Chapter Text
The nameless town is small, situated in the middle of absolute nowhere and isolated from anything and everything Wolfwood is familiar with. But the inn is homey and the townsfolk are kind, and who is he to deny his blessing?
They had been wary at first, looking at him like he’s some sort of bog monster that just came out of the surrounding forest to feast on their children, and Wolfwood couldn’t blame them.
He forgot to bring his razor, so his stubble had grown into a beard by the time he got here. His roguish look makes him look less friendly too. Plus, he’s carrying a gigantic cross with him; what sort of person brought something so utterly bizarre anywhere they go anyway?
Wolfwood showed them he meant them no harm, that he’s nothing but a traveling priest seeking respite for a couple of days. It’s been five days, and by now, everyone has lowered their defenses around him, greeting him merrily every morning and exchanging smiles here and there.
(He made sure to help the elderly every chance he got, mingled with the patrons at the bar, listened to each and everyone that came to him for a confession.
Wolfwood took on the role of a “priest” with all his heart, his mask made out of half-truth and half-lies; a perfect disguise.
Once again, the wolf takes on the role of a sheep in the flock.)
He makes his own space in one of the inn’s rooms; cigarette butts piling up in the glass ashtray on the windowsill, a weathered bible sitting on the desk, and his signature cross, the Punisher, propped to one corner, only leaving the room whenever Wolfwood is going out.
Not much, but hey, it’s still better than lying on dirt and grass outside (and Wolfwood has gone through worse), so he takes anything that’s offered to him with open hands and smiles to the people that are kind to him.
(Is his smile genuine or just another part of his intricate lies? Spun from nothing but a thin thread, a frail little thing that will break any moment’s notice?
Wolfwood doesn’t know the answer to that.)
“Are you going to stay here longer, Father?” The innkeeper asks one day. She’s wiping the front desk, back fully turned towards Wolfwood. A common mistake people tend to make when they’re near him.
“Hmm, probably for another few days.” He takes a drag out of his cigarette, puffing out gray smoke that obscures his vision.
“What are you looking for anyway?” Wolfwood studies her expression. She seems to be more curious than anything. A good thing; otherwise Wolfwood might have to do something a little drastic in this tiny little inn. “We can try to help if you’re having trouble with it.”
Wolfwood shakes his head, an easy smile across his face. “I’m fine; just need a little refreshment before going back to the road. You know how it is.”
The older woman nods, her eyes crinkling fondly. “Take all the time you need, Father. The least I can do is give you an accommodation for all the help you’ve done for us.”
“Thank you. May God bless your kindness, ma’am.” Wolfwood says, his prayers never reaching the sky above.
From the start, he was never a man that believed in god after all.
000
The trail was faint–almost impossible to see–but Wolfwood has been doing this for years; this is just another Tuesday for him. Those that are sensitive might’ve noticed the slight change in the atmosphere at a certain spot in the town, perhaps felt shudders going up their spine as if something is watching them.
For Wolfwood, who is born and trained to be an exorcist, those anomalies feel like lightning in his radar, a spark that makes him shudder with anticipation. It feels somewhat addicting, and Wolfwood revels in the thrill of the hunt, savoring every blood he shed and every scar etched to his body and memorizing his fights for all eternity.
(Perhaps deep down, he and demons aren’t all that different.)
He had been following a thin trail of energy for a few days before it led him to this out-of-nowhere town. The entire town is buzzing with that potent energy, and Wolfwood can only guess what sorts of creature stay here. Definitely not a weak one, that’s for sure. This amount of anomaly can only be produced by those that sit at the highest order, perhaps standing toe-and-toe to a squad of exorcists like him.
The prospect of finding something so utterly powerful excites Wolfwood.
To be completely honest, he’s bored as hell. The missions the higher ups have been giving him are nothing but small fries–measly little things he can kill with his eyes closed. So the moment he came across such a big finding, he latched onto it like an overly eager leech, desperate for the taste of excitement in his veins.
As he did every other night, Wolfwood sneaks out of his inn and goes around town, searching for the source of that particular energy in a sea of ripples. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack at this point, but Wolfwood is a stubborn man, and even more stubborn when it comes to himself; he won’t stop until he exhausts himself to sickness, won’t stop until he finds the answer to all of his questions.
He searches for hours, but like the night before, he finds himself on another dead end.
His legs start to burn, begging for a quick rest. He looks around, finding a deserted shed at the outskirts of the town and decides to rest there instead of going back to the inn. He’s going to do another quick round, and going back to the inn is just counterproductive at this point.
