Chapter Text
Today is going great.
It’s going absolutely spectacular, in fact.
If Bettel had to rank this day, he would say pull out a new ranking system and start popping some bottles, baby, because this day is going just that swimmingly. Incredible. Amazing. Showstopping. Never been done before. The greatest of the great, feast your eyes on this, etc, etc, etc.
Except it’s not.
It’s really not.
Just like every single day in the house on fire that is Gavis Bettel’s life, he is once again being subjected to the horrors. The misfortune. The disasters, the catastrophes. Etc, etc, etc.
Yes, that’s right. Just like every single day in the house on fire that is Gavis Bettel’s life; it is here to prove that, indeed, it is still on fire.
Bettel is going to have serious beef with the universe if this keeps up, because he did not get a goddamn secretary-slash-jester job to have to risk his neck on the daily, and what’s more, the one person that could have helped him in this situation has just been impaled.
“Hakka!” He skids over to him, almost stumbling over his own heels. “Are you okay?”
“Dude, I got stabbed,” Hakka says, breathing coming out short and ragged as he palms the wound that rips right across his chest. “By a tentacle. Awesome.”
“No, Hakka! Not awesome!” Bettel snaps. He’s trying very hard not to freak out and very evidently failing the assignment. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so they wave around in the air as he utters, “You’re bleeding out. Oh my god. Oh my god, my brain is shutting down. Is there anything I can do? Please tell me. Please tell me there’s something I can do.”
Hakka attempts a smile, trying to be reassuring, but it falls with a hiss of pain as his eyes flutter shut.
“Shit, man, that got me good,” Hakka murmurs, fingers starting to drip crimson as the blood from the injury seeps out. “Split me right open. Oh, baby, that's a big ouchie. You might have to go on without me.”
“Hey, no, no, no, stay with me, buddy!” Bettel starts tugging at the hem of his robe, trying to pull the fabric in to staunch the bleeding. Pressure on the wound. When there’s blood, put pressure on the wound. He knows that much. He screams when a tentacle flies in overhead, smacking his hat off of his head. “Um, earth to Hakka? This thing’s still not dead! I kind of need backup here!”
“Good luck. You got this, Betsy. I believe in you.” He says, voice weak and shaky and almost comical in its severity, before his head falls.
Bettel scrambles to catch him, able to accomplish at least that much.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Bettel sputters as Hakka lays limp and lifeless in his arms. He shakes him tentatively, in case the dramatic bastard has just decided to pull a sick nasty joke on him. “Hakka, this isn’t funny. You can’t just fucking leave me here and expect me to know what to do!”
There’s no response. Shit. The exorcist is still breathing, which means he’s not, like, dead, but in terms of communication, he’s just as good as gone. Bettel takes a deep, deep breath. He is not going to scream again. That helps nobody.
Instead, he mutters, frantic and furious, as if talking fast enough will wake his guildmate back up long enough for Hakka to help him.
“Dude, come on,” his words tumble out, panicked and strained, “I’m serious, I can’t fucking do this, I’m going to throw up. Hakka, please wake up. I’m going to fucking cry. Hakka. Please. What am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I actually supposed to–”
The beast lashes out at him again, narrowly missing his head. Bettel screams.
“Do you fucking mind!?” He screeches back at it, shaking his fist. “I’m having a moment here, in case you haven’t noticed! Fuck off for a second, you piece of shit!”
The tentacles recoil slightly, as if surprised by his sudden exclamation.
“Stay away, fiend!” Bettel pulls Hakka up against his chest protectively, even though he knows there’s absolutely no way he’s going to be able to protect him if push comes to shove. He might as well be a sitting duck. Sitting goose. Whatever. It’s his mental breakdown, therefore he gets to pick the analogy.
“Hakka,” he whispers frantically again, gently smacking the exorcist’s arm. “Hey. Psst. Wake up. Come on, man. Please? I’m literally begging you. What can I give you to wake you up?”
