Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Humans are chaotic, disorderly, free-thinking creatures unrestrained by millennia of knowledge slowing their minds. Ever-changing with just as much a capacity for good as well as evil. They were nothing like the rigid and unbending angels who could not seem to leave the paths their core duties placed them in.

Which was why Azrael needed to find a way to become one. To shed this unchanging mind and shake the foundations of the universe so maybe it would remove the blinders of eternal enmity that Heaven and Hell had on before their wars wiped out everything.

Well, it would either fix things or end up destroying everything sooner. At this point, he didn't care which. Destruction would at least end the suffering faster. It might even be entertaining to watch everything burn. Hopefully whoever he became would have a life with more laughter than his own. His only regret was that he couldn't say goodbye to Raphael. His brother would likely find a way to convince him to stop with this admittedly insane plan.

Now to find someone who could love and raise a human child that carried the portion of a reborn Seraphim's soul that they were capable of. As for the rest of it, well, he would figure something out.

***

Armina Boudreaux, soon to be Armina Hartfelt, was torn. Things had happened so fast, a bit of fun with the handsome, well-dressed man who always asked for her when he came to the restaurant she worked in had ended up with her being pregnant and engaged. Sure, Grant was a lovely man, but she knew so little about him! He'd agreed so easily to her father's demands that he marry her to ensure she wouldn't end up a pariah for having a child out of wedlock.

A little too easily. It didn't feel right.

So she turned to her mother's craft, using the rituals that had been passed down to call upon the spirits to help her figure out what she should do. This early on, it would be easy to end the pregnancy with little risk to herself. Much as she would love a child, she did not want one born into an unhappy house. There were too many women she knew that wore heavy makeup and long sleeves, their daughters with eyes too old for their ages and their sons learning the ways of their fathers with every passing day.

Armina refused to be caught in the same cycle of abuse.

She gently hummed a soft tune as she laid her last offering out. She found music brought a feeling of peace when she did this sort of work, a likely sign that the spirits appreciated it as much as any of her other offerings. Once she was sure everything was properly placed, she closed her eyes and took a breath to begin speaking only to stop as a cold wind blew through the enclosed room, bringing with it the sound of bells.

Opening her eyes, Armina found herself looking up at a rather imposing figure with wings covering his face as well as on his back.

"Hello, Ms. Armina. I believe we could be able to aid each other, if you are willing to hear me out."

***

"Poor Mrs. Hartfelt. Widowed after only a year, and with a little one to boot!"

"Her husband was such a good man, always at church every Sunday and so polite! It's downright awful that the Lord took him, but I suppose he's in a better place. Terrifies me, the thought that even such a healthy looking young man could have a heart attack!"

Armina heard the murmurs of conversation around her, watched as people filed past to pay their respects to the body in the coffin and give their condolences to her. The expression of grief on her face was not feigned, though their assumptions that it was for Grant were wrong. Good manners and routine visits to church did not make someone a good person.

Her husband was likely in Hell, and good riddance!

That's not to say anything bad had actually happened to her. No, Azrael had ensured that the man never touched her again. Any time he reached for her, whether in desire or anger, the shadows in the room would darken and the feeling of a thousand judging eyes locking onto him would send him running for a bottle, drinking himself into a stupor while trying to convince himself he wasn't going insane. Eventually the association of her and that inexplicable terror had him taking on extra hours at work, avoiding returning home as much as possible.

Which left her with a great deal of time to get to know the Seraphim of Death.

The angel was the source of the stricken look in her eyes and the way she held so tightly to the sleeping baby in her arms. Alastor looked a bit like her and a bit like his physical father, but she knew there was a third influence there that would grow stronger as time passed. When the child had been born, he'd been terribly weak and small, frail in a way that had the nurses and doctors looking at her with sad eyes, as though her son was already dead. The new mother had not said a word about the fact that she knew otherwise.

Armina couldn't say for sure that she had loved Azrael the way a woman is usually meant to love a man, but she had grown terribly fond of him and their long conversations about things that defied what the religion of her father and husband claimed. (If they went to the same place, she hoped her mother laughed herself sick when she saw Armina's father learn that so many of the things he had tried to push on her against her 'heathen' beliefs were wrong.) Eventually their talks turned from theology to more personal things. He never said as much but she had been able to get the sense that he was exhausted, that all the years where he was stuck unable to do much to stop the violence and suffering on all the planes where beings existed had worn him down to a shadow of the creature he had once been. Maybe it was wrong of her to be allowing what was going to happen, however she knew if she didn't, he would just go find someone who would, and it was unlikely her boy would survive to see his first birthday without this angel's help.

Azrael had made his decision and she had made hers.

Knowing that this would end with her child alive because this sad and tired angel would essentially kill himself to give his soul to a human boy, Armina had done her best to bring what comfort and happiness she could. Whether that was singing in her garden while he watched over her from the shadows, pushing him to eat for the pleasure of it even if he didn't need it (he only agreed after she swore she wouldn't try to look at his face) or convincing him to let her brush out and rebraid his hair for him. Once while she had been doing that last one, she had asked, "Why do you wear dese bells in your 'air and wings?"

"My domain is Death. It is silent there, nothing within it but the paths that souls take to their afterlives. I am not one to speak aloud to myself, so these give me something to hear."

"Dere is no one you can go and visit?"

"No. Others do not tolerate my presence well. You are one of the few I have ever found that did not instinctively fear me when I let you feel my energy even though you couldn't see me yet. It is one of the reasons I chose to approach you first."

Her heart had broken for how lonely his life must have been, "You truly 'ave no one dat will miss you?" She carefully did not mention her own growing feelings, no need to add that to the weight of everything on his broad shoulders.

His wings had dropped slightly, "There is one that I think might. The only Seraphim I call my brother, Raphael. He and I are the oldest of all the angels, though I do not know by how much. Time was not a thing easily tracked back then. I actually think we might have once been one being, born from their destruction in order to start this universe."

Armina had stared at him for a long moment, long enough that he explained further, "I like to believe that's how each universe is started. The energy of everything from this one will come together in the end, all the souls and their experiences shaping a greater being than we can imagine. That entity will then take all we know and create the heart of the next universe before destroying all of the old to create energy for the new."

She could see how such a belief might bring comfort to someone who had seen all that he had. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea. Resuming her intricate braiding of the long white strands, she turned the subject back to his brother, "Dis Raphael does not visit you eider?"

"We were closer in the beginning, but as the universe grew, so did the distance between us. It's as much my fault as it is his. My domain is uncomfortable for him because of the lack of life within it, and I did not like seeing everyone pull away from him because of my presence, so I stopped visiting him as often. Then he grew busy when his work as a healer got more important, and I figured it was just best to let him focus on that."

