not the ideal choice for that sort of maneuver: Even if she didn’t literally glow in the dark, she’s not especially skilled at being subtle.” 

Besides, you silently added, she’d have a fit if she found out who you were asking her to help alongside you. The man in question seemed to accept this. There was a lull in the conversation. 

“A Sylph is not a common familiar.”

You blinked from where you’d been staring into the dark and watching the shapes which your eyes conjured up. The words took a moment to process. “No,” you agreed, not sure where his sudden statement had come from. “I was always told that they were too temperamental to make ideal familiars. Still, the same could be said for most demons; very few are thrilled to be bound to an exorcist.” Moriyama’s Greenman (lovingly dubbed ‘Nee’ by your student) came to mind. “There are always exceptions.”

“Such as yours?”

You snorted. “You’ve met her, haven’t you? She threw several chairs at us.”

A hum of acknowledgement echoed from the other exorcist. “You seem to have regained some control since then.”

You wondered whether you imagined the unspoken question. Hesitating, you mulled over your response. 

“We talked,” you ventured, “Kaze and I, following the last session before the exam.”

“Talked?”

A different version of you would have bristled in anticipation of a lecture. From anyone else, the question would have seemed unassuming, but you had a hard time forgetting your previous disagreements on the subject. Nonetheless, you found yourself preparing to respond without so much as batting an eye. 

“Yes, that’s right.” You shifted your elbow into a more comfortable position. “When I returned to my room, I summoned her again.”

To most people, doing so after having just spent half an hour banishing your volatile familiar might not have come across as a wise decision. You doubted Neuhaus thought any different. 

“I know your thoughts on the subject, and I’ll give credit where it’s due: You were right that I was ignoring an issue which was only going to become worse.” Your voice echoed soft yet firm throughout the confined space. “That being said, your stance on authority is one I don’t agree with.” 

You half expected him to cut in with some sort of retort, but he remained silent. You didn’t hesitate to continue. “Exorcists are trained to work in teams because it’s the form of combat which is most effective. There can be no underlying tensions or power-plays on the battlefield, which is why exorcists who can’t work alongside each other don’t go on missions together. Everyone accepts this, so why is it any different with Tamers and our familiars? We are just as dependent on them to cooperate in combat, if not more so since they’re often our first defense when fighting on our own.”

“The dynamic between Tamer and familiar is not one of equals.”

“No, but it shouldn’t be one of enemies either. You’re right that there is an inherent power imbalance, however that doesn’t mean that their desires have to be completely squashed in order for you to remain in control.” Your hand moved in an unseen gesture as your argumentation became more zealous. “When I don’t have to focus on constantly asserting my will, then I can use that energy in combat. Most demons can be reasoned with - to a certain degree, why not try to align your interests if possible?”

His knee accidentally knocked against yours. “As soon as you begin to mold your actions after a demon’s will, you run the risk of losing yourself.”

“It’s not molding, it’s negotiation,” you argued. “The bond goes both ways: If properly nurtured, your familiar should not want you to be hurt. If all it takes is a little communication to prevent conflict, I see no reason why I shouldn’t occasionally take Kaze’s feelings into account.”

“You walk a fine line.” You heard the faint sound of him pushing the hair out of his face. “Giving it a name, treating it as an equal. If you slip for even a second…”

“With my outlook, there’s no fear.”

“And little control.”

A noise echoed from the back of your throat. “Control, control, what do we really know about control? Can any living being really control another? Everything we do is based on a struggle for power; is it really so unthinkable that even a demon might be entitled to a certain amount of autonomy?”

He didn’t immediately respond. “You have unconventional beliefs.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, “but Kaze has my back. If it came to life or death, would your familiars rush to your aid?”

He paused, and there was something contemplative about the way he responded. “No,” he intoned, the word slow and thoughtful, “since they would never have the chance to act of their own will. Do you always allow your familiar to act on instinct?”

A somewhat wry smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Her instinct is mine. I trust her.”

There were a thousand things he could have said to that, but the man remained silent. You shifted your foot and brushed against the edge of his coat. “Don’t you ever wonder what it could be like?” you asked. “If you eased up on the authority?”

You’d voiced the question not even expecting a response, which is why the subsequent rumble of his voice caught you so off-guard. “I know how it feels to be powerless.” His words cut through the darkness like a scorching blade; all at once, you felt your shoulders stiffen. “As long as there is something out there more powerful than you, your autonomy is not guaranteed. Everything, even your will, can be taken away from you.” 

You felt him become more and more tense as he spoke. “I have no desire to lose the luxury of control.”

Fuck. Why hadn’t you taken a second to think before asking such a stupid question? Here you were, locked in a closet with a survivor of the Blue Night (-fire burning your socket, a woman’s voice crying your name in a high, desperate call-) and you’d gone right ahead and poked at the issue in your need for debate. Who fucking cared if you had differing philosophies?

A long moment passed in which you struggled for an appropriate response. 

“You’re right,” The reply was soft, it lacked any argument or agenda, “control is a luxury I take for granted. If I didn’t, I might be less willing to relinquish it.”

“You would be afraid,” he responded, “and it would not suit you.”

You blinked at the unexpected comment. Before you could dwell on it for too long, he broke the silence with an exhale.

“You could always ask someone else for a diversion to help us to escape unnoticed. You have your phone, don’t you?”

As quickly as you’d followed his abrupt subject change, you cringed at the thought of calling in any of your friends for assistance. Yeah, you could just see the smug look on Yamada’s face when you told him you were literally locked in a closet with the man you were rumored to be screwing. 

“I would rather starve to death.”

You could practically see his eyebrow quirk. “Not that, then.”

“We’ll wait it out,” you proclaimed. “The next shift change is in a little under three hours. Unless you’re too uncomfortable with this arrangement?”

Once more you resorted to subtle taunts. As the words left your lips, he shifted, and your foot was pressed squarely between his hip and the wall. You tried not to notice the warmth radiating into your calf. He gave a slight noise of assent.

“I am bound to your will.”

You rolled your eyes at the sarcastic undertone. “It’s not like I’m holding you hostage. We both know that you would be out of here if you really wanted, odd looks be damned.”

His elbow brushed against your knee as he moved his arm. “Are you suggesting I’m here for the company?”

For unknown reasons, you felt a flush spread over the back of your neck. “Aren’t dark, gloomy spaces part of your natural habitat?”

A huff almost like a laugh echoed through the closet; for reasons even more unknown to you, it caused your face to heat up as well. You tilted your head back against the cool wall, and prepared yourself for the next three hours of leg cramps. 

“Ever played twenty questions?”

Chapter Text

Summer: The personification of a collective sigh of relief from the members of staff once the last exams had been given and the final homework assigned. There were very few things more satisfying than watching a whole school of students gradually file out of the halls. In former years you’d never really understood the teachers who went on and on about the departure of their students, but then again you weren’t one for that sort of chatter in general. It seemed like a lot of energy to expend over a group of teenagers which you’d see in a few (too-short) weeks; how much could you possibly miss them?

You understood it a little better now. 

Restraining yourself from the urge to hover, you sent Shiemi a last encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fun!” you told her, your voice taking on a false cheeriness that only seemed to emerge around the blonde. “You’re friends with Mr. Okumura, and he’s very responsible. I have no doubt that he’s planned something you’ll enjoy.”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement even as the rest of her thrummed with nerves. “I’ve just never been away from home for this long, especially overnight!” Her words threatened to tumble over each other, but she took a deep breath. “I can’t believe we’re going on a class camping trip!”

You clenched your fingers into a fist so that you wouldn’t grab your protegee and drag her clear to safety; when you’d heard about Okumura’s training camp you hadn’t batted an eye, but since then you’d not only discovered that Kirigakure was the second chaperone (and who had made that decision? Was it too much to give the 15 year-old exorcist a partner who wasn’t known for drinking on the job?) and now that Shiemi was even more sheltered than you’d thought. Images of everything which could go wrong had already been flashing across your vision when you’d come to say goodbye, but you were forcing yourself to smother your overprotectiveness. 

Well, you were doing your best. You sent her another, slightly tighter smile. 

“Don’t forget to be careful, even if it is supervised.” Your eyes drifted to where the other students were waiting. “If you have to, throw Shima to the wolves in order to get a headstart.”

“Ms. L/N!”

A more genuine smile splayed across your lips at her squeak of protest. Reaching out, you gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Go on, and have fun.” Then, just because you couldn’t fully hold yourself back: “If you need anything at all, call or text me.”

She nodded once before bouncing off. You watched her go with a faint sense of apprehension which was not improved by the sight of her chaperones; God help you, if something happened to Moriyama on this glorified camping trip-

Your phone buzzed with a new message. You checked the screen. 

If you don’t join me soon, this will become a solo mission. 

Rolling your eyes, you composed a response even as your feet were spurred into motion. The message sent when you turned into the nearest hallway. 

Relax, I’m coming. 

Neuhaus must have been paying rapt attention to his phone, because his answering messages arrived with only a second’s delay. 

He has been describing the plot of ‘Magical Girl Kara Fights Monsters On Planet Neptune’. 

In heavy detail. 

You snorted. The image of Neuhaus sitting stiffly in Mephisto’s office while the demon prattled on about whatever manga he was currently obsessed with was too good to pass up; not bothering to hide your amusement, you slotted your key into the nearest door and stepped into the Director’s lair. The distinctive sound of Mephisto’s voice met your ears as soon as you entered, although he paused once he caught sight of you. 

The demon’s eyes lit up with delight; when you glanced over at Neuhaus, you thought you glimpsed visible relief. Mephisto clapped his hands together. 

“At last! Take a seat, Ms. L/N,” He gestured to the chair at your colleague’s side, “and we can finally begin discussing the particulars of your mission.”

You noticed that Neuhaus was standing, and subsequently made no move to sit. The Director’s green eyes flickered between you with their characteristic gleam, but he made no comment. 

“Now,” he began, folding his hands on top of each other, “as you are aware, the Vatican has assigned the two of you on a mission for which you are to leave immediately. I was instructed to debrief you before sending you on your way.”

“Well?”

Your curtness was met with little more than a flash of sharp teeth. “Patience, my dear, you’ll want to hear the full story. After all, you’ll be going undercover.”

That was news. Your eyebrows raised, and he continued. “The assignment is to retrieve a relic from a spa in Hakone. It has significant power, and should not be possessed by those who are,” His hand waved in a vague gesture, “ignorant of its nature.”

“We’re stealing it.”

“In a word, yes.” Mephisto smiled. “The item in question is a stone from the holy river Jordan, one of the twelve which were placed there by the Isrealites as they crossed it under the prophet Joshua’s leadership. Well,” he amended, “part of one, to be exact: The rock is no larger than the average human’s fist.”

You looked down at your own hand for comparison. The demon continued. “The owner, a Mr. Iwao Shimuzu, claims to have found it on a pilgrimage to Israel, after which he discovered its healing abilities and decided to open a spa.”

“That sounds like the average bogus backstory for one of these places.”

“However he might have actually found it, in this case, the rock does possess supernatural abilities: Though our intel is limited on specifics, we know that it does indeed seem to have some sort of healing ability - its holy origin opens many possibilities as to the full extent of its power.”

His choice of words made you pause. “What do you mean, ‘limited’? Aren’t you sending us there because someone reported it was dangerous?”

“Ah, well,” The demon didn’t even blink as he answered your question, “the Vatican seemed to think that separate reconnaissance and undercover missions would draw too much attention, so yours will function as a sort of two-in-one.”

The chipperness of his tone did not ease your suspicions. “That’s not how they usually do these things,” You eyed the demon whose expression had taken on one of perfect innocence, “what about this spa would make a couple of exorcists so conspicuous?”

He snapped his fingers as though something had suddenly occurred to him. “That reminds me!” Before you could utter a word, he snapped his finger again and two purple folders appeared on the desk in front of you. Mephisto gleefully pushed them forward. “Here are your mission files, information and false identities included.” He spoke up again just as you picked yours up: “I hope you don’t mind that I helped provide a detail or two, just for believability’s sake.”

If you hadn’t been worried before, then you were gradually getting there. Ignoring the weight of the demon’s expectant gaze, you flipped open the folder and were immediately met with a picture of yourself.

You eyed the fake ID for a moment before skipping on to the other papers; a pamphlet for the spa caught your eye, and the first words made you blanch. 

“‘Ready yourself for a week of spiritual and physical unburdening’,” you read. “You want us there for a whole week?”

“An unfortunate necessity in the name of inconspicuousness: It would look odd if you were to leave immediately after the relic was stolen.”

Accepting his excuse for the moment, you continued to scan the pamphlet. The spa seemed fairly run-of-the-mill; you’d seen ads for a thousand of these places all over Japan. Still, it appeared to offer a wide variety of facilities: hot springs, saunas, massage rooms…

Neuhaus still hadn’t said anything at all; when you glanced over to see how he was faring, his attention was fixed solely on his own file. To be more specific, he was staring at his ID card. Perhaps feeling the weight of your gaze, he glanced up, but you were surprised when he ignored you completely in order to reach out for your own ID. At first you didn’t understand what he was doing, but realization was not far behind when you saw the IDs side-by-side. 

Your eyes shot up to where Mephisto was watching. “These say Mr. and Mrs. Aimoto.”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes?”

Your brows raised even more. “As in ‘Mr. and Mrs.’, as in married?”

With a spark of something unmistakably reminiscent of triumph, he shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, my dear.” His voice lifted with an innocence even he couldn’t possibly find convincing. “How else did you plan to infiltrate a spa for married couples?”

A second passed in which you simply stared at him. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. 

“Pardon?”

Your voice came out hoarser than you’d intended. At your side, Neuhaus stilled, his fingers still where he’d slotted them between the pages of the pamphlet. Mephisto tossed you an amused glance. 

“Why, yes,” he replied, “didn’t you read the pamphlet? It states it very clearly.”

The paper in question went completely unnoticed as a short, irritated breath left your lungs. “Let me rephrase: Why are we being sent undercover for a week-long married couple’s retreat?”

“The stone of Jordan-”

“I see I need to clarify again,” you interrupted. “What exactly is so special about this place that we can’t just sneak in and steal it? Why go through with this elaborate ruse?”

“Ah.” 

After uttering that infuriatingly effervescent answer, the demon spread his hands in a falsely apologetic gesture. “Orders from higher up, I’m afraid. The Vatican seems to think the stone requires a period of study before any attempts at retrieval are made. The anonymity of an undercover mission is an added bonus; we wouldn’t want anyone with… grievances as to our methods to trace you back to True Cross.”

“It does need study,” you tartly replied, “which is why someone should have been sent before now for recon; so we would know what we were up against.”

“My dear, it’s futile to share your objections with me: My only role in regards to this mission is that of informant.” After a moment, he added, “Of course, when asked for a duo I thought would ideally execute the performance…”

Your gaze turned razor-sharp. “Yes?”

He smiled. “Well, let’s just say I was glad to see that they accepted my recommendation.”

You saw red; that fucker! Doubtless this mission had come across his path purely by chance and he had instantly thought of you and your admittedly shortsighted demand that you take on the role of Neuhaus’ mission partner. At the time, it had made sense, but you should have expected that Mephisto would want some sort of revenge for your ultimatum. The file crinkled as your hand clenched into a fist, but the demon anticipated your next move. 

“Now, now,” he chided, “let’s not get unpleasant-”

“Unpleasant?”

“-after all, it’s not everyday that the Vatican sends two senior exorcists on a mission of this kind.”

“Yes,” you snapped, “the week-long operations to steal a rock from some quack in Hakone are few and far between.”

Amidst your outrage, Neuhaus remained silent. A look in his direction showed you that his expression had slipped into complete impassiveness; feeling somehow let down by his lack of support, you seethed even more. 

“Hardly just a rock, my dear.”

“Mephisto,” Leaning forward, you bracketed the demon between the fists you placed upon his desk, “if you think that you can send us all the way to Hakone for one of your twisted jokes-”

He bared his teeth in a grin and unflinchingly met your glare. “My, how adamant you are that I had any sort of influence over your assignment. Don’t you know that my interests are limited to school affairs?”

Sucking a breath through your teeth, you reminded yourself that you would probably (more like definitely) lose against Mephisto in a fight. Your fists unfurled, and you painstakingly pushed yourself away from his desk. He watched you with brightly curious eyes, waiting with bated breath for your next reaction. Your shoulders squared. 

“Fine,” you bit out. “Is that it? Or do you happen to have anything remotely useful to tell before we’re sent on this wild goose chase?”

The venom in your voice was unmistakable; you sounded like you would have liked nothing better than to scratch out his eyes. A more accurate picture of your fantasy would have shown you punting his corpse into the void as you cackled with wild abandon.

The demon’s eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly. “If you have no need for further information…”

You suppressed the urge to storm out of his office there and then; instead, you lowered your voice to something sweetly dangerous. “Is there further information?”

“Well, there are these.” Holding out his hand, he dropped something into your palm. Your gaze flickered to the two gold rings, then back to his shameless grin. “For your cover.”

God damn him, he was enjoying this far too much. Well aware that he was gunning for a reaction, you wordlessly allowed them to drop into your pocket. “Anything else?”

He had the gall to look a little disappointed. Mephisto sighed. “I suppose not.”

“Well, then.” Your voice was arch with sarcasm as you turned towards the door; at the last second, you caught gazes with Neuhaus and an expression best described as ‘resigned disbelief’ settled upon your features. “Come on, darling, we’ve got a train to catch.”

“Welcome to Hakone Onsen Shimuzu,” the receptionist chirped, “may I have a name for your reservation?”

Standing there next to your colleague in the lobby of a spa loudly marketed as “the best retreat for you and your spouse!” (similar slogans were plastered all over the pamphlets and banners), civilian clothes hanging off your shoulders like out-of-season Christmas ornaments, you had never felt more out of place in your life. You aimed for a smile and ended up with a grimace. 

“Aimoto.”

Her head bobbed in acknowledgement. “Aimoto, alright, one moment please!” 

You turned wry eyes on one of the surrounding posters. “Take all the time you need.”

The sound of her fingers flying across the keyboard soon filled the air. Before two seconds could pass, her focus shot back from the computer screen and landed onto you. “Perfect,” she declared, “we have you in room seven.” There was a brief flash of white teeth. “Lucky number!”

You didn’t think you could look more underwhelmed if you tried. Still - as the brunt of this conversation seemed to be falling on you - you tried to summon some sort of sociability: Your lips thinned into a tight smile. “How nice.”

You suppressed a wince; God, if this was how things were going already, no one was going to believe this ruse. Neuhaus was of absolutely zero help; since leaving Mephisto’s office earlier that day, he’d barely spoken two words together. You didn’t know what his issue was, but you were pissed off already by his laissez-faire attitude: Would it have killed him to speak up a little when Mephisto presented the both of you with this bullshit assignment? It wasn’t as though he was the demon’s lackey any longer, and yet he’d remained completely silent while you argued. 

He wasn’t helping things by remaining silent now. If he hated this mission so much, too fucking bad! You weren’t any happier about it, but that hadn’t stopped you from doing your job; by standing like a marble statue at your side, he was forcing you to do all the work. Reminded of this, you internally fumed. 

The receptionist answered your pathetic attempt at conversation with a smile that screamed of a long career in customer service. She continued without further delay: “You booked the full-benefits program, so you’ll have access to all our classes and sessions.” A slight hum echoed from behind her desk, and then she handed you a sheet of paper. You took it - still warm from the printer - and cast your eyes over the long, long list with which you’d been presented. 

“Your first activity begins tomorrow morning,” she helpfully supplied, one manicured finger pointing out the small black print on your schedule. “Of course, everything is optional, but you might as well enjoy what you’ve paid for!”

As much as you would have like to tell her that waking up at the crack of dawn for ‘Mindfulness Meditation’ with the spa’s owner, Mr. Shimuzu himself, was the last thing you wanted to do (or that you were happy to waste whatever money the Vatican or Mephisto had spent on this place), you couldn’t: The opportunity to subtly pry Iwao Shimuzu for details of how he’d come across the stone of Jordan wasn’t one you really could pass up, especially because you doubted too many of the other guests would have been crazy enough to enroll in the same class. 

“That sounds amazing!” you crooned, suddenly overcome by a wave of energetic spite. Turning, you squarely fixed your eyes upon the man at your side. “Did you hear that, darling? You’ll be able to watch the sunrise while meditating, just like you’ve always wanted!”

The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only sign that he recognized this sudden inclusion in the conversation for what it was. You switched your focus back to the young receptionist, whom you sent a plastic smile. “He just loves these sorts of wellness retreats, I’m sure he won’t want to miss a single activity.”

Her bright eyes moved to fix upon Neuhaus. “That’s wonderful to hear, we could arrange for you to receive reminders before each event if that would make it easier to stay on-track?”

“Fantastic!” Your teeth flashed as your smile grew sharp. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you dear?”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under. You’d half-expected him to ignore you completely, but were pleasantly surprised when he took the bait: He turned and fixed you with an impassive stare before treating you to the equally emotionless rumble of his voice. “If that’s what you want.”

Motherfucker; way to put you back at the forefront of decision-making. Maybe he’d decided that - now that he’d begun to talk - he’d might as well continue, because he then turned his focus to the receptionist. “We can decide on things in the morning.” Then, just in case that wasn’t straightforward enough, he added, “You said room seven?”

It was horrifically weird to watch him interact with normal people. Maybe this was Mephisto’s real revenge; sending you on this mission knowing that you’d have a stroke as soon as your colleague had to engage in small talk. For her part, the receptionist didn’t seem to notice either the weird dynamic between you or the undoubtedly odd expression on your face: Smiling again (your face hurt just from watching her), she nodded. 

“That’s right! I’ll get someone to take your bags-”

“That won’t be necessary,” you cut in, afraid that any more delay would put you over the edge. With all the strained awkwardness of a distant father trying to bond with his son, you clapped your ‘husband’ firmly on the shoulder. “We can carry them.”

The muscles under your hand were as tense as a boulder. Squinting a little, the young woman gave off the impression of not being used to people disregarding her offers. The lines at the corners of her eyes quickly vanished. “Oh, that’s alright!” she replied, somehow managing to keep her voice upbeat even as she firmly asserted the exact opposite of what you’d just said. “We want all our guests to have the best, and most relaxing, experience possible.” 

Before you could open your mouth to protest, she clicked a key on the board and a small red light lit up. She beamed as an adjacent door opened and a young man appeared. You eyed him dubiously even as he took your bags; you were fairly sure that, for all the years you had on him, you’d be able to lift his body weight with little difficulty. His smile did appear a little strained after he hoisted your bags off the floor, but the receptionist looked so pleased with him for having come to her aid that he couldn’t do much other than grin and bear it. She turned back to you, and you saw him follow her with love-sick eyes. Ugh, kids. 

“There we go! Now,” she continued, reaching behind her desk to rummage for something, “just one last thing before your check-in is complete.”

You stared at the box she held out. A second or two passed in which you awaited some sort of elaboration, but all she did was stare at you expectantly. 

“What is that?”

The sudden voice from your side made you jump. Resisting the urge to actually place a hand over your heart, you shot a glance at the man next to you. The other woman took his question in stride: 

“Oh, it’s for your electronic devices.” This served to clarify absolutely nothing, but she continued on before you could speak. “We like to start our guests off on their detox at check-in, just to make sure that they can enjoy as much time as possible being present in the real world.”

You were starting to think you had missed something on the flyer. Brows raised, you met eyes with your colleague. “Detox?”

“From technology,” she helpfully supplied, obviously interpreting the question as having been directed towards her. “You signed up for the full program, which includes our most recent addition of a ‘Digital Detox’.” One finger tapped pointedly against the side of the box. “You place your cellphones and other devices in here, and we lock them up for the duration of your stay. Oh, don’t worry,” she added, “they’ll be in a secure place. The boxes are all numbered, so we don’t let anyone leave with something that isn’t theirs.” Your eyes caught the painted ‘eight’ on the side of your box just as she let out a slight noise. “Another lucky number!”

If you heard one more time about your supposed ‘luckiness’, you were going to heavily disrupt the ‘peaceful aura’ the brochure had advertised. Your phone sat like a brick in your pocket. 

“Thanks, but I’m not going to take part in that program.”

She didn’t appear particularly fazed. “Oh, lots of people find it difficult at first, but the benefits are absolutely worth it!”

“That may be,” You were having an increasingly difficult time keeping your tone in check, “but I’m going to have to pass.”

Just as her lips parted - undoubtedly to argue some more - you felt a hand on your arm. “Dear,” Neuhaus forced the word out with little patience for this ruse - perhaps even less than you since he’d found it so difficult to contribute thus far, “perhaps you should just give her your cellphone.”

You bristled. “Well, dear,” you shot back, laying your hand on top of his and trapping it in a vice-grip, “I don’t want to do that. I promised Mori-, Shiemi that she’d be able to contact me if she needed anything.”

“The girl will be fine for a week. As will your phone, in the box.”

“I don’t see you jumping to get rid of yours.”

The man at your side let out an irritated exhale before stepping back and pulling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. Pointedly keeping eye contact, he dropped it into the box with an audible thud. As if that wasn’t enough, he then raised his eyebrows. 

You glowered at him. With slow movements which hopefully conveyed ‘fuck you!’ as clearly as possible, you let your phone clatter directly onto his. The receptionist snatched the box back as though afraid you would change your mind. 

“Perfect!” There was something oddly predatory about the way she flashed her teeth at you, and you realized that you’d once more been strong-armed into something you didn’t want to do. The edge was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and you were faced once more with that empty, professional enthusiasm. “I completely understand how you feel, is this the first time you’ve taken a trip without your daughter?”

Your partner let out a cough at the same time that you felt your eye twitch. “You could say that.”

“How sweet,” she cooed, “is she staying with family?”

“I believe she’s currently somewhere in the woods.”

You elbowed Neuhaus in the ribs. “What he means,” you told the receptionist, “is that she’s on a school camping trip.”

Her expression cleared of its former confusion. “Oh, I see.”

Despite your irritation at his attitude, you had to bite back a smile. If there was one thing about Neuhaus’ attitude, it was that it was effective at halting small talk. Finally, the receptionist released you; you followed the young man from before (whose knuckles had taken on an interesting shade of white) to your rooms where you were promptly presented with the key and your luggage. You accepted it, tipped him, and swiftly bade him goodnight then retreated into the recesses of your rooms before anyone else could trap you in conversation. 

Your shoulders sagged with relief when the door shut behind you. This reprieve was short-lived. 

“Do you expect me to know what that was about?”

His words were met with a blank stare. He pointedly raised his brows. “I ‘just love’ wellness retreats?”

“Oh, so he does speak!” you exclaimed, lugging your bag to the small closet near the door. “Of course, it’s only to complain or try to convince the staff that we’re the worst parents in the world.” 

“That would be impossible since we aren’t parents.”

Your hand jerked in an irritated gesture. “We also aren’t married, if you haven’t forgotten, which will be apparent to everyone else here if you keep up the ‘silent and fuming’ act.” The closet snapped shut, and you fixed him with a look. “You wouldn’t have said a single word in there if I hadn’t forced you; if you’re going to be sullen, at least don’t project it to the entire neighborhood."

He didn’t respond, and you let out a huff. Focusing once more on the task at hand, you squared your shoulders. 

“Turn around.” He blinked. It was your turn to raise your brows. “Unless you want to get an eyeful while I change, in which case I’ll have to charge you.”

A strange expression crossed his face before he wordlessly complied. You shucked the clothes from your body with very little decorum, then pulled on your pajamas. For the few seconds that this took, he stood still as a statue, and for a moment you wondered whether he had even stopped breathing. You tapped him on the shoulder and swore you felt him tense. 

“I’m done,” you stated. Having imparted this information, you pivoted and faced the wall without prompting. The signal was clear, but it was only when you began to hear the shuffle of clothing alongside that distinctive clink of a belt buckle that you knew for sure that it had been correctly received. 

You rocked back and forth on your heels while you waited. Eyes scanning the artwork on the wall in front of you, you grudgingly admitted that the ryokan didn’t look too bad so far. Whatever kind of person this Iwao Shimuzu really was, at least he knew how to hire a good decorator. 

“You can turn.”

The low sound of his voice made you pause mid-rock. Slowly, you fell back on your heels before following his suggestion and turning around. When you caught sight of him, it was all you could do not to let out a startled laugh. 

This wasn’t funny. It wasn’t. There was absolutely nothing funny or amusing about the fact that, as soon as you caught sight of the other exorcist, you realized that you were almost wearing the same pajamas. The utilitarian set was - save for a few minor details - identical to the one you’d been wearing for the past Lord-knows-how-many years. To the untrained eye, it looked as though you’d bought a matching set; you couldn’t have planned it better if you’d actually tried. 

Their navy color contrasted agreeably against his dark hair, and you were suddenly reminded of the man himself. Going by the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eye, he’d noticed the resemblance as well. Suppressing the laugh which threatened to bubble up out of your throat, you forced yourself to look away and move towards the futon. 

You froze mid-step. The futon. Your futon. Which was right next to his futon. Because you were supposed to be married. 

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Indecision reared its ugly head for that second in which you remained frozen; would it be considered rude to drag the mattresses further apart? Not that you were really too concerned about offending the man you’d once attacked and tied up in your room-

You winced, then redirected your thoughts. The white blankets shone like a beacon in the dim room; they were impossible to ignore, not least of all because they looked so incredibly soft and inviting. A deep wave of longing momentarily overcame any hesitation. You shot a pleading glance at the mattress. 

There was a soft click before the entire room fell into darkness. 

“What the fuck?”

Surprise made you blurt out the question without thinking. You heard a faint shuffle somewhere in the darkness behind you, but there was little real warning for the voice which suddenly sounded much too close to you. 

“We’re sleeping, aren’t we?”

Every hair on your body stood on end when you felt his shoulder brush yours as he passed by. Shaking the feeling off, you stared incredulously into the darkness. “You couldn’t have waited five seconds?”

Sheets rustled against each other. “I have faith in your ability to manage three steps in the dark.”

Your hands clenched into fists. Fueled by spite, you pointedly trampled across the floor. This worked for all of two seconds, at which point your foot hit something solid and you had to catch yourself from tripping. A sound like a snort echoed through the room. 

“Nevermind.”

“Oh, go to hell.” 

The curse held no real heat. A little more careful, you navigated around whatever had made you trip. Before you knew it, your hands found the top of a plush duvet. They curled into fists which gripped the blanket - as though afraid to lose it by letting go - while the rest of you made its way onto the futon. 

