calling all avenging angels (angels, kick-ass angels) [closed/complete]
Characters: Famine, Samael (& unconscious Echo)
Date/Time: The wee hours of Sunday morning
Location: Starting outside Famine's apartment
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence. Swearing. Samael.
Summary: Samael is on a rescue mission and he's not happy about it.
Samael was still furious, though he was managing to keep his rage at a sort of simmering level; it didn't blind him but it did fuel him. When Famine hung up, Samael flung his phone against the wall. It left a dent in the plastered wall and then promptly disintegrated into its component parts. Fuck. It didn't matter. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, anyway. He only had so many resources at his disposal at this time of a Saturday night/Sunday morning. Fuck. He'd been having a good weekend, sort of, till now. Yes, yes, he was still restless but he'd wined and dined Death and not many people could say that. Had he known that her brother would cause him such upset, he'd have told her, under no uncertain terms. If an Archangel was causing trouble, he'd want to know, so he assumed that the Horsemen were the same. Of course, it didn't cross Samael's mind that he was invariably the trouble-maker.
And now he was left to play the hero again. Whatever Famine had said about movie-star heroics, it's not like Samael could do nothing. He knew that Famine wasn't the sort to rush pleasure, or torture, so he could only hope that Echo was still alive. She hadn't struck him as all that fragile, just rather dotty, so hopefully she'd cling on. (Hopefully, his voice hadn't scared the everliving shit out of her.) The only option open to him at this moment in time was to stake out Famine's own apartment. Monitor the Horseman's comings and goings. It was easily enough done. While Samael stood in the shadows, he used his ability to unsettle passers-by just enough that they felt no need to look into the darkened corners. Some of them actually scurried across the street. Perfect. He lit a cigarette and waited.
§
Unlike many people who couldn't say the same thing, Famine could tell when he was being watched. As someone who took the time to follow others with his own eyes, it was relatively easy to feel someone else's on him.
That night's rest hadn't been particularly restful, even with the help of the sleeping pills, and he'd woken bright and early -- unintentionally. Leaving his slumbering brother behind, the Black Horseman slipped out in his usual quiet manner and hit the street by six.
§
Samael wasn't greatly worried if Famine knew he was being followed. There was something about reincarnates; invariably able to sense the presence of other reincarnates. He fell into step, quite some way behind Famine, musing about what he'd do if Famine led him on a merry chase. For the good of Famine's health, it would be as well if the Horseman guided the Archangel straight to the damsel in distress. To do otherwise might get messy and Samael wasn't quite sure how he could explain that to Death or War.
§
The trip didn't take too long. Fifteen minutes give or take. A back entrance to the building was used, purposelessly left unlocked for his dear little follower. There was no other reincarnate it could be but Samael, but if he thought Famine would lead him straight there, he was quite wrong.
Once inside, the slender Horseman took the opportunity to wait right by the elevator, his back to the door and his eyes on the entrance he'd stepped through.
§
Famine would likely be able to sense Samael's growing frustration and anger. This is not how he wanted to spend a Sunday morning. He could cope with sleep deprivation but there was this horrible thing niggling at the corner of his consciousness. Some might call it a conscience but Samael didn't like to entertain such filthy words.
He stepped into the hall and walked towards Famine, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. His eyes flashed dangerously and his jaw was clenched. There were a thousand things he wanted to ask but the primary question was How fucking could you? Samael was just selfish enough to feel entirely put out by this whole affair. He was resentful at being cornered just because he couldn't let a girl die at the hands of a batshit insane Horseman. He bit his lip. Wondered briefly what would Michael do?
He said nothing.
§
And in response, he was given nothing. What could really be said? All that came expected was a flurry of 'why's and 'you asshole's and 'where is she's, which was all very boring. There was no need to play into Samael's hands, as far as the Horseman was concerned, so rather than saying anything at all, he stood his ground and stayed just as silent.
He did, however, eventually offer an empty smile.
§
Samael closed his eyes, just briefly. He had faint memories of being told that counting to ten could be quite useful when it came to keep one's temper but the truth was that Samael didn't much care to keep his rage entirely checked right now. He strode towards Famine and took a hold of his wrist. Tightly. He could almost feel the bones grinding beneath his hand.