Wolfwood sits on a rickety bench, propping the Punisher on the wall. He fishes out a single stalk of cigarette out of his pocket and puts it in his lips, hand easily finding the lighter on his other pocket. He fumbles with the flint, cursing silently as the flames continuously die into sparks before his eyes.
After his fifth try, Wolfwood puts everything back into his pocket with a groan, already missing the taste of tobacco in his tongue. His eyes flits up, looking at the ceiling–
And he sees a pair of glowing blue eyes, looking straight at him.
The thing moves fast, but Wolfwood was faster. He grabs the Punisher, unfurling the covering to reveal a gigantic cross-shaped machine gun and starts blasting away. The bullets hit the thing and it hisses before breaking the window, a trail of blood splattering behind its hasty steps.
“ Bingo.” Wolfwood follows, loading his gun with another batch of bullets as he runs, following after the thing like a hound in hunt.
The thing runs deeper into the forest, its steps slowing down as it gradually loses more and more blood. At one point, it trips and tumbles down a hill, landing in a ditch with a loud thump. Wolfwood jumps down, smirking as he releases the safety lock of his gun and aims–
His prey looks at him through tearful eyes, shaking like a lamb before slaughter. It looks human–too human in fact that Wolfwood’s aim falters a little, hesitating. Damn, he’s used to monsters and all that, but this? This is new.
The demon looks like a young man, hair spiky blonde with a fuzzy undercut, a pair of tiny stubby horns hiding underneath. His eyes are the brightest blue; the sky after a heavy rain, clarity and peace after a turbulent time. There’s a pair of tiny wings sprouting out of his back, and Wolfwood might’ve mistaken them for angel wings if they weren’t attached to a demon. The energy he emits was weak, but it’s the one he’s looking for alright.
Demons are supposed to be feral, blood-hungry beasts, but this one merely whimpers under his gaze–nothing but a harmless little thing.
“P-Please, don’t kill me…” The thing whimpers, holding a hand to his bleeding side. Wolfwood couldn’t look away from his eyes. “I’m not–I’m not going to hurt anyone, promise.”
Wolfwood’s conviction falters. He lowers his weapon just a tiny bit, and the demon seems to relax, his shoulders no longer tense. The demon doesn’t run or attack, or do anything really; he merely stares at Wolfwood, still wary of him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Wolfwood is just reeling time, he knows, but he can’t help but be curious for once. Demons are a hungry bunch; they’ll pillage and kill and eat, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake.
This one is different.
For as long as he stayed in that town, nothing drastic had happened. In fact, he asked around and found that nothing significant has happened there for the past few years. It’s as if something is protecting the town, or at least unknowingly did so.
The demon lowers his gaze, his wings curling around his waist defensively. “I’m, uh, too weak to go around at the moment.”
Wolfwood quirks his brow. He finally understands why the demon has such low energy. “You’re not going to kill those townsfolk?”
At that, the demon visibly balks, eyes wide and wings flapping frantically. “N-No! I could never hurt them!”
“Not even those outside of the village?”
“I won’t hurt anyone, ever.”
Well, that’s interesting. It’s not everyday you meet a pacifist demon. Wolfwood aims the nozzle of his gun up towards the sky and leans forward, a snarky grin across his face. “Not even when you’re dying?”
The demon rapidly shakes his head, eyes glassy. He looks like he’ll break any second now. “W-Will you let me go now?”
Wolfwood hums, thinking this through. He can just kill the demon right here and then and this whole farce would be over with. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to hurt the poor thing. Wolfwood blames it all on the demon’s mesmerizing eyes; too kind and gentle to belong to a creature of the night.
(Or perhaps he’s just getting softer—not the same rough-edged and brutal exorcist he used to be.)
Well, it’s not like he has to kill the demon, right? Nobody is there to keep a watch on him anyway.
“Just keep your ass out of this town. The rest of the exorcists will hunt you down if you keep sticking around.” Wolfwood snaps the safety lock on his gun in place and wraps it back with a cloth.
The demon seems to deflate, wings fluttering weakly around his waist as all tension leaves his body. Wolfwood opens his mouth, about to say something when he hears the loudest growl coming out of the demon’s stomach.
The demon blinks, as if processing that the sound did come from his own body, before he gives Wolfwood a small, apologetic smile.
“Um, can I…have something to eat first?”
000
The demon practically devours the donuts Wolfwood gave him, colors returning to his face at every bite. He looks less emancipated now; his wings livelier and eyes sparkling with newfound strength.
