Chapter Text
“Ghoul.” The stern voice of the woman who’d long installed herself as matriarch of the ministry cut through the thick air during what the ghoul hoped would be a silent ordeal. He was already faced with a task he had no desire to complete, and feared whatever she was about to say could only make it even less desirable.
The being clad in all black from their tubed helmet to their militant jacket and tall boots paused abruptly and turned, tilting his head questioningly at her call. She didn't care for ghouls to speak in her presence. She wasn't mean or cruel to them, but she wasn’t a friend either. Not like he was.
Her heels clicked on the cold marble floor until she was within arms reach, brandishing something in a downturned palm and dropping it into the ghouls outstretched clawed hand. Her voice came quietly but commanding- it still didn’t quite match the pensive look she carried. “Use this one. Not that.”
His eyes dropped down to inspect what he’d been given. Like its predecessor the object was being exchanged for, it was a small syringe filled with a dubious liquid the ghoul knew was meant to end the overwhelmingly successful reign of Papa Emeritus IV, but something about the hesitant body language of the woman gave him pause. Will this make it worse in some way? Will it be painful? Why is she doing this seemingly in secret? He looked back up from the syringe to the woman's guilt laden green eyes.
The woman took a deep breath, attempting to gather words that normally came easily to her while the ghoul fixed her with an unsettling stare through his blank goggled helmet. She knew this was one of Copias most trusted ghouls, one of his best friends- she almost wished it had been anyone but him that had been chosen to carry out this task, but now she prayed his selection could actually work out in Papa's favor. “He will be… incapacitated, not dead. Take him away once it is done, somewhere where he will not wander back here. Make it look like he jumped ship. Hell, throw some shit in one of his bags and take it with you if you, but don’t leave it with him. He cannot find any indication of where he came from. He cannot find his way back here. Do you understand?”
The ghouls jaw dropped as realization came over him. He didn't have to kill the human he was closest to. He didn't have to kill his friend. His hands wrapped around the syringe and he brought it to his chest, first nodding, then giving a short bow in thanks. It was sure to still not be a pleasant task to carry out, but he was still grateful that it seemed to be at least a lesser evil.
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As he approached Papas room- a downright disrespectful doorless room that didn’t seem fitting for the head of the church- he recognized the voice of the announcer of Mario Kart 64. He’d played the game with the man inside enough times to know exactly what menu screen was on, and to know the anti-pope was now piloting Princess Peach around banshee boardwalk. It hurt deep in his chest knowing he would never play another match with him again, but he physically couldn’t disobey orders. He clenched his teeth and let out a shaky sigh before stepping through the doorway.
Mismatched eyes were on him immediately and the friendly smile that had spread across the man's face quickly fell as he spotted just what was in his hand and the ghoul made his move. The fear in his bosses eyes stabbed through him like a knife, and his pleading and attempt to crawl backwards into the wall behind him only twisted it deeper.
The controller tumbled to the floor, forgotten, and Copia tried to scramble away. “No- no no nono , please! Please Dew, please do-”
A clawed hand that was too fast to get away from quickly cut him off and struggled to hold him still as the needle approached his neck. “It’s not what you think! Don't fight it C, it’ll be easier if you don't fight it.” The ghoul whispered urgently as the man stopped struggling, knowing full well resisting the grip of a ghoul was futile. The needle was in his neck and the stopper plunged before either of them had time to think, and as the light faded from the now teary heterochromatic eyes looking at him, the ghoul pulled the man into an uncharacteristic hug. “Im sorry, Copia, I'm so fucking sorry, man, I’ll try and take you somewhere good.”
And with that, the man was out, leaving an unhappy ghoul to drag his friend's limp body from the room with flashing and the sound of the other karts on the tv screen passing the now stationary, abandoned player 1 .