"Is she alive?"
§
The smile didn't flicker at all. It was still present as Famine parted his lips to speak, eyes burning right into the angel's. Even and dangerous. Unwilling to spill a single drop of information. His wrists were never particularly strong, especially with the weight rollercoaster he'd been riding over the last few months, but he didn't pull away. Whatever came next, that could be dealt with.
He blew at a stray piece of blonde on Samael's forehead. "Is who alive?"
§
Wrong answer. Samael squeezed and then twisted and with seemingly little effort, he had Famine pressed face-first against the wall. There was a crackling under his fingers, rather like bubble-wrap, if he stopped to think about it. There were a lot of tiny bones to break. What would Michael do? Certainly not this.
"Some lovers try positions that they just can't handle," he murmured. "It's away of remembering all the bones in the hand, Diet Plan. Scaphoid (that's the one I've cracked, I think). Lunate. Triquetrium. Pisiform. Trapazium. Trapezoid. Capitate. Hamate. Someone skinny as you. There must be a danger of osteoporosis and that's a lot of bones to crack."
He was getting angrier and angrier. Being reduced to violence like this? Being on the very threshold of losing control? He hated it, more than anything. "Is she alive?"
§
Cracked bones wasn't an entirely familiar sensation to Famine. He'd been a careful child, never playing sports or throwing himself into anything that might end up with broken arms or legs. Nevertheless, he flinched, a sight that went unseen as his cheek met with the wall. His breath came out in a harsh exhale.
"Do you do this often?" The angel's question was pointedly ignored. "Slam people you've swapped spit with against walls. It's not really very sexy, Wings."
§
And now it was Samael's turn to ignore the question. He wrenched Famine's arm a bit more. It wouldn't take too much to dislocate his shoulder. Samael's sheer strength would see to that, even if Famine wasn't so much lighter.
"Is. She. Alive?"
§
In return, there was a soft, breathy laugh. "I know a lot of girls. That doesn't narrow it down." Such a dangerous game to play, when the wrong (or right) move could rip his shoulder out of its socket, or crush the bones in his wrist -- maybe worse.
But Famine wasn't one to give others what they wanted. How could he be Famine otherwise? It was about the refusal, the deprivation. Samael could break him down to a pile of bones, but he wouldn't say a word. The blonde would just have to find out which floor she was on by himself.
§
Samael sighed. Frustrated, yes. Angry, certainly. His breath was hot against the back of Famine's neck because he was leaning heavily on the other man.
"Well, then. How about this?" he murmured. "For every floor I search, I break a bone? And if she's not in the building, I'll drop you off the top of it, for wasting my fucking time? That seems reasonable, don't you think?" Samael kept a hold of Famine's wrist as he stepped away and he dragged the other man behind him, as easily as if he were a ragdoll. He took deep breaths, trying his best to keep his head clear. He couldn't really judge a Horseman for acting exactly as God and nature had intended but there was an innocent life at stake and, if he understood anything his brothers had taught him about Eve (though he wasn't entirely convinced by their argument that she was an innocent), a single life was worth defending. Fuck.
§
Another laugh escaped Famine's lips as he allowed himself to be dragged, knowing there was no way to fight back against someone who was twice his weight and much more heavily muscled. The bones in the injured wrist creaked painfully, but he didn't hiss in pain, didn't utter a single 'ow'. He could take more than some crunching bones.
"You don't even know if this is the building, do you?"
§
"No," said Samael, warming to the task at hand. "I don't." He hauled Famine into the lift and pressed the button for the basement. Might as well start at the bottom and work his way up, if he was going to fling Famine from the roof. It's not that he wanted to do that but the problem with Samael was this: once he'd committed to doing something, it was nigh-on impossible to make him stop.
The elevator glided down smoothly and the doors opened.
§
Nothing flickered on the Horseman's face as they descended. Echo was in fact in the basement, but if Samael was going to find that out, he'd do so on his own without Famine's aid. He adjusted his captive wrist when it was held at an awkward angle, yet didn't tug it away out of the hold. Briefly, he wondered if Death had come and had her share of the nymph. As the blonde kept a hold on him, he reached out with his other hand and traced his fingertips along the back of the closest shoulder.