His mind runs a mile a minute. It’s like everything he knows about Hakka has slipped from his fingers when he needs it most. He grasps onto any thought that dares to find him.
“Strawberry? Strawberry?” Bettel asks, desperation rising in his tone. He feels like a cartoon character. Strawberry? Is he kidding himself? Is he losing it? He doesn’t know. Bile rises thick and bitter in his throat. “Come on. I could get you loads of those. You like strawberries. Don’t give up on me, dude. Strawberry? You want a fucking strawberry?”
Still no response. Now what. That was his only plan, and it wasn’t even a good one. He rambles on listlessly, as if another item would be enough to convince Hakka to come back into consciousness.
“Cookie? Ice cream? How about rice krispies, bro? Marshmallows. Chocolate cake. You want, uh, cheese?” He sounds like he’s making a grocery list. Doesn’t care. Tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes and the only thing stopping them from falling is the fact that he doesn’t know if crying on a wounded body is going to make it worse. “What the fuck do you want? Not food? Money? You like money, don't you, you motherfucker? Hakka, I’ll buy you anything you want. Wake up. Please.”
You’re so noisy. The words stab like daggers into his mind, sudden and malicious. Quiet down, you fool.
Bettel’s gaze snaps up, meeting the black scleras of sharp, unblinking blue eyes. It’s not Hakka speaking, but it’s using his voice. It’s haunting his face. The dark swirl of corruption. The raven.
“You.” Bettel says, intelligently. Then it registers. “Hey, wait a minute. It's you! Yeah, you, evil Hakka! Do something!”
Don’t get your hopes up, jester. It talks directly into his head. I can’t use this body while it’s like this. All I can do is tell you that all this noise you’re making is only going to seal your demise.
“Oh, great.” Bettel replies sarcastically. “Thanks for the advice, bud. Real helpful.”
Quick. It commands. Get down.
Bettel acts on instinct and listens, wincing when the tree cracks above his head. The enemy is still behind him. The tentacle slithers back along the ground with a metallic squelch that makes Bettel shudder, the disgust giving him gooseflesh, making the hair on his neck stand on end.
“... thanks,” Bettel says begrudgingly, looking back down at Hakka.
Well, evil Hakka, he supposes. Hakka explained this to him before, but he doesn’t really remember the specifics. He just knows that human scleras means Hakka is normal, and inhuman scleras means that something more sinister is going on. Convenient color-coded demon possession for dummies.
He stares into the darkness. Or more accurately, the shred of corruption that encircles Hakka’s eyes. It stares back at him, unwavering and eerie, but while Bettel is afraid of a lot of things, he’s never been afraid of any ghost that wears Hakka’s face.
Something about it is comforting in its familiarity. Maybe he’s just not scared of Hakka, and he never has been.
What are you gawking at? The demon asks flatly.
Bettel clicks his tongue, suddenly armed with fake confidence. It’s always easier to play off of someone else. He can’t be an entertainer without an audience. Even if that someone else is a demon that resides in the shadows of his guildmate, currently en route to bleeding out in his arms.
“Nothing much. Wanna help me do something about that big guy over there while you’re here?” He asks back, a question for a question. “You don’t need a body for that. Just tell me what to do.”
The demon is unrelenting. I am protecting my vessel. I am not helping you.
“Okay, yeah,” he knows that trying to reason with Hakka’s demon is a battle he’s rarely ever won. Doesn’t stop him from trying. “But how are you gonna protect Hakka when you can’t even move? I’m your best bet here. I need you to tell me what I can do.”
Nothing. It replies. You’re useless.
“That’s really rude.” Bettel tells it petulantly, huffing like a child. “And you hurt my feelings. What if I say ‘please’ really nicely? There’s gotta be– there’s gotta be something we can do about this. Together.”
Get down again. It commands. Bettel flattens to the ground immediately, learning quickly from this riveting and terrifying experience, the wind from the tentacle strike grazing his cheek. That creature seems to have gotten tired of waiting.