Now you were snug, but you were also hyperaware that - if you moved even an inch to the right - you’d collide against him. For the first time in your life, you found yourself worrying about your sleeping habits; what if you moved around more than you thought? Would you wake up with a strange crick in your neck only to realize you’d rolled on top of him, causing him to suffocate in his sleep? What if you punched him? You didn’t think you would, but it was a possibility. 

A hand covered your face to stifle your laugh. The thought of waking up to find Neuhaus sporting a black eye from your nocturnal endeavors shouldn’t have been funny, but all it took was imagining the high indignance of his expression once he found out how he’d attained this injury to have you biting back a chuckle. 

The humor helped diffuse some of your tenseness. Rolling onto the side furthest away from your bunk-buddy, you let your thoughts wander. It was funny how he’d taken the matter so swiftly into his own hands; while you’d been staring at the mattresses with indecision, he’d already been making his way towards the lightswitch. Maybe he really didn’t care, maybe he was really just that indifferent to the world around him that the thought of sharing what amounted to a bed with you didn’t faze him at all. 

As soon as the thought crossed your mind, there was a sudden pain in your scalp. Your eyes watered. 

“You’re on my hair.”

He’d somehow caught one of your ends while rolling over, but the problem was not resolved when he immediately jerked back. A high, pained sound left your mouth even as you followed the movement. 

“Ouch, shit,” you hissed, pulled further towards his side in an attempt to prevent having the hair torn directly from your scalp. “Stop moving, for Christ’s sake! It’s caught somewhere.”

A huff sounded from your right. “Don’t snap, I’m trying to find it.”

“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t turned out the light.”

Another round of painful pricks signaled that he’d found the offending strands. “Would you have preferred to sleep with it on?”

“That hurts!”

He muttered something which you didn’t quite catch. There were a few seconds of focused silence, after which a low, irritated sound echoed from his throat. “Where could it have possibly tangled itself?”

“I don’t know,” you shot back, scooting closer after a particularly vicious tug, “are you hiding gears under all that black clothing?”

“I’m wearing blue.”

Your shoulder bumped against something you guessed was his arm even as you craned your head closer to the source of pain. “Of all the-” The words were swallowed into a sound of annoyance, after which your hands began to fumble around in the dark. You prompted an answering sound from your partner when your palm firmly met with what felt like the side of his face. 

“What are you doing?”

“Taking initiative,” you replied, fingers meeting with the chunk of hair after a bit of clumsy exploration. “Since you can’t seem to find something which is literally attached to you.”

“It’s not my hair.”

It was funny to hear his voice take on that arch tone; even when you’d inadvertently caused him to be stuck in a supply closet for three hours he hadn’t sounded this put-out. Either you had simply become more irritating (and that was a definite possibility) or for some reason the other exorcist was letting it get to him. 

Swallowing another smart remark, you focused on finding the tangle. Your hand followed the strand until its end, where it collided with something. There was a slight rustle of fabric as your fingers felt around the object. You blew out a breath. “It’s your pendant.”

You felt his chest dip in a thin exhale. Your knuckles - fingers loosely grasping the metal which radiated a sort of second-hand heat from having lain so close to his skin - just barely grazed against him as his chest rose again. His breath skimmed across your face. 

“Whose fault is it now?”

If the remark had been intended as a taunt, it did not cut very deep. Likewise: If he’d been trying his hand at humor, it fell flat, which begged the question of what exactly he had meant for it to be. As it was, it edged into a sort of awkward ambiguity; too flat to be humorous, too soft to be insulting. There was just something odd about his tone, something which struck your ear even as it evaded your attempts to pinpoint it. 

Since he’d spoken, your hand had clutched the necklace like deadweight. You were only made aware of this when you felt him shift minutely closer and realized that the weight of your hand was pulling him forwards. That was enough to snap you back into action: Your fingers fumbled with the mechanism at the center of the pendant. They were being strangely unwieldy, it felt like you kept losing your grip. All the while he sat still as a rock, his breaths the only other sound in the room than your own. 

After several unsuccessful seconds, you let out a curse. “Fucking hell,” you hissed, “how did it even get in there?”

Whatever he might have responded, it was cut short when your hands suddenly appeared at his neck. He immediately tensed, his hands shooting up to catch your own as though he thought he were about to be strangled. 

“What are you doing?”

His voice was unsteady, perhaps from confusion. Letting out an annoyed grunt, you pointedly wriggled your fingers from where they were trapped under his. “Taking off the necklace, of course. I need to see this under some light.”

He remained surprisingly steady even as you struggled to get the cord over his collar. “You want to remove it?”

“Are you planning on running?” You blew some stray hair out of your face. “Just let me take the damn thing so we can both go to sleep.”

This order was punctuated by a tug. His hands dropped from yours like they burned. 

“Thank you,” you huffed. Goal achieved, your focus returned to the matter at hand: You grasped the cord on either side then tried to lift it over his head as smoothly as possible. The back of your knuckles brushed through his hair. A triumphant noise echoed from deep in your throat. “Got it.”

Turning sharply to the side, you crawled towards your side of the bed. In doing so, you had to climb over part of his leg; you grasped his shoulder for momentary support before swiftly staying your course. Once you cleared the mattress, you made a beeline for the lightswitch. 

Light flooded your vision. You had to blink at the sudden change, but soon your eyes adjusted and you could begin untangling the hair in earnest. Somehow it had become caught in the mechanism which opened and closed to contain the drops of blood (you were trying not to think about whether your hair was contaminated), but with a little maneuvering - which was much easier now that you could see what you were doing - you managed to pull it out mostly intact. 

This exact moment could be spotted by your brief noise of celebration. Mission accomplished, you plunged the room into darkness once more and began the dangerous trek back to your futon. Upon reaching the spot where you’d tripped before, you instinctively took a larger step - you’d be damned if you did it twice. 

This time, you reached the bed without incident. Reminded of the man at your side, you were about to hand him the necklace when you paused. The pendant dangled mid-air. 

It had just occurred to you that - if you gave it to him - the exact same thing might happen again. It was already later than you wanted to be going to sleep (especially since your wake-up call was set for such an ungodly hour) and, whatever goodwill and tolerance might have existed between you and your colleague, you didn’t think your relationship - or your scalp - could handle another round. You weren’t really supposed to let him run around without it, though. All things considered, the decision was not a difficult one. 

The pendant hit the floor with a thunk.  

“Goodnight,” you murmured, burrowing into the pillows at the far side of the bed. Upon further reflection, you swiped all the hair off your shoulder and tucked it securely to your chest. Sleep came almost immediately. 

The room had been dead silent after your declaration, but the silence was broken by your soft, sleepy breaths. It was as though they shattered some spell; unbeknownst to your deaf ears, the man next to you gave a long exhale - one which seemed to have been stuck in his lungs for a while. 

Several seconds passed in which there was nothing other than that faint noise of you breathing in, out, in, out. Finally, the sound of rustling sheets accompanied his movement as he turned onto his side - back facing yours - and screwed his eyes tightly shut.

“Do you think this is the place?”

With one hand, you gestured towards the door in front of you. Neuhaus squinted at the sign, gaze flickering between it and the small map which he’d grabbed from the front desk earlier that morning. His head inclined in a slight nod. 

“Great,” you sighed. “I suppose it would be considered irresponsible to back out now?”

Your partner shot you a look you interpreted as amused. “Afraid?”

“Hardly, it’s just that I can think of a thousand other things I would rather be doing.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” His dry voice rang out in the empty hallway even as he took a step forward. “Yesterday, you seemed very enthusiastic about it.”

You rolled your eyes before following him towards the door of the ‘zen garden’ where your first activity had been scheduled. “I see you’ve decided to hold a grudge.”

The soft glow of twilight hit your face. A flash of movement caught your attention, causing you to freeze mid-step. Neuhaus smoothly avoided bumping into you. 

“For fuck’s sake.”

He shot you a questioning look, but you had already begun to walk again. The other exorcist soon fell into step with you once more; as soon as he did, he was afforded a view of what had given you such pause. 

One man sat in the middle of the garden. There was a flat stone surface on which several mats could be laid, but - apart from his own - there were only two set out. This wasn’t due to scarcity; a pile of similarly-colored mats were stacked just to the right of where he was sitting. No, the implication was all too clear: You and Neuhaus were the only participants. 

Iwao Shimuzu opened his eyes at the sound of your approaching footsteps. His mouth split into a broad smile. “Welcome!” He spread his arms wide in a way which was probably meant to make you feel at-ease (instead of its actual effect of making you want to bolt). “You must be the Aimotos, come, come, sit!”

These last words were directed towards you; having reached him first, you found yourself on the receiving end of his upbeat attentions. Only barely dodging the hands which guided you towards a mat, you awkwardly bobbed your head in greeting before taking a moment to survey the spa’s owner. 

Iwao Shimuzu was a man of thirty-something years (early thirties, if you had to guess) with brown hair and eyes which would have contributed to an unremarkable face had it not been for his broad smile and the faint twinkle in his gaze which warned you you were dealing with a chronic extrovert. 

You knew his type; they were the people who were always trying to ‘push others out of their comfort zone’ - typically in situations where said efforts were highly inappropriate - and had a tendency to believe that anyone who didn’t prefer the type of life they themselves led just ‘hadn’t experienced life as it could be’. They were the friend who convinced you to go to a party you hadn’t wanted to attend or join them on some ‘adventure’ they promised would change you into a more daring person, only to be genuinely surprised when you had a miserable time. It would inevitably be because you’d been ‘holding yourself back’, not because you’d been dragged into something you’d known you would hate. 

Maybe it was unrealistic to think that you could discern that much from a single glance, but something about the way he was staring at the two of you - expression lit up with an excitement unsuitable for anything this early in the morning - gave you the feeling that he was about to prove you right. 

“Are you comfortable?”

You forced your lips into a smile. “Fine, thanks.”

His brown eyes darted to your ‘husband’, who was regarding the other man with a faintly wary air. Whatever Mr. Shimuzu saw there, he took it in stride; “Wonderful,” He softly clapped his hands together, “let me introduce myself: My name is Iwao Shimuzu, but you can call me ‘Shimuzu’.” He flashed you a smile. “I can’t stand all that formality.”

The way he’d said it, it seemed like you were supposed to agree. Although the man in front of you did not seem particularly offensive, you still balked at the casual familiarity; there was no way in Gehenna you were going to let him call you anything other than ‘Mrs. Aimoto’. 

“Now,” he continued, “I understand this is your first time visiting our humble sanctuary, so I’ll walk you through how we do things: Although I will be leading this meditation, I don’t want you to think of me as a ‘teacher’; the goal is to breathe, experience and learn as a group.” 

All you were currently learning was how best to suppress a yawn. Stealing a glance at Neuhaus, you wondered whether the two of you were learning together. Despite your late night, you felt surprisingly well-rested; from the moment your head had hit the pillow, you’d been knocked out cold. The only complaint you had was of a twinge in your neck where you’d slept on it wrong - probably a combination of your old injury with your attempts to stay on the far side of the mattress. A couple of times it had happened that you’d instinctively rolled over, only to immediately realize where (and with whom) you were and promptly roll back. If there was one thing you knew you were unprepared to deal with, it was waking up to find that you were spooning your coworker. 

Suppressing a snort, you moved on to other thoughts. Your dreams had been uneventful - glimpses of the spa and yourselves interspersed with fragments of conversation which didn’t point to anything unusual. Ever since your confrontation all those weeks ago, the visions had dialed significantly back in intensity; you couldn’t think of a single one to categorize as noteworthy. 

In fact, the most interesting thing the night had brought was the adventure with his necklace. Casting a wry glance at where the cord peeked out from under his shirt, you made a note to braid your hair tonight before bed. 

“-a quest to appreciate the every-day aspects of life-”

As soon as this was over, you thought, you’d have a couple hours to start recon. One of the few benefits of waking up this goddamn early was that you’d have plenty of time before the spa went into full swing; with a little luck and some contrived excuses in case you were caught, you figured the two of you could get most of the building mapped out. If you went off what Mephisto had said and assumed that the stone of Jordan possessed some sort of healing ability, then it would make sense for it to be kept near the hot springs where visitors could benefit from it. Would it be in some sort of protective display, or had Iwao Shimuzu simply placed it out in the open? The Director had implied that the owner was aware of its abilities (though not their full extent), surely he had to have some sort of precaution in place-

“-now, let’s begin!”

The gears in your head came to a jarring halt. You really had to stop falling so deep into your thoughts; you cursed yourself as you met Shimuzu’s expectant expression and realized that you hadn’t caught a word he’d said. Your lips thinned into another unconvincing smile. Fuck. 

The man in front of you assumed a posture you guessed you were supposed to mimic. You watched as his chest rose with an exaggerated inhale, his eyes closing. After a second, they popped back open and caught yours. He grinned. 

“We’ll start off easy, alright? All I want you to do is take a deep breath,” He demonstrated once more, “hold it for a second, and then exhale.”

You waited for further instruction, but it never came. Squaring your shoulders, you tried not to reveal your intense disinterest towards this exercise; the air passed easily through your lungs. If he noticed anything lackluster about your imitation, the man in front of you did not show his disappointment. 

“Great!” he exclaimed. “Let’s do that again, but this time let’s pay close attention to the sensation of breathing as you do so. Understand?”

It started off easily enough: You could close your eyes for a second, inhale and exhale, then open them again as you awaited whatever task he’d think up next; you’d fought demons and horrors beyond this man’s imagination, how difficult could a bit of breathing be? 

As it turned out, very. It wasn’t the breathing itself that was hard; it was the state of total relaxation that you were supposed to be achieving. Unsurprisingly, you were having a hard time letting your guard down, and Iwao Shimuzu seemed to be decked out with infra-red vision because so far he’d been able to see right past the act whenever you tried to fake it. 

“That’s right, Mrs. Aimoto,” he cheerfully addressed you for what felt like the thousandth time, “just breathe, and let your body take care of the rest. Like this.” He demonstrated allowing his shoulders to loosen. He wasn’t exactly being patronizing, but you felt yourself becoming annoyed all the same. It was one thing to go through with this farce, it was another to pretend that you were enjoying it; a few more of his ‘helpful corrections’ and you would no longer be responsible for your actions. 

The sound of his voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Very good, Mr. Aimoto!”

You glanced to the side. There, Shimuzu beamed down at your partner, who was sitting still as a literal rock. Suppressing the urge to gape, you couldn’t fully keep the skepticism out of your expression as you took in the sight before you.

Neuhaus looked like he’d done this a thousand times - which, having been treated to the minutiae of his everyday routines, you knew he hadn’t. He hadn’t quite assumed the typical meditative pose: Although his legs were folded underneath him (anything else would have been uncomfortable), his hands lay at his sides instead of resting on his knees. Without the extra height your legs gave you, he seemed taller than usual. 

That wasn’t the only difference: Your partner had yet to acknowledge the other man’s comment, his eyes were still closed. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was asleep. 

Your irritation momentarily waned, replaced by a burst of amusement at the idea that he might actually have dozed off. It would be the single most hilarious thing he’d done since that crack about leaving Shiemi in the forest (God, you hoped she was doing alright), but - knowing the other exorcist - he was just ignoring whatever he found irritating. In this case, Iwao Shimuzu.

The man in question caught you looking at him. You suppressed a curse as he sent you another of his encouraging smiles. “See how your husband’s allowing the muscles to relax?”

Almost immediately, your amusement soured. Goddamn him for being so pointed about it; so you couldn’t find it within yourself to relax, sue you. You’d like to see him try to get in touch with his ‘inner sense of peace’ while pretending to be someone he wasn’t, especially when said someone was supposed to be married to his coworker. Better women had faltered in more bizarre situations (though you'd be hard-pressed to think of anything more strange than this). 

Neuhaus cracked an eye open, and you looked away with a slight scowl. Directing your gaze towards the rising sun, you forced your breathing to follow Shimuzu’s directions even as your thoughts drifted away. 

The sunlight had gently filtered through your partner’s hair in that moment that you’d watched him, highlighting specks of gold you’d never noticed before. You were slowly getting used to the sight of him in civilian clothing - having seen him in his pajamas had gone a long way in desensitizing you. Still, there was something unfamiliar about the way he sat, eyes closed as he practically basked in the sun; if not actually relaxed, it was the most laid-back you’d ever experienced him. 

You gazed at the sunrise. If nothing else, you could see the merit in this; when had you last taken the time to watch the sun climb into the sky? Your schedule at True Cross did not allow for much idleness, especially with how chaotic this past semester had been. Between fulfilling your duties as a teacher and navigating the shit-show which had accompanied your visions, you hadn’t had much time to focus on ‘the little things’ in life; hard to, when your life was consumed by things which were so momentous. 

“Alright,” Shimuzu’s voice broke through your thoughts once more, but this time they carried an air of blessed finality, “let’s begin to let our awareness travel back to our bodies...”

You followed his instructions with more enthusiasm than the past hour combined, rolling your shoulders and stretching out your hands with the knowledge that you were reaching the end. Twisting your neck towards either side to gently stretch it, you blinked with surprise; at some point in the last twenty minutes, the ache in your neck had vanished. 

Huh. You cast an appraising glance towards where your instructor (pardon, ‘group member’) was happily chatting to your less-than-responsive coworker. 

“-that’s just the thing for an old wound, I know someone whose scar from surgery always bothered them until they tried it out.”

“What are you talking about?”

Both men turned towards you. You must have zoned out longer than you’d thought; your coworker eyed you with faint surprise even as the other man beamed at you. 

“The hot springs,” he clarified, looking no less than thrilled that you’d joined the conversation. “I was just telling your husband how beneficial some of our other guests have found them, especially when it comes to old bumps and scrapes.” 

The words were spoken casually, but they gave you pause. Your eyes flickered to Neuhaus before returning to Shimuzu with a slightly cold air. “How informative,” you stated. “Is there anything else you think we would benefit from?”

The clipped tone of your voice could not have escaped him. The owner blinked once before a strange look flashed across his face and he rushed to reply. “Oh, I recommend it to everyone. Nothing in the world that a soak in one of our hot springs can’t fix!”

You felt a sense of smugness at his forced, light tone. If there was one thing you couldn’t stand, it was people who tried to sell you something based on your appearance. More than once you’d been hounded by shop assistants who were convinced that your nonexistent husband and/or kids would be just thrilled if you happened to buy what they were selling. 

Over the years you’d learned that insisting you were both unmarried and childless usually gained you little more than a pitying look and something along the lines of ‘this will help you find a husband!’, so now your go-to tactic was either to brusquely ignore them or straight-out lie that your husband was dead. That usually shocked them into silence for long enough that you could make your escape, but every once in a while it had a tendency to backfire and trap you in a long conversation with ‘another’ widow. 

On one such occasion, she’d then asked you about your children, at which point you’d dug the hole deeper and said that they had all died in the same tragic house fire. You didn’t return to that shop very often, but whenever you did, the shopkeeper would watch you with sad eyes and you’d inevitably find yourself on the receiving end of a discount. 

Maybe you were being a little harsh in your presumption that Shimuzu had taken one look at your colleague and immediately begun to sing praises of his hot springs’ effects on ‘old wounds’, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to particularly care. Eyeing the owner, you let him squirm for just a little longer before letting up and thinning your lips into a smile. 

“That sounds wonderful.” You watched his shoulders relax. “I’ve heard great things about the water here.”

Not technically a lie: ‘Great’ didn’t quite surmise Mephisto’s limited intel on a holy stone with unknown abilities, but he hadn’t said anything negative either. 

“That’s good to hear! We’re always happy when former guests talk about us to their friends.” Shimuzu had regained most of his enthusiasm by this point - probably something to do with being given the opportunity to hype up his business. “I hope you continue to have a restful experience, I believe you booked our full program?”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, not bothering to hide the slight archness to your tone, “we were lucky enough to be gifted the full experience.” 

Before you could proceed any further with your sarcasm, you felt a presence at your back. Not even a second later, Neuhaus’ flat voice rumbled from your side. “It’s a fascinating place you have, could you tell us something about its history?”

Of course, the reason you were here. 

“It’s a fascinating story!” the owner chirped, rolling your mats and stashing them with the others. “So many of the ryokans here have long histories, most of them were family-owned for generations.” He straightened and sent the two of you a somewhat rakish grin. “I wish I could say the place was passed down to me from my parents, but I only came into possession of it a few years back. Still, there’s plenty to tell, you wouldn’t believe the sorts of things these walls have seen!”

Wary of him potentially diving into the intrinsics of its (undoubtedly) long history, you tried to steer the conversation. “Oh, did you know the previous owners?”

“Before I bought the ryokan, it was owned by a woman and her granddaughter. The dear lady was tired of running the place, but didn’t want to have it bulldozed and made into something else. When I told her about my intentions to continue its legacy, she was overjoyed.” Shimuzu inclined his head towards the door. “Eiko was happy that she could still work here without the responsibility of being the owner, so everything worked out perfectly!”

You wracked your brain for any memory of seeing an older woman. “Eiko?”

“Yes, Eiko Hirayama. She does great work for us here, I couldn’t ask for a more efficient receptionist.”

You mentally backtracked: So the young lady from the night before was the former owner’s granddaughter; no wonder she’d seemed completely at ease ordering you around. “She seems very capable.”

Shimuzu beamed. “Doesn’t she?” Then, before you could even begin to form another question, he clapped his hands together with an air of finality. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have another class in five minutes. Gotta keep moving, you know how it is. Will I be seeing you folks at the discussion group later this week?”

“Of course,” you replied, ignoring the fact that you had no idea what said group was supposed to be, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

“Wonderful, I’ll see you then!”

With that chipper farewell, Iwao Shimuzu beat a fast escape. You watched his retreating figure for a few seconds, then turned to your colleague. Your eyes met. 

“Wanna check out the baths?”

Chapter Text

Rays of sunlight streaming through the windows made the tiled floor shine in a dull sort of way. The deep wooden interior of the onsen was beautiful, but gave the room a slightly eerie look when it was just you and no one else - especially combined with the early hour. 

Correction: Just you and Neuhaus. 

“Are you listening?”

You snapped your focus away from Shimuzu’s decorating choices and promptly turned to your partner. “Of course.”

His expression was less than impressed. Amazing, how he could convey that you were full of shit without saying a single word. If he had been anyone else, you think he might have given you an eye-roll. 

“If the stone’s power is transferable by proximity, it must be somewhere near the water.” You turned to get a good look at the room around you. “Is there a central system through which all the water has to pass?”

He shook his head. “Different pipes for the public and private baths.”

“Alright, so not that. The baths are the main attraction, though - the stone has to be somewhere near them.” 

“Take your pick,” he wryly replied. Following his gaze, you blanched.

“Fuck.”

The curse came just as you saw Shimuzu’s taste in interior design in a very different light - namely at the same time that you recognized that practically every bit of the floor was made up of rock tile. The two of you shared a long-suffering glance. 

“There’s no way he embedded it into the floor.” Even as you spoke, you carefully stepped back onto the wooden beam. Eyes flitting around the room, you eventually let out a scoff. “There are at least a thousand different stones in here.”

While you were looking around, Neuhaus moved towards one of the other baths. He peered into the water, then glanced back up towards you. “That is a low estimate.”

You rolled your eyes, but continued your observation. “If Mephisto could figure out the stone’s origin story - or at least the one that Shimuzu gave - then he must have talked about it at some point. Still, it’s not exactly a marketing point for this place; I didn’t see anything about it in the brochures.”

“Perhaps he mentioned it in an interview.”

It was your turn to shake your head. “Not one that I could find: I scoured the web for information about the resort on the way here.”

His brow quirked at the same time that you began to rifle through the belt you'd hidden underneath your flowy meditation outfit. “Was that what you were doing?”

You drew the chalk from your belt, then frowned and looked over. “As opposed to what, exactly?”

By now, he was already busy drawing sigils around the first bath. “Fuming, mostly, interspersed with the occasional bout of malice.”

So he had known you were upset. The chalk in your hand moved in the practiced motions of a symbol you’d drawn a thousand times before. 

“I can multitask.”

Completing one sigil, you moved onto the next. At the same time, you kept an ear out for any sort of noise beyond the bath house’s entrance; though it was hours before they opened, you didn’t want to be discovered by a wandering guest or member of the staff. Somewhere to your left, you could hear Neuhaus’ clothes rustle as he moved along his side of the room. 

The man in question did not respond to your snark, and so the two of you worked in science until the perimeter around each body of water had been fully enclosed. Brushing your chalk-covered hands off, you surveyed your handiwork. 

“Do the honors?”

A slight incline of the head was your only answer before he stepped forward and - while reciting the correct passage - allowed a drop of his blood to fall onto the sigil. Almost immediately the entire thing began to glow, but then abruptly fizzled out. You exchanged a puzzled glance. 

“It’s close,” you remarked, staring down at the symbol. “But not within the circle. It isn’t in contact with the water.”

“It could be in the floor.”

“I’m choosing to hope that it isn’t.”

With a few long strides, he crossed around the pool to study the spellwork on the other side. Even from a distance, you saw his lips pull into their signature frown. The sight brought a faint smile to your own. You moved to join him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” came the curt reply. “There are no mistakes in the circle.”

Your voice rang out somewhat sarcastically: “Glad to know that you have faith in my abilities.”

“What time do the baths open?”

“Feel like a dip?” you quipped, twisting your watch to check the time. “You’ve got another two hours before the men’s hours begin. The women’s start in the evening and go on until midnight.” 

This information in mind, you began the process of scrubbing all traces of your investigation away. Although the sigils you'd used were essentially nothing more than a ‘holiness detector’, you doubted the other guests would find them as mundane. By the time you got rid of everything, the hesitant sunlight had turned to full-blown rays and you were starting to wonder whether you’d have the time to do all this to the other rooms. As though summoned by your pessimistic thoughts, Neuhaus glanced over. 

“The private baths are smaller - if we split up we can cover more ground.”

He frowned again. “If we are in separate rooms, we won’t hear approaching footsteps.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll stand guard, you start on the first one.”

Your partner didn’t need to be told twice; you leant against the wall and watched as he swifty entered what would be the first of many private bathing rooms. You supposed it was only natural - it was a couple’s retreat after all - but regardless, it did not send you leaping with joy to think of how long this was going to take. 

Stifling a yawn, you allowed your eyes to drift lazily over your surroundings. With some pride you noted that the chalk had been completely washed away; you’d used a kind that was very easy to erase - all it took was a fine mist of water, and it would invisibly sink into the surface. While completely impractical for the usual sigils you drew, it had its uses for spellwork outside of battle - easy clean-up included. Eyeing the tile floor, you wondered whether it left any sort of residue. 

The minutes passed with little in the way of change. You passed the time by trying to guess which stage of the sigil Neuhaus was in by sound alone - after two private rooms, you thought you were getting pretty good. You’d offered to switch after he’d completed the first, but all he’d done was wave you off. Hands in your pockets, you resigned yourself to the role of watchdog. 

You began to hum. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent room, filling your surroundings with the tune of an old city pop song. Coincidentally, Neuhaus chose that moment to step through the door, fixing you with a questioning expression as soon as he saw you. The hum froze in your throat. 

“What are you doing?”

You coughed. “Keeping watch. Are you done already?”

He stared at you a second longer before nodding. You pushed yourself up from the wall.

“Fantastic! You take the next shift.”

You attacked the next rooms enthusiastically; anything was better than just standing around and waiting, especially if completing your current task meant that you could get the hell out of there that much sooner. Now at a safe distance, you resumed your humming. 

Two baths later, and you were still no closer to pinpointing the location of the holy energy. The sigils were useful, but their main purpose was to show whether there was any energy at all - the way you were using them resembled a tedious game of ‘Marco Polo’ in which you blindly moved from room to room in the hopes of catching the source. There was probably a more efficient way of doing this, but you were limited to means that were not only discreet but also quick - no complicated spellwork for which you would need several days. As you worked, you were aware of every passing second, which is why it should not have been a surprise when, in room number five, Neuhaus’ voice sharply echoed from your back. 

“Someone’s coming.”

Starting at the sudden noise, you cursed and shoved the chalk in your pocket. The sigil before you was almost completed, but it would have to be redone; almost as quickly as you’d pocketed the chalk, you grabbed a canister of holy water from your belt and threw it on the floor. You squeezed your eyes shut as the room exploded into mist. 

While really no more than a loud pop, the sound of it detonating was amplified by the large, empty rooms; you winced at the echo it sent down the rest of the bath house. A noise almost like a curse sounded from outside the door, and then you were following Neuhaus as he ducked to the side. 

The two of you were now sandwiched behind a large rack of towels. His mouth twisted into a grimace as you strained your ears for further noise. There was the sound of a key turning in the main door several rooms from where you currently stood. Your mind raced with your next move. 

“They’re coming through the door,” you whispered, “is there another way out?”

His head jerked in an agitated movement. “Not unless you plan to break through the window.”

Much to your partner’s irritation, you actually shot the window next to you an appraising glance. 

“Do not.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, footsteps echoed off of the tile. You crushed yourself further into the man at your side in an attempt to stay out of sight. The two of you waited with bated breath to see where they would head next. After what felt like an eternity, they became fainter and fainter. You momentarily relaxed. 

“They’re going in the other room.” You attempted to share a significant glance, but at your close proximity ended up just staring him straight in the eye. Blinking, you leant back a little. “Come on.”

It looked as though he might have liked to argue, but you slipped from his side before he had the chance. Quiet and quick as you could, you slipped through the adjoining room in the direction of the main entrance. Your slippers made little noise against the tile; you made it to the door without issue, at which point you turned to look for your partner. 

Neuhaus narrowly avoided slamming into you; without halting, he grabbed you by the forearm and pulled you back into motion. 

A wave of relief crashed over you the moment you stepped through the door. You allowed a light sigh to pass your lips, then began to determinedly stride down the hallway - acting as though you hadn’t just indulged in a spot of breaking and entering with your fake husband. 

Speaking of, you realized as you prepared to turn right towards your rooms, he had yet to let go of your arm. His hand still fisted in the generous fabric of your sleeve - akin to a child holding onto its mother. The image made you suppress a laugh; either he didn’t realize that he hadn’t released you, or he was keeping you close - possibly out of the fear you’d run off again and force him to follow - which, you supposed, would make you the child in this scenario. 

You rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with Eiko Hirayama. 

Both of you reared back to avoid a collision. She blinked, that impenetrable facade briefly slipping into surprise before her expression returned to its usual forceful friendliness.

“Good morning,” she briskly greeted, “sorry about that.” 

“It’s alright, I should have been paying better attention.”

As you spoke, her eyes roved over you - more specifically, your attire. Almost as soon as her gaze rested on your sleeve, you felt Neuhaus release it. The fabric fell back against your skin, and she looked up. 