Perhaps both were to blame, but if Armina ever met this Raphael, she was going to give him an earful. 

"Will it 'urt you?"

The angel hadn't needed to ask what she was asking about, "I... don't know. Essentially, I will be splitting myself into three parts. What Alastor can handle right away, the portion that will remain nearby to strengthen his soul further as he grows, and then my core will remain in my domain along with my scythe. That will ensure the dead souls can still properly travel to their destined afterlife. When his mortal life is done, he will continue to grow into my power until he can take that final piece on fully without destroying the part of him that is human."

That was one of the last conversations they had. Soon after, the day came when Alastor was supposed to die, his spirit too weak to keep going. The Seraphim told her he would have to wait until the exact moment came and her son's soul was considered under Death's domain. That would be when he would have the power to reshape the boy's soul, strengthening it with his own while the tether to his body was still there.

Several things had happened at once. Terror had seized her when Alastor stopped breathing in his sleep, despite knowing it would only last a minute or two. Azrael's presence had left shortly before, which she had assumed was because he was in his domain, waiting for her son to reach him. A drunken cry of shock came from the living room before falling silent and the Seraphim returned, his staff morped into a gleaming scythe with something she couldn't describe hanging from it, "You and Alastor will be free to live happy lives now, I have made sure of it."

It was later that she realized he had meant Grant was dead, that the thing hanging from the scythe was her husband's soul. Later still, so much later, she realized she had never asked what would happen to the angel's physical body that he'd said was much bigger than this small version she'd come to know.

At the time though, she had only been focused on her boy, worried that Azrael would wait too long. Before she could say anything though, the shadows in the room gathered around him before he melted down and they surged towards Alastor's body. He too vanished from her arms and she was left to wait and worry.

Thankfully for her own heart, it was only a few breaths before the shadows moved again, gathering in front of her and revealing her sleeping child looking hale and whole, his breathing steady and his body looking like a baby's his age should. Gathering him up and holding him close, Armina burst into tears that were a mix of relief for her son and grief for the angel who had become her closest friend and confidante in a very short time.

At the funeral, the pastor gave her a consoling pat on the arm and a kindly smile, "I hope you will ensure the boy remembers his father well."

Armina returned his smile with a small, secretive one, "I'll make sure 'e knows 'is Papa is an angel."

Chapter Text

"'ow do you do it, 'Mina?"

"Hm?" Armina looked up from her sewing. She was having to let out the hem on Alastor's pants again. That darn boy was growing like a weed!

The woman sitting next to her, Nadine, motioned towards the boy pulling weeds from the garden in the yard, "You 'ave de perfect child! 'e's polite, 'elpful, never does de stupid tings de odder boys do. I remember 'ow everyone but you was worried 'e couldn't talk, den suddenly 'e's speaking full sentences!"

Armina giggled, her heart bright with joy and pride, "I tol' all of you dat 'e was jus' waiting 'til 'e could clearly say all de tings 'e wanted to!"

Nadine huffed and grumbled, "Swear you made a deal wit' de Devil or someting. Even when 'e was little, you were de most well rested Mama I'd ever seen, and dat's wit'out 'is Daddy being dere to 'elp! Never tol' any of us what de secret was to keeping 'im asleep all night."

She gave a vague hum, "I did tell you. So long as de 'ouse 'as music playing, de boy sleeps like a log."

Armina didn't add on that she wasn't completely alone. She wasn't sure if Azrael had known, but that portion of his soul that was waiting to join with the rest had something of a life to it. Any time Alastor had started to cry or fuss, the shadows in the room he was in would move to rock his cradle and gently wake her if he needed fed or changing. The music thing was true too. Perhaps the angel's soul didn't have his memories, but it seemed there were perhaps impressions or echoes. Alastor absolutely hated when things were too quiet. It was the one thing that had made him inconsolable as a baby and toddler. The radio she had bought was an utter godsend. Even if there was just static, the background noise made her boy much happier.

Thankfully the people that handled her late husband's money had decided that his widow, though obviously mixed, had a white enough baby that they were willing to not kick up too much of a fuss about her inheriting Grant Hartfelt's savings. For Alastor's sake, of course. (That and her own white father had stood at her side the entire time. For all that he had some unforgiving opinions on proper religion, the man was very protective of his family. She had been beside herself with grief when he passed before Alastor was even five, unlikely to remember his grandfather with how often he'd traveled for work.) The money allowed her to give her boy a childhood full of good memories where she did not have to work herself to the bone to ensure he had sturdy clothes and good food.

As the years passed and the popularity of radios started to make broadcasts more common, it had absolutely delighted Alastor. He was fascinated with the one she'd bought and wanted to figure out how it worked. Armina made sure to buy the boy his own to pull apart for fear of there being a day where he dove in and became upset when he couldn't put it back together right to listen to. 

Now, at the ripe old age of 9, her boy was known as a polite and intelligent young man, willing to help out any of the mothers in the neighborhood with their chores rather than playing and rough-housing with the other boys his age. It was easy to see he very much preferred speaking with adults rather than his own peers. Nadine and many others adored him and were terribly jealous of Armina's apparent luck or skills as a mother. They would never see the boy he was when they took trips deep into the swamp. The muck-covered little scamp that loved to play in the dark spaces, giggling and shrieking as he got tossed from one to the next. Armina never feared for his safety. They were a part of him after all.

Sometimes Alastor would stop as they walked, looking around for something before leading her to where some animal or another had just died. Though she didn't let him touch them, he was still terribly human and mortal after all, she allowed him to take as long as he wanted studying at them. Once, there was a bird that was still clinging to life, the little thing struggling on the ground. He'd tugged her over, pointing at it, "Maman? What are dose strings and de ting floating above it?"

Armina had not seen anything unusual above the bird and so she assumed it had something to do with Azrael's power, "Sorry, cher. Dat's not someting I can see. I tink you are using one of your Papa's gifts. Maybe dat is its soul dat you are seeing."

Mouth in a little o shape, he'd watched the bird quietly until it stopped moving, "De strings and soul are gone now, Maman."

That just confirmed it for her, so she had knelt down and taken his hand, ensuring he was looking at her and knew the importance of her words, "Dis is jus' like de shadows, okay? You can talk to me about dem, but not around de odder people."

Alastor nodded, giving her a gap-toothed smile that always melted her heart, "Because dey would be scared, right?"

"Mhmm. And people don' like de tings dat scare dem and dey don' understand. One day, in a very long time I 'ope, you will get to go to your Papa's 'ome and den you will be free to do whatever you want. Dat was de most important ting he wanted for you."

