Work Text:
Reigen wondered why he still bothered coming here. It wasn’t for the alcohol, he mused, nursing a glass of syrup and ice that maybe had come across a bottle of whisky once. It could be that the selfish carelessness of his bar friends felt like home… and he did NOT want to examine what that said about himself. This felt like a place he should have moved on from, but you don’t chuck pieces of yourself away; if you’re lucky you just cover them up with new things and hope they stick. He sipped his drink. At least this place didn't have any tourists.
Then a tourist came in. At least that’s what he seemed to Reigen. He gave the kid a quick glance over the rim of his glass. A westerner, blond. Jeans and a hoodie that was slightly damp, even though it hadn’t been raining. Probably old enough to drink back home but not here if the forced casual air he strolled in with was anything to go by.
The boy's eyes swept the room, stopping briefly on each door, and person. He seemed to hesitate, then walked in and sat at the bar, two empty spaces between him and Reigen. He caught the bartender’s eye:
“Um, hi. Coke, please?”
He said it in English. Not American, thought Reigen. British, Australian? The conman leaned back on his seat, sipping his watery whisky.
“Hey” he called the barman, gesturing widely with his drink, “give the kid a snack, on me.”
The barman placed a bag of cheap snacks on the table next to the kid. At his confused stare, Reigen called his attention. He knew maybe a dozen English words but he gave it a try. “Gift!" he half-yelled. He gave the kid a thumbs up and his most winning smile. "Welcome to Japan!"
The kid stared at him for a beat longer than would be polite, then frowned an interrogatory thanks? He considered the little bag of salted edamame for a minute, then opened it and gingerly tried one. Reigen saw his face brighten. The kid dug into the snacks with too much conviction. Reigen noticed he had no bag, and his sneakers were soggy.
He sipped his syrup. "England?"
The kid turned sharply, drink halfway to his mouth. He stared at Reigen in a weirdly intense way. "Yeah.” He did not look like he wanted further conversation. He finished his drink, managed to pay with some fumbling and miming, put his hood up and left the bar.
Reigen finished his drink. He felt pleasantly dizzy, empty but unconcerned about it. Ah, maybe that’s why.
As he left the bar heard the unmistakable noise of a fight. Reigen’s head told him, walk away. He walked towards it. He could blame the drink later.
On turning the corner, he saw the kid from the bar finishing wrestling a knife from a large man’s hand. A second man lay sprawled on the ground nearby. As Reigen watched the kid slammed his sneaker into the fallen man's face.
The kid then raised his head and stared, right at Reigen. He was panting, exhaustion clear in every line of his body. The moment held until - voices, feet rushing in their direction. The part of Reigen that had once taken on an unstoppable power barefoot took over.
“Kid! Get over here!" He gesticulated wildly. He ran towards him and tried to grab his sleeve; the kid pulled away, wary. Reigen cast around desperately for a way to be understood. "Help!" He pointed at himself. "Help!" he repeated.
For a heartbeat there was no reaction. Then- a nod.
He hauled ass through the streets with his charge in tow, thanking the heavens that he'd picked a bar close to work.
He couldn't take the kid to his house - he wasn't that insane... and neither was the kid for that matter. That left one place: Spirits and Such.
He didn't have much of value that could be stolen. The money went home with him every night. The computer was a decade old and the TV too heavy to carry down the stairs. The talismans and such were, to be honest, worthless. Frankly, the most expensive thing there was the massage oil and that door was locked. Although, he glanced at the kid, he probably knew how to pick locks.
Reigen huffed. Whatever. If something happens, it still won’t be weirder than the last time I had to file for insurance.
2
After following the man from the bar down three blocks, into a dodgy office building and up a flight of stairs, Alex wondered if twenty-six hours without sleep was when his sense of self-preservation checked out.
He would call it instinct if he didn’t know better.
After a little fumble with the key, the man opened the door to a darkened office. He moved to turn on the light, then stopped himself. Interesting.
The man seemed harmless enough, sweating through his cheap suit and talking nervously, oblivious to the fact Alex couldn’t understand a single word he said. He felt to Alex remarkably sincere. Still, Alex had been burned before. Literally.
He watched the man trail off, evidently catching up to the "I don’t speak a word of Japanese" situation. He mussed his hair, looking at him in that exasperated way that Alex saw way too often in some of his teachers. He went into a second door to the right and came back with a blanket, which he placed on a small sofa in what was clearly a waiting area.
He did some fussing, some more talking, a lot more gesticulating, and finally he left.
Alex heard the click of the lock.
In the silence he could almost hear his body screaming at him to sit down, lie down, sleep. He pushed that thought down. Instead he took the time to examine the place. Windows, large, no lock; good. A reception space with sofas and a telly up front, at the back an office space, computer, printer, large office chair; the door to one side (Alex tried it), locked now; a smaller empty desk against the opposite wall. There was a gaudy poster on the wall of the office owner's face and piles of text he couldn't read; half filled bookshelves. And, incongruously, the prevalent smell of incense and something like scented candles, flowery and oily.
The setup told him it was public-facing - a place where clients came in. He went to the main desk and, with a small gnawing of guilt, went through the drawers. They contained the usual office knick-knacks, as well as flyers with prices, and small cardboard bookmarks with text and dangly bits. No money; that was bad. No weapons; that was good. Well, it was bad because he couldn't pocket them, but good for his current safety.
Alex peered into the bookshelves. Most books were -surprise- in Japanese, but some were translations, and from their original titles and some of the covers Alex guessed most were related to supernatural phenomena.