“I trust the two of you had a nice time with Mr. Shimuzu this morning?”

You forced your lips into a smile. “Just fantastic, thanks.”

“How good to hear!” Once more, her eyes flitted over your clothes. “Your session ended a few hours ago, correct? Is there something here you were looking for?”

It didn’t take a genius to guess why she was asking: The baths, while centrally located, were nowhere near the garden in which you’d had your morning session. Add that to the fact that you had yet to change out of the clothes you’d worn for meditation, and Hirayama was probably wondering both what you were doing in that part of the building and what you’d been doing for the past hours. 

Sensing a need to give some response beyond “No, thanks”, you went with the first thought you had: Twisting your expression into one of disappointment, you thinned your lips into an apologetic smile. 

“Yes, actually,” you intoned. “We were just coming by to check out the baths, but we see now that they’re still closed.” Your hand moved in a sort of ‘darn it’ gesture. “Too bad, but it’s our own fault for not paying attention to the signs.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neuhaus shoot you a side-glance. Not sure whether to take it as a sign to stop elaborating or just one of his looks, you decided that he was shit-out-of-luck - if he wanted this conversation to go a certain way, then he could go ahead and involve himself. 

Hirayama’s eyes narrowed with sympathy. “Yes, I’m afraid they don’t open for another fifteen minutes…”

“Like I said” - you were already preparing to jaunt away - “don’t worry about it.”

“...however…”

That single word made you stop short. With a sense of dread so strong that it was almost prophetic, you watched the train crash happen in real-time, caught in 4k right in front of you. The other woman looked to either side before secretively leaning in. 

“If you promise not to tell any of the other guests, I don’t see any reason why I can’t let the two of you in a little early.”

Warning bells sounded in your head as you frantically searched for a way out. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“It’s no trouble!” she exclaimed. “The baths are clean and prepared and, after all, you’re already all the way on this side of the ryokan. Were you wanting the public or private baths?”

With a growing sense of alarm, you realized that the young woman was doing it again; determined not to let yourself be strong-armed, you stood your ground. 

“Really, it’s too much. I don’t want you to get in trouble for breaking the rules or be the reason you’re accused of favoritism.”

She dismissed your words with a wave of the hand. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Mr. Shimuzu is very understanding, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” For the briefest of moments, a glimmer of doubt showed. “You did say you were here for the baths, didn’t you?”

Shit, shit, shit. The hint of skepticism in her voice was just enough that you couldn’t brush it off. The excuse you’d planned abruptly died in your throat. Two, long seconds of silence passed, and then you and Neuhaus made knowing eye contact.

As you slathered copious amounts of concealer on your coworker’s naked forearm, you wondered what your life had come to. 

“I don’t have any powder to set it with, so you’ll have to keep your arms out of the water.”

Neuhaus’ responding expression could only be described as a ‘bitchface’. To his credit, it was a more composed response than you’d’ve expected from most men stuck in a changing room - naked except for a towel around their hips - while one of their coworkers massaged makeup into their arm in an attempt to hide their tattoos. It was an equally surreal experience for you: The muscles under your hands were taut and firm; you could feel them shifting each time you moved. 

“How convenient that you get the bandage.”

You paused to give him the stink-eye. “I have one tattoo and one band-aid. Do the math.” Shifting, you tried to give the rest of his body a wide berth. “There’s only so much my jumbo bandage could do to make anyone who might see you think you aren’t yakuza.”

He huffed, his chest rising and falling with the action. “The point of a private bath is that we aren’t seen.”

“Yeah, but I doubt the changing room’s going to be this empty ten minutes from now.” Glancing up at the clock, you cursed. “Fuck, we’ve only got five minutes. I’ve got to wash this off my hands.”

“That’s not the only thing,” he remarked, voice dry as he jerked his chin at your outfit. You rolled your eyes even as a faint flush spread across the back of your neck. 

“Yes, I know,” you snapped. “You’re not the only one who's been to an onsen. I figured it would be right to help you before myself, thank you very much, especially since you don’t know the first thing about makeup.”

“My failings are numerous.”

You rolled your eyes and popped the lid back on the concealer. To be honest, the whole ordeal up until now had been a good way of distracting yourself from the fact that you were about to disrobe in front of the other exorcist - an occurrence which, save for that one time Yamada had accidentally walked in on you while changing, was not something you had much experience in. 

You squared your shoulders and told yourself that, damn it, you were forty-one years old, not some blushing teenager who couldn’t be naked in a public setting. Sure, it would be awkward, but in the long run not any more than your bizarre relationship with Neuhaus had been so far. Determined and with more confidence than you actually felt, you began to undress. 

It should be noted that your colleague promptly found something interesting on the patch of wall to his left. When you caught a glimpse of him while pulling the shirt over your head, you found him completely transfixed by the spot he’d chosen - one which, coincidentally, was on the opposite side of the room and thus very far from your tits. You appreciated the gesture, but doubted whether that strategy would be quite as effective as soon as he had to do anything other than sit. 

You plodded over to your bag and slapped the bandaid on your palm. Not bothering with a towel for the short walk to the baths, you finally looked over at where your colleague had switched his gaze to the ceiling. 

“Neuhaus.”

His eyes snapped to yours, where they pointedly stayed. Still projecting that false sense of calm, you raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go in first?”

“No,” he gruffly replied, “I can go.”

With that it was your turn to find something interesting to look at, because your partner promptly stood and disrobed. He’d mercifully turned his back to you before dropping the towel, but even still it was impossible to ignore the blur of him sans vêtements that your peripheral vision afforded. For a split second, you were gripped by the urge to let out an uneasy laugh. 

Dead silence reigned as you followed him down the hall to one of the private baths. In that time, you found yourself very intently studying the back of his head. Only once did your eyes drift any lower - namely to the set of his shoulders - but the slip was brief. Still, it was long enough to afford you a good look at the defined lines of muscle across his shoulder blades, not to mention the smattering of pale scars. Your eyes snapped back up as soon as they slipped, but it was no use: From now until the day you died, you would know exactly what Neuhaus looked like from behind. 

Well, not completely. That much you managed to keep your eyes off of, though your impulsive thoughts made it damned difficult. Thankfully, he entered the bath before you could get an eyeful of more than just his shoulders. In line with your instructions, he propped his arms up on either side of the floor behind his back. While you were glad to see that he was working to preserve your impromptu makeup job, this new position had the unfortunate effect of showcasing the muscles along his shoulders even more. 

You cleared your throat. “So, um, you want to stay there while I do this side of the room?”

Your voice was not quite as steady as you would have liked. His head tilted as though he’d instinctively looked towards the sound of your voice before it snapped back into place. A second passed. 

“That’s fine.”

He sounded a little odd himself. No big surprise there: The worst his torso had to offer were some muscles - once you moved to the other side of the bath, it was going to be a bit more difficult for him to find somewhere appropriate on your body to look at. 

Once more stifling that nervous laughter, you pulled the piece of chalk from behind your ear. This room was the last of the private baths and the one you’d failed to finish your spellwork in. While thankful to have something to do other than sit in the bath with Neuhaus while you waited for an appropriate amount of time to pass, you weren’t thrilled about working on your hands and knees while naked - the tile was hard and cold, not to mention that the position was not one you’d describe as unexposed. 

Squashing your discomfort, you got on with your work. The chalk scraped against the tile with practiced movements. If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost forget that you and your colleague were lounging in your birthday suits. To be fair, Neuhaus’ posture could hardly be described as anything even resembling ‘lounging’; the man looked more rigid-

You winced, flushed, then reminded yourself to use a different descriptor for the extent of your current situation.

Half of the sigil was finished sooner than you would have liked. The sound of you clearing your throat for the second time echoed loudly throughout the otherwise silent room. 

“Do you want to turn around, or I could go around the one side, or…”

Back still to you, he half-raised out of the water. “I can do the other-”

“Nope, no,” you cut in, suddenly very confident that having to ignore him as he worked would be more difficult than being prone and naked, “that’s not a good idea. Just, uh, close your eyes and turn to the other side or something. I’ll be fine.”

Your partner settled back into the water, but soon began to move: Hands gripping the edge of the bath for guidance, Neuhaus slowly moved to the other side of the bath. When he’d turned enough that you could see him from the front, you noted that his eye was screwed securely shut. The second thing you noticed was the broad expanse of his chest, which was enough to get you up and moving to the other side of the room without further delay. He seemed to relax a little once you landed behind him. 

“Ok, I’m clear,” you stated. “You can open your eyes.”

The back of his head was a familiar and welcome sight. Your gaze soon landed on the floor, but not before you noticed a few strands of gray amongst the brown. For some inane reason, the sight made you smile - for the second before you snapped out of it and reminded yourself to stop looking at him. 

You finished the circle in half the time as the first, but hesitated to relay its conclusion. For what felt like an hour you knelt there, bare knees on the tile as you looked anywhere other than at the man next to you. 

“Is something wrong?”

You started. “No, everything’s fine” - your voice came out a little unsteady - “just trying to figure out what to draw blood with.”

He seemed to digest your answer. Before you could do anything else, he drew one of his hands off of the wall and towards his face. A second later, you were presented with his bleeding thumb. 

“Here.”

You stared at him. “Did you just bite yourself?”

There was a second of silence. “The wound was already fresh.”

“Christ,” you muttered, grabbing his hand and guiding it towards a line of the sigil. “First the nails, now this. Are there no nerves left in your body?”

His fingers briefly spasmed when you squeezed a drop of blood from his thumb, but they soon stilled. The hand in your own was warm and solid - if you looked close enough, you could see the unevenness of his fingertips where he’d repeatedly pricked them for blood. You had the sudden notion that they were very similar to your own, just a little larger. 

As expected, the sigil performed the same as it had in the other rooms. A slight sigh left your lips. You swiftly released his hand. “All done.” Your voice carried more cheerfulness than you felt, you gaze landing on the water next to him instead of literally anywhere else. “Careful that you don’t get that cut wet, it’ll sting like crazy.”

He made a vague sound which could have been in acknowledgement. An awkward silence filled the room. 

“So,” you began, “how are we going to clean this up?”

“I should get rid of it.”

“Yeah, um,” you sputtered, trying to think of a good way to put this, “I appreciate you valuing equal distribution of work and all, but I’d rather you didn’t.” The seconds which followed were the longest in your life. “Maybe we could just kind of slosh the water over the edge.”

“Won’t the staff wonder if we leave that much of a mess?”

You had the sudden thought that they probably wouldn’t wonder for very long what ‘Mr. and Mrs. Aimoto’ had been doing to empty the bath of half its water. “Uh, I think it’ll be fine.”

Maybe there was something in your voice which told him not to push the subject, because he didn’t ask again. Instead, what followed was one of the quickest times you’d been spurred into action as he suddenly began to stand. 

“Hey, wait a sec!” You scrambled to your feet. “Just hold on for a minute, and then you can start splashing. I’ve got to get into the other side of the bath.”

He paused. “What side are you entering from?”

“God fucking knows, just close your eyes and sit down, would you?”

The other exorcist followed your command. Now tasked with entering the bath, you groped the edge of it for guidance as you pointedly kept your eyes away from him. The water gave a faint splashing noise as you hopped in, sending ripples throughout the pool. It was pleasantly warm, but you already felt like you were burning up from the inside out. You hugged the side of the bath with your body. 

“Ok, you can start now.”

In the following minutes, you engaged yourself with clearing away the vestiges of your handiwork. It wasn’t the most dignified thing you’d ever done - you felt like a child splashing around in the pool as you heaved the water out onto the tile. Your partner was likewise engaged, but you were really trying not to think too much about anything he was doing. When you finished, you indecisively clung to the wooden edge. 

“I’m done,” your voice finally echoed, “can I turn around?”

There was the faint sound of water being displaced. “Yes.”

Closing your eyes for strength, you let go and pivoted so that you were facing him. As soon as he came into view, the nervous laugh you’d been suppressing managed to slip past your lips. 

His eyes snapped to yours. Your mouth twisted apologetically. “Sorry, just” - your hand waved in a vague gesture - “all this.”

Neuhaus didn’t appear to require further elaboration. Even though you were sunk into the water up to your collarbones, he seemed to be making a point of not looking in your direction much at all. You wished you could say the same for yourself: There was decidedly more of his torso on display, and it was a little difficult not to notice. You blew out a breath. 

“How long do you figure we have to stay here so it doesn’t look suspicious?”

“Another ten minutes, at the least.” The way his head was turned to the side, you could clearly see where the tendon in his neck connected to his shoulder. “Her letting us in earlier makes it more problematic - we don’t want to be seen leaving too early by the other guests.”

Your lips quirked into a smile. “Lest they suspect foul play?”

“Something like that.”

The room fell into silence once more. For the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would pass for appropriate conversation matter, and so you didn’t try to talk. The two of you sat there, still as statues, not a sound between you other than your quiet breaths. Under other circumstances, it would have been peaceful - even now there was something faintly calming about it, that is if you disregarded literally everything else that was going on. 

The one time you made eye contact, it was to glimpse your partner wearing the oddest expression on his face. He’d instinctively glanced over when you moved, remembered too late where and who you were, then your eyes had locked. It was then that it flashed over his face: Something odd, unfamiliar, an emotion you couldn’t place in your book of Neuhaus references. It looked almost strained, but there was something about it that hinted at more than pure discomfort. Before you could delve into it, it vanished, and he turned his head away. You couldn’t help but frown as you sunk deeper in the water, ignoring the nagging feeling of your instincts telling you that something was up. 

You’d never dressed quicker in your life. After ten minutes were up, the two of you sprung up and towards your respective changing rooms; not even two minutes later, you were outside the main entrance, waiting for him to emerge. The sound of rustling told you that someone was approaching the door, but you doubted it was your partner: Whoever it was, they were humming under their breath, something that you’d never seen the other exorcist do. When the door opened, you didn’t bother to glance over. 

“Coming?”

You blinked. Looking up, you found Neuhaus staring expectantly at you. Your surprise was quickly masked as you took the lead down the hallway, but as you walked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the melody had sounded somehow familiar.

Chapter Text

Making a face, you continued to chew on the end of the pencil. 

“You were right about the pipes - I can’t see a main connection.”

The way you were sitting, legs crossed on the floor of your room, you had your back to the other exorcist. Still, as you stared down at the blueprints in front of you, you fancied you sensed him shooting you a look. Leaning back on your hands, you let your eyes roam over the plans. “If I were a spiritual relic, where would I hide?”

The sound of rustling echoed from somewhere behind you. “The ventilation and heating systems?”

You shook your head. “Possible, but I can’t see how you would ‘infuse’ air, hot or cold, with some sort of spiritual aura. Water’s one thing - you can bless it as many times as you want - but wind?”

As you spoke, he entered your field of vision. Just as you’d noticed what he was carrying, his hand jerked towards you. You smoothly caught the bottle of water. 

“Thanks.”

Neuhaus sat himself across from you, focus immediately fixing itself upon the building plans. 

“What I don’t understand,” you continued, speaking around a sip of water, “is why we haven’t heard anything more about it. ‘Holy’ stone, magic rock - you’d think something like this would be a marketing gimmick. So why hasn’t he mentioned it?” You screwed the lid back on. “It bothers me.”

“Maybe it didn’t sell as well as he liked.”

“Then why keep it? Something like that proves to be useless, why bother holding on?”

His shoulders lifted in a near-imperceptible shrug. You sighed. “In any case, it has to be somewhere in the building. Preferably not embedded in the floor.”

A page turned on the pile in front of you. “We should investigate his quarters.”

“You going to ask for a tour?”

His gaze slid up to pin you with a deadpan stare. “I believe you would have better luck in that department.”

Your nose wrinkled, and you pushed yourself up. “No thanks, they don’t pay me well enough for that level of espionage. Besides, that would effectively throw a wrench in our facade of marital bliss, don’t you think?”

Attention returning to the plans, Neuhaus ignored you as you moved towards the other side of the room. “Not your type?”

“Fuck!” you hissed, retracting your hand from where you’d just knocked it on the closet door. You stuck it under your arm, then turned towards where he was sitting. “What? No, of course not! I mean, don’t I look like I have better taste?”

Before he could respond, you raised a hand. “Don’t answer that.”

“What hours is he occupied?”

Reminded of the list you’d retrieved, you snapped back to focus. “Right,” you began, skimming over the schedule Eiko Hirayama had handed you the day before. There are a few classes like the one we had this morning, and then something called ‘Discussion Group’” - you squinted - “whatever that means. It seems like Shimuzu takes quite the hands-on approach.”

“Meaning?”

“That he’s out most of the morning, and some of the afternoon.” 

The two of you glanced at the clock. The hands signaled that you really should have eaten dinner about three hours ago. As though triggered by the realization, your stomach growled. 

“We could use the night to investigate.”

“Or to sleep,” you mumbled, suddenly reminded of all the nights you’d spent watching him do the opposite. Brushing your hands on your thighs, you took hold of the blueprints and cast your gaze over them. Neuhaus shot you a look that told you your comment had not gone unheard. 

“We can get more done while the ryokan is empty.”

“I’m aware.” 

There was the sound of shifting from your side. “What are you looking for?”

Dipping the blueprints forward, you made eye contact with him. “We can’t do anything until reception hours are over, so I’m making a plan of procedure. Here” - your finger tapped against the map - “the kitchen’s at the far side, we can start there and make our way across.”

He’d leaned forward to peer at the area in question; now, he straightened and gave a slight nod. Satisfied with your contribution, you let go of the plans. Neuhaus stilled when he suddenly found himself the sole target of your attention. 

“Wanna eat something?”

The energy behind the question left little doubt as to your stance. Staring at him expectantly, you raised your brows. “Reception doesn’t take the night off for another three hours, and I’m hungry.”

“The kitchen’s closed.”

“And?”

He blinked. “Do you want to…go out?”

Staring at the other exorcist, you failed to see why he was having such a hard time grasping the concept. “Do you have food hidden somewhere in the room? Please tell me you’ve heard of restaurants.”

He exhaled in a way which suggested you were being spared an eye roll. “Yes.”

“Perfect!” you exclaimed, jumping up in one smooth motion. “I think I saw a place a little down the road. How much cash do you have on you?”

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in the booth of a hole-in-the-wall, tapping your fingers against the table as you watched the waiter shuffle away with your order. Once you returned your gaze to the table’s other occupant, you found him staring at your hand. The drumming stopped. 

“So,” you began. His eyes flickered to your face. Not entirely sure where you’d been going in the first place, you blew out a breath and began fiddling with the napkin. “How many of the kids do you think Kirigakure has lost by now?”

“I’ve refrained from getting my hopes up.”

You snorted. By now, the square of paper was being systematically torn into pieces; you caught him shooting the growing pile a side-glance. 

You released the final shreds. “Yeah, right.” Your voice dripped with humor as you moved onto the menu, turning it over in your hands. “I wouldn’t mind a break from Shima. Do you remember his brother?”

“Reluctantly.”

“I never understood how they could keep track of all those kids,” you mused. “Five is a bit much even for someone like Yaozo Shima.”

“It used to be six.”

Smile sobering a little, you nodded. “Yes.” 

A beat of silence passed. 

“Ever think about doing it?” At his blank expression, you waved your hand in a vague gesture. “Children, I mean. Taking a more personal involvement in supplying the next generation.”

A slight wrinkle formed between his brows. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that would have been a good idea.” He simply stared, and after a second you relented. “We don’t have a great track record with that sort of thing.”

“You?”

“My mother,” you elaborated. Your voice carried a hint of forced casualness which hadn’t been present before. “I spent so much of my youth running after her, I promised myself I’d never do that to any kid. Now I just torture them with homework assignments.”

Your partner didn’t immediately respond. Returning your gaze to the flimsy paper menu, you scanned over the limited options for dessert. 

“I did.”

Eyes snapping up, they met Neuhaus’ stiff expression. “Want them. Before.”

Before what, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to pry. “Yeah?” You shot him an appraising glance. “You would have scared the shit out of me in parent-teacher meetings.”

There was the faintest twitch of his lip. “I find that somewhat difficult to believe.”

“That’s because I’m old and jaded. If you’d’ve known me ten years ago?” 

You shuddered, and he blew out an amused breath. “Besides,” you continued, “I’ve seen you in your pajamas. You can’t expect me to be intimidated after that.”

Whatever he might have responded, it was interrupted by the waiter arriving with your drinks. The two of you fell into silence - once he left, the conversation could not be resumed at its former point. Dog-earing the corner of your menu, you caught a glimpse of something on the back. 

“Huh, sudoku.” You squinted at the numbers in the low light. “Yamada used to go crazy over it. Had this phase where he tried to ‘improve his brain’ to impress some girl” - you rolled your eyes - “but I’m pretty sure it did the opposite. Still, not the worst thing he did at fifteen.”

Reaching out, you thumbed one of the pencils stacked next to the condiments. “Probably what these are for.”

He glanced down at his menu as you leaned back and took a sip of your drink. Focus drifting, your eyes lazily swept across the room. There weren’t many other people out this late - a couple, one or two teenagers with their heads in a bowl of ramen. You noted the waiter from before exchanging a word with one of them; going by the resemblance, maybe his son. 

Glancing back to make some remark, you stopped short. 

Neuhaus lifted his gaze to find you staring at his menu incredulously. “Damn,” you exclaimed, “what are you, some sort of wizard?”

His brow furrowed as you snatched up the completed puzzle. “That had to have been, what, ten seconds?” Before he could reply, you slid yours across the table. “Here, do mine.”

Faced with this order and your intent observation, he slowly accepted the page. The scratching of the pencil filled the otherwise focused silence - less than half a minute later, he presented it to you. 

“What the hell.” Looking between the man across from you and the page, you let out a slight noise. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the puzzle type.”

“There’s a type?”

You eyed one of the neighboring tables. “I wonder if there are harder levels.”

“I don’t think-”

Before his sentence could even finish, you swiped the menu off of an empty table. You bestowed your ill-gotten gains on him with a slightly regal air. “Try this one.”

There was nothing forcing the other exorcist to indulge you; still, he did, taking the page and dutifully repeating the process, albeit a little slower now that you were watching him like a hawk. If this blatant observation unsettled him, not by much - he completed the puzzle before you could hardly blink. When he set down the pencil, Neuhaus shot you a wry glance. 

“Are you going table-by-table?”

“Maybe,” you replied, grabbing the page where he held it out. “Unless you have some other, more interesting ability I’m unaware of. I don’t suppose you can touch your tongue to your nose?”

The look he sent you in response was enough to make you grin. “Thought not.”

If you’d thought the baths were eerie, the kitchens were the stuff of nightmares. 

You’d eaten your meal and returned to the ryokan just in time to miss Hirayama at the receptionist’s desk; when you strode into the lobby, it was blissfully empty. From there you’d wasted little time in making your way to the kitchen. 

Your boots sent light sound off the tile as you scoured the room for a good spot to place the sigil. Having split up to cover more ground, you were only cognizant of Neuhaus’ presence by the dark blur of his coat in your peripheral vision. You relaxed into the familiar routine - once you found a suitable patch of wall, you drew the chalk from your belt. 

This time, you activated the sigil. Blood welled at the tip of your thumb where it hung at your side; absentmindedly sticking it between your teeth, you waited for a reaction. 

For two seconds, the entire room was bathed in light. Muttering a curse, you turned to find your partner. 

“Neuhaus, it’s-”

Your eyes widened with alarm when your ankle jerked . Arms shooting up just in time to catch yourself, you couldn’t stop your head from clipping the edge of the countertop. Somewhere above you, two pots knocked against each other. 

A hand on your bicep hauled you to your feet. Meeting your wild eyes, Neuhaus took you in with a furrowed brow.

“Did you…trip?”

“Something fucking grabbed me,” you hissed, and the two of you glanced to the room behind you. Other than the row of shelves, there was nothing to be seen in the stretching darkness. He let go of you, and you brushed yourself off. 

“You’re bleeding.”

“No shit! I just slammed my head against the fucking…” Your hand jerked towards the countertop. “Whatever that’s made of! I swear to God, I had just turned around to say something to you when something yanked my foot from under me.”

It probably didn’t help that there was blood running down your face as you raved. Wiping it out of your eye, you snatched a steak knife from the block. Fully prepared to slice your palm, you jerked to an abrupt stop. Neuhaus stared at you. 

“Fuck.” 

With a huff, you shoved the knife back into its place. The other exorcist still regarded you with that slightly wary air. 

“I can’t summon Kaze,” you snapped. 

“Why?”

“Because you decided to put me in the hospital, that’s why! If I summon her now, she’ll go berserk.” You rounded in on him. “You do it, summon one of your creatures!”

“To do what, exactly?”

“For fuck’s-” Cutting yourself off, you whirled around and took a deep breath. “The sigil’s done - it’s the same as in the baths. I can’t have Kaze and I don’t have my sword, so are you just going to let whatever that was snatch me again?”

He briefly scanned the room around you. His gaze flickered to the blood-stained back of your hand. “You need a bandage.”

“Something grabbed me.”

An odd look crossed his face. Hesitantly, he put his hand back on your arm. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you muttered, shaking off the ‘protection’ and stalking into the darkness. 

“I can step outside while you summon her.”

“Don’t bother - I’ll just wait for whatever it was to find a more efficient means of killing me.”

The canister of holy water exploded in your hand. Turning like a sprinkler, you hosed down each corner of the kitchen, making sure to dissipate the chalk. When there was no screaming or bursting into flames, your shoulders sagged with reluctant acceptance. Now covered in a light sheen of water, you trudged back to where Neuhaus was watching you. 

“For the record, you’d make a shitty bodyguard.”

“I didn’t know I had to protect you from the countertops,” he retorted, voice lowering as you exited the kitchen. Hand pressed to your temple, your mouth was already open to rip him a new one when his hand on your arm forced you to a halt. 

“What?”

“You’re bleeding on the floor.” 

His voice, hushed as it was, managed to carry a tinge of vexation as he gestured to the tiny beads of blood marking your path. You cupped the wound in an effort to stop the flow, but all it did was send the blood down your sleeve. “Fuck.”

There was the sound of rustling clothing as he did something with his sleeve. In the dark, it was hard to tell, but you caught the flash of his bandaged hands. Only when you glimpsed the tail end of the knot that he was undoing did you understand - his fingers moved in movements so practiced, he must have done it a thousand times. Neuhaus shoved the wad of bandages into your bleeding hand. 

“Here, now go.”

“I’m moving,” you snapped, pressing the cotton against your forehead and matching his long strides. His haste was understandable; you hadn’t exactly been quiet in the kitchen, and it would be difficult finding a good reason to be out bleeding in the hallway. 

When your room came into sight, you let out a breath of relief. Door closing softly behind you, you immediately whirled on the other exorcist. 

“Something is wrong with this place, and I’m calling it now.”

Neuhaus ignored you from where he strode to the closet and began to rummage through one of the bags. 

“There was something off the moment we stepped in here, and there’s something even more wrong now,” you continued. “What kind of holy relic manifests as an ankle-biting poltergeist?”

His back was still to you when he stood. Finally turning towards you, the other exorcist crossed the room and held out a plastic pack. 

“The holy water-”

“I know.” Snatching it from his hand, you opened the first-aid kit. “But I’m telling you, I didn’t just trip.” Struggling for a second, you resorted to opening the swab with your teeth. “This is Mephisto’s doing, I’d bet good money on it.”

Crossing his arms, Neuhaus leaned against the wall. A second passed before he spoke. “What could it have been?”

“That wasn’t demonic - or if it was, that was quick enough to get the hell out of there before I blasted it?” You shook your head, wincing a little at the antiseptic’s sting. “I don’t know, but believe me, when I find out-”

Your words trailed off into a frustrated noise as you tried, and failed, to stick the bandage to your bloody forehead. Biting the inside of your cheek, you snapped up to look at him. 

“Can you just-” A hand waved toward your hair. “Do something with it so I can get this done?”

He blinked, but the slip was brief. Shifting his weight forward, he paused a step away from you. You noted that his expression seemed almost overly blank as he raised a hand and, as clinically as though you were a corpse, pulled the hair away from your face. A hum of approval echoed in your throat. 

“Me and head wounds,” you muttered, ignoring the side-glance he shot you. His finger barely brushed against your ear as you fixed the bandage in place. He immediately dropped his hand, leaving behind a weird lack of warmth where it had been. Neuhaus stepped back. 

“Thanks.”

He jerked his head in a nod. Then, seeming to hesitate, he spoke. “You shouldn’t sleep on that.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” you asked as you peeled the blood-crusted sleeve from your skin. “I thought we were ‘using the night to investigate’.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift his weight. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you’d shucked the rest of your shirt over your head, but really - he’d seen more than that by now - you doubted the sight of you in your undershirt was enough to make the other exorcist falter. 

“That was before you gave yourself a concussion.”

“It’s just a cut, thank you very much, and believe me, I’ve had far worse.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Good God, “ you groaned. “The man I stopped from murdering a teenager has crowned himself the voice of reason.”

“We can investigate Shimizu’s quarters in the morning.” He was using that voice again, the exact one you knew he used on his students. You narrowed your eyes, and he seemed to relent. “It will be too suspicious if we slip up again tonight."

The ‘we’ was him trying to be gracious, you were sure. Still, the jerk had a point. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending to snatch your pajamas off the futon. “But when we find whatever it was that yanked me, I am going to scream ‘I told you so’.”

As expected, he didn’t reply. You changed quickly, residual irritation radiating off of your every move. Still: When you finally lowered yourself onto the mattress (it was his turn to get the light), you winced. Almost sheepishly, you rolled so that you no longer leant on the wound. 

The room fell into darkness, and you were forced to listen for his movements. It wasn’t quite as unfamiliar as the first time you’d shared a bed; after the events of the day, you were too tired and sore to care much about the body next to yours. You pinpointed the exact moment he stiffly slipped under the covers and began to contribute body heat to the sleeping arrangement. 

The minutes passed. As much as you hated to admit it, the cut hurt - not concerningly so, but enough to give you a splitting headache. It reminded you of the migraines your visions used to give you (or rather, the migraines sleep deprivation used to give you). The memory was not a fond one. After what felt like an eternity, you sighed. 

“Do you have painkillers?”

“What?”

“Painkillers. Do you have them.”

There was a second of silence, and then the sheets rustled again. His footsteps sounded against the wooden floors, and there was the faint noise of the closet opening. Without turning on the light, the other exorcist returned to the bed. 

A hand nudged against your shoulder, missing slightly and brushing against your cheek. 

“Here,” his voice rumbled, somehow failing to sound as flat as usual. Your hand felt for his in the dark, where he deposited the pill in your palm. Fingers releasing his, you drew back your palm. 

