Work Text:
Denji is once again smearing strawberry jam and butter at the same time on two different slices of bread, making a general mess out of the whole thing, complete with breadcrumbs and bits of jam and melted butter dropping down onto the floor. He is humming a terribly offkey tune and muttering about a ‘pochita’ and some dreams under his breath.
Opposite him, Power is fast asleep, one dirty foot up on the table, the other draped awkwardly across the floor. Had she been human, it would’ve undoubtedly left pins and needles across her leg, leaving her grimacing awkwardly. One of her horns is pressed into a couch cushion, bound to leave a puncture mark. Her mouth is wide open, drool collected on the corners with her sharp teeth on display. Meowy is asleep just like her owner, although she looks a lot more adorable.
Despite the fact that the scene should’ve left Aki disgusted to his core (after all, which devil hunter would be glad to see a fiend and a hybrid occupying his own space?), he is surprised to find that he feels fond and warm at the scene.
He reminisces at how he had protested to Makima-san’s decision and had declared how he would never be able to work with such vile beings. He looks back and he cringes silently, stirring his coffee, and thanks the Lords that Himeno was not there to see him whine and complain like a child, for she would’ve made sure to bring it up on every occasion possible.
The only other person present there had been Kishibe, whom Aki is still apprehensive about. What was that saying again, about old dogs and new tricks? Either way, Kishibe is not the sort of man who will bring up past memories as a way of embarrassment.
Aki goes back to thinking, absent-mindedly warming his hands against the still-warm coffee mug in his hands. He thinks of how raggedy Denji had looked during that first meeting, with clumps of dirt in his stringy hair, his gaunt cheeks, and his clothes rumpled and already messy despite it being the morning.
He thinks of how Power had burst in through the door her hair even messier and wild like as if never brushed at all. Oh, who is he kidding, she most likely had never even washed it before coming to live with him and Denji and had been subsequently forced to take a proper shower.
He thinks back to meeting Makima-san for the first time, looking into her ethereal eyes and feeling like he is being swept off of his feet. Of realizing how despite her words being sweet, her tone is sharp and commanding. Of how everything about her is so off-putting but how he is bound to follow it, like a dog slaving for its master.
He shakes off the grim thoughts and turns to think of Himeno, his first ever companion. The one to get him into that god-awful habit of smoking, and the one to remind him that it was alright to mourn. He wonders how she is, his hands tracing the familiar shape of the lighter that she had gifted him.
He finds that his thoughts are turning towards Taiyo, his little brother. And he almost chokes at the mix of feelings that builds up, that almost forces its way through his throat. Taiyo, his baby brother the one who had died far too young. Taiyo, the brother that he had failed to appreciate. Taiyo, the brother who had perished with their parents and their home at the hands of the Gun Devil.
He loses himself in the memories of the snowball fight and oddly enough, the dark hair almost seems blond in the lighting. Well, isn’t that strange? Taiyo is starting to resemble Denji. Their teeth are similarly sharpened, their eyes are a warm chocolate brown.
When he sees the eyes, he is surprised to see the tears glistening in them. Taiyo-Denji-Taiyo is crying, tears streaking down his deathly pale face, with snot dribbling down his nose and with his face all scrunched up.
The expression on his little brother-not his little brother brings a terrible ache to his chest and so he yells out that he has lost and can Denji-Taiyo-Denji stop crying already!? The last snowball hits him right in the chest and he is admittedly more than a little shocked to find that the snow feels warm instead of cold and that it looks red instead of white.
His memories come back to him slowly. Wanting to protect Denji and Power, who have come to become his dearest family. Signing a contract with Makima, the Control Devil despite Angel’s warnings. Of her cold smile turning smug and self-satisfied as he feels his lungs burn and his head hurts almost like it has been ripped apart into two and is now being pieced back together with harsh hands.
Of making his way back to his apartment against his will, knowing that Power and Denji are there, waiting for him. He remembers trying to protest against the Gun Devil possessing his body but being only able to utter a singular word, rather, a name.
“Denji.”
He comes back to himself and chokes on the blood that has come upto his mouth. One of Denji’s chainsaws is digging clean through his chest and his remaining good arm is crooked awkwardly, likely broken from a weak landing. Blood is clinging insistently to his shirt and dripping down uncomfortably. Every wound feels like it has been opened and reopened a dozen times and it all hurts like hell.
What hurts more is Denji’s tear-stricken face, the sight of their destroyed apartment and the fact that he has failed to fulfil his only wish: to protect his remaining family, Denji and Power.