A few years later, when he was tall enough to look down at her instead of up, he suddenly stopped talking to her, avoiding her completely for a little while. Though it broke her heart, Armina tried to be patient and wait for him to come to her. Patience won out after a couple months, and he came to her looking awkward and a bit like a kicked puppy. A good meal and some time running her fingers through his hair like she'd done when he was little had been enough to give him the courage to speak, "I... think I got another one of Papa's gifts, Maman."

She had to smile at his carefully chosen words. He'd been working so hard to learn to properly enunciate things and control his accent so he could one day be one of the people on the radio that he loved, "Ah. Dis one is a 'ard one, yeah?"

He nodded, quiet for a long moment, "I understand him better now, I think. Why he did what he did. It can't have been easy to look at someone and sense how soon they are likely to die."

Oh. Oh heavens, that would be terrible! It explained his avoidance of looking at her or anyone else for too long, "I take it you are starting to feel it too den?"

He nodded again, "I think I'll be okay with it after a while, but it scared me at first. Some of them are vague, like it's not really set in yet. Others are solid, which I think means it's unavoidable. It just made looking at everyone hard. Especially when I could feel yours, Maman."

Armina held him close, "Don't fret, child. All us 'umans go one day, but you and I know dat is not de end. We'll be togeder again no matter 'ow long I 'ave left 'ere."

That had been the end of that discussion. He never brought it up again and she never asked what he saw when he looked at her. Armina didn't know if she was bound for Heaven or Hell, but she did know one thing. Neither would keep her or her son from finding each other.

She was right.

Twenty years later, a decade after she had gotten to Heaven and far too soon for her liking, an angelic figure with deer ears that matched his curly brown hair and golden antlers forming his halo sat down next to her with a familiar grin and a microphone in hand, "Hello, Maman!"

***

Alastor knew when his mother would die, he had felt it when he saw her the night before, the solidness of it telling him of the inevitability. He wanted to warn her, to do something to stop it, but she had told him time and again that interfering would likely get him seen. When he was younger, he'd thought she meant by other people who might try to take him away from her. As he got older, he realized there was more to it.

His Maman had never hidden the truth from him. He had a human father, but an angel had been his Papa. All these special things he could see and the way shadows around him could turn into solid things were his inheritance from the Seraphim of Death. It wasn't just humans that might come after him and he wouldn't be strong enough to defend himself from demons or other angels so long as he was in this human body.

Armina Hartfelt had been very, very clear on one thing though. He was not to actively try to die early just so he could get stronger. His Papa had wanted his human side of his soul to be given a chance to grow and mature so that he would always hold a tie to that part of himself and hopefully never end up as fully bound as the Seraphim had been.

So the night when he felt the timing of her death solidify, he'd put on his best smile and taken her out for dinner and dancing, uncaring of how much he spent. Alastor had not let himself show any of the grief he already felt, instead focusing on the vibrantly alive woman in front of him now.

That did not mean he left her to her fate alone the next day. He was good at remaining unseen. Though he couldn't meld with the shadows yet the way she told him his Papa had, he could cloak himself in them, nearly invisible so long as he remained still. So he had watched as the drunken white ex-police officer who had been fired the night before decided that the best people to blame for his own failings were all the colored folk walking around minding their own business. The man hadn't intentionally aimed at his mother first, instead pointing the gun at a far bigger and more intimidating looking man. Probably figured taking out someone bigger than him would somehow make him feel like a tough scary guy.

The reason the bullet hit Armina Hartfelt instead was because another person tackled the drunk, throwing off his aim just as he pulled the trigger. The only thing Alastor felt grateful for was that her death was instant, her soul and the strings holding it to her body disappearing before he could even see the color of it. His dark eyes had gone to the gunman, fury coursing through him that his sweet and kind mother had died in such a pointless way. That was when he felt the timing of the drunken man's death shift, solidifying in a way that he just knew was because he, Alastor Hartfelt, was going to kill him. Because the only person that died was a colored woman with no husband to complain, it was labeled an accident and the killer was given a slap on the wrist. Alastor knew that he could have called attention to it, his fairer skin would have him more likely heard, but he wasn't letting the crooked system steal away his chance at ensuring the man got exactly what he deserved.

The man who killed Armina Hartfelt was only the first in a long list of people who ended up facing justice at the end of Alastor's blade. He was careful never to use his extra abilities, to not call any sort of attention his way and that was fine by him. It made him good at drawing it out by hand and let him really savor the screams of the filth who thought they were above others, that they could freely do as they wished without real consequences. His ability to see their souls leaving their bodies, the tethers snapping one by one just ensured he knew they felt it to the very last second.

Perhaps this wasn't the sort of thing the Seraphim of Death had envisioned happening, but Alastor knew he'd desired nothing more than for him to choose to live how he wanted, and he found this sort of thing extremely satisfying.

There was only one person's time of death he could never sense, and that was his own. Though it was a hunter's bullet that took him down that day, his undoing had actually been the dogs. With the strong scent of the blood of his latest kill still on him and the bright daylight making it harder to use the shadows subtly, he'd been forced to flee. His deer-print shoes that he used equally for illegal liquor moving for extra money as well as hiding his tracks when he was burying a body left the hunters sure their dogs were on the trail of their next trophy to be mounted on the wall.

The sound of the rifle firing was the last thing the notorious Bayou Butcher heard, the end of his human existence as swift and painless as his mother's.

The next thing Alastor was aware of was an expanse of nothingness that he both felt at home in and immediately resented because it was so damned quiet! Some part of the darkness surrounding him moved, the familiarity of the shadows that had always been with him helping to settle him a bit before he felt them pull him along. Not long after, he caught the soft chime of bells, the sound growing stronger as he finally found something visible in all of this vast empty space. It looked like the souls he had seen before, but much, much bigger. Lines of power sprawled out from it, fading into the darkness as they got more distant from the source. As Alastor came to a stop only a short distance away, a ringed staff and a long strand of golden bells floating between him and the massive thing, he knew then where he was and what he was looking at.

He had a long way to go before he'd be ready to actively wield the core aspects his Papa had left as his final inheritance. For now, he reached for the bells, curious about their presence. He'd known Azrael's staff would be waiting for him to claim, but his Maman had made no mention of the bells aside from the fact that there had been some worn in the Seraphim's hair and a sash that wound its way around the bones of his lowest pair of wings.

As soon as he made contact with the golden orbs, light flared and an opaque figure appeared before him, four wings covering his face and a feathered cloak made of a night sky full of stars around his broad shoulders.

"Hello, Alastor."

Chapter Text

Raphael knew the instant something big changed with Azrael. He and his brother might not have seen each other often lately, but there was still a connection between them, a faint sense of the other. It was like the sound of his wings shifting and adjusting automatically throughout the day. It was there but he wasn't actively aware of it unless he focused on it. While he regretted their lack of time together, things had just been so busy and he trusted Az would come to him if he wanted to.