“Thanks.” 

As tempted as you were to also ask for a glass of water, you swallowed both the urge and the painkiller. Willing yourself to ignore the pain, you closed your eyes and prepared to sleep. Your hair, matted a little with dried blood, seemed to know better than to test the limits; you drifted off without a repetition of last night’s incident. 

Funny, how the visions had lessened; it was a shapeless sort of dreaming, flashes of scenes which were too vague to be remembered danced across your mind’s eye, evading any attempt to grasp them. More than once you emerged from sleep only to roll over and fall right back in. 

It seemed to you - one of the times that you woke, only barely lucid enough to change position - almost like you were suddenly alone. There was something missing, some lack of heat or noise which would signal another’s presence beside you, but you disregarded it and rolled right over. When you woke the next morning, it had mostly been forgotten, and besides - Neuhaus was right there, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

You were getting pretty good at breaking and entering. 

Towel over your shoulders and comically large headband hiding your wound, you’d parted ways with Neuhaus in the hallway a while back. Shimizu’s rooms were near the saunas - miles away from the yoga class Mephisto had signed you up for. After a tense round of Janken (he’d stared at you at first, but had quickly realized that you were deadly serious), you’d sent him off to it with a pat on the back and a sense of malicious glee. Spring in your step, you’d made your way to the other side of the onsen. 

The lock to his room did not put up much of a fight. Before you could worry about being interrupted, it gave a quiet click; smoothly stepping in, you shut the door behind you and faced your new surroundings. 

Posters and postcards took up most of the walls: On one side, a statue of Buddha fought for space with a tapestry of some of the Kami. Eyeing the various spiritual curios and knick-knacks, you ducked to avoid a string of beads as you ventured further into the room. Though obviously somewhat of a collector, Shimizu appeared to be fairly organized; everything was ordered in neat lines on the shelves, and very little cluttered the floor. 

Catching sight of the closet, you turned away from the jade dragon you’d been studying. Half-expecting to be faced with more souvenirs or magazine clippings, you clicked on the light and found yourself staring at a huge devil’s trap.

You blinked. 

Well. That was probably not a good sign. 

Reaching for your belt, you pricked your thumb. Before you could say a word, white mist fizzled into the space at your side. 

High-pitched warbling. You gave an affectionate wiggle of your fingers. “Hi to you too.”

Swirling around your shoulders, Kaze shot a suspicious glance at your headband. You tugged it firmly into place.  

“It’s called fashion, haven’t you heard of it?”

Her airy chatter followed you as you stepped into the closet. “Yeah, well it is.”

Scanning the area around you, you found nothing other than clothes and a couple of storage boxes. Resigning yourself to rummaging through this man’s things, you crouched down and popped the first lid. 

It seemed to be mostly old clothes - probably his winter things. Before you could complain too much about the monotony of your task, something glittered in the corner of your vision. Pulling out your flashlight, you shone it on the baseboards. 

“Hey, you see this?”

Squinting, Kaze briefly put her complaining on hold; the Sylph floated down to where you examined a strip of something…pink? And faintly shimmery that seemed to wrap around the extent of the closet. The further you followed, the further it went, until you realized that it continued out into the rest of the room. 

Your nose wrinkled. Hesitating, you swiped a finger along it, then stuck it in your mouth. 

Kaze jabbered in your ear as you stood. You brushed your palms on your knees with a grimace. “If you knew it was salt, why’d you let me lick it?”

You felt rather than saw the look she shot you in response. Something sullen echoed from your side, and you rolled your eyes. 

“I am not choosing him over you, I am choosing not to facilitate the murder of a colleague. I wouldn’t have to refrain from summoning you if you didn’t keep threatening to injure him.”

“In any case,” you continued, following the salt line all the way to the door, “we have other issues. What do you think he’s trying to keep out?”

It struck you just how many of the knick-knacks on his shelves boasted some sort of protective power: Crosses hung next to bundles of sage, various trinkets carved of crystals scattered across every edge of the room. What had first appeared as spiritualism began to look a bit more like paranoia; you didn’t know what had caused Shimizu to line the borders of his room with salt, but you had the sneaking suspicion it had tried to crack open your skull the night before. 

You thumbed a small bottle of holy water. Gaze drifting downwards, you flipped the doormat over with the toe of your shoe. 

You shot an amused glance at where Kaze pointedly kept her distance. “Didn’t want to get stuck?”

She glared at the devil’s trap painted underneath. Before she could break anything, you shoved it back into place. “I don’t blame you. How many of these things do you figure he’s hidden around here?”

All those posters were beginning to appear in a different light. Sure enough: Dozens of signs and sigils littered the backs. With each one you uncovered, your sense of resignation firmed; any hopes of an uncomplicated end to this mission were diminished by the point that you discovered a Star of David scratched into the wax of one of the candles on his dresser. 

“Very thorough,” you quipped, placing it back. “If I weren’t concerned for his sanity, I’d commend him on his meticulousness.”

The room would have to be more thoroughly investigated, though how you were supposed to employ any sort of spellwork in a room littered with sigils and talismans was a mystery; the spiritual aura was probably more chaotic than the mess hall at True Cross. 

You should probably get Neuhaus. Tossing a resigned look at Kaze, you exhaled through your nose and stepped towards the door. “Look,” you said, grabbing the handle, “I’m just trying to keep the peace. I really can’t have you maiming-”

It came off in your hand. You stared. Something like a laugh tittered from over your shoulder, and you snapped back into focus. 

“Yes, yes, laugh it up,” you snarked, attempting to slot it back into the door, “hilarious, I know.”

Despite your best attempts, it would not click back into place. Sense of disbelief mounting, you cursed and used a little more force. The handle popped in, but when you tried to turn it, it stuck.

It didn’t take long to locate the only other exit; you spared a second to be grateful that Neuhaus wasn’t here to see you as you began to pry open the ancient window. It had obviously not been used for some time - dust smudged on your fingertips as you tried to leverage it with the blade of your pocket knife. It creaked promisingly, but only moved about a centimeter. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Jesus Christ.”

For her part, Kaze was content to watch; when you leveled her with a pointed stare, she merely chirped. 

“Oh, is that how it is?”

Another warble, and you wiped the blade off on your pants. “I’m thrilled you have faith in my abilities, however-”

Two sets of eyes snapped to the door. Somewhere, beyond the wood, you could have sworn you heard something. ‘Something’ soon materialized into muffled footsteps - heading straight for Shimizu’s room. 

Giving one final shove, you abandoned the window. Whoever it was, you weren’t going to let them catch you like this. Pivoting on your heel, your gaze landed on the closet. 

For fuck’s sake. 

By the time the door opened, you were busy using Kaze as a glowstick. Smushed behind Shimizu’s heavy winter coats, you listened to the sounds of movement and tried to gauge where they were. The tail end of a hum drifted past the closet door, the voice distinctly familiar. Damn, you thought, you should have sent Neuhaus to distract Shimizu instead of condemning him to yoga. 

Neuhaus. A moment passed, then you sent Kaze a calculating glance. 

She met it with disgruntlement - the only thing stopping her from voicing her displeasure at being crammed here with you was the murderous look of warning you’d given her upon entering. Her expression did not grow any more pleased upon catching the way you were looking at her; the Sylph bared her teeth in a silent ‘what?’

“Kaze,” you whispered, “Shimizu hasn’t had a temptaint.”

Her head tilted to the side. 

“Look, if you were to sneak past him and get…help…”

The suggestive way you trailed off was not lost on your familiar: Immediately, she scowled, head jerking to the side and clipping one of the hangers. Your hand shot out to steady it. 

“Do you want to be stuck here?” you hissed, fingers curled around the wire as you watched her actively restrain from throwing a fit. “You don’t have to make conversation, just bring him here so I can get out.”

Audibly grinding her teeth together, the Sylph whipped her head to either side. You held back a groan. “Come on, Kaze - it’s too early, my head hurts, and I really don’t want to do this again.”

Pausing, she peered at your headband. Too late, you realized your words. 

“Fuck, I meant-” you inhaled. “Jesus, fine, I banged my head the other night, are you happy?” Her expression spoke to the opposite, but you continued before she could get a word in. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

If she were capable, you think she might have spat. With all the enthusiasm of a petulant child, she turned to the door and eyed it with distaste. 

“Please?”

Hair blowing back from her displeased exit, you leaned your head against the wall. Your eye twitched in a wince. 

If it did come to blood, you figured Neuhaus’ chances were pretty good. It was unclear whether Kaze could actually accomplish something so completely out of your will; still, you weren’t willing to bet money on it. Worst case, the noise of their battle would provide enough distraction for your escape. 

You suppressed a snort at the thought of Neuhaus - decked out in yoga clothes - forced to jump into battle with an enraged Kaze. The bitching you’d receive afterwards would almost be worth it. 

Eyes long adjusted to the dark, you cast a glance around the closet. Little had changed since you’d investigated it five minutes before; your shoe scuffed against a clear storage box, your head enveloped by the smell of moth balls. The closet unsurprisingly held no ventilation - you felt your cheeks flush with the stuffy heat. You balled the towel up and stuffed it behind your neck. Seconds passed, and your foot began to tap. 

Whatever Shimizu was doing, he was taking his sweet time; you fancied you caught a whiff of incense drifting underneath the door. Knowing the jerk, he’d probably decided now was the perfect time for meditation. 

Your foot jerked a little too suddenly, knocking the box against the wall with a thud. You winced, but as the seconds passed and no reaction came, turned your attention to the storage container. The lid had popped open on collision; you clicked up the other tab and began an absentminded perusal of its contents. 

God, this man had traveled a lot. Backpacking, if the photos were to be believed; you squinted at a picture of him on some mountain, grin firmly in place as he sent a thumbs-up to the camera. Similar photos materialized with various backdrops - the only real change, as he assumed practically the same pose in each. 

Despite your grumpiness, you felt a grudging respect for Shimizu’s sense of adventure; at his age, you’d hated leaving the comfort of Japan - making it all the more aggravating when you’d been forced to hop from place to place in pursuit of your mother and her ‘free spirit’. You remembered one time you’d trekked all the way to Peru only to find her yucking it up with a local shaman; you’d shaken with fury when - upon catching sight of you - she’d gaily waved, unaware of the hell you’d gone through in order to retrieve her.

Not even the lengthy trip back had sufficed to remind her of the duties she had to both her work and daughter - you’d spent most of it fuming as she described the various enlightenments she and her friend had experienced. Nevermind that it had been your first year as an exorcist and you’d been forced to take time off; when it came to those closest to her, she’d had some difficulty with that understanding she was always preaching about. 

Shaking your head, you returned to the present. Underneath the photos and postcards lay a couple of knick-knacks not dissimilar to the ones on his shelves. You examined one, flipping it over in your hands and feeling the smooth quartz beneath your fingertips. You continued this motion as you reached the bottom, where you found nothing except an old box and some bits of paper. Gold ink glinted on the cardboard, and you flipped open the lid. 

Empty, of course. If you had to guess, it used to hold some sort of jewelry; the velvet interior carried an indent about the right size for a necklace. Tracing the Star of David painted on the front, you were just about to close it when you noticed a bit of paper wedged in the lid.  

Jesus, your Hebrew had gotten rusty. Squinting a little, you kicked your brain into gear in order to read the printed text. This was probably more effort than a manufacturer’s note was worth; still, it wasn’t like you had anything better to do. 

Faint music floated from the other side of the door. Your brow furrowed, posture changing as you leaned in for a better look at the note. All laziness vanished from your movements; so engrossed were you that you didn’t notice the abrupt halt in the music outside. 

“Yes?”

The sudden voice made you jump out of your skin. Through the violent palpitations, you managed to grasp that, no, Shimizu had not suddenly teleported next to you; he had simply spoken close to the door. Resisting the urge to clutch at your chest, you stuffed the note in your pocket and strained your ears.

“...of course!”

God, you hoped it was Neuhaus. As much shit as he'd give you about having to bail you out, you really didn't want a repeat of the closet incident. True, you had slightly more space, but you also didn't want to bet on your mind's ability to remain sane if you were stuck here without someone to talk to. You'd barely retained your sanity even with Neuhaus to pester.

A whistle in your ear made you start again. Arms crossed, Kaze glared at you from the other side of the closet. You grinned.

“Is he out there?”

She huffed. 

“I'll take that as a yes. And Shimizu?”

Her idea of a whisper sent the coats fluttering in your direction; pushing out of them, you stood as elegantly as possible when one leg had fallen asleep. You tried to shake off the pins and needles. 

Slowly, the closet door creaked open. You wouldn't put it past her to send you out too soon, but the coast was blessedly clear. 

Not that all your problems were solved: Just outside, you could make out Shimizu’s distinctive chatter.

“...and really, I'm no expert, however I can recommend some fantastic authors if you want to do some real digging into the subject.”

The low timbre of the answering voice made you smile. Without wasting a second, you strode to the window and continued your endeavors to get it open. This time, it proved less stubborn; while a tight squeeze, the window tilted just far enough for you to fit through. Doing so, you landed on the grass with a thud. 

“My, are you alright?”

Caught like a deer in headlights, you froze. The woman meeting your wide-eyed stare didn’t seem familiar, but she smiled upon meeting your eye all the same. 

“That was some trip you had.”

“Right,” you sputtered, scrambling to your feet and brushing dirt off your clothes. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” she sweetly asked. “You seemed to hit the ground fairly hard.”

Despite having provided you with an excuse, the knowing glint in her eye gave you pause. Straightening, you composed yourself. 

“I’m sure, thank you for your concern.”

Before you could waltz off, she stuck out her hand. “Shiori Kotobuki.” 

Reluctantly, you took it. “Yukina Aimoto.”

The glint sparked into full-on shine. “Ah, you’re the famous Mrs. Aimoto!” Her eyes dragged over your uncomfortable posture, halting somewhat pointedly on Shimizu’s open window. “You seem to have recovered well from your headache.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, silly me. I met your husband at this morning’s class - flexible, isn’t he? He told me all about your little migraine. That is why you slept in.”

“Right,” you confirmed, eyeing the woman in front of you. What she was getting at, you didn’t know, but there was definitely a pointed edge to her words. Glancing behind her, you tried to see if Neuhaus had emerged from the building. 

“You know, if you suffer from them regularly, yoga is just the thing to help.” Noting the distracted way you were listening, she continued, “just like your husband’s insomnia.”

You blinked, eyes snapping back to her. “Oh, I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do,” she continued, something satisfied in her expression now that her words had caught your attention. “I just love to help when I can. But then, you know best what works for your…ailments.” 

Lord, did this woman ever stop smiling? Slowly, you nodded. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Then, before she could trap you more, “See you later.”

If she sputtered a bit at the curt goodbye, you were too far away to tell. Kaze had vanished sometime between your exit from the closet and tumble in the grass - considering how pissed she’d been, you weren’t too eager for your next conversation.

You took the long way round, emerging in the hallway a bit further down. Strolling casually down it, you were able to hear Shimizu’s distinctive voice as you neared his rooms. 
 
“...what an interesting point! I must say I never thought of it like that-”

“Darling, there you are!”

Both men looked over at your loud exclamation - Shimizu with surprise, Neuhaus with something bordering more on anticipatory dread when he caught sight of you striding towards them. You clasped his arm with a firm grip. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Eyes darting to Shimizu, you sent him a wide grin. “Hello, Mr. Shimzu, having an interesting conversation?”

Before he could answer, you continued, “Unfortunately, I have to steal my husband away. See you at our next class?”

“Of course,” he replied, a little frazzled by the sudden takeover. Still, he shot the both of you a friendly enough smile. “I hope I was able to answer your question, Mr. Aimoto - I seem to have gotten a little off-topic.”

“Not at all.” 

Without waiting for much of a response, you tugged your partner with you in the other direction. As soon as you were out of earshot, you felt your lips part. “You ought to be ordained.”

Matching your pace, he shot you a look. “Why do you have dirt on your face?”

“Not important. Did you find anything out?”

“Unless you count on discovering the stone with Feng Shui, no.”

“Well, I did!” You beamed. Digging into your pocket, you pulled out the note. 

He took it, examining the crumpled paper with slight hesitancy. You practically bounced in your excitement. “Do you know what that is?”

“Hebrew.”

“Duh, I meant what it says.”

Eyes narrowing, he peered at the note. “A letter,” he finally replied, “one about the protective power of a necklace.”

“Uh-huh. And where is it from?”

A slightly longer pause passed. When he glanced up, you had yet to stop smiling. 

“It’s from Israel, on the west bank of the Jordan River. If you’ll look here”-you pointed to a line in the text-”then you’ll see exactly what he claims it protects against.”

His expression hardened. “Demons.”

“Mazzikin,” you corrected. “Shimizu’s got the stone, alright, and he brought something back with it.”

“No wonder I couldn’t detect it,” you began, lugging the bowl into the center of the room. “Mazzikin are invisible even to those with a temptaint. With how rare they are in Japan, it’s a stroke of luck that we guessed its identity at all.”

“Even if you’re right about it having latched onto the stone, that doesn’t tell us where it is.” Neuhaus paused, tossing another ripped flier onto the pile. “Or why it would choose you to plague.”

“They feed off of energy, right? So maybe it has to do with Kaze.”

“If that were the case, it would have gone after both of us.”

“Touché.” Grabbing a chair from the desk, you stepped up onto it and began to fiddle with the smoke alarm. “By the way, how did that go? I was half-afraid she’d challenge you to a duel - maybe throw a chair at your head.” You shot him a glance. “You seem unmaimed.”

“Your concern is appreciated.”

“It went well, then?” 

His quiet exhale echoed in your peripheral awareness. “Yes,” he finally replied. “The demon was able to restrain herself.”

The top half of the alarm came off in your hand, and you turned to pin him with a teasing smile. “Herself?”

“Itself.”

“Is that what they call a Freudian slip?”

You received no further response. Undeterred, you hopped down from the chair. “Well,” you proclaimed, voice just a little too satisfied as you approached the bowl of paper scraps, “I’m glad the two of you were able to work through your differences.”

You bit back a laugh at the bitch-face you received. Resolutely ignoring you, Neuhaus struck a match and dropped it in the bowl. Soon, the room filled with the smell of smoke. You settled onto the opposite side of the bowl, then leaned back on your hands. 

“Cozy,” you mused. “Almost makes you forget that we’ll have to sweep it all up later.”

“At least there isn’t carpet.”

Casting an eye around the room, you hummed. “Somehow, I doubt we could smuggle in a vacuum.” Looking back at him, you tilted your head to the side. “You see any black cats around here?”

“Not on the grounds.”

You sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for all the spell’s ingredients to be within easy access. Still, the ashes are a good start - at least then we can tell whether it’s breached our room.” Humor sparked in your eyes. “Are we going to have to steal a cat?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Kidnap. Catnap.”

He glanced heavenward. Grinning, you watched one of the brochures be consumed by the flames. Something about the sight brought you a deep sense of peace. When you looked back over, you met his gaze. 

“Thanks again, by the way.” 

His brow furrowed, shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. “You’re welcome.”

“No, really, you have no idea how stuffy it was in there. It was almost a relief when Mrs. ‘whats-her-name’ started letting off all that hot air-” Abruptly breaking off, you stared at him. 

A second passed. “Why in the hell did she tell me you were flexible?”

Chapter Text

“You know,” you remarked, digging the rake in with excessive force, “we ought to come down with the flu. Something contagious.”

At your side, Neuhaus attacked the weeds with single-minded focus. Finding him unresponsive, you paused, casting a glance at the garden around you. An enthusiastic sun beat down upon its occupants; you, much like the other women present, had opted for some sort of hat. If it had the added benefit of hiding your head wound, so much the better! Squinting beneath the visor, your attention was arrested by one figure in particular. 

“What on earth did you say about me to that Kotobuki lady?”

His gaze flickered to her. “Not much.”

From where you were standing, it didn’t seem likely that he was telling the truth. The other woman stood next to a man you guessed was her husband, pruning shears in hand and visor securely on her head. It was this visor that allowed you to note the slight turn of her head in your direction; even at a distance, you felt the scrutiny of her eyes. 

“Do you think she sees through us?” After a second, the other woman turned away. You frowned. “Maybe we should ham it up more.”

“That would defeat the purpose of appearing believable.”

“Right, sorry.” Lifting the rake, you resumed your work. “I forgot any woman married to you would be miserable all the time. God save her from your deadpan looks.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his stony expression. Grinning, you glanced once more towards the rest of the zen garden. While not overly large, you had to admit that it had been well-planned; each part felt balanced with the other - you imagined that was rather the point. Raking the pebbles under your feet was a more therapeutic activity than you’d like to admit - God, you thought, I’m no better than a child. 

“What?”

“Hm?” 

Sometime in between your joke and current musings, Neuhaus had paused in his work to squint up at you. “What are you smiling about?”

“I was thinking,” you proclaimed, disturbing the neat lines with the toe of your shoe, “that Shimizu’s actually kind of good at this. Horrible, isn’t it? I’d die before telling Mephisto.”

The corner of his eye crinkled. A few sprigs of green peeked out from his pocket - you jerked your chin towards them. 

“How much we need?”

“Ideally? Another handful. As it is, it will have to suffice.”

“All we need now is a cat.”

His squint deepened at the upbeat tone of your voice. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Just can’t wait to see how you tackle this one.” You smiled sweetly. “Since you’ll be relying on technique instead of dumb luck.”

“Very funny.”

“No, I mean it! How will you ensnare your prey - perhaps with some wet food? A bit of fish?” Schooling your expression, you lowered your voice to a flat gravel. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

If looks could kill - you’d probably be fine, actually. Neuhaus’ glares held very little heat in comparison to your earlier days; maybe you’d become accustomed to them, maybe he’d become accustomed to you. Either way, you shot him a shit-eating-grin, then swiped the back of your hand across your forehead. 

“I’m just kidding, but I would like to know what your plan is.”

“Less amusing than you probably hope.” He straightened from the bed of herbs. “If it can find a suitable host, I will summon a ghoul.”

Your smile faltered. “That does take the fun out of it.”

Neuhaus clasped the hand you offered; leaning back, you helped hoist him to his feet. The both of you swayed a little with the movement - grabbing his arm, you steadied him. As soon as he’d stilled, you began to peel off your gardening gloves. 

“My idea still stands: If we got whooping cough, we wouldn’t have to keep up with all these activities.”

“You want to fake whooping cough for the rest of the week?”

“I’m not particularly attached to that disease - we could try meningitis.”

His mouth twitched, and you felt an inordinate burst of pride. “Measles, bronchitis,” you continued, “if you want to go real old-fashioned, you could always cough blood into a napkin.”

“That seems a romantic notion of tuberculosis.”

“When in Rome, right?” You nudged him with your elbow. “Will you be coming to lunch, or should I think up an excuse so you can get started?”

Neuhaus seemed to take a second to think the offer over. Brow furrowed, his gaze flickered between you and the rest of the group as though considering whether you’d be able to make it on your own. You arched a brow, and he exhaled. 

“I will summon the creature and search for a host.”

You pocketed the gloves. Grabbing the rake with one hand, you held out the other for Neuhaus’ weeder. Tools in hand, you gave him one last once-over. The other exorcist had soil on his trousers from where he’d brushed off his hands - the patches of dirt were almost enough to distract from the herbs sticking out of his pocket. Without thinking, you reached over and pushed the sprig of rosemary out of sight, thumb catching slightly in the fabric at his hip. 

“Right, see you after lunch.”

You strode to the garden shed. By the time your partner returned to your field of vision, you noticed nothing amiss - only a twitch of his hand, an ever-so-slight flex of the fingers which hung like deadweight at his side.

How much food could you conceivably sneak back to the room?

Brow furrowed, you regarded the plate in front of you. Knowing Neuhaus, he’d probably survive on the fuel of his brooding alone, but knowing Neuhaus, he got snappy whenever he didn’t get enough to eat. The other exorcist would die before confirming it, but you had a theory that a chunk of his less-than-sociable demeanor stemmed from spending most of his life without someone to annoy him into regular meals - a good portion of your initial time together had been spent aggravating him into just eating something, goddammit, instead of watching you with that creepy, blank expression.

You took another helping. As you did so, your eyes flickered over the rest of the dining hall. As though by Providence, your gaze immediately met that of Mrs. Kotobuki. No, not Providence - more that she had been watching you since the moment you entered, eyes slightly narrowed even as her face rested in that mild, pleasant expression. You glanced away before it could become a moment, only to start at the sound of a voice at your side. 

“Ah, Mrs. Aimoto!” Shimizu greeted, letting his plate clatter next to yours on the countertop. The man began enthusiastically helping himself to a portion of the food. “Enjoy your morning?”

“Mr. Shimizu. Yes, we were working in the garden.”

“Glad to hear it! Your husband have an early lunch?”

“Actually, he’s gone to lie down for a bit.” Your lips thinned in a polite smile. “Working out in all that sun, you know. I thought I’d bring him something to eat.”

Shimizu’s expression twisted with sympathy, but quickly cleared. “Well, why don’t you sit with me in the meantime? We haven’t had much of an opportunity to chat, have we? I’d love to hear how you’ve been enjoying yourself so far.”

Let me see, you thought, only half-registering the small nod you gave in response - futons, head wounds, the inside of your fucking closet-

“Just fine,” you replied, following Shimizu to the table and setting down your tray. Though you didn’t mean to notice, you felt the other woman’s eyes on you once more; smoothing the hair out of your face, you wondered what her issue was and why her expression seemed to have turned decidedly more sour. 

You fixed him with an appraising glance in the brief moment when he wasn’t looking - when he turned back, your expression had relaxed into reserved, but friendly interest. 

“You must be very proud of this place.”

Shimizu was quick to bounce from surprise into a gratified smile. “That’s very kind of you! I am, really - it’s been a lot of work but I feel like we’ve got a pretty good grip on things at this point.”

“But really, the ryokan, the work you do - it’s all to help others. I imagine you must have saved countless marriages at this point.”

“Well, I won’t argue that a bit of relaxation doesn’t do wonders for any relationship. You’d be surprised how many issues stem from stress - people get all wound up, and forget what’s important. Still,” he continued, changing course just as you were beginning to feel the need to gag, “some things can’t be solved so easily.”

“I know what you mean.”

Pausing around a mouthful, he shot you a curious look. Eyes turned towards the window, your features were fixed in a stormy expression. After the seconds had solidified into a meaningful pause, you sighed and looked back at your plate. 

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

Biting back a smile, you began pushing your food back and forth across your plate. “It’s just…”

“Yes?”

Your eyes snapped up to his, glittering keenly below lowered lashes. “Do you believe in spirits?”

Surprise flashed across his face, but you quickly continued, “Dark things, things we carry with us. Things we would rather not.” You shook your head. “Forget it, I-”

“I believe,” he intoned, voice low and weighed with gravitas as he met your gaze, “that we can play host to all sorts of things, good or bad, whether we mean to or not.” Carefully, he paused. “Do you believe you carry one of these dark things?”

“Then you understand.”

“I understand that people come here searching for peace.”

“If only there was a balm for the soul,” you murmured, watching him like a hawk even as you kept your voice soft, “some way, some treatment to fix what is beyond our bodies’ reach.”

Shimizu laid a hand on yours with all the magnitude of a saint. His normally cheerful face furrowed with a seriousness so earnest, it practically hurt. When he spoke, he matched your hushed tone. 

“There are ways to empower our spirits against those who would plague them.”

Bingo. Your eyes narrowed in a hopeless expression; relaxing your hand under his, you leaned forward to soak up every word…

Balancing the plate of food with the stack of books, you triumphantly closed the door behind you. 

“I have an in.”

Neuhaus glanced up from his work, then visibly paused. Undeterred, you ventured into the room, handing him the plate as you continued, “You should have seen it - he gave me so many trinkets, I think their combined force might make a lower-level demon flinch.”

You shook your wrist in demonstration, and the amulets jingled. Your partner eyed them with a vaguely wary expression. Crossing his legs, Neuhaus rested the plate on his knee. 

“You look like a paranormal street seller.”

“Don’t I?” you exclaimed, pleased. “I have not one, not two, but six books on spirituality and the peace of the soul, and he even offered to guide me through a healing meditation. I can hardly wait to see his idea of an exorcism - do you think Kaze ought to be worried?”

You peered over his shoulder at the spellwork. It wasn’t one Japan Branch exorcists often had the opportunity to cast - Mazzikin sustained themselves on divine energy, usually the limited amounts present in the human soul or in smaller relics. Seldom did they strike upon a source plentiful enough to make them an issue for the rest of the world; the power needed to travel long distances would be immense. 

Just your luck, then, that Iwao Shimizu had brought an Old Testament relic back to Japan. 

“You are so faultily entwined with that creature, I doubt even a real exorcism could do the trick.”

“Harsh,” you remarked, pulled out of your thoughts. “Kaze and I are a well-oiled machine.”

“The machine in question being an engine duct-taped to its steering wheel.”

“Clumsy metaphor, I’m sure you can come up with something more elegant.” 

With a smile, you dropped to the space next to him on the floor. After the mandatory side-eye, Neuhaus shifted back and began to eat. You leaned on your hands and ignored the slight jingling which followed every movement. You’d never been one for jewelry - too much of a hazard around Kaze (maybe Sylphs were no better than magpies, maybe Kaze was just bizarre in every sense). You’d worn a ring, for a while, but that had been a gift from your grandmother - once you’d found out that iron repelled spirits, you figured it was probably best to quit wearing it on the job to reduce the risk of it being crushed by an angry ghost. 

Absent-mindedly, you began to twist the ring on your finger. “Where’s the cat?”

The man at your side took a bite of bread. “There’s been some difficulty on that front.”

“What, no corpse?”

“We need a black, female cat which has not decayed beyond use. The search takes time.”

“Then it’s out there?” You waved your hand in a vague motion. “Your familiar. Can you see what they see, or do you just have a general idea of what they’re doing?”

Something about the motion seemed to catch his attention; notice caught, his gaze fixed upon your hand. His expression scrunched in a way you thought you hadn't seen before, almost as though he had bitten into the bread and been caught off guard by the taste. It was uncharacteristic, almost endearing. A second passed before he responded.

"My third eye isn't open quite that wide."

"No live feed to demon cable?"

You could have sworn he rolled his eyes. "Such an ability would be incredibly distracting during battle. The demon is bound to my will, I don't need to see every move it makes." 

"Theoretically," you continued, knowing just how unenthused he was to continue this discussion, "that would mean any action they take would have to be in accordance with your greater goal. Do you set up parameters beforehand or are the details merely implied?" 

"This may come as a shock, but I have yet to encounter a situation in which explanations were in order." 