“Alright! Well, fuck!” He exclaims, frustration exploding out of him in the wake of his terror. There's a crackle of corruption in the air, the static from the beast thundering as it approaches. “We’re all gonna die here and it’ll be your fault because you don’t wanna work with me! Some bullshit demon you are! You can’t even keep Hakka alive! Who's the useless one now, huh?”
Fine, you damned mortal. I will lend you my power. It growls dangerously. But I am not doing this for you. Do you understand?
“As long as you fucking do something, I don’t care!”
Open your mouth. It says. For the first time, an emotion rings through the harshness of its voice. Unexpectedly, it’s remorse. And do tell Hakka this was necessary, if he remembers.
Bettel blinks, not quite cognizant of the instructions, but obeys the one he understands. He doesn’t have a choice at this point. He opens his mouth.
Hakka, with piercing and soulless eyes, leans up and kisses him.
Okay, Bettel thinks, blinking again, cool and normal things to do with your demonically possessed guildmate.
It’s the last coherent thought he has before something very uncool splinters in his veins and he pulls away to claw at his neck, trying to spit it back out.
He can’t.
The pain is unbearable.
Bettel feels it burn down his throat, scorching his body dry.
Everything disappears.
He is a desert. He is barren land, abandoned of life. He has destroyed this city. He has destroyed many others. He is a carcass being torn apart by vultures. He is a dead thing. He is unsalvageable. He is a karasutengu borne of grief and arrogance and there is no place for him in this world. He sees the chipped sandals of a young boy that introduces himself as Banzoin Hakka.
He sees the sky falling. He sees Hakka reaching out to him, and he sees flames as he burns Hakka’s hand, scorching it with violet fire, and he sees Hakka speak but his voice is nothing like he remembers.
It’s soft and innocent. It’s clear, smooth as a creek, calming as an oasis.
“You are here with me now,” Hakka says. “Take my hand. It’s okay.”
Tears spill down his cheeks, and he doubles over like he’s been gutted, screaming wordlessly. This pain isn’t his, but it is.
He is Banzoin Hakka, for the barest shattered fragment of time, the cutest and coolest exorcist in all Xenokuni. He is small. His body is being torn apart. He is too gentle. He is too loud. He is a bird. He is no longer human. He is human.
Because he loves—
He loves—
He loves his home and his cat and his family in Xenokuni. He loves cooking and cleaning and taking pictures and drawing pictures, and music.
God, he loves music so much. It transcends his body. It’s in his heart. It’s in his soul.
He is Banzoin Hakka and he loves guild TEMPUS. He loves Shinri, Flayon, Altare, Axel, Vesper, Magni, Bettel—
Ah, Bettel, right, he is Gavis Bettel, that’s right, he remembers now—
He has to stop tumbling through these memories because they aren’t his— but how?
Sorry, he whispers, Hakka, can you hear me? Let me out.
Let yourself out. The tengu whispers back. You are Hakka. It is just you. It is just me.
Bettel sees himself in a vision, and is terrified. A fog clouds behind him, the silhouette of Phantom over his shoulder growing teeth. He sees spirits, floating in a smoky haze. None of them are as clear as Phantom, who peers over the jester with an unearthly golden eye.
Is this what you see? When you look at me? He asks Hakka, but he knows that it must be. He is Hakka. He knows that it must be.
“Hakka,” the vision of Bettel says, and he smiles like a radiant dawn. Bettel has never liked his own smile. For some reason, that’s different here. He might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. “It’s time to go home, buddy. Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?”
Darkness shutters over his eyes. For a chilling moment, the world blanks out into a void.
It comes back just as fast, but he feels everything a thousand times more intensely. Hakka is not a young boy anymore. He is not standing in front of him with chipped sandals and an oasis of a voice and Bettel is not Hakka anymore, either.
Bettel is just a jester. He’s kneeling on the ground. He’s crying. He’s scared. His body burns up on the inside, and he sobs.
Hakka is an unconscious man in his arms, blood blooming red like roses in the bleach white of his garments. Bettel worries, but he doesn’t have the lungs to linger on it.