Just to see what Samael would do.
§
Samael felt the flare of hunger but before Famine's ability could really have too much of an effect, he knocked Famine's hand aside, as though brushing away a fly. Even though Samael had, in the past, welcomed the challenge of Famine's touch, now was not the time to indulge the Horseman. Catching hold of Famine's free hand, he gripped it tight, twisting it, enough to cause pain but not enough to damage ligaments or tendons or bones.
"Try that again and I'll snap all your fingers," he growled.
Keeping Famine in front of him, holding the Horseman by the back of the neck now (he'd love to see Famine make any kind of a bid for freedom), he moved from room to room, flicking on lights as he did.
§
Oh, how terrifying. Throwing him off a building, breaking his bones, snapping his fingers? Samael was really taking this too seriously. What could Echo mean to him? If the conversation the night before was any indication, that relationship was still very new, and so clearly this was something else.
"Will you," the slighter boy returned rather airily, believing it but not showing any hint of fear.
§
Samael scowled at the back of Famine's head. While the Horseman couldn't see that, the waves and waves of unadulterated malice could surely be felt. He murmured quietly, "if I had the time or the fucking inclination to figure you out, Horseman-" He bit off the end of the sentence. Seeing a Horseman suffer was rather outside his angelic remit. His hands crept up to either side of Famine's face. It would be so easy to break his neck. So fucking easy. Samael was angry enough to do it, too.
Instead, he turned the Horseman around and elbowed him in the head. It wasn't remotely graceful but it knocked the Horseman out, sending him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. And fuck. Now Samael would have to carry this deadweight. He slung Famine over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and continued his exploration of the basement.
It was fortunate for Famine, in some ways, that Samael happened upon Echo, next. The girl was tied to a pipe against the wall, her head lolling and she was blindfolded. Samael dropped Famine, not bothering to cushion his fall. A few more bruises wouldn't mean a thing to Famine so Samael wasn't going to let them worry him. He hurried over to Echo and felt for a pulse. Still alive, to judge from the slightly too-fast, flickering pulse. Dehydrated all to fucking hell; the girl's lips were dried and cracked. Samael tugged off the blindfold and untied her.
The logistics of transferring both unconscious figures out of there presented something of a challenge but Samael was nothing if not inventive. He flagged down a passing taxi and heaved both into the back.
"Drunk," he muttered. The taxi driver didn't complain. The first stop was the nearest hospital. Bellevue. Fuck. He deposited Echo in the emergency department or, rather, handed her straight into the arms of a passing paramedic. "Erica Monteverde. Call her brother. There are some sick fucks out there."
Finally, he returned to the taxi and went home. He dragged Famine up in the elevator and dumped him in his own bed. Then he sat down and, using Famine's own phone (because Samael's was in pieces on the living room floor), he texted Death. Come collect Famine. [address]
Once that was done, he stepped out of the bedroom and ran his hands through his hair. Fuck. They could all go to hell. Every single last fucking one of them. He was fucked if he was going to be forced into doing anything like this again. Clearly Famine had no fucking clue what he'd done. Samael was not a good angel. He was not a kind angel. He didn't always know the different between right and fucking wrong but sometimes he could understand what do to when given the choice between saving the life of an innocent or indulging the whim of creature like Famine, when they were all trapped in mortal flesh. Fuck.
Death could not come fast enough.
Date/Time: The wee hours of Sunday morning
Location: Starting outside Famine's apartment
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence. Swearing. Samael.
Summary: Samael is on a rescue mission and he's not happy about it.
Samael was still furious, though he was managing to keep his rage at a sort of simmering level; it didn't blind him but it did fuel him. When Famine hung up, Samael flung his phone against the wall. It left a dent in the plastered wall and then promptly disintegrated into its component parts. Fuck. It didn't matter. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, anyway. He only had so many resources at his disposal at this time of a Saturday night/Sunday morning. Fuck. He'd been having a good weekend, sort of, till now. Yes, yes, he was still restless but he'd wined and dined Death and not many people could say that. Had he known that her brother would cause him such upset, he'd have told her, under no uncertain terms. If an Archangel was causing trouble, he'd want to know, so he assumed that the Horsemen were the same. Of course, it didn't cross Samael's mind that he was invariably the trouble-maker.