A hum echoed from deep in your throat. "So it is implied, then? The bond between you and your familiar must be quite intimate if they can enact your will without any sort of prior discussion." You shot him a toothy smile. "Sort of like soulmates. Kind of cute if you think about it." 

His eyes flashed even as you continued to grin. Neuhaus set the bowl on his knee. 

"Those charms may protect you from negative influence, but they don't protect you from me."

"I'm terrified," you proclaimed. "Is this round two? We'll have to play it fair this time: You promise to stay away from pointy things, and I'll promise not to immediately kick your ass." 

"Confident words considering the circumstances of our last fight." Leaning slightly forward, his voice lowered just a notch. "Your victory relied on having me at a disadvantage."

"Do you feel at an advantage now?" 

Slowly, his eyes swept over you. For a minute, you entertained the ridiculous notion that he might actually be about to tackle you; his shoulders tensed, the air between you loading with an energy you had only ever known to come before a fight. Hands on his knees, he made no move to change his pose, but you couldn't help but feel that you were being summed up.

His body relaxed. "It would be unfair to call your bluff while you're still injured. I suppose you'll have to wait."

The noise of outrage left your lips as he continued to take an unbothered bite. Before you could protest, a sound at the window caught your attention. He rose in a smooth movement to unlatch it - before you could blink, a flash of black wriggled through.

You stared at the newcomer.

"Um, Neuhaus?"

Your partner regarded the cat with what could only be called consternation. Watching the way it stood to attention, fur shining in the afternoon sun, it wasn't hard to tell why.

"That cat is not dead."

At that exact moment, it gave a slight chirp. Either Neuhaus had found it the moment it succumbed to cardiac arrest, or the creature in front of you was very much breathing, very much alive, and very much possessed. Glancing back at the man in question, you arched your brows.

"Does it usually work like that?”

The look on his face took care of any real need for an answer. Slowly, as though it pained him to say it, he answered, "It must not have been able to find a suitable host."

"And so," you finished, "in its desperate need to please you, it made do. If it wasn't cute before, I don't know how you're going to deny it now." 

On instinct, you reached out your fingers towards the feline. Before you could come close, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. 

"I will finish preparing the spell, you gather the fur."

"I thought you said your familiars could not act outside of your control."

He squinted. "I did."

You pointedly wriggled the fingers he held captive. "Then is some part of you just dying to take a chomp out of my hand, or why am I not allowed to pet it?"

There was little he could argue to that. With a slight squeeze, almost as though his hand couldn't believe he was letting you go, your partner released you. Straightening, you made a show of shaking his influence off. As soon as he turned his back, you wriggled your fingers again.

To your immense surprise, the cat preened, bopping its head to nuzzle into the palm of your hand. Instinct commanded you scratch it between the ears; as you did so, you were unable to find any trace of demonic influence beyond the slight smell of sulfur. For all appearances, it looked like a cat - one who was enjoying being pet on the back of its head with all the enthusiasm of an animal unaccustomed to affection.

Tilting your hand, you rubbed under its chin.

"By all means, take your time." Neuhaus sounded about as cross as he looked - face drawn in a frown, he pinned you with his gaze even from his place on the floor. "The spell must be activated within the next two minutes, but please, continue to cuddle the ghoul." 

"I'm gathering fur," you retorted, drawing back your arm to show the black hairs sticking to your sleeve. Unhappy to be thus neglected, the cat let out a desolate meow.

"You are unbelievable."

"And you are a good boy, aren't you?" Smiling, you continued to croon at the cat. "Ignore him, sweetie, he's this mean to everyone."

Knowing not to push it, you pat its small head one last time before turning to join Neuhaus. You brushed the hair into the prepared bowl, then drew a box of matches from your belt. At your side, your partner began to chant.

His Hebrew, smooth though accented, washed over the room as you let the match drop and ignite the mixture. It caught fire slowly, filling the air with the smell of burning herbs and that sour odor which accompanies singed hair. After exactly seven seconds, he reached into the bowl and ground the embers into a fine dust.

He lifted the bowl to eye level. Steeling yourself a little, you joined him in the chant for the time it took for him to lean in and blow the dust into your eyes. Resisting the urge to squint, you then took the bowl from his hands. 

It was funny, you thought, how things turned out: Here you were, completing a ritual meant to open one's eyes to the things humans were not supposed to see. You supposed your work as an exorcist had revealed that much to you already - you thought of the olden days, of priests and rabbis driven by desperation to come up with the way to protect themselves against the beings whom their God had created with so much more power. Was that why demons were supposed to be invisible? Because the realization of their own inherent powerlessness, of the imbalance their creator had bestowed upon them was something with which most humans could not contend? You thought of the ant, so easily crushed under a boot, and wondered if it worshiped the man who'd created the leather. 

You blew the ashes into his eye. He didn't blink, but then you hadn't expected him to: This, you were sure, was nothing in the greater scheme of discomfort he was willing to endure. Still, though you weren't sure why, you found yourself wishing you could spare him some anyway. Ash smudged his cheek, at the corner of his good eye, and you resisted the urge to wipe it away.

Brushing your hands off on your clothes, you set the bowl down. 

"Mazel tov," you deadpanned. "So where do we find this bastard?"

"The spell should have revealed its true form, but that doesn't mean it will come out of hiding." Rolling down his sleeve, Neuhaus rubbed absent-mindedly at his forearm. "We'll have to draw it out."

"Any ideas?"

He fixed you with a look, and you felt strangely uneasy. At this angle, you were practically staring him down, and yet you got the funny feeling that you were the one at a disadvantage. In a slow, careful movement, your partner reached out and brushed stiff fingers against one of the charms at your wrist.

"One, so far."

Fuck, you had the feeling you were going to regret this.

Waiting outside of Shimizu's chambers, you resisted the urge to fidget like a nervous child.

"Why, hello Mrs. Aimoto!"

For God's fucking sake. Turning, you put less than the required effort into your answering smile. "Mrs. Kotobuki," you greeted, voice tight with thin civility. "We keep on running into each other." 

"We do, don't we? Why, I was just telling my husband this morning about all the interesting things going on at the ryokan and-" 

"Listen, lady," you snapped, overcome by impulse and your less than infinite patience, "I don't know what your problem with me is, but could you cut out the stalker act? I have a right to work and eat in peace without someone breathing down my neck."

She blinked. Since the first time you had met her (admittedly not that long ago) her whole demeanor seemed to shift - gone was the passive aggressive friendliness, replaced instead by something you couldn't quite categorize. The surprise faded, and something serious took its place. 

The other woman stepped forward. "Look," she began, tone low and frank. "I know that you think you know what you're doing. Maybe you even think you aren't hurting anyone by doing it. Believe me, I've been on that side of the coin - I know how easy it is when all you want is to feel appreciated after so long of going without." 

You stared at her, but she didn't show any signs of slowing down. Taking your stunned silence as a cue to continue, she did.

"But everything you feel now is nothing compared to how you'll feel later." Gently, she grasped your arm. "Your husband loves you, Mrs. Aimoto, and I think you love him too. Don't throw that away for a fling that won't outlast the week."

"What the fuck do you think-" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, you've read this situation completely wrong. My husband..."

...is my coworker? Would be more likely to feed me to a Kraken than regard me with any sort of affection? Struggling to find an appropriate response, you took too long to finish the sentence.

"He might be quiet about it, so many men are, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care." She let out a small sigh. "I know you don't want my advice. All I want is for you to think about it - you might find that there's more worth fighting for than you'd initially thought."

With that last remark, she released your arm. Before you could so much as blink, she was on her way again, and you wondered if she had come this way purely to have this conversation. You still stared after her when the door at your side finally opened.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but running a place like this means a lot of paperwork."

You didn't react. 

"Um, Yukina?"

That did the trick; snapping out of it, you faced the owner with a demure smile. "Sorry, I seem to always be so distracted lately."

As usual, Shimizu wasn't bothered. With a bright smile and a constant stream of conversation, he led you into the room, though you couldn't stop yourself from casting one last glance into the hallway behind you. 

Chapter Text

You'd heard some exorcists say that the supernatural had a certain feel to it. That after years of banishing demonic energy, immersing oneself in the holy power of your weapons, one could almost taste it in the air.

You hated melodrama. You weren't a big fan of poetry either. Yet as you sat cross-legged on the floor of Shimizu's room, surrounded on all sides by sigils of protection and power, you rolled your tongue over the backs of your teeth and wished you could ignore the taste of ash.

"I release from me that which drags me down, and embrace that which builds me up."

"I release from me that which drags me down," you repeated, thumbing the charms of your bracelet one by one. "And embrace that which builds me up."

"I welcome the future, while acknowledging the past."

"I welcome the future while acknowledging the past."

"I am safe from harm," he continued, looking earnestly into your eyes, "and I forgive those that would harm me."

"I'm safe from harm. And I..."

Kaze curled around your shoulders like a sentient shawl. Whenever you shifted too close to one of the Devil's traps, the top of your ear would sting as though she had taken a bite out of it. Her displeased huffs terrorized your ears with bursts of sharp wind - though your hair swayed each time, Shimizu didn't seem to notice the draft. Prevented from scolding her, you narrowed your eyes and tried to find the words which had caused you to pause.

It seemed a bit much. If someone wanted to harm you (as was often the case in your line of work) they probably wouldn't care whether they had your forgiveness. You supposed the sentiment was probably meant to lend you some peace of mind, but you couldn't say it without feeling incredibly self-righteous. Forgiveness, what a word. You would have liked to see Shimizu's idea of forgiveness once something was actively trying to kill him.

"If we offer a home for fear and hate, they will never leave."

Caught off guard, you snapped back into focus to find his eyes an unending pool of sincerity. Your immediate instinct told you to jerk back and avoid getting your boots wet - you forced yourself to stay put, chill.

"You shouldn't be afraid of forgiveness."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then why are you here?"

Your jaw tightened. For Assiah's fucking sake.

"I forgive those that would harm me.”

Demons, exorcists, whoever wanted to take a shot. May they consider themselves forgiven in advance, though certainly not in retrospect. Even as you spoke the words, you felt the way Kaze grumbled with disapproval. His palms upturned on his knees, Shimizu sent you an encouraging smile.

"I give what I would receive, and so I receive what I would give."

You repeated the words dutifully, if with a lack of enthusiasm. It was hard to tap into the persona you had played at lunch - all wide-eyed wonder and helplessness. As well intentioned as he may have been, the man in front of you probably knew more about zen gardens than exorcisms. As you followed his script of karmic balance, you felt your eyes drift to the surrounding room. They rested for only a moment on the closed door of his closet.

You jumped when he placed a hand on your knee.

“Would you like me to pray over you?”

“Please,” you grit out, smiling even as you physically forced yourself to relax. Another move like that, and he'd find himself on the wrong side of your instincts.

With a sense of solemnity, he took both your hands in his. Shimizu closed his eyes.

“Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G‑d, the L-rd is One…”

Your brows shot up at the sound of Hebrew. Whatever you had expected to come out of his mouth, it hadn’t been the first line of the Shema Yisrael. Brought back to your days at True Cross, you wondered what your old Hebrew teacher would have thought of Shimizu's pronunciation. At your shoulders, Kaze wriggled with restrained energy. He only made it through what you recognized as the first couple of lines before he straightened, giving your hands a squeeze and leaning back with a sense of finality. You stared at him.

"Was that...it?"

You tried to sound unsure rather than skeptical. He beamed at you.

"It doesn't seem like much, but you'd be amazed by the power words can have."

You struggled to feign a less underwhelmed response. "I can't thank you enough," you began, but he waved you off.

"Please, I would do nothing less for a friend."

Was it your imagination, or had your eye twitched? "However," you continued, voice low and hopefully coming across somewhat hesitant, "what if I need something...stronger?"

The man before you paused. His eyes swept over you. His brow furrowed.

“Stronger?”

It didn't really have the air of a question. You waited as he rubbed at his chin.

"I have to warn you, there really isn't an immediate 'fix-it' for these sorts of issues."

"There is nothing else that can offer protection?"

"Well," he conceded, dropping his hand to his lap, "that isn't entirely true, but I would really recommend starting off with-"

He stopped mid sentence when you seized his hand. Blinking at you, his mouth closed, then opened again. You stared up at him with as much beseechment as you could muster.

"Please."

He swallowed. Shimizu suddenly looked all of his thirty-something years as he shifted his weight in an indecisive manner. Refusing to relent, you watched as he cleared his throat.

"Look," he murmured, voice almost painfully serious, "those amulets I gave you should do a good enough job when paired with the mantras.”

His pulse was going crazy under your fingers. If he was this nervous, maybe you weren't doing as good a job as you thought at pretending to be a civilian. Loosening your grip, you continued to fix him with an imploring expression.

"There are one or two things, but they really lean more towards the esoteric."

"Yes?"

"There are some that believe we carry an inherent power within us - not only in our souls, but in our bodies as well." His hesitation resurfaced, but ultimately proved brief. "In our blood."

You could have tipped back your head and cackled. So that was what had him watching you with that anxious expression? Here he was, all weird and twitchy, and all because he was nervous how you might react to the idea of blood magic. You thinned your lips in an effort to smother your smile.

"Blood," you echoed, voice ever so slightly strained. "Like a ritual?"

"I wouldn't even suggest it if you hadn't specifically asked - all it does is tap into that power to make the protection a little more effective."

"Can you show me?"

"I don't think..." Your hand tightened. His breathing stuttered. "Alright."

If you had known it would be this easy, you would have gotten all touchy feely from the start. You weren't sure why Shimizu found you so intimidating, but if it sped this process up, who were you to complain?

Before you could even ask, he shot to his feet. Shimizu rifled energetically through one of the many wooden boxes on his dresser - turning your head to the side, you caught only the sound of rustling paper. When he returned, you caught a glimpse of some sort of sigil.

A little out of breath, he began, "It isn't exactly run-of-the-mill, but if you're sure you want to go to extremes..."

A low hum echoed in your throat. He swallowed.

"First, you'll need some of your blood-"

Breaking off, he stared at your palm. “What happened to your hand?”

“Cut it.” You smiled up at him. Kaze glowered. “On a dinner knife, when I was bringing food to my husband.”

His brow drew together with concern, but he ultimately moved on. Carefully, as though worried you would fall apart, he grasped your hand and undid the bandage.

In retrospect, maybe you shouldn’t have been quite so eager to speed things along; before you could get a proper look at the sigil, he pressed your bleeding palm against it. At once, you smelled burning toast.

The window flew open. You jolted, tearing your hand from his in the process. A gust of wind terrorized the room; as papers flew, you shot a panicked glance over your shoulder.

Empty. Bitterness filled your mouth - your stomach roiled.

“What the-”

Fighting the urge to vomit, you swallowed the taste and lowered your voice. “Does that usually happen?”

Mouth slightly ajar, Shimizu stared at the ashes in his palm. Your blood mixed with the burnt paper to make an unpleasant sight - when you finally managed to catch his attention, he turned to you with a pale expression.

“I’ve never, that wasn’t…”

His mouth snapped shut. With a huff, you went to close the window. Sure, your hand stung like crazy and you still felt like puking, but you’d be damned if you lost your head about it. It took a sturdy shove to get the damn thing back in place; casting it a wry glance, you wondered where this willingness to open had been the day before. When you turned, hand on hip, you locked eyes with his distressed expression.

“Now,” you prompted, “why don’t you tell me what that was supposed to do?”

Your mind whirled at a thousand miles an hour as he explained how he’d ‘had a problem, once’ - something a shaman from Jerusalem had helped with. Mouth twisting at that bit of information, it took all you had to hear the rest of his confused explanation.

Fuck. The sigil obviously amounted to some sort of banishing spell - Kaze’s disappearance made that much apparent - but if it was another thing he’d acquired in Israel, you had no reference as to the extent of its effects. Maybe a bit late to worry, now that it was in your bloodstream. Fuck.

“Can you draw it for me?”

Shimizu obliged to the best of his ability. Though he was the root of your current issue, you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him upon glimpsing how his fingers shook - he hadn’t stopped apologizing since regaining his bearings, and it was beginning to wear you down. You waved off his concerns about your hand. When that didn’t suffice, you grabbed him by the shoulders.

“I asked you to show me, and you did - I’m old enough to deal with my own decisions. Now, are you going to be alright?”

You barely refrained from shaking him as you spoke. Shimizu finally exhaled. Your relief was short-lived when he then opened his mouth again.

“...I just can’t bear the thought that one of my guests might get hurt.”

“I’m not,” you stated, having tuned out most of his lengthy reply. “So it’s all fine.”

“It isn’t,” he miserably replied, “not if this means that-”

With a start, he cut himself off. You had the uncanny impression that he had suddenly remembered who he was talking to; you waited to see if more would come, but the man clammed up faster than a bolt of lightning strikes. Sensing the futility of pursuing it, you began to feel the need for a speedy exit.

“Well,” you began, nausea lingering just under the surface of every syllable, “I can’t thank you for all your help.”

You probably wouldn’t, either. Back when Neuhaus had explained his idea to you, you’d figured it would be a piece of cake - get all spiritually buddy-buddy with Shimizu, pump him for information - you’d never imagined the man would perform blood magic on you.

Successfully, no less. Maybe Mephisto should hire him.

Palm hurting like a bitch, you made your escape. You were hoping that your powers of spontaneous combustion hadn’t resurfaced - when Kaze rematerialized, you’d have to ask her what it felt like-

Stumbling a little, you came to a stop in the hall. If she materialized. In theory, your connection to her was still open; if she couldn’t materialize now, how on earth were you supposed to get her back? This hadn’t felt like when you banished her - that had been like severing a thread, this was more like blowing the entire garment up: Same result, vastly different fallout. If you hadn’t practiced separating from her all those months ago, you reckon you probably would have had another attack.

Your feet moved into a determined stride. Neuhaus would have an idea, you were sure. The tightness in your chest loosened a little at the thought - you just could imagine the dry way he’d assure you that, by now, you and Kaze were a package deal.

Besides, if there was one expert to ask about sigils, it was him. He’d helped you, however reluctantly, with issues of less importance; you would never forget the infamous shopping trip to get Moriyama a phone. A smile flitted across your lips at the memory of how he’d been cajoled into giving input - with all the spite he could muster, he’d played devil’s advocate on every decision you’d tried to make. You’d been ready to strangle him in the middle of the aisle.

Mid-step, the hair prickled on the back of your neck. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you found nothing of note. Something coiled between your ribs as you quickened your pace. The way back from Shimizu’s rooms had never seemed quite as long as now, without Kaze to take the place of your sword. It didn’t help that the corridors stretched on with a jarring emptiness - it was the middle of the afternoon, where was everyone?

Throwing your head back, you stiffened in place. Your hand reached for your hip - then dropped. You backed up so that you stood flat against the wall. Eyes scanning the hallway before you, you began to mumble under your breath.

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth…”

Movement turned to shadow, shadow turned to a mass of inky substance which slowly seeped through the adjacent wall. Forced to stay put for risk of exposing your back, you kept your eyes on the steadily growing form.

“He will not let your foot slip, he who watches over you will not slumber-”

Your hair whipped against your face. Before your eyes, stretching the expanse of the empty wall, six black wings unfurled. The darkness opened its many eyes.

God, you were so fucked.

Cursing, you switched routes and went for the big guns: Ducking to the ground, you smacked your palm against it and began a hurried chant. “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty - I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust-”

Your voice lifted with panic as the Mazzikin descended upon the spot where you’d been. You fell into a barrel roll, smearing blood across the wooden floor. Its feet, like a rooster’s, left deep scratches wherever it landed. The creature turned, rising to its full height as it seemed to bristle with annoyance. All the while you recited, hand moving even as you kept your eyes on the threat.

“...He will cover you with his feathers,” you continued, not missing the irony, “and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the-”

It rushed you, and you instinctively swiped back. “Fuck!”

With a screech, the demon jerked back. Reeling from the sudden movement, your eyes shot from the void of its expression to your outstretched hand. Like wind chimes, the charms at your wrist gently swayed. As though on cue, the Star of David caught the light.

You barked a laugh. Shoulders setting with new determination, you held your wrist before you as though extending a torch. Slowly, you took a step backward.

It hissed at you. The sound was like slick oil; it crawled lazily down your spine even as you continued to retreat. Memory jogged by the charm, you sent your voice into a steady hum.

“Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G‑d, the L-rd is One,” you lowly sung, stepping back with each word. “Blessed be the name of the glory of His kingdom forever and ever.”

As you retreated, the Mazzikin stalked towards you. Its foot landed in the sigil you’d begun on the floor, and the creature paused. Thousand eyes blinking, it seemed to swell. A shudder coursed through its vaporous form. You figured that probably wasn’t a good sign.

Your words gained speed. “You shall love the L-rd your G‑d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you today shall be upon your heart. You shall teach them thoroughly to your…your…”

Stumbling over your pronunciation, you ducked a particularly vicious swipe. “Your children!” you exclaimed, arms crossing over your head even as your brow flared with pain. “And you shall speak of them when you sit in your house and when you walk on the road, when you lie down and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign upon your hand-”

You jerked yours out demonstratively even as you reached for the wall with the other. They drug across each bump and divet. Though not to the extent of a conventional exorcism, the words seemed to have an effect: The Mazzikin hissed and snapped as it followed you, yet continued to jerk back as though struck. Its wings shook with a great rage, filling the hall with the deafening rustle of feathers.

“-and they shall be for a reminder between your eyes.” Your fingers dipped, notching into the round handle. There was the sound of sliding paper. “And you shall write them upon the doorposts of your house-”

“And upon your gates!”

A hand jerked you across the threshold. Landing on the other side of the salt line, you had just enough time to watch your partner send a flurry of demonic hands flying towards the Mazzikin before you rolled over and kicked the door shut. A shriek rattled the room, the warding on the door pulsed. Silence.

You blinked up at him through the blood running past the corner of your eye. “I seem to have found it.”

His voice came out harsh as you accepted his hand to haul yourself up. “Where is your creature?”

Swaying a little, you shot a hand against the wall for support. “Long story,” you rasped, scrubbing at your bleeding brow. Your hand dug into your pocket. “Do you know what this is?”

Neuhaus plucked the smudged paper from your fingers. Eyes darting to the sigil, they returned almost at once. Your partner observed you as you heavily leant against the wall, bleeding and out of breath. A line etched between his brows. You fancied you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Well?”

“How have you survived this long?” he snapped, grabbing your arm and practically shoving you into a chair. “Everytime you leave my sight, you return with a fresh injury.”

Your eyes bugged. “First of all, fuck you,” you intoned, voice high with indignation. “It was your idea for me to lure the demon out in the first place - you know, since it seems ‘inherently drawn to my energy’-”

“Not alone!” He ripped open a swab with excessive force, tossing it into your waiting hand. “Not without the single weapon you are carrying.”

With a glare, you pressed the antiseptic to the wound. “Wow, you think Kaze might have been helpful?” You leant towards his deep scowl. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, genius! Shimizu got her with some sort of sigil - I was on my way to you when that thing jumped me.”

You pointedly tapped the paper you’d handed him. “Now do you know what this is, or don’t you?”

Neuhaus gave a distinctly frosty look. Your brows rose, and he glanced at the ceiling. “A protection sigil,” he tersely replied, “inscribed with Old Hebrew. I would have to subject it to further study.”

You fell back against your chair. “There are fucked-up things going on here. When the Mazzikin came into contact with my blood, it seemed to grow stronger.”

His eyes snapped sharply to yours. A little unnerved by the sudden attention, you busied yourself with applying a bandage. “From what I’ve read, Mazzikin don’t usually hold that much power. We have to deal with this one before it gains any more.”

“It will attack you as soon as you are in reach.”

“Then we’d better figure something out! Depending on where it finds itself in the ryokan, its abilities range from practical jokes to biblical proportions - maybe I should just stick around kitchenware.”

In the corner of your vision, he paused. Upon glancing towards him, you caught the way his mouth twitched when deep in thought - his eyes stared into the air before him as though studying some ancient tome. You waited for him to come out of whatever contemplation had gripped him so.

“The energy is not evenly distributed.”

“Come again?”

His eyes locked with yours. “We have worked on the assumption that Shimizu placed the stone somewhere where its energy could reach the entire ryokan. If that were the case, there would be no difference in the demon’s powers based on location.”

You inclined your head, brow furrowing as you thought it over. “You’re right,” you finally replied, “there must be hot spots of holy power. Shimizu must have somehow divided it up. But why?”

“Because it isn’t a marketing point.” His low voice accompanied his serious expression. “It’s a problem.”

And with that, you saw the light: A problem, one a Jewish shaman had once helped him with. Shimizu’s plea that he wanted to keep his guests safe suddenly rang in your ears, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

“He knew,” you declared. “Shimizu knew that he had brought something back from Israel with him - that’s why he’s kept the stone hidden, that’s why his room is full of sigils. He’s no exorcist, but he must have consulted various experts on the best way to block the demon’s power. If the stone were broken into several pieces, its energy would be distributed and the Mazzikin weakened.”

“Meaning that it is bound to the proximity of the nearest piece.”

“Meaning that with each piece we find and isolate, its power will deplete.” Your gleeful expression dulled. “How on earth are we supposed to track down the pieces? We don’t even know how many there are.”

“Most likely a holy number.”

“That could be anything from three to seventy times seven. With that amount of legroom, we’d have a lot of ground to cover.”

He straightened. “Not necessarily.”

You followed his gaze to the pile of books in the corner. A meaningful silence followed.

“Ok, enlighten me.”

“The point of dividing the stone would be to balance its strength across the ryokan.” Your expression remained blank. “Balance. Bagua. Energy maps.” He let out a light exhale. “Feng Shui.”

“Feng Shui!” you exclaimed with delight. “Shimizu is an expert on the subject - of course he would try to redirect the stone’s chi. That’s eight sections, correct?”

“Or nine, depending on the system.”

A satisfied hum echoed in your throat. “All we have to do now is reverse-engineer the main principles to find the best places for the stone’s fragments. God, I could kiss you.”

Expecting an eye-roll or smart comment, you didn’t expect for his expression to go completely blank. The mother of all poker faces met you for the brief second your eyes locked, then he turned his focus to the strange sigil.

“You should not leave the wards before Kaze has returned to you.”

Caught so off-guard by this odd reaction, you didn’t even point out how he’d called her by her name. Studying the man in front of you, you wondered if his voice really sounded gruffer than before or if you were imagining it. Well shit, you hadn’t meant to offend him. Out of all the things for him to be touchy about…

“You tackle that, I’ll start reading up on Feng Shui.” Shooting him one last look, you carefully probed, “Anything else?”

“We will have to devise a ward to contain the stone’s power.”

“We could obtain some sort of container,” you mused, “something which would then receive a holy seal. Like a miniature Ark of the Covenant.”

His head inclined in a nod. “Alright, Dr. Jones.” Standing, you slapped your hands on your knees. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

“I always thought it was interesting how Hebrew is also read from right to left.”

A grunt from the other side of the room. You scratched a few notes onto what little space the pad still offered. Snapping the book shut, you added it to the pile. “It was a welcome break from all that Latin. Yamada and I studied so much for our final exam, we were reading backwards for weeks.”

“Thank Assiah it did not leave any lasting effects.”

You shot him a stink-eye. “I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like a dig.”

In a surprisingly candid move, he blew out a frustrated breath. “Tell me - why couldn’t you have injected yourself with anything other than Old Hebrew?”

Bandaged fingers carded through his bangs, leaving them stuck at an interesting angle. Your lips parted, but he continued before you could get a word out. “The inscription no doubt modifies it significantly. Just our luck, then, that there are about a thousand different ways these words can be interpreted.”

You might have remarked on his pointed tone of voice had you not been busy staring at his hair. Blinking, you deliberated between commenting and simply allowing him to look like a teenager who’d just rolled out of bed. “Uh-huh.”

Neuhaus shot you an incredulous look. Catching his stern expression, you opted to keep your mouth shut and pluck the next book from the table. Feng-Shui, while not overly complex in theory, was a bit more difficult to comprehend when picking up the bastardized breadcrumbs Shimizu had left. You’d scribbled so many possibilities onto the blueprints of the ryokan that it was beginning to look more like a modern art piece - possibly depicting the artist’s gradual descent into insanity. While perhaps not quite at the point your partner was, it was growing more and more difficult not to become irritated: Your head hurt, your face hurt, and you were beginning to get the funny feeling that Neuhaus might not have an immediate solution for retrieving Kaze. Not that he wasn’t trying, you mused, watching over the top of your book as his jaw tensed hard enough to crack. 

“I wonder if you can place a holy seal on tupperware.” Even as his eyes shot up, you kept yours firmly on the page. “The vacuum seal does a decent enough job on its own.”

“I doubt your leftovers are attempting to kill you.”

A hum. “You haven’t tried my cooking.”

His lip twitched. Settling back with a pleased air, you observed out of the corner of your eye how some of the tension left his shoulders, leaving him frustrated but no longer at risk of chipping a molar. Your partner leaned back, weight resting against the wall, and let out a breath. “I cannot stare at this any longer.”

“Then don’t. Go”-your hand waved in a vague motion-”work on the containment ward or something. I’d happily trade with you if you weren’t the national expert on the subject.”

“All the others are dead.”

“But not you!” you exclaimed. “Lucky us, huh?”

A beat passed. “While the sigil remains undeciphered, you remain unarmed.”

Inhaling, you caught the side of your cheek between your teeth. “Yeah, well,” you intoned, doing your best to keep your tone fairly light, “your hands are still in order. If worse comes to worst.”

You were trying not to think about it. The itch of being unprotected had been steadily making its way across your subconscious ever since Kaze had left you; without your sword, you’d felt naked. Now, you felt flayed. Instinct had been enough to keep you alive for that brief encounter, but you didn’t want to bet on its chances when facing the Mazzikin a second time. If it weren’t for the warding you and Neuhuas had slapped on every inch of the room, you’d be sitting ducks. 

Well, duck. Singular. 

“Worst,” he repeated, and you were drawn from your thoughts. His brow furrowed in a way which hinted you were not going to like what came next. “If I set after the stones on my own.”

Mouth puckering as though having bitten into something sour, you grimaced. Your instinct proved correct. 

“I would rather you not.”

“And yet.”

“Look-” Breathing in, you took a second. “Exorcists work in teams.”

“Not if it draws needless risk. As soon as you step foot out of that door, you carry a target on your back.”

“And what about yours?” you demanded. “I'm your partner - am I supposed to sit here at peace with the knowledge that you’re out there on your own?”

“As I am yours.”