So when that connection was suddenly severed, the Seraphim of Life froze, his silver skin turning ashen as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

"Sir?" One of the newer healing angels looked at him in concern, "Is something wrong?"

"I... I don't know. I need to go." To where, he didn't know, but he had to find Az!

Leaving the bewildered-looking two wing behind, he rushed to his office first, setting up the privacy wards before shutting his eyes and focusing on the place where that connection had always been. There was nothing, no trace of Azrael's presence at all. Though they hadn't used their bond to speak with each other in ages, he still tried to see if he could call out to his brother like they used to. Az could travel anywhere damn near instantly with the way his domain ran parallel to the entirety of the realms, he'd be able to come even through the privacy wards if he heard the call.

Nothing.

Tears stung his eyes as his panic became more solid. Raphael had never felt alone like this before.

Years passed with no one else seeming to realize anything had happened. Souls still arrived from the human realm after they died, so Death's domain still ran steady in guiding them to their afterlives. The fact that so many angels looked at him without any sign of recognition any time he mentioned Azrael's name made him all the more aware of how few actively knew that there was a being attached to the aspect of Death anymore. The more thoroughly that he realized that, the more the dread and worry ate at him. He'd never really understood just how cut off Az was from everything else. So focused on his counterpart, the Seraphim of Life was aware of little else. He aided in the healing halls when absolutely needed, but every other moment was spent searching for any sign of his gentle giant of a brother.

It took over 25 years for him to find even a hint of Azrael. Raphael had returned to the city proper after yet another attempt at finding a way to enter Death's domain failed. Feeling the despondent exhaustion in his heart, he barely registered anything of the angels around until he caught the soft chime of bells. Perhaps it would have seemed like an ordinary sound to anyone else, but Azrael's bells had a unique quality to them that Raphael could never put into words. Looking around wildly, he found the source was a human-born across the way. Her long braid of dark brown hair had flowers of lilac and lavender growing from it and tied at the top was a purple sash with two golden bells attached.

He didn't care as he shoved his way through, calling out, "Miss! Miss! Excuse me!"

The woman stopped, looking his way. Though he'd never met her before, a flash of recognition went through her eyes and then they narrowed, the expression strangely judgemental. By the time Raphael got to her, she had a small smile and her hands demurely clasped in front of her. This close, he could see that her face was peppered with glimmering white freckles, her dark skin making them look like stars.

Now he was certain, this woman was one of Azrael's favored.

"'ello dere. Your name is Raphael, right?"

"Y-yes. Look, I know this is sudden, but I have to ask-"

She held up a hand, "I tink I know what you want to ask about. Not 'ere. Dere somewhere private we can talk?"

Raphael nodded. He'd do just about anything for word on Azrael at this point. Leading her to his personal office in the central healing hall, the Seraphim turned away to activate the wards. When he turned back, a sharp crack filled the air as the human-born delivered an open handed slap across his face hard enough to make him stumble to his knees. Mismatched eyes wide, he looked at her in confusion to find her glaring down at him with righteous fury, "Damn you! Where was dis worry for 'im before?! 'ow blind are you, de angel dat claims to be de Seraphim of Life?! De greatest of de 'ealing angels?! Pah! Your brodder was 'urting for centuries and you never even tought to reach out to check on 'im until it was too damned late!"

It felt like ice filled him, the truth he'd been avoiding considering a blade through his heart, "T-too late? What... no, that's impossible! What do you mean too late?!"

She reached up into her hair, pulling free the sash to reveal the familiar golden runework that was on the inner layer. There once had been more than two bells attached, but he'd recognize one of the ribbons that had always hung from his brother's lowest pair of wings anywhere, "Azrael is dead."

This... this couldn't be real. Angels couldn't die! He and Az had been the first, they'd been there from the beginning, there was no way he could...

That he was...

"Wait! He can't be! His domain -"

Her expression turned amused, her eyes softening, "I said Azrael is dead. De angel of Deat' is still alive."

It took a while to accept that she was telling him the truth, though somewhere deep within he thought maybe he already knew. She'd sat on other side of the room, humming something he didn't recognize while she waited patiently for him to come to terms with it. Finally, Raphael drew in a shaky breath and looked at her again, "What... can you tell me what happened? How Az can be dead and yet..."

She studied him for a long moment, those brown eyes of hers seeming to see much deeper than should be possible, "Yes. Dough you 'ave to swear an oat' on your title and aspec' you will tell no one unless I say so."

... that she knew the highest sort of oath a Seraphim could make, the sort of binding thing that would ensure the angel swearing it could not go back on their word, was both surprising and not. It was unlikely she'd learned it here, Raphael could tell she had not been in Heaven long  There were still many human things about her, despite all the things that showed his brother's favor for her, like his colors showing all throughout her form. Purple and gold. Black could be considered one of Az's colors too, though most didn't include it because such a dark thing couldn't possibly be angelic.

Just another sign that the Seraphim of Death had been shunned and mostly forgotten.

Getting back to his feet, he bowed low as power echoed in his words, "I swear upon my title and aspect as the Seraphim of Life that I will not make anything I learn from now until you leave this room known to any other being without your expressed permission."

When he straightened back up and met her eyes, he found her looking at him with approval, "You didn' try to leave any loop'oles in it. Good. 'e said you were an 'onorable one, I'm glad to see dat is de same."

He blinked in surprise, "He told you a lot of things, didn't he? How long did you know him?"

"Mmm, almos' a year. 'e stayed by my side, protected me from my 'usband's real desires until my baby died. Den 'e killed my 'usband and sent my boy back as our son."

... what.

The human-born cackled, obviously taking delight in his shell-shocked look, "Oh goodness! I been waiting to see dat face for years!"

"How can you be laughing about all this?!"

She sobered up startlingly fast, something dangerous flashing in her eyes, "Because if I don' find 'umor in dis, all dat will be left is de anger. 'e wouldn' want me to stay mad at you." She huffed, grumbling, "De rest of dem can go 'ang for all I care."

He assumed by that she meant all the older angels that had actually known Azrael. He looked away, unable to take the intensity of her gaze along with everything else, "You... really cared about him, didn't you?"

"Care."

Raphael furrowed his brows as he looked at her in confusion, "Hm?"

Brown eyes narrowed at him, "You say it like 'im dying means I stopped caring. Dat is de trouble wit' you angels. You tink too simple wit' your brains and your 'earts. We 'umans know dat loving someone stays wit' you, no matter 'ow far away dey go."

That made some sort of sense, though he had no previous experience with this grief that made him feel gutted. Frankly he was amazed he was even able to carry on a conversation like this. Was this what shock felt like for the person in it? Everything felt both too close and far away at the same time.