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The ripe smell of last week's rotten garbage was the first thing Copia became aware of as consciousness returned to him and his eyes began to flutter open. His nose scrunched involuntarily in distaste. Wildly confused, he blinked hard a few times, and pushed himself up off the damp asphalt digging into his skin into a more upright position. His head turned back and forth, although he couldn’t seem to move it very fast due to a nasty bout of dizziness if he tried, but he was able to make out the fact he was currently in a secluded alley. Where is this? How did I get here? He wracked his brain, but his mind was coming up alarmingly blank.
His first order of business was getting away from the distracting smell, and he slowly stumbled to his feet with the help of the wall behind him. He took a few steps away and tried again to figure out how he ended up in some dark alley. Now that the scent of rotten food and garbage was a little less pervasive, he inspected himself. A gust of wind raised goosebumps on his exposed skin, and he frowned, wrapping his arms around himself with a wince. He must have left wherever he had been in a hurry, he concluded, because he did not grab a jacket before going out. Stinging and soreness that hindered his movement caught his attention next- a multitude of scratches, cuts and scrapes decorated the areas of himself that were visible and not covered by his clothes.
He bent to look at himself further, hissing through his teeth as the minor injuries that were just starting to scab stretched. Using the small amount of light that reached him from someone’s back door lamp, he was able to make out that he was covered with dirt, tiny pieces of gravel, and some mud- leading him to think he’d either been passed out there for quite some time, or it was confirmation fallen on slippery, wet, muddy asphalt and hit his head, which was his best guess on the reasoning behind his memory lapse. But still, the questions of why he was out and how he got into this alley were at the forefront of his mind. For now, all the man was able to figure out was that he was not where he belonged.
His thoughts were interrupted by a cold, wet droplet falling onto his forehead, then another, then some more began to dampen his shoulders and arms. He shivered. As if his disorientation and confusion wasn’t enough, a light drizzle had started, and it showed no signs of stopping. Not that he needed an excuse to get the fuck out of the creepy alleyway, but he had enough presence of mind to realize he had to find his way home before getting soaked to the bone because the temperature outside combined with being soaking wet could be dangerous.
A slow, careful turn of his head to the right to prevent the world from spinning allowed him to spot what looked like more of a main road, based on the number of cars driving by and light in the distance. Hope tried to bubble up within him. If he could just get to see a street sign, maybe he could figure out where he was and start heading home, he thought, his hand coming to the wall beside him as he prepared to start walking. However, the trace of optimism was gone just as soon as it came with a heart stopping realization. Try as he might to remember, he couldn’t think of where home was. No address, no street name, not even the name of his city. He couldn’t picture a home in his mind, or imagine what it was like to lay his head on his own pillow to sleep at night. He couldn’t think of a single familiar face, not one name of someone he could ask for help, and not even a co-worker or acquaintance. He swallowed hard and his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath as he made a futile attempt to keep his heart rate down. With no real destination in mind, all he could think of to do was to start walking in the hope that something eventually would seem familiar, and try his best not to panic.
Copia stopped once he reached the sidewalk of the main road, where an endless stream of cars passed in either direction. He stopped to look around, but his head turned a little too quickly- his vision veered to the left and he lost his balance once again. He groaned miserably as his shoulder hit the brick wall he’d been walking next to. It became clear to him in that moment that he wouldn’t get very far like this, and he needed help. One hand drifted toward his pocket only to pat fruitlessly against where his phone should've been. Have I been robbed? His foggy mind wandered, trying to connect the dots of his condition and lack of phone and wallet.
The man squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds as he felt another severe wave of vertigo set in, not even registering the footsteps of passersby giving him a wide berth. As it began to subside he stumbled a bit further down the street, his gait looking every bit the druggie people must think he was. If only he still had his phone maybe he could just call… well, someone . His legs stuttered and he felt his heart begin to pound in earnest as panic got harder and harder to fight off.