In a single motion, he straightened, leaning forward as though to match your height even as you stared down from your chair. The lines of his face deepened with an intense displeasure, voice lifting with an agitation you’d seldom witnessed. “Whatever risk a solo endeavor poses, it isn’t half as foolish as bringing you with. I have more than my body to guard me - what will you have if I should be busy when you need me?”

God-fucking-dammit. Face fixed in a glower, you forced yourself to bite back your initial response. As much as you wanted to protest that you were not a liability, that he would be safer with you than without, you couldn’t. As little as you wanted to see him cross that door on his own, you wanted to see him distracted and vulnerable even less. You hated it, hated the circumstances which forced you to even consider this as an option. 

“I have taught the opposite of this for years.”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you snapped, the open page long forgotten. “You’ve worked alone for so long that you’ve forgotten how abnormal it is. I’ll accept this if forced to, but don’t think for even a moment that I am happy about it.”

Despite the terseness of your tone, the tension seemed to ease. Some of the harshness ebbed from his expression. Neuhaus leaned back, and you were abruptly reminded of the state of his hair - so contrary to the intimidation he’d radiated only seconds prior. Lips still pursed, you fought off the notion that he looked quite like a ruffled bird. 

“Fine,” the pissed pigeon replied, if a little less irritated than before. “I would not presume to dictate the state of your emotions.”

“Screw off.”

The familiar sentiment cheered you considerably. With the two of you returning to your work, you determined that if you could not physically accompany him, you would make damn sure to give him good intel. A taut feeling emerged in your chest at the thought of abandoning your partner in the field regardless; shoving it down, you plunged into your work with that single-minded determination which had gotten you so far. 

So far, in this case, meaning speculating about the areas a thirty-something single had split his life into. 

‘Wealth and abundance’, you mused, cross-referencing your notes with the avant-garde blueprints. Whatever space Shimizu associated with that principle of Feng Shui, you figured it had something to do with where the cash was being held. Better to think of that than ‘Love and Relationships’ - you’d felt suddenly nauseous at the thought of scrawling that label over his bedroom. Perhaps, against all odds, he felt romantically drawn to the garden. 

While certain aspects of the bagua map were speculative at best, you fashioned a solid foundation for the search: Each element included possibilities for which area they might be attributed to, alongside tips for where the fragments themselves might have been hidden. You wouldn’t put it past Shimizu to have tossed a healthy dose of his paranoia into the mix - Pagan, Christian, Jewish, nothing was off the table as far as his efforts to protect the ryokan were concerned. Once again, you considered that he might have made a decent exorcist. 

Pen hovering, you cast your gaze over your notes for what felt like the hundredth time. There had to be something, some little bit of information you had not yet included. Even as the sentiment echoed in your subconscious, you turned up a blank. After a few, long seconds, you let out a breath. 

“Here.”

He glanced up just as you stretched out the map. It crinkled where he grasped it, his bandaged fingers rustling softly against the paper. You observed how his eyes flitted over it - he took it in in its entirety before returning his gaze to your outstretched hand. It dropped to your side. 

“That’s as good a start as you’re going to get.”

You spoke without quite looking at him. The spot just beside his head sufficed quite nicely - a clear view from your peripheral vision without the need to meet his eye. He observed you for a moment longer, then turned and presented a sheet of his own. It was your turn to scan over his work. 

“The ward. Have you considered a vessel for it?”

“Ideally, it would be living.” Catching the face you pulled, he continued, “I had eliminated that possibility. I doubted you would go for evisceration.”

“How astute of you.”

A strange expression crossed over his face. If you hadn’t known better, you might have thought he looked a little embarrassed: Neuhaus suddenly seemed not to want to meet your gaze either.  

“That idea about the tupperware may be worth pursuing. It’s likely the kitchen will carry something of a suitable size.”

He appeared so appalled at the notion that you couldn’t bring yourself to tease him. Smothering a smile, you tried your hand at being gracious. “We could seal it with candle wax.”

Even as you spoke, you paid half-attention to your own words. They seemed somehow to be filler, fluff before the conclusion you both knew was coming. He nodded in agreement, and the deliberation lulled. 

“Do you think-” Pressing your tongue to the backs of your teeth, you tried again. “Should I be worried. About Kaze.”

You tried not to examine why you felt compelled to keep the words as flat as possible. As they were, they hardly resembled a question at all; but that was what they were, wasn’t it? An appeal to his expertise, a plea for some sort of assurance. Neuhaus blinked at the sudden change in topic, that familiar line soon appearing between his brows. 

“I don’t…” he began, but he seemed not to know where to go after that. A beat passed in which you watched something unfamiliar flit over his expression. “Had the separation been permanent, I doubt you would have escaped unscathed.”

Unsettling, to be sure. He could not have worded it more morbidly if he’d tried - then again, perhaps he had made an attempt. The characteristic nature of his reply made you smile almost against your will. “Gotcha. Flawed bond, and all that jazz.”

You’d already half-turned away in an initiative to move on when his low voice surprised you once more. “The nature of your relationship is…unconventional. I would not call it defective.”

Gobsmacked, you pivoted in your seat. Now he really wouldn’t meet your eye; as though in a hurry to escape your blatant stare, he took possession of the ward and rose to his feet. You followed. 

“Once we’ve established a vessel, it would be wise for you not to carry more than one piece at a time. Don’t want to tempt the Mazzikin into jumping you.”

“I will transport them individually into the warded boundary.” His jaw jutted towards the protective sigils taped to the walls. “Once past the threshold, you can transfer them to the primary vessel.”

“So you’ll need two,” you remark. “One normal, one travel-sized. Glad to know I won’t be completely useless.”

His face pinched, but whatever crossed his mind did not make it past his mouth. You hovered nearby as he snatched his coat from the back of your chair; as he became shrouded in black, you tried to remind yourself that he had done this for years. That you had seen first-hand just how capable he was in one-on-one combat. That you didn’t need to be standing there, fingers twitching with the force it took to suppress further argument. He was right, you told yourself - you would be more helpful guarding over the collected fragments. A tight smile elbowed its way onto your lips. 

“They must think we can’t stand each other, with how seldom we’re in the same place.”

He nodded, but the slight tilt of his head gave it an uncertain air. His chest rose, then froze, as though he had meant to speak but hesitated at the last minute. You wondered when you’d begun noticing the subtle movements of his chest. 

“Deadpan looks, correct?”

Your lips found themselves ambushed by a grin. In a sudden impulse, you reached out and smoothed down his bangs. “Right, honey.”

By the time it hit four in the morning, you were almost happy to have been left behind. 

“Where’d you find this one?” you murmured, blinking rapidly at the figure in the doorway. Backlit by the soft lights, Neuhaus strode towards you with an air of purpose. The harsh way his heels met the floor, accompanied by the fine layer of soot on his sleeves and hands, had given you a pretty good idea already. 

“Oven. Fixed into a niche in the back.”

A hum. “Wonder which principle that ended up being. Well.” The clang of metal on metal as you removed the lid. “Add it to the soup.”

Nehaus shot you one of those loaded glances, but you were too far gone to care that you were one yawn away from passing out, one hand wrapped around a steel pot while the other held its lid aloft. The line of cracked candle wax around its rim flaked bits of dried grease; it had been doing that for hours, ever since you’d first broken the seal to add a fragment to the pot. Reaching into his coat, your partner produced a large thermos. 

You held out the pot. As he went about transferring the stone, your eyes swept over him in a sort of glazed motion. They scanned the state of his clothes, which - although undoubtedly due for a wash - showed no signs of tear. Your gaze flickered to his shoes. 

“The Mazzikin may attempt a final stand.”

“Uh-huh.”

When had he begun wearing sneakers? Sure, dress shoes were probably going to stick out while doing yoga - they were dad sneakers, which you supposed was an appropriate choice considering your ages. Still, it was odd seeing him in the same sort of footwear sported by some older members of the faculty while out and about or on a run. You suddenly blanched. Were you an older member of the faculty?

“It’s soy sauce.”

Eyes snapping upwards, you caught his raised brow. Upon a second inspection, you noticed the dark stains near the soles. “Oh. Yeah.”

“There are two fragments left,” he continued. “If the demon catches wind of our objective, it may focus on more than reaching you.”

“You think the warding won’t be enough?”

“I have learned to expect the worst.”

Even after he left, his parting words echoed in your ears. You could recognize their merit - could even attest to it - but they didn’t make it any easier to sit there and wait. Fatigue pulled at your every limb; you were in considerable danger of passing out right there in the armchair, future back pain be damned. It had been days since you’d slept on anything other than the futon, not to mention without company. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you struck a match and began the tedious process of sealing the pot once again. Tupperware had apparently been in short supply; stainless steel being a mixture of iron and other metals, you had the added benefit of its spiritual properties. Unfortunately, you also had the added weight of metal vs plastic. 

You hissed. Brushing the fresh candle wax off of your hand, you chanted the appropriate words over the piece of kitchenware. You could really probably just pop on the lid and be done with it, but the two of you had thought it best not to take any chances. The stone of Jordan had proved more of a pain in the ass than anticipated - as its fragments rattled around in the pot, you tried to feel optimistic about your chances of a smooth ending to all this. Maybe Neuhaus would return - the extensive warding on the walls protecting him from attacks - and you’d pop those babies into the pot with the rest of the stone. Maybe you’d sneak a pot out of the ryokan and take it back to Mephisto; maybe, if you had a moment to spare, your partner would figure out how to retrieve Kaze and you’d take care of the Mazzikin before you left. 

You glanced at the pages taped to the walls. Shimizu would never know that one of his rooms briefly became a fortified safehouse; nothing short of a demon king could get past - it would at least slow him down. Funny, how such strong magic could be negated by as little as a piece or two of tape. Once you left, it would be like nothing had ever changed. 

Your jaw unhinged in a yawn. Twisting your wrist, you checked the time. 

Before you knew it, your head fell back on the chair. Sleep would be brief and shallow - as soon as he returned, your dazed mind mused, you would wake up at the sound. Just closing your eyes for a few minutes wouldn’t be the end of the world…

Even as the words echoed through your mind, you felt yourself slipping away. Slipping was perhaps the wrong word; it almost felt as though something were pulling, as though you were experiencing the vertigo which comes with falling from a great height. It felt familiar, somehow. Your eyes twitched under their closed lids. 

A great weight rested on your chest. It was dark, heavy, hard to move through. A distant light called to you; you felt yourself struggling towards it, struggling through the fog which surrounded you. As you gained ground, movement became clearer and clearer - with a violent jerk, you fell into a world of color and sound. 

His back was to you, but that didn’t stop you from seizing his arm. Everything spun - before you could right yourself, you watched the hands burst forth. As abruptly as you’d grabbed him, your hand released, and the two of you fell back-to-back. The fog surrounded you on all sides. You had the impression that if you simply tried harder, your gaze would be able to pierce it; squinting, you struggled and were able to make out the faint motion of something fast approaching. His shoulder blades pressed into yours. With each breath, they rose and fell, bone shifting against bone in an almost frantic manner. The fog closed in. 

Whiteness burst forth, scorching your retinas. 

“Kaze!”

You shot awake, nails digging into wood. A blurriness overcame your vision when you tried to open your eyes; chanting echoed between your ears, and you harshly scrubbed at your face. The second time, your vision afforded you a view of the ceiling. With a gasp, you tried to calm the spooked animal in your chest. The blood rushed in tandem with the voices you could still hear - not understand, not recognize beyond a faint impression that you’d heard their language before. 

The smell of smoke filled your lungs. Half-bewildered, your head lowered just in time to catch the final sparks: Fire licked a line over the walls - in a single blaze, the warding caught, burned, and crumbled into ash. 

A great weight rested on your chest. Darkness followed. 

Chapter Text

“Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G‑d, the L-rd is One-”

The words choked off with the pressure bearing down on you; you’d barely had time to throw yourself over the pot before the room had swelled with darkness - even now, you could feel it, pulsing, barely restrained by the charms on your body and mantras spilling from your lips. 

The muscles in your back strained with what could not be an earthly force. It was there, just over your shoulder, just before your clasped hands, doing its darndest to tear through the very flesh of you in order to reach what you had wrapped your body around. Blinking back tears, you wrestled your voice into submission, “Blessed be the name-”

With a screech, the Mazzikin reared back. Stuttering over the ringing in your ears, you faltered. 

Three lines of fire seared straight down your back. Your spine shot rigid with pain, arching you off the ground. Holy words stumbled in your mouth alongside the sudden taste of blood - you managed to yank your wrist upwards just before the creature struck again. The Star of David swung above your body like a beacon; curled around the stone’s vessel, you sucked in shaky breaths and tried to tell your panicked mind that the demon had not actually clawed out your vertebra. 

You had to banish it - the charms would only do so much and mantras could not be relied upon when it was actively trying to kill you; beyond your blurred vision, somewhere in the darkness lay the sigil which Shimizu had used on Kaze. Your bent arm shook, shoulder aching with strain. You could not leave the stone behind. 

“Blessed be the name,” you spat, tasting dry, waxy flakes on your lips. “Blessed be…”

Your fingers dug into the metal when another shriek shook the room. Without awareness of your surroundings, you could not risk leaving your position - if you stayed there, however, it was only a matter of time before you would be moved. 

“Blessed be the name,” you repeated, one final time, and then your nails dug into the thick ridge of wax. “And Christ fucking protect me.”

With a yank, you tore the lid off the seal. The Mazzikin hissed and dodged, but not before you smacked your bleeding palm against the stone. 

Every muscle in your body seized at once. Jolting off the floor as though electrocuted, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as energy unlike anything you’d felt shot through your very soul. Bright, bright like staring into the heart of a star - it tore through you, exploring the limitations of this vessel with little regard for your cells’ cries of protest. When it reached the end of what you could offer, it didn’t stop; by the time you regained your vision, your arms stretched into the air above you, fixed with the rigidity of a machine gone into overdrive. If Kaze was the hum of Gehenna just beneath your skin, the Stone flooded every fibre of your being with Heaven’s righteous, unrelenting might. 

The darkness pressed in on all sides, and yet you found everything illuminated by a hazy glow. Your enemy stared at you with thousands of unblinking eyes - you watched, jaw locked in a silent cry, as it met the same onslaught of holy power. Convulsions much like your own wracked its ineffable form - for a moment, you thought it might shatter from the inside. Inky wings heaved upwards in a great movement, spanning beyond the limitations of the ryokan, and you felt rather than saw the burst of power it exhaled. Releasing with the air of a loosened muscle, the darkness turned its attention upon you once more. 

Your outstretched fingers twitched. Your voice rang forth by some will beyond your own: “Grant, O G-d, that we lie down in peace, and raise us up, our Guardian, to life renewed.”

The bobbing of your throat was the only sign that the melody actually came from your tongue; as though entranced, you felt your voice dip and rise in a song you had not sung since the late days of your studies. “Spread over us the shelter of Your peace. Guide us with Your good counsel; for Your Name’s sake, be our help.”

The air around you crackled. The energy suffusing it was not yours to command - it had merely seared through your body, given entry by your tainted blood. For each inch you gained against it, the tidal wave crashed back, scattering you further into the sea. In that moment before - when you seemed to have gained traction - your head rose above the waves to catch a glimpse of what felt awfully like Kaze. 

Even as you chased that feeling, the Mazzikin drew itself up, up, up. You recoiled from the sudden awareness of what were almost words, a perception granted to you alongside your newfound sight. Sensation oozed in thick, syrupy waves - hunger hunger hunger gnawed away at the part of you which dared to face it; the Mazzikin neared - a gnashing, gaping pit - and sunk its claws into your frozen wrist. Petrified, you could do nothing but meet the bottomless depths of the being which latched onto your soul and pulled. 

Even now, your voice pressed on, steady despite the energy being sapped from your core. 

“Shield and shelter us beneath the shadow of Your wings.” A force beyond your own accord, the words had little to do with the body which sagged with each passing minute. “Defend us!” you cried, to which the demon cringed. A shudder wracked your body, your vision growing fuzzy around the edges. The holy power seemed indecisive, unsure whether to dig its heels into your soul or follow the force which was so insistently beckoning; unsurprisingly, this meant nothing good for the human stuck in the middle. 

“Against enemies-” 

A familiar wave, rising through your being with the ire of an animal woken from slumber.

“Illness-” 

The smell of smoke, not entering your lungs, exiting them. 

“War, famine-”

You had felt this burn before, in a dream a thousand hours away, felt it scorch through the hollow of your eye-

“And sorrow!”

Your palm snapped open. The Mazzikin had little time to react before the holy power expelled from your body; the wind knocked from your lungs as it was forced out, one fell swoop of divine departure. You felt like a generator from which the electricity had been sapped - the void of nothing where there had once been divinity brought you to your knees, gasping. 

A ray of light shot through the room. Not from the heavens, but from the door which slammed open. 

“Come forth!”

Your soul soared. Relief swamped you with the heavy sort of hand which had you sucking in another breath - this time, followed by the strength to struggle to your feet. The world around you no longer carried that angelic tinge; you vastly preferred the sight of one of Neuhaus’ dark creatures as it hurled itself into the abyss. Spurred into action, you lunged for the lid where it lay on the floor. 

The air above you whistled with a near miss. Sluggish from your recent experience, you rolled over with a fraction of your usual speed; still, your hand grasped the hilt. The sounds of groaning teeth and biting claws sang around you. You slammed the lid back on. 

You had forgotten what it felt like before the warding shattered; as soon as metal hit metal, it slashed the oppressive weight in half. You found you could suddenly breathe. Eyes ripping through your surroundings, they zeroed onto a discarded piece of paper. Halfway across the room, the banishing sigil lay innocently amongst the pile of books. 

Yanked upwards, your eyes tore from the sigil to the man who’d grabbed you. Neuhaus didn’t glance downwards as he tore a grenade from his hip and hurled it to the floor. The explosion of water granted him enough time to haul you to your feet, the two of you stumbling into defensive positions. Your shoulder blades dug into each others’ with each heaving breath - one of his arms hooked with yours even as he raised the other to summon another onslaught. The sound of chanting fell on deaf ears. Through blurred vision, you caught a mass of ink rising from the floor before you. 

Back screaming, you yanked your shoulder forward and grabbed his other arm to pivot both of you to the side. The hands shot towards the new mass instead of their intended target; a howl left the Mazzikin even as your partner dragged you back into position. Lids fluttering with the effort to stay upright, you grasped at the energy which still faintly hummed. 

The banishing sigil burnt at the edge of your vision. You sucked in a breath, body shaking in time with the pounding of your blood. You could almost reach it, could almost lay fingertips on that force which lay dormant in your veins. 

An elbow jostled the wound at your back, and your vision went blank. 

“Kaze!”

Like a band snapping into place, your blood swelled with life. The last vestiges of that hollowness the Stone had left behind vanished, expelled by the last piece of your soul clicking into place. White mist burst forth, and you had never witnessed a sight more blessed. 

She was so fucking pissed. You could tell this, not only by the horrific shriek she released upon materialising, but how the room itself seemed to lose all oxygen. Dizzy with fatigue and perhaps the lack of air, you could only watch as your familiar dived into the fray. It was so good, it felt so good to be able to feel her once more. Like a limb which had been severed, then fused back into place.

 A curse reached your ears. When your partner lugged you back, you bonelessly followed. 

“The sigil,” you murmured, cheek brushing against his hair. Like a hawk, his gaze narrowed. With the Stone sealed away, the Mazzikin possessed only a fraction of its former power - add this to the newcomer currently trying to tear the wings off its back, and the demon was not quite as available to continue its attempts at murder. It snapped at Kaze, who darted fluidly out of reach. Your back hit the wall. 

Sliding down, your head tilted back with the pressure of his fingers against your forehead. Warmth dripped from where they swept across your brow; blinking, you watched him step away from the sigil he’d smeared. His gaze met yours for the fraction of a second it took to get the order across - stay, that squint told you, and you weren’t about to argue. His blood kissed the corner of your mouth. 

Kaze shot through the flurry of activity like a bolt of lightning, popping in and out of sight as your partner drove the Mazzikin back. Razor sharp feathers clipped the side of his face before he could dodge. Your partner flinched - punching his fist forward, he sent a wave of hands to suffocate any mass they could latch onto. The demon screamed again, jerking from side to side in an effort to fling them off. The Sylph circled its eyes, stinging and jabbing whenever she could. In a choppy, final movement, Neuhaus struck. 

His breaths came heavy even as he angled the kitchen knife to elicit a pained cry. “Hear, O Israel,” he spat. He moved through the verses like stanzas in a verdict - in one hand, the modified blade, in the other, a crumpled piece of paper. The latter he raised in time with the final words; slamming a bloody hand against the wall, he snarled the damning lines of the Shema Yisrael. 

No ash this time, but you would have preferred it to the sulphur which throttled the room. The Mazzikin died loudly, in a single burst of rotted fury. Eyes instinctively closing, you choked a bit on the potent taste. 

The lump in your throat remained during the ensuing seconds of silence. Whether they were your exerted breaths or his, you couldn’t tell; you caught one glimpse of him, his heaving shoulders. Neuhaus turned, gaze snapping to yours. 

Your lips parted. You promptly passed out.

Consciousness slammed back into you a few seconds later - with a groan, you landed stomach-first on the mattress. “The warding,” you mumbled, voice half-drowned in the pillow, “I didn’t…”

The sound of tearing fabric filled the room. The gashes on your back stung as they were exposed to the air; you flinched, breath catching in your throat. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades, towards the space you didn’t realize you’d arched off the mattress. Your muscles locked in panic. 

A breath skimmed across your skin in what was almost a sigh. Neuhaus grasped hold of your elbow with nothing resembling the brute force he’d executed only moments before; with surprising gentleness, he prompted the joint to release, then guided your weight onto the futon. 

Burying your face in the pillow, you fought back a full-body wince. The movements were quick, efficient, but the scratches down your spine stung like Gehenna at the slightest contact. 

“Motherfucker.”

He tore another strip of your shirt. Vision spinning, you tried to use the pain to ground yourself. 

“What happened?” The words emerged as though through gritted teeth. The blood-crusted cloth pulled from your back, and you choked. 

“Fucking visions,” you seethed, “fucking….fuckers in my head.” Something wet pressed against the first gash. “Should have killed me, but the Stone…”

Twisting, you grabbed the hand which touched your shoulder. Wild eyes met his narrowed stare. “It wasn’t me,” you insisted, overcome with something akin to delirium. “It wasn’t me, Neuhaus.”

The first good look you’d gotten of him revealed the mess of blood and sweat upon his face. The shallow scratch on his cheek still oozed; expression drawn into hard lines, he gripped the wrist which had grabbed hold of him and stared you down. Your partner’s breathing had yet to regulate - the pulse under your fingers raced with the urgency of battle. His hair danced in wild strands across his face, swaying with each exhale. 

White mist curled at his cheek. Flinching, his gaze shot to where Kaze settled above his shoulder. You tried to stretch your hand towards her, but barely managed to release his wrist. Twin frowns snapped to you at the movement. 

Snapping out of it, he grabbed your arms and manhandled you back onto your stomach. You let him clean the gashes without further interruption; when he finally settled back, you blinked at the stars in your vision. 

“The Stone-”

The harsh clang of metal echoed. You let out a breath. 

Sounds of movement echoed from above your limp body. After a second, familiar hands hooked under your arms. Neuhaus dragged you into a sitting position without his usual strength - when you settled against the wall, he let out a ragged breath. Something heavy was thrown around your bare shoulders. You squinted at him from this new position. 

“Thanks for the rescue.” Wincing, you waited out the throbbing of your head. “Couldn’t have asked for…better timing.”

Your fingers tightened in the jacket. You felt like puking. You were not going to puke.

His palm met your forehead, and a light shone in your eyes. “Mh’m not concussed.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” you slurred, “that this really isn’t where I want to die.” The hand released you, and you fell back against the wall. Before long, you began to tilt to the side. “You try…getting railed by the holy spirit…and see how you feel.”

“Stop making jokes.”

“It's how I cope - fuck,” you exhaled, eyes closing once more, “I'm glad you arrived when you did.”

You cringed when the hem of his sleeve rubbed against your brow. Flaked blood drifted down your face. “Gross.”

Disbelief echoed low in his throat. A breeze tickled your bared neck, and you smiled. “Kaze!” Eyes still closed, you stretched out a hand. “Good to have you back.”

“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, grabbing the jacket before it could slip off you entirely. Neuhaus seemed to have regained some of his composure since defeating the demon, although the exasperated way he forced your shoulders back under their covering bled with more emotion than was characteristic. Fist holding it in place at your collarbone, your partner wrangled you into a more stable position. “What did you mean, visions?”

“I fell asleep - something about the warding, it must have activated the defense mechanism…” You sighed. “Burned through the warding in a single flash. Like the dreamcatcher.”

“L/N-”

“I didn’t see you,” you proclaimed. “You were hardly even there. Not like the other dreams.”

The hands froze. The part of you which was not suffering from the events of the night froze as well, but its quiet ‘oh shit’ did not manage to make much of an impact. 

A hum. “‘M going to sleep.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You killed it, it’s not like I can set anything else on fire.”

“I don’t care if you aren’t concussed,” he shot, shaking you slightly when it seemed like you were about to make good on your declaration. “If you fall asleep, I’ll set your demon on you.”

“Her name’s Kaze, and you don’t like her.”

“I’ll get past it.” 

“Diplomatic,” you muttered, right before that wave of nausea returned. You must have looked a little green in the face, because the other exorcist quickly steadied you. Cracking open an eye, you surveyed his frowning mouth. “Your cheek looks like shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“It could get infected. You could get…get…”

With a thud, your head dropped on his arm. “Fuck if I know.”

This was nice, you thought. He was warmer than the pillow, even if he did have the annoying habit of moving around. Why that might be the case was of little concern to you at the moment - all you knew was that the weight behind your eyelids was dragging you down with both hands, and you needed a nice surface to land on. 

“L/N.”

“Hm?”

A beat passed. “What dreams?”

God, would he ever let you sleep? “The visions. The ones of you. The ones I…” Blearily, you raised your head. “Fair warning, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Icy wind blasted your face. Jumping, your eyes flickered to where Kaze was staring at you with a wary sort of concern. “Thanks.”

She warbled, and you shook your head. “No, really, it did. I feel better already.” You shot your partner what was half smile, half grimace. “Nothing like bracing fresh air to keep you lucid.”

“You’re past that,” he muttered, so quiet you barely heard him. You smiled at the jab, gazing up at his displeased expression. Neuhaus didn’t seem to quite know what to do with that reaction. Still mostly slumped against him, you vaguely wondered why he hadn’t pushed you back against the wall. From this proximity, you were able to catch the little shifts of his expression. 

“Let me sleep, please.” The words came out a murmur just below his chin. He stared at you like a Coal Tar caught in a spotlight. “I’ll be alright. Promise.”

Had he always been this comfortable? You vaguely remembered that incident with the closet, but that seemed both a thousand years away and not remotely as cushy as your current set-up. He did smell of blood, but considering that you had contributed a fair bit to that, you weren’t in a position to judge. 

“Five minutes,” you prompted when he failed to respond. “And then I’ll answer your questions.”

He swallowed, gaze flitting over your face. Your head fell to the crook of his shoulder. His neck was warm. Your lashes fluttered. “Five minutes.”

Chapter Text

The room was a fucking mess. 

Little wonder. The spiritual equivalent of a tornado had torn through it; scattered books and overturned furniture littered the floor amongst less savory additions such as the dried patches of blood. As though at the thought, your back throbbed. 

“Neuhaus.”

A grunt.

Having at some point regained consciousness, you’d awoken to the current setup: You, stomach-down as not to agitate your injuries - him, splayed somewhere to your left. You assumed he had succumbed to exhaustion soon after yourself, opting for the floor in lieu of expending effort on a more comfortable spot. You only knew he was there at all because his knee bumped yours. 

Against your better instincts, you craned your neck and were promptly rewarded with both stabbing pain and a better view of where he lay, back to the floor. His hands folded over his chest, elbows bent on either side. Slight bruising adorned his static expression, mostly around the cut on his cheek. You could just make out the line of his lashes, dipped low enough to conceal the slit through which he watched the ceiling. 

“You alright?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

His head tipped to the side. You’d expected annoyance at your gentle inquiry - as he turned towards you, you imagined you caught his mouth in the moment before a frown. Instead, from beneath that half-lid, his good eye glimmered. He seemed to take in the sight of you as you had done to him only moments prior. 

“Tired.” A pause. “Sore.”

“Your cheek?”

“Surface level.” Like this, fatigue seeping into his tone, the flatness of his words seemed softer. “Stings like Gehenna.”

“I have an ointment for that somewhere.”

“Used it on your back.”

“Didn’t you take some?”

A shift. “You need it more.”

Blood rushed through your face. Perhaps it was the strain of casting your eyes to the edge of their field of vision; perhaps it was what they glimpsed. The last time you’d witnessed him bleeding exhaustion, it had been your doing. Instead of the usual humor the comparison might have elicited, your chest tightened with discomfort. 

He continued his upward study. You’d rarely seen him sleep prior to the past week, but everyone had their limits; a part of you wondered whose safety he remained conscious to maintain. 

His knee twitched. Like a tripwire, jumping at the slightest touch. And he did barely touch you - more tangent than intersection of your splayed limbs. Distant, so that you had to strain yourself to catch a glimpse. Near enough to know if your breathing stopped. 

You pushed yourself upwards for an unsteady inhale. “Neuhaus.”

This time, you required no answer to know he was listening. A wince, then the words left your tongue step by labored step. “There is something I have to tell you.”

Christ knew you weren’t doing it for kicks. Had it been anyone else, you undoubtedly would have done your best to wriggle out of an explanation - but there he was: your partner - who had spilled blood to save your ass, who had patched you up and hauled you to bed. You didn't want to lie to him. You weren’t sure you could. 

“When I confronted you about Okumura, you were right. I couldn’t have known what I knew - not without prophetic foresight of what you were planning.”

Though your body turned towards him as though to watch his reaction, your eyes could not quite make it all the way; they fell short upon the wooden floor, one of those patches flecked with blood. Still, your mind’s eye betrayed you by conjuring up his stiff form. That knitted brow, accompanied by a perturbed squint. The rise and fall of his chest. The hard line of his mouth. 

“While securing the Staff of Moses, I sustained a head injury. After that, the dreams were relentless. I didn’t…” 

You cleared your throat. “It isn’t demonic possession, or any sort of haunting. The Cursebreakers were at a loss, and I-” 

A strained sort of laugh bubbled from your lips. “I was desperate enough to fuck around and find out.”

“The Staff of Moses?”