"Sit."

That... sounded like a good idea. Simple. Yeah.

Armina could feel some small sympathy breaking through the anger she had held onto for so long. It was apparent that this Seraphim did truly love his brother. Sighing at her own soft heart and inability to actually hate someone, she got to her feet and put her hand on his shoulders, pushing him to actually sit down. It was kind of funny how the Seraphim of Life was a few inches shorter than her. Azrael had been such a large and intimidating thing, had even hinted that the body she knew was small compared to his real appearance. While yes, she had been granted a taller form, what little she had to compare to from the mortal realm told her that she would still have only reached the bottom feathers of the wings around that hidden face.

Somehow she didn't get the feeling that Raphael was hiding any sort of larger form to make others more comfortable the way his brother had. In the few months since she had arrived here, she had asked what people knew about him, trying to find if there was anything to fuel the spite she held. Even then she'd known it wasn't true hatred, but that didn't mean she was going to forgive him easily either. Everyone she had talked to said the same things Azrael had. That he was kind, always looking for ways to help, that he was quick to try to make others smile. Some of his fellow healers in the halls had been willing to share that they were worried about how often he went off alone these past couple decades, worry radiating from him though he never shared why. One had even admitted that he was starting to get concerned that he might crash if he didn't find whatever he was searching for soon.

Angels didn't really get wrinkles from stress or age the way humans did, but a few of her family that she had reconnected with up here had told her to look to their wings instead for signs of trouble inside. Now that she had gotten out some of the fury she'd held onto for so long, she could see what they meant. Raphael's rose-tinted feathers were dull compared to the luster of others, enough of them visibly out of alignment that she had to wonder how it didn't bother him when even just the slightest crooked feather was as irritating as dirt stuck under your fingernails!

Maybe it was less noticeable when you were used to having wings.

Still, there seemed to be a bit of a rule among the Heavenly angels that touching another's wings was only to be done by those that were close friends or that they considered family. (Though she still wasn't quite sure how that was judged when they weren't born the way humans were.) Human-born angels had less hangups about helping each other out with wing care, but she wasn't about to cross that sort of boundary when she had already gone and torn up his hope that Azrael was still alive somewhere. Instead she settled for doing the same thing for him that she had done for his brother, gathering up the long strands of wavy red hair he had and brushing her fingers through before beginning to weave them into intricate braids. 

Raphael's voice was quiet, but steady. "I... I've noticed you haven't even given me your name yet."

A safe question, one not quite so heavy as all this, but while he may have some sympathy from her, she wasn't ready to be gentle about this with him. Armina gave him the sort of wide grin that made people fully see the relation between her and Alastor, "Because I know if I tell you anyting 'bout me right now dere will be no oat' strong enough to keep you from trying to find my boy and meddling. I promised I would make sure 'e got a chance to be as 'uman as possible, and dat means making sure even de good angels don' interfere wit' 'is life."

Raphael frowned, "Good angels? You say that like there are..."

He trailed off under the flat look she gave him, one that made him stop and really think about what he was saying. She nodded at his willingess to consider a different perspective on what everyone knew, reaching down to pull the ribbon he still held from his hand. She took hold of one of the bells, pulling the threads loose, "I was gonna wait until my boy was done wit' living to talk to you, jus' to be sure dere was no chance of you going off to find 'im, but what I was 'earing from de odders made me tink if I waited too long den you might end up broken de same way Azrael was."

She pulled the bell free before holding it out to him, looking him in the eye again, "'e left someting in it for you. I 'ad a message too in mine," with her other hand, she held up the one still attached, "De moment my soul touched it, I got dis body and 'is last words for me. I won't leave, we're not done talking, but I will be over dere. Put up someting so I can't see or 'ear what you do. Dis sort of ting is supposed to be private."

He looked terrified of the little bell. Probably because the fact that hearing his brother's message would make all of this real in a way that just being told by a stranger didn't. She understood, but he needed to hear it and accept his brother's choice so maybe he could help fix what had finally broken the Seraphim of Death. Sure, Alastor would one day be able to move things on his own, but Armina wasn't going to just sit around twiddling her thumbs waiting for that day. Too many things could go wrong before then and threaten her son's freedom, maybe even his existence with what Azrael's message to her had said.

She'd rather be damned to Hell for the rest of this universe's time before she would let that happen!

Raphael took a deep breath, steeling himself as he finally reached for it. As soon as he touched the bell, he could feel the energy contained within, keyed to his own and waiting to be activated. The woman did as she said she would, going to the other side of the room near the door and settling herself on the floor, pulling some fabric and a sewing needle from her bag. Odd, since mending and such really wasn't necessary in Heaven. Forcing himself not to get distracted too much, he did as she'd told him to, setting up a smaller barrier to block sight and sound before triggering the painfully familiar magic.

Immediately, an opaque projection of Azrael stood before him. Even in this recorded version, Raphael could see just how bowed the Seraphim was, like he'd been carrying something too long to stand straight anymore. Even his wings were hanging so low with exhaustion that it made the healer's ache in sympathy. Raphael put a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound he made, unwilling to risk missing anything his brother said.

"Raphael, my brother, I... I won't apologize for what I am doing, because that won't make it any better and I am not sorry for it. Things have been getting bad for a while, not just for me but the whole universe, and... I think being forced to stay outside of it has left me as the only one of us able to see it."

What did that mean? Sure, things had been rough for a while with the wars, but there was a truce in place now! Things were getting better, right?

"If you are seeing this, it's already long done. But I know you'll have questions on how and why and Armina will not know how to explain it in ways that will help you see the entirety of it. So I am making myself leave this message for you, to hopefully help you come to terms with my choice."

Of course that stupid selfless idiot would make something like this for that reason. Worried more about everyone else and not enough about himself!

"I know you're probably calling me a selfless idiot right now, but the thing is that this is the most selfish thing I've ever done. I'm running away, leaving the work for someone else instead of coming to you and facing the problem myself. Yes, I hope the result is something better for everyone, but the reality is that I don't truly care anymore if it does and that scares me more than anything else. Death is not meant to be uncaring, down that path lies a universe full of pain and cruelty the likes of which most cannot fathom."

He didn't care enough? Az had always cared so much that Raphael wondered how his body could possibly be big enough for his heart!

"Another reason I didn't come to you is because I was afraid of what I would see if I did. We used to be equal in power, even if yours has spread and left your actual self physically smaller than me. That's not true anymore. Death's potential keeps getting bigger. You know as well as I that it's not meant to do that until near the end.  The wars with Hell, I... I looked at the angels fighting while collecting the demons capable of dying. So many of our brethren... their potential for death is much closer than it should be, Raphael. They have about a century before the closest potential comes, more or less. If I came to you and saw that your end was also so near... it might actually finish breaking me enough that I would just end everything to get it over with so I didn't have to carry the burden of knowing for however long it took."