The rush of the raven’s power is enough to choke him, and he coughs violently, still clutching Hakka’s body to his chest as wings sprout from his back, bursting through his coat. Bones crack and fuse together. The wings latch onto his veins and he unravels outwards.
His vision blurs. He can't breathe.
The pain is unbearable, but he bears it anyway.
He rocks back and forth until it begins to ebb, like waves receding into low tide.
There’s a demon inside of him. He feels the urge to kill. Swallows it down. So this is what it’s like, he thinks. This is the curse Hakka chose to accept. He can’t dwell on that thought. It’s too much.
“What the fuck did you do,” Bettel demands, voice cracking. The tears continue to fall, scalding in their rawness. Some of the emotions beating against his ribcage don’t feel like his own.
Lend you my power, the tengu booms from inside his head, much clearer than before, startling him. Don’t be too frightened. It’s only temporary.
“How can I trust you?”
Because Hakka does. It says simply.
“I’m getting out of here.” Bettel decides, though he’s not sure if he’s talking to the karasutengu or to the scaled, tentacled creature that creeps ever closer now, drawn in by the sounds of his screams. He realizes that the beast must follow noise, the knowledge slipping into his mind like something foreign being injected into his bloodstream. He drops the tone of his voice. “You warned me about that thing earlier, didn’t you? When you told me to shut up.”
There is no answer. There doesn’t need to be.
Being one with the tengu means he knows what the demon knows. It means he knows that Hakka comes first, and he knows that if Hakka cares about him, then by extension, the tengu cannot deny him its protection. Hakka is its master, though it loathes to admit it.
Do not dwell on such inconsequential things. The tengu mutters.
“Why not?” He asks.
If you dive too deep, there will be consequences, it warns. If you care for him at all, you will not keep looking.
Bettel feels the tengu's trepidation. It does not feel affection towards Hakka, but it feels possessive of him, and by extension, Bettel feels possessive of him, too. He would not do anything that could hurt him.
He looks down at Hakka. The exorcist’s eyes are closed again, but his expression isn’t pained. Not anymore.
If anything, it’s softened considerably. In rest. At peace. He breathes like he’s asleep.
“Alright. I won't.” Bettel says, inhaling enough oxygen to act as emergency courage.
He has to get him home. This thought flows straight through his system, like a signal to move.
He ignores his rapid heartbeat. Focuses on the sky.
Fly, he thinks, the echo of the tengu ricocheting in his mind. Fly. Fly. Fly.
His senses are heightened and his wings flap, wrenching him awkwardly into the air and off the ground.
To his own disbelief, he can lift Hakka with ease, the exorcist’s body weighing next to nothing with the borrowed strength. He holds him closer to his chest.
He feels powerful, amidst all the pain. Powerful enough to protect him.
For the first time, he thinks he understands.
Vengeance first. The tengu growls, sending shivers down his spine.
“No. Bad.” Bettel responds immediately, brows furrowing. “No vengeance.”
It hurt him. We should kill it.
“Nope. Nuh uh. No thank you.” Bettel says. He’s afraid of his own power. What it’s capable of. “Not happening. We’re getting Hakka out of here. That takes priority.”
You weakling. Unleash the strength I give you.
“Shut up! Look at me! I can fly!” Bettel exclaims instead, laughing nervously. It's the only thing he can do to keep from crying again. “That’s enough excitement for one day!”
He sways, unbalanced with the flutter of wings he’s not sure how to use. It’s a miracle he’s gotten off the ground, considering he doesn’t know how to get back down now. The tengu seems to sigh, and Bettel feels the wave of irritation like a smack in the back of his skull.
“Hey, don’t you get mad at me!” He scowls. He tries to stomp his foot, but in the air, it just plunges him into a poor imitation of a flip. He makes some animal noises, only realizing belatedly that they’re noises of a bird. Things are starting to make more sense, and he’s starting to like it even less. “I’m heading back and that’s final. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”
With utmost grace and poise, he flies directly into a tree.