The gruff question made you jump. “Yeah - Sato, Yamada and I took care of it, damn thing nearly killed me before it was exorcised.” This statement settled for a few seconds, then you continued, “Neuhaus, I still don’t know the how or why. I have had to live with it. It isn’t…” 

You closed your eyes. “I didn’t choose to see what I saw.”

There came no subsequent interjection. You had long been forced to acclimate to the raw feeling of violation, the knowledge that you were influenced by powers beyond your control. He was not granted the same privilege - you had flayed him all at once, stripped back the shield of his privacy and mind with very little to cushion the blow: What good would it do him to know that you were both unwilling players in this game? To know that you had not wanted to trespass into the recesses of his thoughts, to bear witness to actions he had not yet resolved to take. 

Neither of you had been asked for your consent. It did not lessen the violation itself. 

Your stomach roiled. Acid burned both in your abdomen and at the back of your throat as you tried not to think of him, of the little you’d been privileged enough to learn. God, it made you sick to think of how he must feel; sick, at how your partner’s autonomy had been ripped from him once more. 

“It has a mind of its own, burned a dreamcatcher once, when I hung it at the head of my bed. I don’t know what about the warding triggered it, but I would never have drifted off if I’d have known it would-”

“L/N.” You froze at the sound of his voice. A tense moment passed. “How long?”

“Since the damn staff knocked me down.” Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “I haven’t had them as often, lately. With you around.”

And, good Lord, didn’t that take the cake for weird things to tell your coworker? If all this wasn’t fucked-up enough, the admission that you slept better beside him was enough to send you screeching with agony. It wasn’t your fault - with how often you were repeating those four words to yourself, they would soon become seared into your brain matter. 

“Who else knows?”

Each word left his mouth as though it cost great effort. That acid rose in your throat once more. 

“Mephisto, for one, and one of the Cursebreakers. But Neuhaus,” you interjected, the words tumbling over each other in their hurry to leave your mouth, “I haven’t told them about them. Only that they were happening. It’s not like I’ve…” You grimaced. “It’s none of their business what you do.”

Fuck you, this was excruciating. Though the words pained you, you couldn’t seem to shut up. “It’s none of my business either - at least it wasn’t, until the whole…” 

Though he probably couldn’t see you, you gave a vague gesture. “I couldn’t very well let you kill him.”

A sound like a huff left him. You tentatively took it as a positive when contrasted with his oppressive silence. 

The two of you lay there for a while. The issue of righting the room’s chaos hovered just beyond what you were willing to deal with at the moment; the pain did not incapacitate you, yet you failed to summon the will to move. You blamed it on the exhaustion. The relief of a mission completed. You buried your face in the futon, and not because you could not face what lay beyond it - not because you felt uneasy, unsure. 

A long, sharp breath broke the silence. 

“Demonic possession,” he rumbled, “at its core, is the usurping of a vessel. Assuming its power, overriding its autonomy. Taking hold of its unique properties, and twisting them to suit the creature's foul objectives.” A pause, as though he’d taken the time to swallow. “The Staff of Moses is like any other vessel.”

You lifted your head. His brow furrowed, his voice held none of the displeasure his expression seemed to indicate. “If it had been corrupted for many years, it would struggle to expel it.”

“What do you mean?”

Neuhaus looked straight at you. “Before its exorcism, how close did you come to the demon?”

“Very. What difference does it make?”

“In order to be cleansed, the staff may have had to cast out the parts of itself too heavily soiled.” His mouth twitched, a nervous tick. “You, also, are a corrupted vessel.”

You stared at him. He stared back. 

“I told you there was no trace of demonic possession.”

“There would not be. It was banished to Gehenna. You simply…caught the remains.”

“The remains?” you repeated. “Souls don’t work like that - they can’t simply absorb holy energy like a sponge, something has to trigger that connection to open-”

Your mouth snapped shut. That way he observed you suddenly seemed much more wry. 

“Unless,” you drew out, sounding utterly done, “the soul in question were to continuously play host to some other entity. Say, a familiar.”

His mouth tightened. Shit. Shit. 

“Shit! You’re telling me this is all because of Kaze?”

He did not respond. “All of this is absolute conjecture,” you continued, heated, “I’ve never even heard of a Tamer’s soul being compromised to such an extent. That would mean, that would mean…”

“...that your bond is malformed?”

“That it thinks I’m a prophet!” you hissed. “A position appointed by God. The very makeup of my soul, the molecular structure of it would have to be altered beyond-” You paled. “Fucking Gehenna - is the voice I hear an Archangel?”

Neuhaus faltered. 

“Unlikely,” he replied, after a pause which stretched on a beat too long. “Even a prophet struggles to face the full force of divinity. Were you actually to be placed in the charge of an Archangel…”

“Pillar of salt,” you quipped, mouth grim. “I get it. Besides, as you can tell by the shit-kicking I received, the Staff doesn't place any particular interest in my well-being - only if I am tuned into prophet radio.”

“Ensuring nothing interferes with your ability to receive visions.” Something seemed to occur to him, and he cast a glance over you. “If your soul has been unshielded this entire time, what exactly happened when you touched the Stone?”

Fire, brimstone, lightning crackling through every vein-

“It hurt,” you snapped. “If what you say is true, then how do we get rid of it?”

The barest hint of something flickered across his otherwise severe expression. He moved as though to push himself up, grimaced, then thought better of it. Neuhaus remained half-propped up on one forearm. 

“God’s hand is not so easily swayed.”

“There has to be some way to remove this foreign…body.” You curled a hand against your ribcage. “Like surgically removing a tumor.”

“And you would have me slice through your soul?” 

A sharp edge fought its way through the fatigue in his voice. “What do you think it is made of - putty, which can be stretched and pulled and moulded on a whim? I told you,” he emphasised, frustration bleeding into his tone, “that your bond posed an issue. I told you that you could not control how it affected your being, and you would not take me seriously. How many times must I tell you that you cannot play God before you will listen?”

You reared back as though struck. Anger rose in your throat like bile, but you curled your fists and forced yourself to swallow. It seared through you regardless, until you could not distinguish between the sting of your wound and that of your indignation. 

He fell back to the floor with a thud. For a moment, all that could be heard were your dual, measured breaths. Scraping your tongue against the backs of your teeth, you waited until you thought you could manage a steady reply. 

“I am not God,” you grit out, “just one exorcist. If I ask for your help, it isn’t because I think I know best.”

Closing your eyes, you drew in a heavy breath. “I would have thought, Neuhaus, that you would want out of this even more than I.”

His name resounded with a bitter note you could not quite hold back. The silence which met it seemed to stretch for an eternity. 

“Do not ask me to tamper with your soul.” The words came flat. Stiff. “I will not do it.”

“Well!” Shimizu beamed. “How has your week been?”

A headband hid your head wound. Your back was swaddled in bandages which did very little to cushion the gashes; your palm stung like a motherfucker. Slumped against the far side of the sofa, you stared at him. 

“Fantastic.”

From the other end, Neuhaus’ voice rang out with its usual enthusiasm. The scrape on his cheek had crusted over, the worst of the bruising covered by a sheen of your concealer. Dark circles painted his under-eyes. His posture could not have been any more rigid. 

That smile waned, particularly upon glimpsing the vast space between the two of you. Snapping back, Shimzu approached your battered states with single-minded, enthusiastic determination. “Glad to hear it!” he chirped, eyes shrewd beneath that pleasant demeanour. “Do you think you could expand on that for me a bit?”

“What my husband means is this has been a memorable visit. I doubt if we will ever experience anything like it again.”

“Oh? Why not?”

You grit your teeth in a smile. “These aren’t the sort of things which happen every day.”

“That’s true.” He hummed. “However, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I hope all guests here leave with the initiative to make room for moments of connection even in their normal lives. A retreat can feel magical-” Here he shot you both another sunny smile. “But in the end, it comes down to spending time together.”

“Believe me,” your partner interjected, the wry tone of his voice only just passing for anything other than sarcastic, “we are not often out of each other’s company.”

You shot him a look at the same time that Shimizu zeroed in. “I see, Mr. Aimoto, that’s certainly something admirable! Do you think, maybe, that the circumstances under which you usually spend time together are a little different?”

A sound somewhere between a cough and a snort echoed from your side of the couch. Neuhaus’ lips thinned. “You could say that.”

The other man’s eyes darted between the two of you, presumably calculating just how much of a ‘marriage counseling’ situation he was heading towards. That was the real point of this ‘Discussion Group’, you assumed - sending couples off with the feeling that something had actually changed. The ego boost of having guests gush about how wonderful their week had been was just an added bonus; you doubted Iwao Shimizu had any real counseling credentials, but damn if he wasn’t doing his best to figure out why the two of you were so tense. You felt a pang of pity for him. 

“I’m sure most people have to adjust to such a different set of circumstances,” you remarked, trying to both throw him a bone and steer the conversation away from your individual set of issues. “After all, the day-to-day of life takes up a lot of a person’s time.”

‘Definitely - where do the two of you normally find connection?”

You shot him a startled glance. “Um,” you stammered, “work, I suppose.” Despite the tension between you, you sent Neuhaus a silent plea for aid. “We’ve been colleagues for a while.”

“Ah!” You wished he did not sound quite so triumphant. “Then I’d be right to say that a good part of your conversations revolve around your work?”

You made eye contact from the corners of your eyes. “Sure.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest?” 

Showing surprising backbone, Shimizu did not relent. “Yes, the rest. You’ve been together so long, what drives you to share with the other person?”

The silence which followed was not only loaded, but pretty much overloaded. A full five seconds elapsed before a single word was uttered. 

Exhaling, you pressed a palm against your face. “Ok, um…his sense of humor.”

“Mh-hm?”

“His problem-solving skills,” you ground out, failing to keep your tone from sounding too pointed. “If I can’t figure something out on my own, I know he can help me out.”

If your eyes flashed in his direction, your partner showed no sign of having noticed. Shimuzu picked up the scent of drama like a trained bloodhound. “It sounds like you really work as a team.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” Neuhaus’ smooth voice suddenly cut in. “To share information, then decide on the best course of action.”

Your brows jumped even as you turned towards him. “You make it sound like there aren’t situations in which one person is entitled to choose how much they share.”

“Undoubtedly,” he replied, gaze locking with yours. “When the circumstances do not affect both parties.”

“Perhaps one party would have reasons to be reluctant to share. Such as the other party’s general lack of communication.”

“Perhaps said party would find it easier to reciprocate in the case of vital information.”

“Perhaps,” you retorted, “said party needs to focus less on feeling slighted and more on solving current issues. Since they are so affected by them.”

“Well!” Shimizu interjected. “Certainly a lot to think about there - do you think that couple might have some issues with trust?”

Before you could help it, you scoffed. 

“You disagree?”

“You don’t place your life into the hands of someone you distrust,” you snapped. “You don’t approach a partnership second-guessing the other person’s motivations, and you don’t accuse them of withholding information when all they wanted to do was approach a difficult situation with a little forethought.”

He blinked. Slumping back against the cushions, you roughly massaged fingertips into your palm. Fuck all of this, you decided - fuck the blinding pain in your back and hands, fuck this stupid charade you were playing, fuck him for being so fucking stubborn-

The deepest exhale in the world cut your fuming short. Glancing over, you found your partner with his head literally between his hands, although upon further observation he seemed to simply be pinching the bridge of his nose. “Without the full facts of an issue, any help I can provide is innately hindered. I simply…” Another noise of frustration echoed from the back of his throat. “...wish that you would not be so callous about your safety.”

You wondered just how much the current company was limiting his terms of expression. “If I were being ‘callous’,” you intoned, leaning towards him, “why the hell would I ask you at all?”

Biting your tongue, you reeled yourself back in. “I know you’re angry, but that doesn’t give you the right to bite my head off when I suggest a solution you don’t like.”

Going by his expression, he was exerting quite a bit of effort to bite his tongue as well. Shimizu swiveled between the two of you as though unsure whether to be gleeful or overwhelmed by the new turn of events. Ignoring him for the moment, you kept your eyes on your partner and the way his mouth twisted. 

“I’m not angry.” You raised your brows, and his frown deepened. “The situation is…difficult to come to terms with.”

“I get it, but when you spend the better part of twenty-four hours sulking, it kind of feels like you blame that fact on me.”

“I’m not-” Breaking off, he schooled his expression into a more neutral displeasure. “None of this was your choice.”

“Then why the silent treatment?”

“Because,” he snapped, the single word filled with more emotion than you had seen from him in the last months combined, “choice or not, you have witnessed things and I-” 

Neuhaus rose to his feet, staring down at you as though to attain as much space as possible. His nails dug into his forearm, almost as deep as the lines of his tight expression. “Can you expect me to be at ease?”

“Fuck no!” you exclaimed, meeting him beat for beat. “This whole situation is just one fuck-up after another, and the only thing to come of it is that now we can freak out about it together!”

“Together!” Shimizu chirped. “Now that’s a good word to focus on-”

You shot him a glare, and he stopped short. Turning back, you squinted at the other exorcist. “Take all the time you need, but don’t treat me like the enemy. I’m not, and contrary to what you might think, nothing I’ve seen about you will change that.” 

With that, you turned on your heel and stalked away. Sometimes, you knew, it was better to flee from your anger before it could really grab hold of you, but fuck if you weren’t tempted to stay and give him another piece of your mind. You didn’t care what Shimizu thought, didn’t care that you passed the next couple in the hall with enough force to elicit startled looks; you had told him, you had told him the truth which no other person knew in full, and he-

You sucked an angry breath through your teeth. The nerve of him to say you didn’t listen, to imply you’d been wrong not to tell him sooner, the utter fuckery of shoving you away just because he knew that you’d seen the parts of him which were less than savory. Didn’t he know the depth of your trust in him? Didn’t he see how you relied on him, over and over, asking his opinion and placing your life in his hands in equal measure? You, who had made it her life’s mission to never rely on anyone for anything-

“Fuck this,” you spat, and headed for the zen gardens. 

Chapter Text

A thousand stars winked at you from the Hakone sky. In constellations others admired, you were doomed to forever be reminded of the Astrology class you’d struggled to pass. There had been a time, once, when you could glance upwards and marvel at what you saw. There had to have been. 

Even now, on the ryokan’s slanted roof, a part of you calculated how likely the tiles were to give out beneath you. Shuffling further from the edge, you tipped your head back to return observation. The stars remained unchanging, perhaps gazing down at you with a faint sense of bemusement. From their perspective, you certainly would seem out of place; no one else had chosen to scale the building for a moment of quiet. Not that the quiet really was all that - from below, the muffled noise of music and voices drifted to your perch. They had begun karaoke at one point, you gathered. You hoped it would not last. 

You twitched. The itch which had insistently made itself known under your skin now lacked any previous patience: Wrapping arms around your knees, you locked your jaw even as white mist leaked from your veins. Before your hair had settled, Kaze bathed you in her light. 

“I didn’t call for you.” Nose wrinkling, she disagreed. “Well, I didn’t mean to.” 

A thin wrist twisted towards you. Snapping into rigidity, your body produced a venomous hiss. “No.”

Kaze recoiled. Hand frozen where it had tried to touch you, the Sylph struggled against an invisible grip. You pinned her with your eyes. 

Her canines flashed. Loose leaves whirled in threatening circles around you. Your fingers tightened, and she seemed to choke. 

“All these years, I have endured your tempers. I have bargained with you, accepted you, accounted for your way of doing things. I have given,” you spat, “again and again, and what do I have to show for it?”

You leaned towards her trapped form. “If you ever disregard my consent again, I will wrench you out like a weed and banish you to Gehenna.”

With a jerk, she fell away. The leaves dropped to the ground, and you rested back on your hands. A dead stillness settled over you. Your skin tingled with the absence of biting wind; how quiet it was, you marveled, a quiet like you had forgotten existed. 

“When it was cosmic and ineffable,” you murmured, regarding the night sky once more, “I figured I had just been dealt a shit hand. Now that I understand what has happened to me, I can’t find comfort in it.”

The air remained silent. Crooning from below told you that the music had changed - now, a popular song about twenty years out of date. You remembered when it had first debuted on the radio. It, like most things from your twenties, had fallen to the recesses of your mind, only to be fished out by the occasional bout of nostalgia. Those first years as an exorcist blurred in your mind’s eye; you remembered the final exams, the relief you’d felt upon passing. Where and what you’d done had been swallowed by time - missions with other exorcists, the hours you’d killed with Yamada. Time had been something in infinite abundance - a wealth you had taken wholeheartedly for granted. 

A feeling like running water trickled along your spine. Lids fluttering shut, you leaned into the sensation siphoned from your veins. When you opened them, Kaze had gone, and the air had acquired a sudden chill. A slight shiver, then you wrapped your arms around yourself, twisting your torso to either side to alleviate stiffness. 

“Fuck!”

Clutching your chest, you let off a string of prolific curses. 

“Apologies,” Neuhaus murmured, eyeing you from the opposite side of the roof. His stiff posture told you little about how long he had been standing there with that slightly awkward air; he almost seemed to have manifested into being, sans any signs of exertion from the climb. Heart racing, you forced yourself to lower the hackles which instinct had raised. You tossed him a searching look.

He still wore the clothes from earlier - apparently unmoved by any impulse to dress up for the celebrations. The lines which seemed to be carved into his face gained depth in the low light. He looked very tired, suddenly - not grim, not severe. Merely weary, in the sort of bone-deep way you had sometimes felt yourself being pulled towards the ground. You wondered when the same lines in the same face had begun to tell a different story. A beat passed, he shifted his weight. 

“View’s better from here.” 

You heard your voice without feeling it. His gaze flittered over you at the sound. Even as you shuffled to make room for his approaching figure, you considered the expression he’d worn in that moment of hesitation. It had been hours since your argument in Shimizu’s ‘office’ - it had only later occurred to you that a celebration had been planned for the final night of the retreat. At the time, you’d figured he’d skip out. Make an obligatory appearance, then fuck off. 

The distance between you could have been described as ‘cautious’. You tipped back your head. 

“All those sailors, finding their way home by the stars. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much faith in anything.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him copy your movement. Drawing your arms once more around you, you shivered. The night air had not seemed so cool, before, not enough to send these goosebumps skittering across your skin. 

“Faith is...preferable. To the alternative. It is not in our nature to despair.”

“Fated to suffer, doomed to hope. Whose grand idea was that?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

He still studied the sky. ‘Studied’ was, indeed, the only word you could have chosen; Neuhaus gazed into the heavens as though to compile a report. You had often noted that air about him - razor-sharp focus, an eye which never seemed to miss anything at all. If he had ever done anything by half-measures, you imagined it had been a long time ago. 

“My mother used to hedge her bets like that. Don’t think there was a divinity in this universe she wasn’t willing to give a chance.”

“And you?”

“Perhaps, when I was younger. She was a shaman, not an exorcist: She described gods and demons in the way you tell children about fairies - something wondrous, something worth reverence.” 

Upon your knees, your hands tightened. “I only copied what I had seen her do a thousand times before. By the time my grandmother managed to get a hold of her, two weeks had passed.”

Releasing, you flexed your stiff fingers. You felt rather than saw that his eye had turned to you; you knew, somehow, that if you met it you would find yourself being studied. 

A faint sound echoed from the ryokan, and your head jerked towards it. 

“Quite the party. I bet Shimizu’s an enthusiastic singer.”

“Among other things.”

“Don’t tell me they’re getting wasted without us.”

His face did something funny, then: His brows drew together just as the corners of his mouth jumped back, as though the two sides were at odds. At the same time, his torso slanted away from you. A clink diverted your attention. Your brows snapped up, breath catching with incredulity. “Did you bring drinks?”

Tucked up his sleeve, the glass caught the light; your brows rose higher and higher as he procured not one, but two bottles. Neuhaus set them on the roof between you. The corner of your mouth developed an irresistible twitch.  

“I suppose this was just good strategy on your part.”

“Hardly.” He watched you pick one up to examine it. “You would be surprised at the difficulty of procuring anything else.”

“What is this, sake?” Popping off the lid, you took a deep whiff. “Umeshu?”

“Homemade. With shochu.”

“Is it edible?”

“At least once.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back, bottle in hand. “Hilarious.” Tone flat, you tried not to be unnerved by the fact that he’d chuckled. “Shall we?”

You inclined the bottle. After a considering glance, he returned the gesture. The base of your bottle knocked against his. 

The sweet yet tart taste hurled your tongue back about two and a half decades, to when you used to sneak wine as a teenager. Your grandmother’s stash certainly had not offered the same potency; with a delicate cough, you felt your face screw up. “Damn. No wonder you bolted.”

He shot you a look. The music had faded to the back of your mind - now, you once more recognized the noise of uncoordinated crooning. You wondered just how trashed everyone would end up being, and what exactly a group of hungover seniors would entail. 

“What’s your verdict?”

“Sweet.” Upon further scrutiny, he conceded, “Could be worse.”

“What do you usually have, then?”

“Usually?”

“With friends? Colleagues? Drinks after work?”

He appeared unsure as to whether you were joking. “Beer - if it isn’t Japanese. I don’t enjoy clouding my senses.”

“Hm. You sure you can handle the umeshu? I know you dragged me to bed this morning - I doubt I can return the favor.”

Neuhaus rolled the bottle back and forth between his palms. Brow creased, he studied the movement. Gaze flitting over him, you felt a sort of tug at the base of your throat. 

“Look, about this morning-” You blew out a breath. “Just forget what I said, alright? If you want to talk about it, fine, if you don’t, fine. I can at least offer you that much.”

His hand enveloped the bottle. When it had stopped moving, you hadn’t noticed - breaking away, you glanced down to your own. Your hands were perhaps not as large as your partner’s, slightly less scarred, however the marks of your lives followed the same sort of pattern. With the tip of your thumb, you rubbed against the raised ridge on your palm.

“Have you…seen her?”

You straightened as though struck by lightning. In your peripheral vision, he still stared at his hands. 

“Once, I think I may have heard her voice.”

His eyes closed. An eternity seemed to pass behind them - all the intensity you’d watched him direct towards you, the stars, turned inward for a moment you could not be privy to. He could have meant anyone, and yet you had known exactly who she was; not who, more what - the voice which had once cried out in your dreams. 

“What else?”

“The everyday. Classes, lesson plans…” You trailed off with a hint of humor. “Watched you grade so many papers, sometimes I thought I’d graded mine too.”

“An odd gift for God to grant you.”

You shrugged. “Could be worse.”

And wasn’t that the funny truth? Out of all the colleagues whose head you could have been transported into, you could not think of any who would have been preferable to Neuhaus; you had always respected him, might have even liked him if he had been more inclined towards making friends. It took cosmic meddling and a drama-loving demon to create your current dynamic: With a slight start, you realised that you and Neuhaus might never have exchanged more than a dozen words. 

His eyes opened then, and you found yourself the sole subject of pensive brown. You gave a weak sort of smile. 

How often you’d wished that you could understand his reactions, puzzle the emotions out which had to exist beyond that static veneer. His thumb traced circles on the bottle neck, and you looked at him; really looked at him, beyond the biting wit and dry expressions, beyond the picture you had built of him in your head. His hair got in his eyes, his shoulders sloped. He lost his temper, he made jokes, he couldn’t stand to sleep on his side; he breathed heavily when exerted, bled when scratched. He even grew quiet in moments where he did not know what to say - such as now, you supposed, gazing at him in a sort of daze. 

You knocked back the rest of your drink. Fuck, you hated plums. 

“You should not blame yourself.”

At the tail end of a swallow, you choked. Wheezing back a coughing fit, you blinked watery eyes at the man who still stared at you like the secrets to the universe lay under your skin. “Sorry?”

“Your mother.” He shifted. “You were a child.”

“Pretty sure that excuse expired a while back,” you laughed, but the severe twist of his mouth caught you off-guard. Neuhaus gave an agitated sort of movement. 

“Through her negligence, you could have been killed.” You doubted he missed your stunned expression. “I do not want apologies for circumstances beyond your control.”

“You have a right to be angry.”

“My anger has burned through me,” he stated. “It can carry me no further.”

You stared at him. At the firm line of his mouth - the weariness you had noted when he first joined you on the roof. It seemed to you that he meant what he said, but when had he not? When had the man in front of you ever been anything but perfectly frank when it mattered, when direct action proved necessary? He had not hesitated to drag you out of the line of fire, to spring to your side in battle, to dress your wounds as though it were the most natural course of action. It seemed to you, suddenly, that you had been seeing him with incomplete eyes - that the revenge-hungry threat you’d fought all those months before had vanished, replaced bit by bit until one day you found yourself facing another man entirely. You regarded this man, sitting cross-legged beside you. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. 

Muscles tensed under your fingertips. Hand resting lightly on his shoulder, you forced yourself to stay. “I am still sorry,” you murmured, “even if you don’t need it.”

You squeezed once, gently. “But I am not sorry to have you with me.”

Not wanting to overstep, you released him. A slight buzz sat just beneath your skin; you marveled at how quickly the umeshu must have taken effect. Overall, it was not an unpleasant sensation. Your mouth curved, and you shot him a playful glance. “Wanna see what else we can scrounge up?”

He gave you another of those long looks, but you thought you were beginning to understand them. Even as his gaze flickered between your half smile to the challenge in your eyes, before his head tilted slightly back and his stiff shoulders released, you knew what the answer would be. 

“Lead the way.”

“You remember that time the Isrealites touched the Ark of the Covenant when it slipped and were disintegrated or something?”

“...yes?”

You shot a loaded look at the bottle in your hand. “This’ll probably be fine, right?”

A noise escaped from low in his chest. “I doubt the wine is that sacramental.”

“Hey, I’m not going to underestimate Shimizu again.” Tucking the wine under your arm, you continued to peruse your ill-gotten gains. “He managed to bring back a Mazzikin - I don’t want to accidentally ingest the blood of Christ or something.”

“If you did, you would have a better chance of sustaining it than most.”

“Because of my holy flesh, you mean. Yippie.”

Despite the deadpan exclamation, your face brightened. Your hand exited the bag with a triumphant air. “Look!”

Neuhaus looked from the bottle of beer to where you beamed at him. “Do you imagine Shimizu will not notice his stash of blessed spirits has been raided?”

“As long as he notices after we leave, I don’t see an issue. Besides, don’t you think we’ve more than earned a little compensation?”

Sneaking into Skimizu’s room like a pair of teenagers raiding their parents’ wine cellar hadn’t been at the forefront of your thoughts when you’d suggested finding something else to drink - only after narrowly dodging the groups of partygoers around the kitchen did you suddenly remember the many bottles littered around his quarters. Thus had commenced yet another joint effort at breaking-and-entering; after you’d solemnly promised to make for the window instead of the closet in case of difficulty, he’d let himself be dragged along with little resistance. 

You shook the bottle enticingly. “It’s German.”

Slowly, he took it from your outstretched hand. Flipping it over, his gaze skimmed the label. “Hm.”

“You’re welcome,” you proclaimed. “Now, what the hell do I use as a corkscrew?”

“Your teeth?”

“Haha, very funny.” Head swiveling, you analyzed the contents of your room for potential candidates. You were halfway through a plot involving your keys, a towel, and potentially the wall when he calmly reached for his belt, pulled out a Swiss Army Knife, and popped the bottle cap off of his beer. You stared at him. 

“Motherfucker.”

“Did you need something?”

“Give me that!” you exclaimed, making a play for the tool with a blatant corkscrew attachment. With unsurprising agility, he dodged, leaving you to pounce on the spot where he’d been. “Like hell, 'my teeth'!"

“I would not deny you a chance for improvisation,” he cooly replied, not quite so easily deflecting your continued attempts to wrestle it from him. You'd already pinned one arm to the floor, and now struggled to keep it there while you reached for the tool he stretched as far away as possible. 

You huffed. “You’re lucky I’m above spitting you in the face.”

Scrambling for any bit of purchase you could get, you watched him wince at a particularly sharp dig of your knee. “That was hardly the dirtiest shot taken that night.”

“Men who don’t try to kill me don’t get kneed in the crotch.” 

You overshot, the two of you tipped over, and you landed squarely on your back. A strained yelp left you; at the sound, his weight immediately rolled off. Staring at the ceiling, you blinked back tears. “Ow.”

The sound must have been pretty pathetic for him to release an exhale and grudgingly grab the bottle of sacramental wine. From beyond your current field of vision, you heard it pop. It appeared before your eyes. 

“God?”

You felt rather than saw the look he shot you. With what must have been a great temptation to roll his eyes, he set the bottle next to your head. The glass was cool against your cheek, though it held a slight warmth where he’d held it. You blinked a few times more, for dramatic effect, then began the arduous process of pulling yourself onto your elbows. Once there, you shot him a squint. “Next time, just say you want to get even.”

He held his beer in hand with what could only be described as a remorseless expression. From where he leant against the wall, Neuhaus cocked a brow. “I believe you promised to ‘immediately kick my ass’.”

“I believe you promised to play fair while I was injured,” you shot back. “This week, I’ve been banged up, scratched, and divinely electrocuted. Give me a fighting shot, won’t you?”

He simply shrugged, then raised the bottle to his lips. From this angle, you were privy to every muscle and line in his throat as he swallowed; feeling suddenly cornered, your mouth opened without warning. “When was the last time you cut your hair?”

Neuhaus visibly paused. Meeting the baffled look he shot you, you stuck to your hastily chosen guns. “It’s getting kind of long, isn’t it?”

Bandaged fingers reached up and pulled his bangs forward to be examined. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the strands between his fingertips. 

“Want me to take a crack at it?”

“Not a chance.”

An affronted noise echoed through the room. “Oh, so you’ll trust me with your life, but not your hair?”

“I have great faith in your abilities,” he deadpanned, shooting you a side-glance which seemed almost mischievous, “and the greater wisdom not to let you near me with a pair of scissors.”

“Rude. I’ll have you know I’ve cut Yamada’s hair at least half a dozen times.”

“Hm.”

That was too much to be borne; flinging a hand in the air, you pulled yourself up with the other. “Fine, continue looking like a boy-band reject. It’s a real dignified look for a man at forty.”

“Thirty-nine,” he corrected, but his expression held no real signs of offence. Maybe it had to do with his ‘senses being clouded’, but the lines of his face seemed softer, the general air with which he studied you less severe. You felt a pang of intense curiosity to know what kind of drunk your partner would be; the slight curve of his mouth gave you a hint which appeared very promising. 

“Whatever.” 

Remembering your own spoils, you poured some wine into a cup you’d swiped from the kitchen. You swirled the liquid around a bit, watching the motion contemplatively and trying not to acknowledge that he was watching you watch it. “Wonder what will happen to it.”

“Hm?”