He knew he was openly crying now, but that didn't matter. This was really happening. Had happened. Azrael really had made this because he felt like he couldn't come and talk to his own brother about the problem! Raphael wondered how he could have possibly missed the signs, surely it hadn't been that long since they'd just relaxed with each other?!

That was when he realized he couldn't even remember when the last time they had physically spoken was, much less spent time together for anything not related to their work. He'd just assumed Azrael would reach out, that he'd always be there waiting for him when things calmed down...

"Maybe it will all be made right once this is done. Maybe having someone else who actually cares again and is free to choose how they channel Death will be enough to stop whatever is going to happen within the next hundred years. That doesn't feel right though. Heh. Who knows?" One of Azrael's head wings pulled back, revealing two of his five eyes, though the magic hadn't been set right to really show the spiraling galaxy pupils within the dark night sky around them. Raphael had been the only one that could clearly see Azrael's face without the aspects he carried interfering. Selfishly he hoped the recording wasn't something that would fall apart when it was done playing through the first time. "Maybe me doing this is what sets it off. I hope not, but I must admit to myself and you that the possibility is there. I trust it isn't the child I've chosen. Armina should be able to ensure he has enough of a moral compass to not be that reason. She's stronger than she knows, her son will likely inherit that from her with his father's active influence gone soon."

Who was she to get such faith from Azrael when apparently he'd lost everything else he'd had for Raphael and their fellow angels?

"My domain will be able to run itself for the next millenia or so with how I've set things up. That should give the boy enough time to grow into being able to take on the mantle fully. The only real difference until then is that I won't be there to cut the strings, there will be no one to cleanly free them. It's a cruel thing to do, and that I choose to do it is just another sign of how little I care anymore. Those that die will be made to wait until the tethers fully tear on their own before they can go to my domain."

He was right. That was always what made Az feel better about his duty, that his hand could provide mercy for those that were truly beyond saving. To think that knowing he was leaving so many to a more painful sort of end and still that wasn't enough to make him second-guess his decision?

"As for how I have done this... actually, no. Telling you how would likely make it too painful with how strongly I know you still care. I won't let myself be what breaks you too."

Raphael could feel himself shaking, his vision too blurred to even see Az's eyes anymore through the tears.

"I suppose this is the point where I say farewell, brother."

No!

"I'll admit, I have missed you, long enough that I'm mostly numb to the ache of it now."

How could he have sat with it so long and not said anything?!

"But as I said before, I'm a coward who would rather run than reach out and risk everyone else pulling away from you as they have with me."

No, that wasn't a good enough reason! Azrael should have known Raphael would have never turned him away! It didn't matter what the others thought!

"Please, once his life is over, help Armina's son to remember his humanity as he grows. If he ever loses that side of himself to my power, the Seraphim of Death will return, but there will be no mind to hold back the aspect, to keep it from spreading. It really will be the end of everything. The potential for Death has nearly enough power to do it already and whatever's coming will be all it needs to get there. I trust you above all the others to care enough about him to help."

'If you trusted me that much, Az, then why didn't you come to me before you hit your breaking point!'

"Oh, one last thing. It's probably too late, but Armina is likely going to do something out of anger towards you. She has a protective streak and somehow I have earned that side of her way of caring. She'll run out of steam, eventually, maybe. Good luck, Raphael, and goodbye."

The final word felt like it shattered his heart. He and Azrael had always refused to say goodbye or farewell in anyway to each other, making a joke that wasn't really a joke that they wouldn't until the very end. Azrael had... actually said it.

That meant it really was the end of his brother, wasn't it?

He wasn't sure when the barrier fell away, but sometime later he felt long fingers combing through his hair again and a gently hummed melody that remained steady enough to hear over his own sobbing. For all that it hurt, Raphael was so damned thankful he wasn't alone, that there was someone else who seemed to understand just how much the universe had lost.

How much he had lost because he had wrongly assumed it would always be there.

Chapter Text

"Hello, Maman!"

Armina's eyes went wide as Alastor casually flopped into the chair near her and greeted her flippantly like this wasn't proof he'd died so young! She was happy to see him again, yes, but she wanted to shake him hard enough to rattle his teeth!  Taking a steadying breath through her nose and blowing it out slowly, she gave him a warm smile, "Bless your 'eart, boy," One of those admittedly cute deer ears of his went back at the phrase, his own smile going a bit strained and tight as she spoke around clenched teeth, "but don' you be 'ello Maman-ing me like you being 'ere so soon like dis is a good ting! Dis ain't de place to be 'aving a deep 'eart to 'eart wit' me dough. Come."

"Er, y-yes, Maman."

Good. He still understood when his sass would get him deeper in trouble with her. Armina took a moment to calm her fear-fueled anger as she waved at some of the others as they passed. Keeping her tone light, she glanced over at Alastor, "You know, I would 'ave tought you'd be looking someting like your Papa by de time you got 'ere."

"He left me a message with a few lessons he thought might be useful to keep me safe until I can stand on my own. I stayed there for a short time to practice, though I did peek in here a couple times to see what I needed to work toward."

Ah. So he could control what he looked like then? That was a useful one. "Good. I 'oped 'e did after I got mine. And you is 'iding your wings because?"

"While I can alter the color, I cannot seem to only show the single pair that I've noticed all the other newer human souls here have."

... he had more than one even though he'd only just died?! That was unexpected. She'd have thought he'd need more time to grow into them still since he hadn't even lived a full life. Although maybe that was the problem. Did his life being cut so short mean that his human side of his soul was weaker and that was allowing the angelic to be more present this soon? "Did 'e give you de warning too? 'bout de big problem dat might 'appen if you forget yourself?"

Alastor nodded, spinning the microphone at his side, "Yes. I'm guessing he did not tell you all of it back then to keep from worrying you about me more than you already did."

Armina gave a fond sigh as the little space she'd made for her house came into view, "Dat man was too good a being for de life 'e lived. So worried 'bout odders more den hisself. Jus' wait til you 'ear some of de stories your Uncle 'as of 'im."

That got a raised brow, "Uncle? Does this mean he has already earned your forgiveness then?"

"Mostly," she gave an approving nod when Alastor showed he still retained some good manners when he stepped forward to open the door for her. "'e isn't a bad angel, jus' an idiot."

"Who's an idiot?" A male voice called from further inside.

Armina could see her son's mind was already in overdrive, "You are, cher!"

Alastor's eyebrows rose high as Raphael peered out from the kitchen to smile at her before stilling as he saw the soul standing next to her, "Uh, Mina? Who is..."