“Hey, tengu, buddy!” He yells, spitting out leaves. “You’re supposed to be helping!”
I am merely lending you my power. The tengu responds, low and gritty and sorely unimpressed. What you do with it is reliant on you, you imbecile.
“Terrible idea. Some help you are.”
Take the next right. Watch your head.
“I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” He grimaces.
He does take the right turn, but badly. Steering wings isn’t like steering a horse. One flap too hard in any direction and he’s barely able to stop himself from cartwheeling, screeching as he veers out of control. He makes a shit bird. But he’s a shit bird with a mission.
You want to help Hakka? Listen to me. You will never get back on your own. He will bleed out in your arms. He will die because of you.
“Fine, but stay on track.” He scowls, ignoring the way those words plummet dread through his veins. “And don’t you dare talk shit. I’m trying my best here.”
You should leave a path of destruction. You should destroy everyone that gets in your way.
“That’s not staying on track.” Bettel states firmly, shaking his head. “No detours. I mean it. We’re going to take the most efficient and straightforward way back home.”
Hakka groans on about the eleventh time Bettel plunges them directly into a tree, stirring into half-awareness with a small whimper of, “Ow, fuck my life.”
“You and me both, pal,” Bettel says, not wanting to admit that he’s officially hopeless at flying and is most certainly not about to master it in the last few minutes of their trip. “How the fuck do you use these things? I always feel like I’m falling. I’m gonna have nightmares about this. Maybe I’m already having them. Maybe life is just one big, ongoing nightmare.”
“Wow, you have pretty wings,” Hakka blinks slowly up at him, looking dazed. He’s being completely unhelpful but seems coherent enough to joke at least. “God really sent me an angel, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Hakka, you’re losing blood.”
“Worth it.”
“I’m not even gonna ask what you mean by that.” In a more hushed voice, he asks, “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be honest, apart from the tentacle stabbing, I feel really nice, actually.” Hakka rests his head against the jester’s shoulder and closes his eyes again. “Like, the most peace I’ve felt in a long time.”
“Dude,” Bettel says, a little more freaked out than before but trying not to show it. “I think that means you’re dying.”
“Am I?” Hakka murmurs. “I mean, it hurts, but everything feels lighter… somehow…”
“Shit. Uh. Don’t talk. Save your breath. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do in this situation, so just stay still! Stay still!” Bettel panics and it shows, his words tumbling out like a waterfall.
Hakka's fingers fold weakly into his lapels before slipping as he falls back into unconsciousness. Bettel keeps talking as if nothing has happened, because if he can't reassure Hakka, then he can at least reassure himself.
“Um. Hold on, just uhhh— hold on, okay? I can fly! Which is not scary at all! I’ll fly us back so hang tight. Wooo! Guild hall, here we come!”
Bettel feels himself going mad.
Which is saying something, considering that’s practically his default state at this point, but this incessant cacophony of murderous thoughts is driving him up the wall.
“How the fuck does Hakka deal with you?” He snaps, after he’s lost track of the alarming number of times he’s had a severe craving for violence and biting someone’s arm off.
Thank goodness it was just Magni, and most of his arms aren’t flesh and blood. The bad news is that Magni has now left them in the dust, evacuating the guild hall, and had informed Bettel that he needs to put the shiny wings back on bird boy where they belong, before the resident guild jester starts gnawing on the rest of the guild like they’re popsicles or something.
Which he wouldn’t! Honestly! Trying to bite Magni’s cloak was a moment of weakness and can’t be counted! But he’s starting to want to tear his own hair out to get this fucking demon out of his body.
Screaming helps. The tengu offers, completely devoid of emotion.
“I tried screaming.” He bends to put his face in his hands, despairing dramatically. “All it did was make my throat hurt.”
Killing something would help more. You might like it.
“Not happening.” He sighs, trying to get comfortable in his agony.
Your loss, it says. Lighten up. You're supposed to be a jester.