He looked around the room again with this in mind. Was this some sort of religious or spiritual practice? It would be consistent with a person who would help a complete stranger, one who’s not negative amounts of suspicious to boot. Or they may be trying to induct him into some sort of cult. That would make it two times. Or maybe three if you count Scorpia? Alex never knew how to count Scorpia…
The digital clock on the wall blinked the seconds away, silently. Alex had a decision to make. He went to the biggest window and peered through the curtain at the absolute stillness outside. He could run; he should run. Go back down and put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers, keep moving until he could find a way to contact Ben. They’d found him once and he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
He turned around and saw the blanket on the chair. On the other hand, sleep. God, sleep sounded so good.
Sod it. He went to the chair, took his shoes off. If he had to fight his way out of here he’d rather do it well rested.
The blanket smelled of jasmine. He fell asleep almost instantly.
3
Reigen did not do well on little sleep and last night he’d barely gotten any. His office trashed or a kid’s dead body chased each other around in his head all night. So it was with some trepidation that he opened the door of Spirits and Such way too early for a Sunday, to find the source of his stress calmly at his desk, using his computer. The blanket was folded neatly on the reception chair.
The kid called a distracted g’morning; he looked noticeably less dead on his feet than he had last night. He finished writing something off the screen, looked at Reigen and said, in passable Japanese:
"Thank you for your help."
“Oh, it’s nothing!” Reigen waved the thanks away like a fly, “I could not leave a young person to their own devices". The boy watched Reigen with that are adults really this dumb expression he’d seen often in Tome, and only then it clicked. "You looked that up on the computer". Still, it was touching the kid had taken the time from whatever he’d been using Reigen’s property without permission for, to research how to thank him. He sighed.
"Food!" he exclaimed, raising the bag he’d brought. He offered the contents – mostly konbini sandwiches – and soon the kid was inhaling his.
“The name is Reigen, Arataka Reigen!” he pointed at himself.
The kid hmm’d and nodded, hesitated, then: "Alex". He held out his hand, Reigen shook it. Kid’s grip was stronger than he expected, his hands calloused.
“So, what have you been doing with my stuff?” He went round toe desk and peered at the screen. Alex made no move to hide it. Open Reigen saw Mooble maps and a few locations written down in a messy scrawl on the back of one of his flyers. Checking browser history, he saw his own face pop up, on online write-ups machine-translated to English.
Oh. Well, it made sense to look up the person whose office you’re crashing in.
Alex was eyeing one of the snacks (bread filled with bright green cream) suspiciously, when he froze. In one movement he dropped the snack and moved towards the door.
“What-?"
He shushed him with a gesture. His face was hard. He crouched near the door, and almost on cue it door burst open; Reigen had the confusing image of large man and metal when the kid stepped under the figure, grabbed his arm hit the elbow. Reigen heard a sickening crunch and the man yelled, the gun (a gun!) in his hand clattering to the floor. A second man swept in knife first and missed the kid’s side by a hair; the kid turned and delivered an uppercut to the man’s jaw that dropped him like a stone. Man 1 had apparently recovered from his broken arm and went for the kid’s throat, catching him from behind. Reigen jumped up to help, but the kid pulled a blade from his shin and stabbed the man on the side, then hit the back of his head to make a two-thug-pile on Reigen’s office floor.
It’d been efficient and brutal. Without even stopping to breathe, he collected the gun; expertly checked it then put it inside his hoodie pocket. Reigen was no stranger to guns, he’s used them before, but his expertise stopped at knowing which was the business end of it. The kid handled it like he could take it apart blindfolded.
He stepped outside for a few moments, then came back and went for their pockets. Reigen may have become one with his tomato plant for all the attention the kid paid him. He stepped around the two guys, wary; they were both breathing, at least. Knife Muscle looked like a small time criminal, garden variety, Reigen scammed them way too often. Gun muscle had a decent suit on, his shoes were too shiny. He stepped on the knife Man 2 had dropped and dragged it away from him. The kid looked up and nodded.
He’d pulled Knife Muscle’s wallet: he took from it an ID and stared at it in full concentration, then wiped it with his sleeve and put it back, took the money off the wallet and pocketed it. (Reigen had half a mind to scold him for stealing but then realized how silly and, well, slightly hypocritical that would be.) He wiped his fingerprints from the wallet as well and put it back in the man’s pocket, then repeated the whole process with Gun Muscle. A little trickle of blood was slowly rolling from under him. Alex did not seem bothered by it.
Suddenly he stood up, ran to the window. “Fuck!” he spat. Reigen knew that word. A number of men, more or less the same brand as the previous two, were walking briskly towards the building. Alex was already across the room, collecting his notes.
He rushed out the door. Reigen hesitated, but nowhere near as long as it’d be prudent.
Jumping over the prone assailants he caught the kid by the arm.
“This way!”
He turned, taking Alex through a shortcut and out an emergency exit between the two buildings. They watched as the men casually walked upstairs, pretending for the few neighbors already awake that they weren’t extremely obvious criminals. Reigen may have snorted.
Alex pulled his arm away. He patted Reigen’s arm awkwardly – almost didn’t seem like the same person who’d just stabbed a man and ten pickpocketed him – and made to walk away. Reigen stepped in front of him.
“I don’t know who those are but you need help” eh whispered. “You won’t make it” he pointed at the papers on Alex’s hand “there without help.” And just to make it clear: “Help”, he pointed at himself.
Alex seemed ready to suplex him. Instead he huffed something that probably translated to “thank you Reigen for your selfless offer” if it fit in one word and motioned with his head to follow. Then both creeped from their hiding place and into the city.