She smirked up at her boy, "Tell me, did your Papa tell you one of de animals 'is brodder is associated wit' is deer?"

Alastor gave a small shake of his head, narrowing his eyes as Raphael came out further, looking at him with nervous hope, "Maman, far be it for me to judge your taste, but -"

She tsked and swatted him on the arm, "Den don'! Now, you boys go sit and talk, but no arguin'!" She looked at them both sharply to underscore the last part, "I'll be out wit' some snacks in a minute."

Alastor nodded, he knew when she was laying down the law and resigned himself to an awkward few moments while he waited for her to return. He'd been expecting a sound scolding from her, but to find that this angel in particular was welcome in her home, allowed in her kitchen unsupervised, was not even remotely something he'd considered possible. He could feel the shadow beneath his feet shift, attempting to come up, but he kept tight hold of it. Much as he knew these days which feelings were echoes of the deeper ones Azrael had carried, he didn't want to give the Seraphim of Life even an inch until he'd earned it. Sure, he liked that he'd been allowed to grow up and live the life he had, but that didn't mean he liked what his Papa had gone through to get to that point. The longing for Raphael's acknowledgement was also mixed heavily with an aching loneliness that made it hard to lower his defenses. That it had been so deep to be this strong even over thirty years after the mind of the First Seraphim of Death was gone...

"So, uh," the red-haired angel started after leading him out to a small table out behind his mother's house, waving a hand and easily altering it to allow for a third chair. "Alastor, I'm guessing you already know who I am?"

"Yes, rather hard not to."

Mismatched eyes looked at him curiously, "Did Az tell you about me then? I-In the message I assume he left for you?"

Alastor gave him a smile that was perhaps a touch too sharp toothed for a proper human-born angel, but he wanted to be sure Raphael understood well that he did not like him yet, no matter if he'd managed to earn his Maman's good graces. "Nope! He kept much of his words purely informative and educational! Seemed rather set on not influencing my decisions and opinions in regards to either Heaven or Hell!"

Disappointment and guilt flashed over the other man's features, though he smothered it impressively quick. Alastor gave him a grudging mental point on the acceptable side of the tally board in his mind for not attempting to play overly apologetic and sad to try to earn any sympathy. "I guess I can understand that. So how did you know who I was so quickly?"

"I am in possession of two good ears and a working mind. Maman mentioned you as we came in."

Raphael blinked a few times, "You're... angry with me too, aren't you? Like Mina was?"

"Gee, what gave that away?"

A slight clatter of porcelain was followed by a sharp flick to his ear, making him flinch and cover it as his Maman huffed, "Tought I said no arguin', child. You forget to put de 'earing in dose big ears you gave yourself, hm?"

That got a studying look from Raphael, "Gave yourself? You can control your soul-form's shape?!"

"Yes, though the ears actually are a part of my real appearance too," he grumbled as he rubbed at the lingering sore spot.

"So this isn't what you naturally look like?"

"No," he answered easily, making sure to add onto that when Raphael looked like he was going to ask the next obvious question. "And no, I am not showing you. You already keep looking at me like you're trying to find hints of him. I refuse to feed into that."

The Seraphim at least had the intelligence to look ashamed of himself for that. Armina smirked as she sipped her tea, obviously enjoying seeing Alastor holding his ground. Her saying Raphael had mostly earned her forgiveness was likely because she had been waiting for this before letting the last of her anger go. For her sake, he explained further, "I was shown enough to tap slightly into Judgement and see what forms my human soul would have likely taken if it was on its own and bound for Heaven or Hell. That's what you see right now. It's easier to maintain than something completely foreign to both soul energies."

"Except de wings can't be changed you said, right?" Armina asked as she settled in her own chair.

"Yes. I can make their coloring match, but when one pair comes out, the other does as well. Can't easily explain that one to the natives, now can I?"

Then he made the tactical mistake of letting the quiet sit too long, and that gave her the opening to start in on him instead, "So. What 'appened dat you is 'ere before you even got to forty years?"

That calm, level tone was a dangerous one. Alastor wasn't ashamed of his choices, per se, but his Maman's disapproval was a more intimidating thing than the idea of facing god. He decided that the truth without the exact whys would probably be wisest, "I promise, Maman, it was an accident. A hunter mistook me for a deer in the woods after their dogs caught the scent of my own hunt."

There. That should be good enough, right?

Of course, her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion and Alastor just knew that she somehow had locked onto the fact that he was leaving out vital details. She always did know him far too well, "Cher, would you mind giving us jus' a bit? I tink 'e'll be more hones' if you aren't 'ere."

Raphael gave a sad sigh but nodded, getting to his feet, "It was nice meeting you, Alastor. I hope that despite everything we can be friends someday."

He wouldn't say never, but it would take a while to get past the echoes in Azrael's soul and be able to look at the Seraphim with his own eyes alone. Rather than say that, he gave Raphael a slight nod and remained silent as he left. He could practically feel the weight of his Maman's expectant gaze on him as he fiddled with the glass she had set in front of him. Eventually he couldn't take the quiet anymore and spoke to fill it, "I was... angry, when I saw that man shoot you." Her breath caught at knowing he'd been there, "I know you won't approve, Maman, but I knew they wouldn't punish a white man for killing a colored woman, especially when they could claim it was an accident with how someone tackled him before he fired."

Her expression was unreadable, "Mhmm. Dat was over ten years ago. What does dat 'ave to do wit' being in da woods?"

His shoulders went up to where his ears would have been if he were still human as he looked at her, hoping she would understand at least a little, "Once I got him, I... might have found I enjoyed being judge and executioner for those the law turned a blind eye to?"

Armina pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing deep in a way that told him she was counting down to calm herself, "So, you been killing odder people?"

"Yes, Maman."

"You were careful to make sure dey all deserved it?"

... that question was a potentially good sign, "Yes, Maman. And I was careful not to use anything from Papa aside from being able to see their souls to make sure it hurt as long as possible."

Armina looked skyward like she was praying to some deity before looking at him, "I can't say I'm 'appy wit' you right now. But!" she held up a finger to stop him from speaking, "I still love you. Your Papa killed your birt' fadder before he went, I also can't say you wanting to take out de bad people in de world came out of nowhere."

Alastor blew out a long breath of relief. He'd half-expected her to rain verbal hellfire and brimstone on him and kick him out from her house until her anger with him cooled off.

"Now den, go on and show what you really look like now, child."

He figured she would, "First, there's one other thing I want to show you. I was able to take on more of Papa's energies after I died, so I guess no longer being in a solely human body made some room, but" Alastor finally let go of his hold on the soft gray shadow under his feet, letting it climb up and solidify into a wispy duplicate of himself, the face gaining a bright lavender set of eyes and a wide smiling mouth, "I also found a way to give the parts of his soul that I can't handle yet a bit of a more helpful form so it can still aid me as I grow."