“The stone. Locked away in some vault in the Vatican, I suppose, until someone can find some use for it.” Unbidden, a shiver crawled down the back of your spine. “Suppose I should count myself lucky that I’m not going with it.”

You took a sip instead of looking for his reaction. By the time you glanced over, his smile had faded. Catching sight of the crease between his brows, you forced a new lightness into your voice. 

“Well, wouldn’t be my first lie of omission. Cheers to that, and that they may never discover how many things I’m hiding from the Vatican.”

The shadow which your statements had drawn over the room were banished with the real, sunny smile you gave after taking another sip. Almost at once, the atmosphere lightened; leaning back, you gazed at your partner with sparkling eyes. “So,” you intoned, tone unmistakable as anything other than playful, “on a scale from one to ten, how much do you think everyone here thinks we should divorce?”

It felt like being struck by lightning when, brows jumping, your partner barked out a laugh. Suffused with the sudden electricity of an unexpected success, you felt voltage dancing up and down your skin, hyper-aware of every shift of his face as he shook his head and fixed you with a wry, fond expression. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured, bottle raising to his lips, and you thought the rich humor in his voice was the most satisfying sound in the world, “but I don’t imagine it’s good.”

Chapter Text

There had never been a sight so blessed as that of Eiko Hirayama’s manicured fingers depositing your key on a numbered hook. 

“Wonderful!” she chirped, hands never slowing as they pivoted to the keyboard. “I hope you’ve had an enjoyable time, we’ve certainly appreciated having you here with us.”

“Just grand.”

Was your hand twitching? It felt like it was twitching. Behind her desk, you could just see the box which contained the last thing tying you to this cursed place. As soon as that baby reached your palm, you could get on the first train back to True Cross; you’d pictured booking the tickets in an almost euphoric haze, disregarding both the pain in your back and the pain in your side (sorry Neuhaus) for those brief happy moments of hope for the future. Soon, the most strenuous part of your day would be staff meetings, prep work, figuring out what to cook for dinner…

“Oh, I am glad to hear that - would you mind filling out this survey?”

Her teeth flashed. Was it your imagination, or did they appear particularly sharp? 

“We want to make sure to improve our customers’ experience to the fullest extent possible.”

Definitely sharper. The page extended towards you held a frankly obscene amount of little scales from 1 to 10, each presumably to rank some part of the ‘guest experience’. Just scanning its length made your vision swim. 

Without missing a beat, you turned to Neuhaus. “Oh, honey, would you?” You shot Hirayama your own toothy grin. “He’s so much better at this sort of thing.”

She smiled back. Had she ever ceased? At the edge of your vision, you caught sight of your partner’s blank expression. Your eyes met. You shot him a wink, and watched the lines of his face arrange themselves into something like dismay. 

“Thanks ever so much, dear,” you exclaimed, secure in the knowledge that you’d pay for this in one form or the other, but unable to summon any real concern for that eventuality. Not when Neuhaus was facing the rows and rows of questions with an expression stern enough to turn the page to stone.

“So, our phones?”

This prompted her into another flurry of efficient movement. Beside you, your partner’s pencil hovered over a scale on which to rate ‘enjoyment of classes’.

“Number six, seven…ah!” 

He marked it as a six. You wondered how crushed Shimizu would be. 

The box dropped on the desk between you, and you forced yourself not to snatch it up. Painfully, you waited for Hirayama to retrieve them herself. The corners of her eyes crinkled. 

“I know it felt difficult at first, but I’m sure you’ll agree that it was a nice change of pace.”

“Believe me - anytime I want an extraordinary experience, I’ll be sure to visit again.”

You absently slipped Neuhaus’ phone into his jacket pocket. “Look at the time!” you exclaimed, acting skills subpar by your own admission, “we’d better hurry to catch the train.” He met the cue with all the subtlety of a bulldozer; before Hirayama could remark on the unfinished survey, you seized his arm and sent a final, plastic smile her way. “Goodbye, Ms. Hirayama, have a nice day!”

She probably wished you one back. You weren’t completely sure. Partner in tow, you gulped down breaths of fresh air. “Freedom!”

He shot your grip on his arm a pointed look. Grinning, you released him and stuffed your hands into your pockets. 

“Can you believe it’s only been a week? I feel like we’ve been stuck in some freaky time bubble for months. God,” you sighed, all at once overcome with longing, “I can finally sleep in again.”

He followed your stroll at an equally leisurely pace. The sun glinted off his hair, catching the strands of grey and gold you’d noticed over the past week. The line of scabbing across his cheek could not detract from his mild, almost peaceful expression. He looked…nice. More than that, he looked like he belonged, like this was just something the two of you did. You weren’t sure when it had begun feeling so very normal to see him in civilian clothes, morning sunlight settling across his face as he humored your antics. 

He glanced over at you. “I can eat what I want,” you hurried on, “go where I want, do what I want without succumbing to coordinated peer pressure for things like gardening-”

“I recall you admitted to enjoying it.”

“Shh.” Shaking your head, you retrieved your phone. “No, Neuhaus, it’ll be good to have a bit of mundanity after all this-”

With a smooth side step, he avoided bashing into you. Had you been looking for it, you might have caught the incredulous way he looked at you - incredulity being his typical front for barefaced curiosity. Had you been looking, which you weren’t. You weren’t doing much of anything - certainly not walking, as you had before halting dead in the street - save for bearing witness to the flood of notifications across your screen. 

“Shit.”

“...and then the Vatican put him on trial but a demon king broke in and-” You jerked to a stop mid-pace along the platform. “The girl will be fine for a week, he said!”

“It’s havoc at True Cross,” Neuhaus remarked, by all appearances completely unfazed by what he saw on his own screen. “First Satan’s spawn, then the Left Eye of the Impure King. Doubtless, the Vatican has issued a general alert. We’ve been summoned to aid damage control.”

“And what am I supposed to do with this?”

You shoved your phone in his face. His eye flicked over a week of increasingly panicked messages from your protege, the first beginning somewhere along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, Ms L/N, but you did say to contact you…’ before eventually devolving into a slightly incoherent summary of the situation in Kyoto. More specifically - the situation regarding Okumura. 

Neuhaus glanced up into your agitated expression. “They’re in Kyoto.”

“No shit they’re in Kyoto! Did you miss the part where she’s clearly about to do something stupid?”

You clawed the hair out of your face. “God fucking knows what the group of them have come up with since then! I don’t want my students executed for treason!”

He sent you a long look. “They have supervision.”

“They have Kirigakure,” you shot back. “And about half a dozen hero complexes combined with teenage hormones, what do you get from that equation?” Your spine straightened. “No - I’m going to Kyoto.”

“We’ve been called back to True Cross.”

“Yeah, and we’re not going.”

His brows jumped. “To be perfectly clear,” he drawled, tone flat as concrete, “not only do you expect me to disregard orders, you expect me to do so for Okumura’s sake?”

“Yes,” you snapped, “for a handful of dumb kids who have never done anything to enrich your life personally, I expect you to get your head out of your ass and be an adult.” 

The incredulity remained. 

“For fuck’s-” Gritting your teeth, you ignored the looks from passerbys and hissed an exhale. “Look, you haven’t got the stupid necklace, so if you want to skip to Mephisto’s tune all the way back to True Cross, then kick up your fucking heels and have a ball. I, on the other hand, am taking the next train to Odawara Station so that I can hopefully reach Kyoto before someone gets themselves killed. Sound good?”

He observed you for a long, tense moment. His brow pulling in on itself, eyes narrowing in the slightest of squints. The scratch on his cheek pulled upwards with the movement. You stared right back.

His voice emerged, clipped. “Fine.”

A surge of anger choked you as he stalked towards the ticket machine. Of all the times for him to flake on you, now-

He shoved a slip of paper into your hand. “Contact Kirigakure. She may be able to beat us to it.”

“Huh?”

Neuhaus regarded you as though you were particularly dimwitted. “Kirigakure. It will be at least two and a half hours before we reach Kyoto. You should warn her.” His chin jerked in a stiff sort of movement. “Since we are so concerned for the children’s immediate safety.”

You blinked at him a moment longer before your brain caught your mouth up to speed. “Don’t start.” 

He gave another little bitchy raise of his brows, yet refrained from further comment. He could hardly be described as looking pleased. That wasn’t a shock. You’d spoken without much thought or consideration: Even so, even despite your initial assumption, here he was. Next to you, waiting for the same train, when you’d made it clear he did not have to be. 

Some of the tension bled out of your body. You turned to your phone. “Come on Kirigakure,” you muttered, choosing not to dwell on the thick, weighty sensation which had replaced the anger in your throat, “for the first time in your short, aggravating life…”

It went to voicemail. Motherfucker.

Your knee bounced at the bpm of a j-pop song. Though you kept telling yourself that Moriyama was smart, gifted and probably not going to do anything too reckless, the pit which had swallowed your stomach seemed to expand with the passing seconds. There were other exorcists at the Kyoto branch - gifted ones, such as the Chief himself, ones who were well up to the task of keeping a few teenagers in line. Still, you twitched. 

“She’ll be alright.”

You grimaced. “No thanks to me. God, I should have known Mephisto was getting us out of the way for a reason - he must have known the Vatican wasn't far behind him. Still, I could never have imagined all this.”

“I doubt anyone could have predicted Saburota Todo’s treachery.”

At the reminder, you buried your face in your hands. “What a shit show.”

You felt him shift in his seat. You figured an hour of watching you vibrate out of your skin was enough to invoke most people’s pity. After the week you’d had, all you wanted to do was sink into bed and never emerge; your back’s complaints still rang loud and clear, your head wound had only been aggravated by the recent action, and you were pretty sure you were a little hungover. With each bounce of your knee, fried nerve endings reminded you of their state. A muffled groan emerged from your palms. 

“You are in no state to enter an active conflict.”

You groaned again. He regarded you from the corner of his eye. “You ought to rest.”

“What I ought,” you muttered, rising from the valley of your hands, “is to have a couple of days without some earth-shattering issue to address. Do you have any idea how dark my hair used to be?”

Neuhaus shot your braid a faintly amused glance. “Time leaves traces on us all.”

“I’d prefer not to go grey before fifty.” At some point, your knee stilled. It rested lightly against his. “And I know, by the way, that I’m in shit condition. I didn’t plan on starting any fights.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as your temple met the window. The throbbing of your muscles could be borne, but the throbbing behind your eyes presented slightly more of a challenge. God, how you craved sleep - real, REM sleep in which you could shut down and completely reboot. Sleep which didn’t mean potential destruction or danger or awkward conversations with your partner; just sleep. You’d never have thought one could experience bone-deep longing for a good night’s rest. 

The hum of passing tracks called to you like a siren’s song. Neuhaus’ arm and the wall prevented you from sliding any further down, but you felt gravity sweetly beckon, tempting you lower and lower. With a sharp inhale, you widened and rubbed at your eyes. 

“It would be in your interest to sleep while you can.”

“And discover what you decide on for dinner? That is, if I don’t somehow derail the train by pure prophetic prowess?” You sunk further into your seat. “Now doesn’t seem like a great time to tempt fate.”

That sick feeling returned. Just as it began gnawing at your abdomen, his gravelled voice swept over you. “I would not permit such destruction. The longer you remain in this state, the more of a liability you become.”

You couldn't quite manage indignation, so you settled for a stink-eye. Neuhaus met it evenly. Barely even raised his brows. 

You could have argued, shot back that you were a grown woman and fully fledged exorcist who knew the limits of her own body, but you didn't. Instead, your head fell against the seat. He was right, anyway; your report from Mephisto had been brief, the texts from Shiemi concerning in their lack of concrete information. Whatever the actual situation in Kyoto was, whatever you would face upon stepping off that train, you were not naive enough to believe it would let you off easy. The fight had come to you, over and over. In all likelihood, it was about to come again. 

You crossed your arms and dug a little further into the corner. “What exactly,” you murmured, almost too quiet to be heard, “is your grand plan of action if I catch fire or something?”

“Put it out.”

“Right. Any excuse to beat me with a coat.”

An amused hum settled in his throat. Through your half-lidded eyes, you could catch the look he tossed you; fond, in a way, tinged with that dry edge which his softer side never really seemed to lose. It lasted a mere moment before he tipped his own head back, exposing the slender column of his throat. He swallowed, once, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

Sleep. Right. You were going to sleep. 

Shaking off the tingling which had surfaced in your palms, you tucked them into the crooks of your elbows and settled in. Kyoto would wait another hour; until then, you would have to trust that your partner had your back. 

As your breathing slowed, you could feel his own. Like a silent sentinel, he sat at your side. There, in case you needed him. There, even if you didn’t. 

Your head lolled. To the rhythm of his shallow breaths, the buzzing of the train, the fog coiled its fingers around your mind and squeezed…

The warmth of skin against your hands. They grabbed great handfuls of it: warmth, weighing down your palms - warmth, fleeing through the slats of your fingers. 

A breath punctured your lungs. Your surroundings shot into focus: The trees towering into eternity, the thick, viscous smog. It coated your lungs with each exerted inhale, each grunt and gasp as you hauled deadweight across the forest floor. At the back of your throat, you could feel it burrowing into your airways. Blanketing itself in blood and spit. 

Warmth trickled across your knuckles. 

You would not look down. Your eyes strained over indiscernible paths, leaf-ridden trails which might have as well been tricks of the light. Each step became a prayer to a god who would not listen; your foot caught in a stumble, yet no reaction emerged from the figure in your arms. 

A bolt through your chest. You fought back your footing. ‘Come on, come on…’

You swallowed the bile, ploughed on through the need to retch. The warmth in your hands ebbed with the seconds, spilling out in ribbons which adorned your bare arms. Your fingers interlaced above his chest, elbows tightening their hold on either side of his ribcage. ‘It’ll be alright,’ you choked, even as your lungs tightened and tightened, ‘just hold on, goddammit-’

A flash of fire seared the clearing. You flinched from the distant threat - Neuhaus’ head lolled back, smearing blood across your neck. 

The breath left your lungs with an arm shoving you against your seat. Vigilant brown pinned you as surely as the hold which kept you in place. Blinking, you scrambled to make sense of your awakening: “The fuck?”

You noted how the words caught in your throat, the staccato fall and rise of your chest. His weight did not shift. 

“You jerked awake.” 

Your partner surveyed you from the side. The hand which had pushed you back into your seat remained in place - not least of all because you had your fingers fisted in his sleeve. With a start, you realised that you must have seized him upon waking.

“Sorry,” you croaked, not at all sure you knew for what to apologize. Your mind’s eye burned with his limp body, your hands stiff and achy as though they had carried a great weight. Your vision hadn't possessed its usual, piercing clarity - the images swam in a sort of haze, blurry and vague and only all the more sickening for it. It felt wrong; what you had seen, how you had seen it. His blood on your skin. His life in your hands. 

Your fists tightened. His gaze did not become any less searching as you steadied yourself with a few, long breaths. Finally, your fingers uncurled. You expected him to withdraw at once, but he didn't. 

Neuhaus hovered over the armrest. The way he watched you, brow pulled together as he waited to see if further action would be necessary - every shift of his expression, stern line of his face was so him; you would take a million of his frowns and scathing remarks, you thought in your daze, over the glimpse you’d had of their absence. You knew you were only making things worse, and yet you couldn’t quite tear your eyes from him. He frowned. 

Leaning forward, you ran your hands up and down your thighs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He just sat there, watching and wondering what you had seen to agitate you so, but he wouldn’t push; he would simply continue to watch and continue to wait until you broke under scrutiny and offered the information up yourself. The itch to do exactly that hummed like electricity under your skin. You ineptly redirected the current. 

“I need some air,” you blurted, “how much longer ‘til Kyoto?”

A beat of silence. “A few minutes.”

The awareness that you hadn’t fooled him settled between you like a thick fog. You certainly felt as though your breaths came thicker, the air swelling with each inhale. The sensation snapped you back to your vision; sharply, you looked away from him and out of the window. The landscape was one familiar to you - the pollution adorning it less so. Your brow furrowed as the train approached the station, your eyes fixed on the dense vapor descending upon Kyoto. 

“What in Christ’s name is that?”

Chapter Text

Torako Suguro coughed delicately into the sleeve of her kimono. “Would you hand out these demon-repellant masks? The poison may drift this way–”

Slam!

A maelstrom of miasma ravaged the ryokan: Leaves rushed in through the open door, propelled forwards by a violent gust of wind. Two figures stumbled in after them. A graceless thwack, and all at once the onslaught ended. The leaves settled. In the wake of all this chaos, a bedraggled couple stood, jackets pulled high around their heads. Masks covered what little of their faces remained visible—the exact kind of mask, in fact, that Torako had been about to distribute. The first stranger strode towards her with either a sense of purpose or deep, deep irritation. 

“Y/N L/N, Exorcist Upper First Class.” An ID flashed. “My partner, Igor Neuhaus. Can you tell us where to find Shura Kirigakure?”

The seconds stretched. Torako stared at this woman—her tussled hair, the circles under her eyes. Her distinctly civilian attire. She would not have seemed out of place at a parent–teacher conference, or haggling over prices at the market. Behind her, her ‘partner’ had yet to utter a word. The two of them stood close together, as though guarding each other’s backs from some invisible threat. Her gaze lingered on his eyepatch, the scratch disappearing underneath it. If they were exorcists, then they weren’t from Kyoto. 

A pang of annoyance hit her at yet another intrusion into her life; as though the rest of this week hadn’t been enough–

The woman cleared her throat, and Torako glanced back at her. A little sheepishly, the stranger shifted her weight. 

“Sorry about the mess.”

You had one hell of a hike. 

The miasma had spread all across Kyoto; by the time you’d left the station, it became clear just how ridiculously you’d underestimated the situation. A behemoth, spore-covered something rising from the hills did not bode well for your chances of a cursory check-in. Your kits contained demon-repellant masks which prevented you from inhaling too much of the smog. They did not, however, make it any easier to breathe—halfway up the trek to the Kyoto Branch Office, you rethought your decision to rush ahead on foot. Slightly after that, you developed a dangerous-sounding wheeze. 

“I said we could wait for a bus.”

“Just...one second, and then I’ll be…” 

You coughed. His mouth thinned. “Dead.”

Your hand shot up in a rude gesture. Your lungs had fled on an escape mission up and out of your esophagus, otherwise you would have expressed to him just how fine and wonderful you felt. So what if you tasted blood? 

He offered up a silence which expressed more than any retort. Against all odds, you managed to catch your breath. The wind had picked up since your arrival, which only underscored the necessity of keeping your face covered. It also heightened your concerns, all of which had been steadily rising and you had been shoving down as well as you could. 

Shiemi would be fine: She was ridiculously overpowered for her age, with a peer group which had shown surprising competence at staying alive. In all likelihood, the Exwires were doing menial tasks set to them by Kirigakure while she and the other exorcists handled the actual danger. Nothing to worry about. Nothing. 

That illusion shattered as soon as you gave it any real thought; you held back a snort. Unfortunately, you knew your students. As soon as there was a chance to be heroes, one or two of them would jump headfirst into danger. The rest would be bound to follow: You could just see Shiemi running after Okumura, determined to save his life. Suguro might try to argue with him, but eventually relent and tag along to function as the voice of reason. Miwa and Shima were more complicated, but you had little doubt that they would find a reason to get in trouble as well. Someone like Kirigakure might have a chance at stopping them—that is, if the woman in question had any real interest in her students’ safety. 

What a group, you marveled. It’d be a wonder if they all made it to the age of twenty. 

At your side, Neuhaus kept pace without so much as a stumble. Did he worry about his students? Even distantly—the way one worried about paperwork, or a deadline which steadily crept closer. His personal stake in their safety was lower than yours, to be sure, but you didn’t think he wished them any real harm.

Speaking of adults who ought to keep them from harm: “Do you think–” 

A slight choke, as though you’d jumped your unassuming vocal chords. You cleared your throat. “Do you think Mephisto knew what he was sending the Exwires into?”

“Like most demons, he prefers to keep his intentions indiscernible to others.” You scoffed. “I would not be surprised.”

“That makes two of us.”

His mouth twitched at your dark tone of voice. You trudged on, thoughts of inflicting harm on your perfumed boss temporarily brightening your mood. Did the impending danger bother your partner at all? Your career was not one without its unique challenges, but this felt like something bigger. Something old. You hoped that you were wrong. 

Neuhaus’ gaze darted to yours. Mostly, you admitted, with a chagrined sense of self-awareness, you wondered whether he wondered about you. If, in time with his long steps up the path, even now his analytical mind were picking you apart. He couldn’t have forgotten your reaction on the train—you hadn’t. Leaves crunched underfoot. Your eyes fell to the forest floor, and you grimaced. 

“There.”

As though to punctuate his proclamation, the wind picked up. You squinted past the raised collar of your coat to find the indicated building. Pinpricks of light shone from within Kyoto Branch. From this distance, it appeared almost unreal. Its contents would no doubt prove the opposite.

Digging your heels in, you sighed. “Well, here we go.”

This lady had no fucking clue who you were. 

You reciprocated. You also sympathised, considering that she was encountering you on the tail end of a week from Gehenna; you and Neuhaus probably looked as though you’d hiked all the way from Hakone. Through a storm. Several storms. Actually, you thought, suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity, hadn’t you seen her somewhere before?

A blink, then she seemed to recover her hostess instincts. “Torako Suguro,” she replied, smile slightly frazzled, “and it’s no problem.”

You doubted that. “Suguro?” You glanced between her and the other woman. “As in Ryuji Suguro?”

Her expression softened. “Yes, I’m his mother. I’m sorry Ms…”

Ah. “L/N.”

“L/N, but you’ve just missed Ms. Kirigakure. She’s leading the charge alongside Yaozo Shima - they left not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Excuse me,” you interjected, “but the charge against what, exactly?”

Another of those bemused looks. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To fight against the Impure King?”

“The Impure King.” You turned to Neuhaus. “The Impure King.”

Gratifying, to note that you were, in fact, not the only one hearing this shit; his jaw locked, mouth thinning into a line that would come across as severely displeased if you didn’t recognize it as a sign of his unease. Shocker. You didn’t particularly enjoy him being caught off-guard: Whenever something broke through his usual stoicism, you knew you were in deep shit. 

Not that you needed any additional indication. Your thoughts spun as you attempted to grasp just what in Christ’s name had been going on at Kyoto Branch. “Right.” 

The Impure King. Demon of Legend, vanquished centuries ago. Apparently not. “Right.” You moved as though to turn back, then changed your mind mid-motion. “How many exorcists did they take with them?”

“Everyone we have.”

“And the Exwires?”

“The children? Here with us. Although…”

“Yes?”

She traded a look with the blonde woman at her side. “Well, it’s just that I haven’t seen them for a while. I couldn’t tell you exactly where they’d gotten to.”

Well, fuck. 

The urge to cuss must have bled into your expression. “Would you like us to take a look?”

You grimaced. “Please.”

With a slight bow, the blonde hurried off. Shooting a cursory smile towards the remaining woman, you tugged Neuhaus off to the side. “Impure King,” you hissed, very aware of Mrs. Suguro’s presence behind you. “The hell are we going to do?”

“To counteract the rot, Shima will attempt to summon a high-level fire demon.”

You considered this. “I’d go for Uccusma.”

Your partner gave a stiff nod. “The summoning will require as many Senior Level Tamers as possible. If the children cannot be located, our next directive will be to offer assistance.”

“If they can’t be located.” You scrubbed at your temples. “Meaning that they’ve run off to join the fight, the morons.”

The insult bled exhaustion. Having long given up on miracles, you retained zero hopes that the woman would return with any of your students in tow; you were sure that they had miles of forest between them and the ryokan already. If you’d had the energy, this might have pissed you off. As things were, you merely felt a deep sense of fatigue. 

“Okay,” you exhaled, steadying yourself a little on your partner’s arm. “We’ll never track them down in all this chaos. Our best bet is to kill this thing before any of them get hurt. We’d better-”

A sudden headrush, and you actually swayed. Neuhaus’ hand clamped down on your bicep—you blinked, twice. “Shit. Sorry.”

That frown of his reached vast magnitudes. Your partner glowered at you like he thought you were stupid and stubborn in equal amounts—you wouldn’t dispute the latter, but this wasn’t the time. His mouth twisted as though to comment, but the sliding sound of an adjacent door intervened. “I can’t find them, Mrs. Suguro,” the blonde declared, brow furrowed as she strode in. “I’ve looked all over the ryokan—the gardens, among the sickbeds–”

You made eye contact with your partner and felt rather than saw the note of shared resignation. This was how things were going to go, then. Fine. 

You spun on your heel. “Do you know where Shima and Kirigakure were headed?”

Mrs. Suguro thought for a moment. “There’s a large clearing deeper in the forest. It’s a little difficult to find if you don’t know the paths, but…”

But you did not hear her. Your chest stuttered to a stop as soon as her first sentence came to a close; trees like bars in an iron window—blocking the light, preventing escape. A nightmare’s landscape: Where the smog would be thickest, where the ground offside the paths would be uneven and littered with detritus—where you would stumble, faltering under the deadweight of the man in your arms. 

Dead weight. You must have breathed, but your lungs jammed like an engine failing to start. His still body. Frozen lungs. Blood warm yet cooling, warmer than the cheek which had fallen against your neck. Your own blood throbbed against the confines of your skull. He had come here because you’d asked him to. You had dragged him into this fight, and you would not be able to drag him out. 

“...are you alright, Miss?”

Movement blurred in the corner of your eye, disregarded. Fuzziness bit at the edges of your vision: It was like dreaming, like glimpsing the future, only that this was here and now and that death stained everything you could see. 

Your hand clasped with his. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingers. The muscles in his hands shifted. Where you leant against his side, you could feel his ribcage fall and expand. You focused on that until your own followed suit; blinking rapidly, you sought out his face. Perturbed brown stared you down, and the sight was like finally breaking water. 

“Do you trust me?” you blurted, still not completely sure the words were leaving your mouth. Neuhaus gave you one of those long looks which signalled reservation, but you tightened your grip on his hand. 

His voice, reverberating up your arm. “Yes.”

“You can’t come with me.”

Incredulity sprang into his gaze, and you hurried on, “I want you with me, believe me. But–” 

Here, that calm you’d so painstakingly forced cracked. His voice emerged low, dangerous. “L/N–”

“I dragged you. Through blood and mud and the forest floor and you weren’t–” A shudder, hitting every notch down your spine. “You weren’t breathing.”

Silence blanketed the room. This sudden terror had pushed the words from you with little regard for your wishes; now, you contended with what you had not meant to share. You couldn’t hear anything beyond his quiet breaths, could see nothing beyond the miniscule shifts of his expression. How shock, doubt, and something deeper flitted across those tiny lines; how he studied you as though to discover the lie. He knew you too well to find anything other than the truth.

“You cannot go out there alone.”

You forced yourself to breathe. “They need everyone they can get. Really, Neuhaus, I’ll be alright–”

“You will not,” he snapped, and you felt the anger coiling around his words like a boa constrictor, tight and deadly. “Do you expect me to aid you in your pursuit of self-destruction? If your hands are imperative, then so are mine.”

“I don’t give a shit if they need you!”

The exclamation bounced off of the walls; it landed back between you, somewhere in the space where you faced an equal stubbornness to your own. “I don’t–” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fuck, Neuhaus, you knew something was wrong on the train, just…” 

Suitable words failed to find your tongue. You pried your eyes from where he scrutinized you as though you’d asked him to die instead of to live; it was an accusatory stare, divorced entirely from his usual detached observation. The air between you shook—how can you do this, it seemed to hum, how can you do this after all we’ve discussed. Before your mind’s eye, the forest flickered in and out of being. Your hands balled into fists. 

“I can’t stomach it,” you bit out. “Please, don’t make me.”

You forced yourself to meet that grim expression, the anger and conflict brimming in his gaze. He hated this. He hated this with every fibre of his being, and he made no attempt to hide it; yet he did not lash out. You loved him a little just for that, for the restraint he’d once accused you of lacking. The corner of your mouth curled weakly before dropping. 

“You’re a Doctor, you can provide assistance here as well.” This statement did little to abate his displeasure. “All I have are my sword and Kaze.”

Neuhaus visibly bit back something nasty: Face twisting, he forced his voice into relative neutrality. “The former of which you left at True Cross.”

“I’m better prepared than those stupid kids.”

“You will, perhaps, die somewhat less swiftly.”

“I have to try.” Tired beyond measure, you surrendered all pretense. “Even if I have no shot at saving them, I have to try.”

You half expected him to roll his eyes, make some comment about your recklessness and refuse to enable it. Instead, he twitched—almost a flinch, as though struck by the sincerity he observed in your eyes. A vein stood out in the side of his neck. You waited. Traced it with your eyes. Gone was the detachment you’d dissected on the journey here; you knew, now, what it took for him to waver. It seemed he could only regain composure by looking at anything other than you. It seemed even then to prove quite a difficult task. 

“You are my partner,” he ground out, the words all too similar to ones you’d once uttered. He infused them with a quiet sense of gravity you’d have struggled to imitate. You watched his throat bob. His mouth twisted again, as though he had forced bitterness past his tongue. Finally, he looked at you—no squint, no frown, just an open, hard stare which struck you right to the soul. “I will not abandon you to your death.”

Ice through your veins. Before you could come up with some way of making him see sense beyond squeezing the life out of his hand, he turned to Mrs. Suguro. “I will remain and assist with the infected.” 

He rounded back in on you. You instinctively stepped back. “I will remain,” he bit out, “but you will not go alone.” 

Long fingers pushed up the sleeve of his coat. A flash of comprehension struck you; by then, his blood was already flowing. Neuhaus’ power suffused the air, settling over you as a second skin. Suddenly, you were reminded how it felt to possess aches that merely whined instead of screamed; like a wave crashing over your body, the weight of him swept the edge from your ragged nerves. A breath hit your lungs like a shot, and a low groan echoed from behind you. Mrs. Suguro stared, frozen, at the towering figure which rose at your back. 

The ghoul cast a shadow, but all you could feel was the warmth swelling in your chest. He was magnificent, you thought, almost in a daze. His displeasure was sharp and his tongue even sharper but he had listened; he had done what he always did—challenge you, critique you, then complete you in ways you had not thought of. Your partner, you mused, and the warmth only grew. 

Stepping forward, you grabbed his shoulders with both hands. His arms rose and fell with each slight, exerted breath. Thanks sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill over as soon as you found the proper words. The glance he offered in return made something within you stutter; it was tired, regretful, and it hit you like a punch to the gut in that split second that he let you see it. 

“Find the others.” He stepped out of your grasp. “The miasma will only thicken.”