“And you're getting a little too chummy with me for my liking.” He shifts again, still not finding a good way to stay seated, which only adds to his wallow in misery. He doesn't know how to sit in a chair while huge feathers protrude from his back. Doesn’t stop him from trying. He buries his face deeper into his hands. “Fucking bird. At least tell me how to take these off.”
I shall not. The tengu replies.
“Agh! Fucking bird!” He shrieks into his hands.
He's mostly just being melodramatic.
The demon was right. Screaming helps. He is not going to give it the satisfaction of knowing that it's right.
At least they can both agree that this chair sucks. The tengu tugs at his mind, urging him to get up. He follows with a grunt, and it drags him closer to Hakka’s bedside.
“What?” He asks, annoyed. “I already told you, he's going to be fine. Suffer me a little longer. I can’t do anything about this while he's still out.”
It's true. Hakka will be okay, thanks to the help of the rest of the guild, but that's more than Bettel can say for his own pride.
Their dramatic entrance into the guild hall had been somewhat of a disaster.
It went like this: Bettel had flown straight into one of the pillars, narrowly missing Axel as the gladiator spat out his drink.
Axel had then started pointing and laughing at him, summoning Magni to join him with bullying Bettel as he got himself stuck in the curtains trying to get down. Altare had rushed in with a slightly more reasonable head on his shoulders, fretting over why the guild exorcist was unconscious rather than why the guild jester was tangled in the rafters, though he did chuckle a bit hearing Bettel’s wings smack the other two when they eventually helped to pull him to the ground.
Then came Vesper, who had shoved Bettel out of the way, telling him to hang tight and stop knocking things over and scaring the shit out of himself, which Bettel thinks is a fair course of action.
Thus, Bettel, banished to bird timeout, had watched as Magni had grumbled his way through force-feeding Hakka a series of potions for a speedier recovery. It had been very embarrassing because that's when Bettel had bitten the poor alchemist's cloak of arms, no thanks to the fucking demon in his head that can't catch a hint and let the guild take care of Hakka without intervening, for the love of god.
Magni had been understanding, albeit a double-shot of bitchy about it, and Axel had quite literally rolled on the floor in a fit of maniacal laughter, begging for him to do it again.
Bettel had not, in fact, bitten Magni again. He had instead proceeded to watch — okay, watch was pushing it, because he didn’t want to puke seeing the actual procedure — while Axel had stitched Hakka up with his dubious medically trained hands.
Hakka muttered the entire time in another language, until Axel had gotten sick of being backseated in Spanish and knocked him out with sleeping pills. Bettel, still horribly possessed, had bitten Axel for that and Axel laughed so hard he almost smashed his head through the window.
Vesper had later showed up a second time with tea in a thermos, while Flayon and Shinri set off with the R-TRUS to finish off the corruption beast Bettel had left behind. And retrieve his hat. They were better suited for it than the jester, though they had made some sideways remarks when they had seen Bettel sporting a pair of shimmering wings.
“Wow, Bettel. Barbie Fairytopia much?” Flay had giggled behind his hand. “Cute wings. That’s a fashion statement, if I ever saw one.”
“Somehow, it actually kind of suits you.” Shinri laughed, ruffling his hair as he passed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Bettel had muttered in response.
So, all in all, that had been great. His day keeps getting better and better.
Now he's in his prime, surely, all irritable and grumpy and fending off thoughts of violence, because that's apparently what demon birds do when they're not making him bite people. Incredible.
He’s brought back to reality with a small cough from the bed. His heightened senses perk up, and he feels the tengu warble in his throat.
Though Bettel had been nursing a growing grudge against the fucking demon for the mortification it had put him through, he can't help but admit the bird's sudden alertness at seeing Hakka wake up is kind of sweet. In a weird way, but sweet nonetheless.
At least Hakka seems happy. Delighted to be alive. He greets Bettel cheerfully, as always, like he's not suffering grave injury.
“You look nice with those wings there, angel.”
“Euhgh. We are not letting the angel thing stick.” Bettel says, pulling a face. If the stupid wings don’t let him sit in a chair, he can at least plonk onto the mattress, no longer afraid of disturbing Hakka while he slept. Because he's no longer sleeping. “Quick question. How do I turn them off?”