And now he was left to play the hero again. Whatever Famine had said about movie-star heroics, it's not like Samael could do nothing. He knew that Famine wasn't the sort to rush pleasure, or torture, so he could only hope that Echo was still alive. She hadn't struck him as all that fragile, just rather dotty, so hopefully she'd cling on. (Hopefully, his voice hadn't scared the everliving shit out of her.) The only option open to him at this moment in time was to stake out Famine's own apartment. Monitor the Horseman's comings and goings. It was easily enough done. While Samael stood in the shadows, he used his ability to unsettle passers-by just enough that they felt no need to look into the darkened corners. Some of them actually scurried across the street. Perfect. He lit a cigarette and waited.
§
Unlike many people who couldn't say the same thing, Famine could tell when he was being watched. As someone who took the time to follow others with his own eyes, it was relatively easy to feel someone else's on him.
That night's rest hadn't been particularly restful, even with the help of the sleeping pills, and he'd woken bright and early -- unintentionally. Leaving his slumbering brother behind, the Black Horseman slipped out in his usual quiet manner and hit the street by six.
§
Samael wasn't greatly worried if Famine knew he was being followed. There was something about reincarnates; invariably able to sense the presence of other reincarnates. He fell into step, quite some way behind Famine, musing about what he'd do if Famine led him on a merry chase. For the good of Famine's health, it would be as well if the Horseman guided the Archangel straight to the damsel in distress. To do otherwise might get messy and Samael wasn't quite sure how he could explain that to Death or War.
§
The trip didn't take too long. Fifteen minutes give or take. A back entrance to the building was used, purposelessly left unlocked for his dear little follower. There was no other reincarnate it could be but Samael, but if he thought Famine would lead him straight there, he was quite wrong.
Once inside, the slender Horseman took the opportunity to wait right by the elevator, his back to the door and his eyes on the entrance he'd stepped through.
§
Famine would likely be able to sense Samael's growing frustration and anger. This is not how he wanted to spend a Sunday morning. He could cope with sleep deprivation but there was this horrible thing niggling at the corner of his consciousness. Some might call it a conscience but Samael didn't like to entertain such filthy words.
He stepped into the hall and walked towards Famine, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. His eyes flashed dangerously and his jaw was clenched. There were a thousand things he wanted to ask but the primary question was How fucking could you? Samael was just selfish enough to feel entirely put out by this whole affair. He was resentful at being cornered just because he couldn't let a girl die at the hands of a batshit insane Horseman. He bit his lip. Wondered briefly what would Michael do?
He said nothing.
§
And in response, he was given nothing. What could really be said? All that came expected was a flurry of 'why's and 'you asshole's and 'where is she's, which was all very boring. There was no need to play into Samael's hands, as far as the Horseman was concerned, so rather than saying anything at all, he stood his ground and stayed just as silent.
He did, however, eventually offer an empty smile.
§
Samael closed his eyes, just briefly. He had faint memories of being told that counting to ten could be quite useful when it came to keep one's temper but the truth was that Samael didn't much care to keep his rage entirely checked right now. He strode towards Famine and took a hold of his wrist. Tightly. He could almost feel the bones grinding beneath his hand.
"Is she alive?"
§
The smile didn't flicker at all. It was still present as Famine parted his lips to speak, eyes burning right into the angel's. Even and dangerous. Unwilling to spill a single drop of information. His wrists were never particularly strong, especially with the weight rollercoaster he'd been riding over the last few months, but he didn't pull away. Whatever came next, that could be dealt with.
He blew at a stray piece of blonde on Samael's forehead. "Is who alive?"
§
Wrong answer. Samael squeezed and then twisted and with seemingly little effort, he had Famine pressed face-first against the wall. There was a crackling under his fingers, rather like bubble-wrap, if he stopped to think about it. There were a lot of tiny bones to break. What would Michael do? Certainly not this.