His Maman's eyes lit up with curious delight as his Shadow waved at her, "Well, ain't dat someting special! 'ello dere!"

"The reason I wanted to show you this first is because it especially helps me to change my appearance and hold it steady." That said, his Shadow wrapped around him and covered him completely as they unlocked and released the magic hiding his true appearance. It was still strange to feel his hair fall past his shoulders, but when he'd tried to shorten the strands, it felt even more wrong. Armina stared at him for long enough that he started to get nervous, "...are you alright, Maman? You're awfully quiet."

She finally blinked, making a soft sound he couldn't quite identify, "Sorry, child. I just... I don' know if I am more 'appy or sad dat I never got to see your Papa's face now."

Alastor raised a brow at her, "Huh? Why?"

"Because I don' tink I could 'ave let 'im go witout giving you at least one brodder or sister first."

"Maman!"

Armina gave him a flat look, "What? You tink you was first made by immaculate conception, boy?"

Feeling his cheeks flush, he hid his face behind his hands, "Maman, I know you have done... such things, but I hardly feel it appropriate to correlate those things with you as my mother!"

"Psh!" She waved a hand flippantly, "You and I are bot' adults. Besides, it ain't like I'm forcing you to 'ear details or noting."

Alastor knew it was high time for a subject change before she decided it would be funny to watch him squirm while she did start laying out hints of details. He called out his wings, one larger set with a secondary smaller set underneath. Where Azrael's had been glimmering irridescent white, his were black. Though the purples were much the same, the longest and darkest ones had the iridescence in silver tips. Relief went through him when her hazel eyes locked onto them with interest, certain now that he was in the clear on her purposely mortifying him, "Well now, aren't dose pretty as a picture! I'm jus' 'bout right jealous of my own boy being so much prettier den his Maman!"

He rolled his eyes and gave her a flat look, "Like I could ever be prettier than you, Maman."

"'ave you looked in de mirror yet, boy? Trus' me, I'm not telling any lies."

No, he actually hadn't. Shaping his appearance as a sinner and a so-called winner based on his human side of his soul's Judgements had been one thing, but he hadn't felt any need to really take a thorough look at himself like this yet, "Perhaps when I have more time. However, I am uncertain when Raphael will return or if someone will fly by and catch a glimpse so..."

Armina pouted a bit when he returned to the softer, less eye-catching form he'd created to visit her without drawing attention, "Well before you leave, I want a picture, you 'ear me?"

Alastor blinked, "You already know I'm not staying?"

"Child, dis place is too quiet and peaceful for a restless soul like yours," she raised a brow at him, daring him to deny her words. "'sides, dere's no dying 'ere. You won' be going back to de 'uman realm yet, you don' want to get dat sort of attention from de big angels, but you need to learn to 'andle your Papa's powers, non?"

He was grateful she already understood. A part of him had been worried she'd try to keep him here now that they'd been reunited, but he really did need to go somewhere that he'd be free to practice the abilities he already had and grow into the ones he hadn't been able to wield yet, "I promise I will visit when I can."

Armina got to her feet then, coming around the table to hug him, "You better, you 'ear me? Now, 'fore you go running off to 'ell, you need to be meeting my Maman and Papa."

"I'd love to, but how will you explain my future absence if they ask?"

"Tsh," she waved off his concern. "Dat's easy. Lots of de younger 'uman souls go exploring de stars for a while after dey get 'ere. I'll 'ave Raphael give you a few books so you can send letters back from your travels."

Alastor chuckled and let her lead the way. While yes, she did truly want him to meet the family he never had a chance to, he knew she had planned out things too well for that to be the only reason. Likely this was also to further tie him to who he was as a human. Thankfully, everyone she introduced him to bought into the fact that he was going out and exploring the stars for a time. Apparently some of the more restless souls were gone for decades before returning and finally settling in for a more peaceful life, if they ever did at all. Truly the ideal cover for his absence if anyone asked after him!

They were on their way back to her house after quite a pleasant day out when a smug voice spoke up from behind them. "Hel~lo there, ladies. You interested in having your afterlives rocked with the First Man?"

Both of them stopped and looked back to find a rather large angel with golden wings and short brown hair eyeing them both. Two smaller, gray haired angels were behind him, dressed in unusually dark clothing with black halos. As soon as he caught sight of Alastor's face, he frowned, "Damn, from behind I thought you were a chick." He leered at Armina, "But you look like a lady in a need of a good time. I'm Adam, been around long enough to know a thing or two about making ladies real happy. How about it?"

Placing a hand on her son's arm as he tensed, she caught sight of his right eye starting to change color and darken. Taking the situation in hand to keep him from losing his cover, she shook her head, "No. I already 'ave a prettier ange den you to make me 'appy. Go bodder somebody else, child."

Apparently Adam didn't like being so bluntly turned down. He scoffed, "Child? Skinny ass bitch like you should be grate-"

An open-handed slap on his face hard enough to knock him over cut him off. From the wide-eyed shock, he hadn't expected the woman to be capable of it. The two-winged angels with him both gasped and moved like they were going to help him up, but a sharp look from Armina had them freezing in place. Standing over Adam, her wings were flared wide, eyes bright with fury, "Now you listen 'ere, boy! If I ever 'ear you talking to anodder woman like dat, I will remove la queue et langue until dey don' grow back! See 'ow de ladies like you den!"

Adam's eyes narrowed in anger, "You can't talk to me like that, bitch! Don't you know who I -hrk!"

Armina moved quick as a viper, her aim true as she grabbed tightly between his legs, "Don'. Test. Me. Child. Dat was a promise, not a treat', you 'ear me?"

They remained like that for a moment, Adam visibly fighting with his pride but not daring to say anything else while she had a hold of such a sensitive place. She twisted a bit and he yelped, "Fine! Fine! I hear you! Let me go, you crazy bi- ack! I mean woman!"

She smirked and released him, returning to Alastor's side, "Dat's bedder. 'ave a good day!"

As they walked away, Alastor fighting against madly cackling and Adam muttering darkly, the two angels with him looked at each other with wide eyes. The newly formed Exorcists had heard of how strong and nearly invincible he was due to being the First Man, had believed his boasting of his abilities in war, but this slender, flower-adorned human soul had just laid him out and terrorized him so swiftly?

For Lute, this created doubt, her rapidly growing desire to prove herself to their leader cut short.

For Vaggie, this was a different sort of awakening altogether, "Holy light, that was hot."

From that moment on, Adam never appeared in public without loose robes and a helmet. He wasn't about to let that crazy ass bitch so easily target him like that again!