It was quickly becoming clear this wasn’t some sort of awful hangover after blacking out partying or something- there was something very wrong. He was filled with a sense of dread. He had to find something, someone, anything that he recognized. Panic clouded over any last bit of logic in his mind and his wobbly legs took off. Wide frantic eyes fought to make out his surroundings as his vision doubled and swayed. Cold air began to burn his lungs as he panted during a sad attempt at running with a shoulder scraping the brick walls of the buildings lining the sidewalk in order to stay upright.
He continued to do his best to wrack his panic stricken brain for any hint of what had happened to him as he hurriedly crept along the wall like drunken spider for any piece of useful knowledge at all, but came up empty handed. He never felt as helpless as he did then, and he was becoming more terrified by the minute. His clothing was nearly soaked through by now, despite it only being a light rain, and he wasn’t sure if the quake in his hands was because of the biting cold while wearing wet fabric, or because of his mental state. By now, he’d made it to a more populated area, or the clock was approaching rush hour, he wasn’t sure, but now there were people walking around, not just speeding by in their cars, and shops and businesses were opening.
At every intersection he paused, nearly panting, and squinted to read the street names, but every one of them was foreign and it only added to his heavy disorientation. Whatever had happened to him, in conjunction with desperate attempts to move around while hindered by severe dizzy spells and panic, had him on the verge of passing out, and his the last thought he had was this must be a realistic nightmare before collapsing on the sidewalk in front of a busy Starbucks. He had barely registered the shocked gasps of the pedestrians on the street watching as the teary eyed, hyperventilating man in torn black jeans and a too thin shirt fell unconscious, face first, only feet away from the door.
Inside the shop, it was warm, cozy, and a normal morning, but the large windows up front gave the customers of the coffee shop a clear view of the small commotion outside. Most everyone looked on with pity or disdain. Mutters of ‘poor man, hope he’s okay, bless his heart,’ or irritated, demeaning remarks whispered between the caffeine seekers filled the air. However, one woman in scrubs had just received her order and turned around from the counter just in time to see the whole thing play out.
This wasn’t something she saw every day on her way to work, and she approached the windows, hot coffee in hand, to get a better look. Her face furrowed with concern when the man did not move, even after a few seconds, and with a sigh of reluctance to leave the comfortable coffee shop, she set the drink down on a table near the door and went out. Although nobody else cared enough to check on the man outside, all watched like hawks as the woman dressed as though she worked in a medical capacity jogged out into the rain to render aid as best she could.
It wasn’t that she particularly wanted to get involved in whatever this mess was on the ground on such a lovely cold, wet Monday morning, but she felt it was her duty. She quickly approached the unconscious man’s side, crouching and setting her bag down in a single motion, wincing at the hard, chilled sidewalk beneath her knees. Two fingers warmed by the cup of coffee she’d just been holding were skillfully brought to the cold skin of his neck in a practiced motion, and she was relieved to find the chestnut haired man hadn’t simply collapsed and died in front of everyone.
She reached across to his far shoulder and rolled him onto his back to see his face. Right away, she felt drawn to his striking appearance. He looked like he came right out of one of those classic old movies she always loved- his thick sideburns and pencil mustache were not a common look these days. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”
However, she had more important things to think about at the moment than her instant desire to get to know him. His body was cold, almost enough she worried about hypothermia, but as she began scanning him for any hint of what was wrong with him, she determined his body temperature hadn’t caused the issue. His face looked normal, yet drawn and tight with distress despite his lack of consciousness. Her next thought was some kind of drug, but before she could check for any tell tale signs, a pair of green and white eyes shot open, their uniqueness catching her off guard and causing her to momentarily jump back.
She put on her best authoritative but calming nurse voice. “Sir you need medical attention, can I call you an ambulance?” She asked, knowing there would not be much she could do here in the street, and she didn’t have long before she needed to get to work, anyway.
Copia blinked repeatedly, his jaw slack as sucked in a few metered breaths, trying to keep calm as he was once again disoriented. He was aware of this person addressing him, but it took his mind several seconds to catch up with even the last few minutes and he did not respond right away. His brow furrowed as he looked up at the woman hovering above him. Did he know her? Was he meant to know her?