“Why do you want to turn them off?” Hakka asks, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You got like a whole ethereal vibe going for you right now, Betsy.”
“Don’t say Barbie Fairytopia. Flayon already made that joke.”
“God, I love that little guy!” Hakka snorts, then clutches the bandage over his chest with a groan. “Oh, no. Don’t make me laugh. Life is pain.”
“How do I turn these things off?” Bettel demands again, wings flapping to make themselves known.
“Can I see them?” Hakka asks gently.
He turns around, feeling oddly self-conscious about his borrowed wings. Hakka pokes them, his sharp nails flicking the cyber feathers curiously, and it sends a jolt through his body.
“Hey! Whoa! Hey, hey, hey!” Bettel whirls back around, wings folding protectively over himself. He flushes at the foreign sensation of an electric tingling that runs down his spine. “Don’t you start fucking with me, dude! I’m not used to this, okay? It feels— feels weird.”
Innocently, Hakka replies, “I just wanted to check if they were real.”
“They are. Your demon is hanging out with me right now. Said it was necessary, or something like that. Got us out of trouble, though!”
“Oh, I bet it did.” Hakka’s tone is teasing. “And how many times did you crash while learning to fly?”
“Enough.” Bettel crosses his arms and his wings bat in annoyance. “Some help this thing was. It was scary as shit up there. I didn't know what was left or right or anything.”
There’s a flash of something somber in Hakka’s expression, something that reeks of guilt, but just as quickly as it had come, it vanishes. He holds up his right arm and wiggles his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Well, you can give it back now, Bettel. I'm awake. You don’t have to hold onto it, anymore.”
Bettel assesses him for a moment.
“You sure?” He asks. “You look like you could use the break. I can’t imagine what it’s like having this thing inside you all the time. It’s tried to get me to commit murder every time something living walks past.”
Hakka smiles wryly, his eyes like calm waters, rippling with amusement. “Oh, yes. That sounds about right.”
“And it’s made me look like I’m constantly yelling at myself for no reason.”
“You can just talk to it with your thoughts, Betsy.” He explains, the hint of a grin tugging at his features. Bettel can't stop looking at his eyes. There's something about them that's different. They're brighter than usual. Less like the cool shade of moonlight and more like a sunrise, if he had to put a word to it. His voice, too, flows smoother, clear and uncanny in its clarity. “Since it’s in your mind, it doesn’t need you to talk out loud.”
“Great! Haha! Could’ve told me that earlier! I may or may not have had a minor crisis over this.”
“Just give it back and we won’t have these problems.” Hakka sighs. It's a helpless sort of sigh, but a fond one. “You've already done more than enough for me, Bettel.”
This sentiment brings Bettel pause, and he keeps looking at Hakka. He keeps noticing that he's different. Just different.
Don't get him wrong, he'd love to get rid of this thing. He would. But he sees Hakka right now, all soft edges, exhausted yet lighter — like relief had stolen the weight off his shoulders — and he can't help but wonder.
Of course he feels better without me, the tengu answers the question for him. That is the very nature of a curse.
Bettel makes his decision.
“… Hakka.”
“Yes, dear?” Hakka asks, tilting his head to the side.
Bettel sends him a look but any heat behind his glare dissipates in the wake of Hakka's smile.
“You should— you should get some rest.” Bettel tells him, wings fluttering gently because he doesn't know how to stop them from doing that. “I’ll take care of your stupid bird for now. I can tolerate it for a few more hours.”
Hakka looks confused, tilting his head the other way. “Why do you say that?”
“You look… peaceful.” He mumbles, biting his lip and then cursing under his breath when he realizes he’s got fangs that have just pierced through. At least the taste of blood is more than welcome on his tongue. He doesn’t want to dwell on that.
“You’re bleeding.” Hakka points out. His hands hover in concern.