Wolfwood is sitting near the windowsill, a lit cigarette in hand as he watches the demon with careful eyes. Though he’s sitting with a predator, the demon keeps his back turned to Wolfwood, unafraid.
Is it bravery? Or is it simply because the demon is just too stupid to know the difference between friend or foe?
Wolfwood bitterly concludes it might be the latter.
“Hey, tongari, stop making a mess out of the bed.” Wolfwood grumbles. He’s not a fan of bugs, and definitely not a fan of ants crawling all over him while he sleeps.
“Oh, sorry!” The demon sweeps the crumbs off the bed, suddenly freezing up when he finally notices the odd nickname thrown his way. “Wait, tongari? ”
“Got any problem with that?” Wolfwood takes a drag and puffs out smoke straight at the demon's face. The demon cringes, eyes turning bleary from the sting.
“N-No, sir.” He wheezes, wings flapping furiously to repel the remaining smoke.
“Good, now then,” Wolfwood opens the windows as wide as he could. The cold night air hits him straight in the face. “I suggest you leave before the townsfolk wake up.”
“Right, I should probably, you know…” The demon jumps over the windowsill, landing on the other side gracefully. He gives Wolfwood a small smile. “Um, thank you, Father.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Wolfwood makes a shooing motion with his hand.
The demon spreads his wings and flies away, stumbling on the roof before disappearing for good. Wolfwood snuffs out his cigarette and sighs, suddenly feeling the weight of his action.
He just released a demon out of his own curiosity. Fuck.
000
The townsfolk are a little sad to hear he’s leaving. They promise him a bed and warm food whenever he decides to visit in the future, a payment for all the good he has done for them. Wolfwood takes the offered kindness with a smile, like always.
He wraps everything up, making sure not to leave anything behind before he hits the road again. He makes sure to visit the abandoned shed too, double checking for the demon’s presence. As the demon promised, he’s not there—in fact, the shed is free out of demonic energy.
(If the demon were staying, Wolfwood would have to pull out his gun and shoot. He makes a mistake once, and he doesn’t intend to make another one.)
“Well then, I’m leaving.” Wolfwood gives the townsfolk a firm nod and walks away, his trusty cross in hand. Their faces and voices are another hollow memory in Wolfwood’s head.
(For how long is he going to live like this?
Jumping from one place to the next without any clear destination in mind, a lone predator seeking for a home he never has the privilege of going back to.
Perhaps for all eternity, Wolfwoof thought bitterly. Until his legs wither away and his heart no longer beats with life.
Even then, would the pearly gates open for such a sinner?)
Midway through his journey, Wolfwood abruptly stops. He takes a deep breath and exhales with all the annoyance he can muster.
“What the hell are you doing, tongari?”
A hint of spiky blonde hair pops out of the treeline, snow-white wings and tender blue eyes appearing soon after. “Following you?” Before Wolfwood can continue, the demon cuts him first. “You look lonely.”
Wolfwood scoffs. “I’m not lonely. Now go back to where you came from.”
He walks a few steps forward, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that the demon is still following him. Wolfwood drops the Punisher into the ground, hard enough to rattle nearby trees.
“Either you turn back now or I’ll shoot you dead, demon.” A pause, and Wolfwood thought the demon finally backed away if it wasn't for the sound of his boots, scraping against the ground. “Last warning!”
The moment he feels the demon’s presence behind him, Wolfwood unsheathes his Punisher and turns around, fingers on the trigger as he aims blankly at the demon’s face—
But the demon smiles at him and his anger sizzles away as soon as it appears.
“I don’t have any place to go back to, Father.” The demon says softly, as if every word is ash on his tongue. “Am I allowed to find respite in your presence?”
Wolfwood pauses, his grip on the Punisher tightens. “Fancy words for someone asking to be a deadweight.”
The demon’s smile doesn’t falter, and neither does Wolfwood’s aim on his head. The silence hangs between them like a knife to their throat. Eventually, Wolfwood’s conviction caves in and he lowers his gun with a grunt, knowing it’s useless to win against the demon’s smile.
“Do whatever the hell you want.” Wolfwood sheathes the Punishes again and walks away, not sparing the demon a glance.
The demon considers it an acceptable answer. He trots behind Wolfwood, keeping his mouth shut this time around. Wolfwood holds back the urge to sigh again and hasten his steps, the demon following closely behind him.
What an unforeseen turn of events he’s having.