Chapter Text
It was an odd thing to see; open eyes staring back, yet seeing nothing. The lack of eyelids certainly contributed to the strangeness.
Arius stood off to one side, carding fingers nervously through his blond ponytail, which curled around one side of his neck. Anxious thoughts rattled in his head as he waited for the B.P.R.D.’s new guest to come back to consciousness. No one truly understood how Kroenen's clockwork mechanism of a heart worked, but it was known he could temporarily stop it. As a result, it was simply a waiting game.
Arius wasn't sure how long he had been waiting this time. The strange individual had already been in B.P.R.D. custody for several days now, and showed no sign of waking up. He took a mental inventory of the room, noting how bare it was. The board of directors didn't trust Kroenen, and rightfully so given the history.
So the fact that there had been discussions about if Kroenen could potentially be of use to the B.P.R.D. was a surprise.
Coupled with the fact that Arius's gut instincts screamed at him to talk to Kroenen was even more of a surprise to the man-made demon.
The brass were shocked when Arius volunteered to be the one to act as a liaison. They were prepared to assign someone against their wishes; the whole idea wasn't too well-liked by the general populace of the Bureau. Arius’s anxiety had become horrible after his last stint in the field, hence the shock. It was a nasty spot of business, but the damage had been done. His designation was changed from an active field agent to a desk jockey.
However, he wasn't a bad fit, for a myriad of reasons, so the powers that be approved him to be the liaison.
■—■—■—■—■—■—■
Approximately three years prior
Yelling could be heard across half the compound, alongside the din of agents being thrown halfway across the hangar. A gaggle of individuals were trying to physically restrain one of their own. At least, it was someone who was one of their own.
They had their work cut out for them.
Arius had shown up on their radar after being dark for months, an undercover field position in some death cult. Well, a doomsday cult to be specific. It was somewhere in a more northern, remote part of Canada. Not quite the arctic, as there were forests, but not a great place to be nonetheless.
The poor bastard had his cover blown in the cult, by what was determined to be a freak chance. The cult was rather upset that a Bureau agent was in their midst, so they decided, naturally, to sacrifice him and let Arius become the host for a demon. It wasn't a demon they wanted, and things went rather south rather quickly.
Later investigations would find the cult's cabins full of their slaughtered members. The worst, according to those who went, was one who had been slammed through the log walls, large slivers of wood piercing their body. It was evident their spine had snapped in several places, alongside limbs being bent in places a limb should never bend.
One agent remarked that, as gruesome as it was, he didn't blame Arius, possessed or not, since it was the cultist who plunged the ritual dagger into Arius.
Arius's tracker had popped back up on the B.P.R.D.’s radar somewhere in the midwest states. Very much not where he had been assigned. As a result, a small team had been deployed to retrieve him.
The team radioed that they found him not long after they got there.
Moments later, there was an immediate request for backup, and for the best in exorcism to be part of said backup.
The demon that had taken over Arius was making a right mess of things. It took enough tranquilizer to kill a humpback whale to bring the possessed Arius down for long enough that he could be transported to the compound in blessed chains.
It didn't last.
The chains snapped as if they were just dainty filigree, ornamental braids of metal draped and wrapped around a demon.
It took a team of exorcists and psychics – the best the B.P.R.D. knew of – several around-the-clock days to deal with the demon that had taken over Arius. They worked in teams, regularly swapping out to allow for food and rest.
The report stated the demon was locked down and eliminated from the agent. Unfortunately, the demonic entity Arius had been forcibly bonded to had left its mark on the field agent. There was nothing the psychics or exorcists could do.
Even the psychologists could barely help.
It was months of living in a padded cell until Arius could be (barely) trusted to step outside it without an immediate and involuntary reaction. His entire form would change, going from human to demon in a matter of moments. Some sort of defense mechanism, albeit a misguided one. Anxiety, especially the levels of anxiety following what Arius had been through, was always a horrible judge of what was an actual threat or not.
It was another year until he was able to work as a researcher in the B.P.R.D, searching their vast libraries for anything that could help. Knowledge was power, especially when dealing with the occult and supernatural.
■—■—■—■—■—■—■
Present day
A shudder racked the body that Arius observed, blue eyes tracing the myriad of self-inflicted surgical scars that snaked across the man. Arius felt his heart rate pick up as he heard the soft tick-tick-tick of the clockwork mechanism in Kroenen's chest come back to life.
His head turned, laying restrained against the table as those lidless eyes stared at Arius, who simply stared back.
Not for lack of reaction – Arius simply had zero idea of how to even react in such a situation. Evidently, so did Kroenen.
“Where… am I?” The German's voice was raspy and dry, with a strange gravel-esque quality to it. Arius supposed if one was functionally a mummy, they wouldn't sound too good, so it stood to reason Kroenen didn't either. It was surprising that he could talk.
“Oh! Guten tag.” Arius greeted, slipping into German for the sake of the prisoner. “Please, forgive me. My German is on the rusty side.”
He received a single nod from Kroenen at that, a silent reply telling him to hurry up and answer his question.