“I know.” Bettel licks it up quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You really want to deal with the raven? It's a curse, Bettel. I know it's not as nice as you're pretending it is.”
“Well, you just look like you’re happy. I don’t know.” He takes a breath. “Like. Way more than I’ve ever seen you. I used to think you were relaxed already, but seeing you right now? It’s like… you’ve been set free.”
“I might as well be, dude.” Hakka says, smiling sheepishly. It's true that he looks happy. He looks so happy that he’s practically glowing with it, and now his eyes are watering, even as he tries to blink the tears away. “You taking it from me? I didn’t even think that was possible... but even if it’s just for a little bit, you know? Thank you. Really. I feel a lot better.”
Bettel thinks about being kissed by him. He wrings his hands nervously. That had been a necessity. He's not going to bring it up if Hakka doesn't.
“Well, good. I want that for you. You know? I want you to— I don’t know. I don’t know. Just feel better. About this. About all of this. I want you to be happy.”
Hakka blinks. Tears bead at the corner of his eyes. Like crystals, they shimmer with the reflection of light.
“Betsy, that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”
“It made you cry.” Bettel frowns.
“It’s a good cry.” Hakka replies, sniffling. “I don’t think my mind has ever been this quiet. But I don’t want you to have to suffer that curse for me.”
“It’s fine. Me and the tengu are gonna go get some donuts. Then we're gonna do something truly evil. Like eat them.”
“Oh hell yeah. Fuck 'em up. Just demon things.”
“Just demon things.” Bettel agrees. “We’re considering this a bonding experience.”
I despise you. The tengu says.
“It says it hates me.” Bettel adds. “That means it’s working.”
Hakka snickers, then immediately regrets it. “Don’t make me laugh, you asshole! It still hurts!”
“How is it my fault that you're laughing!?” Bettel exclaims, faking an indignant tone because rolling with the punches is just second nature to him. “Oh, I'm sorry that you find me funny! How is that my fault, huh!? I'm sorry that I'm just- I don't know, burdened with being Mister Funnyman! Like I came out of the womb, and everyone laughed.”
Hakka's hiccuping giggles, between clutching his bandages and grumbling, “Fucking Bettel, came out of the womb and everyone laughed, what if he opens my stitches back up and I die,” make Bettel snort with his own laughter, and then he's the one scolding Hakka for riling himself up when he's supposed to be taking it easy.
“Hakka, calm down! You're injured!”
“Go get your fucking donuts and leave me alone, you clown!” Hakka shoos him, bending over in pain, still cackling. “Stop making me laugh! I'm so serious! It hurts so bad!”
“Alright, alright, I'm going, I'm going,” He grins, unfortunately proud of the fact that he's made Hakka curl up into a ball on the bed, muffling his giggles into his sleeve.
That is unfairly cute. Bettel has to get out of here.
And if he does fly into the ceiling by accident, that’s for him to know and for nobody to yell at him about. Especially not stupid demon birds that think he’s ridiculous and absurd for holding them hostage on a grocery run, of all things.
“Wrong way!” He shouts in a dramatic voice. “Onwards!”
Maybe he is ridiculous and absurd. He’s going to the store to get donuts with wings on his back and he’s going to be thinking about murder the entire time, thanks to kissing his guildmate’s demon out of his mouth. Normal, everyday things. He wonders if he’s going to have to kiss him to put it back.
Ugh. He’s not looking forward to that conversation.
Hakka is never going to let him live this down. He can practically hear him already, the bastard teasing him to hell and beyond. How is he going to even approach this topic? Bettel has no idea.
So what if the thought lingers? He’s not about to ask if Hakka would be interested in demon-sharing just to kiss him.
He would kiss you if you asked anyway, the tengu tells him, barging rudely into his train of thought. Just ask.
Distracted, Bettel hits his wings on the doorway on the way out, and faceplants into the door.
Yeah, he’s not gonna get used to this anytime soon.
Oh well.
Hakka’s resounding laughter, mixed with him cursing Bettel’s name between a series of ow, ouch and fuck, is more than enough to make up for it.