A hand waved in front of his face, momentarily blocking his view of the lavender hair framed face looking down at him with an eyebrow quirked expectantly. “Sir?” The woman asked. A couple cars passed by, the sound of their tires on the wet pavement a few feet from them distracting the both of them. But, she still awaited a response. “Sir? Can you speak?”
He swallowed, Adams apple bobbing visibly in his throat. “Ah…” he trailed off. There was no doubt that medical attention was very likely what would be best for him, but he managed the presence of mind to know they would need all kinds of information about him. Information he didn’t have. Money he didn’t have. How could he complete even a single doctor's form when he for the life of him couldn’t even remember his own name? “No, no ambulance,”
“No?” The woman above him repeated, strands of wavy lavender hair finally falling from behind her shoulders as she leaned over him again to inspect the crook of both of his elbows. In her experience a big reason people would deny help was fear of getting in trouble for the use of substances, however there was no indication of visible. She sat back on her heels and her eyes drifted to his. “Just thought you’d go for a nap in the middle of the sidewalk then, huh? Can you tell me what’s going on? ”
“No,” he managed weakly, finally deducing this woman must be a doctor or nurse of some kind upon making out that she was dressed in navy blue scrubs. The presence of someone who likely knew a way to help him at least a little bit provided a minute comfort to the dazed man. “I- I can’t, I don’t know.”
“Have you taken something?” She dug, her words coming with a breath visible in the light of the pre-dawn street lamp.
“Not that I know of.” He replied weakly.
Alright. Amnesia is common enough for head trauma patients, and he did just hit his head . Evidently, this wasn’t just a typical case of substance abuse. The man was scraped up, but he seemed coherent, and she was intrigued as to what the hell was going on. “Can you tell me your name, sir?” She asked, looking on with concern as the question seemed to upset him further.
“No. I…” his eyes clenched shut and he tried valiantly to remember how the fuck he came to be where he was before eventually giving up. “I- I don’t know my name, I don’t know where I am, I don’t know why I don’t know!” All he wanted was to suddenly wake up from this nightmare, to be back wherever home was.
When his eyes opened again, the fear and uncertainty in them struck her. She knew she couldn’t leave him on the cold unforgiving concrete. She also knew the offer that would soon be leaving her mouth was incredibly stupid , but she voiced it anyway. Damn that look in those eyes and damn that outdated classic movie era face of his.
“If you absolutely must be difficult and refuse to go to a hospital, would you let me keep an eye on you at my place for a while? I’m a trauma nurse, I’ll know if you start taking a turn down a one way street to meet Jesus at least. But I’ll warn you- if you get to that point I’m calling an ambulance regardless of what you say. I don’t need a dead guy in my apartment.”
A sharp cold wind cut through his wet clothes as he looked up at her and a strong shiver jolted through him, rattling his teeth. Getting out of the cold sounded incredibly appealing, even if it was with a complete stranger, and he found himself nodding. Deciding to trust this woman he swallowed again, attempting to arrange his face into some form of grateful look. “I- I guess so. Okay.”
“Alright.” She held out a hand. “Let’s get you up then. Can you stand?”
“Yes,” he replied, not feeling confident at all but taking her hand anyway. “I was- I was standing before I… fell.”
A short laugh escaped her and she rolled her eyes, tugging the man up then escorting him to the nearest wall to lean against. Really he had no business walking much with how wobbly even those few steps were. Maybe she’d bring home one of the neon fall risk bracelets patients wore just to amuse herself. “Yeah, that tends to be how it works. Can’t fall to the ground if you were already on the ground. Stay put for a second. I’m gonna grab my coffee and my car and pick you up. I’ll be back in a few.”
With that she turned on a heel and went to do just that, shaking her head all the while. It was always something, wasn’t it?