“You are currently being held in the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. I apologize for-” Arius gestured vaguely at the thick leather and metal bands holding Kroenen flat to the gurney. “-all of that, but, until I obtain permission, I can not release those.”
“The Bureau… Of course I would be captured by this damn group.” Kroenen sighed. The fact he could sigh surprised Arius, the emotion briefly flickering across his face. He had a feeling there was going to be a lot about this assassin-slash-surgeon that would surprise him. “Why am I being held here?”
“Information? Maybe? I'm not sure myself, truthfully.” Arius replied.
“Hmm. I presume the Bureau is likely hoping I will betray Rasputin.”
“Well, that would prove difficult.”
“Go on.”
“Ah… how do I… Hmmm… Rasputin sold out his allies and followers. We think it was a desperate attempt to buy time. For what, who knows.” Arius responded, not entirely sure if he should be sharing this with Kroenen. The agent felt the man deserved to know, though.
“Rasputin? Are you quite sure?” The disbelief in Kroenen's voice was so obvious, even someone who was deaf would have heard it.
“Unfortunately, I am. It did him no good in the end, since he was sucked into some hellish dimension against his will, kicking and screaming.”
“... Bastard. I would have rather liked to give him a piece of my mind.” Kroenen muttered. Another surprise - the B.P.R.D. was all under the impression that Rasputin's followers were just that.
Followers.
Kroenen's reaction seemed to indicate the dynamic was more of a business associate of sorts, rather than followers of the mad monk. Fascinating… Arius thought.
“You said you can not release me until you have been given permission, yes?” Kroenen asked in follow-up.
“I- yes, I did.” Arius nodded.
“And what exactly would be the criteria for obtaining permission?” He asked, turning his head a touch further. Not to look at Arius more, those bare eyeballs twitching to look down, as if they could see through the gurney.
“Ah! Your mask.” Arius exclaimed, not answering the question yet. He moved quickly, outside of Kroenen's currently limited field of view. The agent returned moments later, a balaclava in one hand and Kroenen's gas mask in the other.
“The mask helps with the lights and that, yes?” A nod from Kroenen answered the question. “Would you like me to put it on you? Unfortunately, I can't allow you to do it yourself. The restraints and all that.”
Kroenen paused. It was unbecoming of him to let someone else dress him, but the mask would be a welcome reprieve from the harsh lighting.
“You may.” Kroenen relented after a brief moment of deliberation.
The agent stepped forward, fingers hovering, twitching almost, by the strap that held Kroenen's head to the table. Another sigh from the captive. Probably a visual of those bare teeth biting fingers if he got too close to Kroenen's mouth. It was tempting to indulge, but it wouldn't serve him in the long run. That didn't mean he couldn't feed into the fear for a slight bit of amusement.
“Mind that I do not bite your fingers.” He teased, understanding the agent's hesitation.
“Please don't. If you do, I can't manage the straps of your mask. They're… finicky.” Arius murmured, fiddling with the straps to loosen them. The response was unexpected in how unbothered Arius seemed. It gave Kroenen a moment of pause.
It didn't take the agent long to slide the balaclava in place, with only minor adjustments made upon prompts and comments from Kroenen. The mask itself took a little longer, its straps proving to be a touch troublesome. After some fumbling, his mask was finally secured properly to his face, and the relief was practically instantaneous.
“My question..?” Kroenen prodded, trying to put the agent back on track.
“Ah, yes. The whole matter of how to no longer be tied down on a gurney… well, it's easier said than done. My superiors want to be certain you won't… well, you know.”
“Know what?”
“That you can be reasonable. That you're not just going to start attacking willy-nilly or something like that.” More nervous fidgeting from Arius. “You- you can understand, given the… history between yourself and the B.P.R.D.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Kroenen muttered. Of course it would be something like that. No one ever considered him to be anything but an unthinking machine, or maybe it was unfeeling. No, maybe both. Regardless, while it wasn't correct in any sense, Kroenen never did have any reason to pursue correcting the assumptions.
For a brief moment, a small part of him long thought to be dead and gone, wished otherwise. It was a fragile flutter of an emotion, weak to the point he wasn't even certain it happened.
“In essence, you are stuck with me for the foreseeable future. A sort of liaison for you.” Arius continued.
“I do have other aspects of my work to do-” The agent remarked after a few moments of silence, having waited for Kroenen to maybe respond. “You had a plethora of old records in your hideout. I, uh, took the liberty of assembling a playlist for you based on what I found. Hopefully, it helps stave off some boredom.”
The agent fiddled with the small device in his hands – a cell phone, Kroenen realized – and music began to play at a comfortable listening level. Some early 19th century work, something from von Weber, if he wasn't mistaken.
“Why would you do something like that? For me?” Kroenen asked, his tone curious.
Arius paused before the door, and shrugged.
“Costs nothing to be kind.” Came the agent's response, quickly exiting the room that Kroenen was held in. The reply gave the mask-wearer pause; as far as he was aware, he was despised within the B.P.R.D, and the fact they hadn't just outright killed him was surprising enough. To be left with music he enjoyed so as to not suffer in silence was even more of a surprise to him.