"Some lovers try positions that they just can't handle," he murmured. "It's away of remembering all the bones in the hand, Diet Plan. Scaphoid (that's the one I've cracked, I think). Lunate. Triquetrium. Pisiform. Trapazium. Trapezoid. Capitate. Hamate. Someone skinny as you. There must be a danger of osteoporosis and that's a lot of bones to crack."
He was getting angrier and angrier. Being reduced to violence like this? Being on the very threshold of losing control? He hated it, more than anything. "Is she alive?"
§
Cracked bones wasn't an entirely familiar sensation to Famine. He'd been a careful child, never playing sports or throwing himself into anything that might end up with broken arms or legs. Nevertheless, he flinched, a sight that went unseen as his cheek met with the wall. His breath came out in a harsh exhale.
"Do you do this often?" The angel's question was pointedly ignored. "Slam people you've swapped spit with against walls. It's not really very sexy, Wings."
§
And now it was Samael's turn to ignore the question. He wrenched Famine's arm a bit more. It wouldn't take too much to dislocate his shoulder. Samael's sheer strength would see to that, even if Famine wasn't so much lighter.
"Is. She. Alive?"
§
In return, there was a soft, breathy laugh. "I know a lot of girls. That doesn't narrow it down." Such a dangerous game to play, when the wrong (or right) move could rip his shoulder out of its socket, or crush the bones in his wrist -- maybe worse.
But Famine wasn't one to give others what they wanted. How could he be Famine otherwise? It was about the refusal, the deprivation. Samael could break him down to a pile of bones, but he wouldn't say a word. The blonde would just have to find out which floor she was on by himself.
§
Samael sighed. Frustrated, yes. Angry, certainly. His breath was hot against the back of Famine's neck because he was leaning heavily on the other man.
"Well, then. How about this?" he murmured. "For every floor I search, I break a bone? And if she's not in the building, I'll drop you off the top of it, for wasting my fucking time? That seems reasonable, don't you think?" Samael kept a hold of Famine's wrist as he stepped away and he dragged the other man behind him, as easily as if he were a ragdoll. He took deep breaths, trying his best to keep his head clear. He couldn't really judge a Horseman for acting exactly as God and nature had intended but there was an innocent life at stake and, if he understood anything his brothers had taught him about Eve (though he wasn't entirely convinced by their argument that she was an innocent), a single life was worth defending. Fuck.
§
Another laugh escaped Famine's lips as he allowed himself to be dragged, knowing there was no way to fight back against someone who was twice his weight and much more heavily muscled. The bones in the injured wrist creaked painfully, but he didn't hiss in pain, didn't utter a single 'ow'. He could take more than some crunching bones.
"You don't even know if this is the building, do you?"
§
"No," said Samael, warming to the task at hand. "I don't." He hauled Famine into the lift and pressed the button for the basement. Might as well start at the bottom and work his way up, if he was going to fling Famine from the roof. It's not that he wanted to do that but the problem with Samael was this: once he'd committed to doing something, it was nigh-on impossible to make him stop.
The elevator glided down smoothly and the doors opened.
§
Nothing flickered on the Horseman's face as they descended. Echo was in fact in the basement, but if Samael was going to find that out, he'd do so on his own without Famine's aid. He adjusted his captive wrist when it was held at an awkward angle, yet didn't tug it away out of the hold. Briefly, he wondered if Death had come and had her share of the nymph. As the blonde kept a hold on him, he reached out with his other hand and traced his fingertips along the back of the closest shoulder.
Just to see what Samael would do.
§
Samael felt the flare of hunger but before Famine's ability could really have too much of an effect, he knocked Famine's hand aside, as though brushing away a fly. Even though Samael had, in the past, welcomed the challenge of Famine's touch, now was not the time to indulge the Horseman. Catching hold of Famine's free hand, he gripped it tight, twisting it, enough to cause pain but not enough to damage ligaments or tendons or bones.
"Try that again and I'll snap all your fingers," he growled.
Keeping Famine in front of him, holding the Horseman by the back of the neck now (he'd love to see Famine make any kind of a bid for freedom), he moved from room to room, flicking on lights as he did.
§
Oh, how terrifying. Throwing him off a building, breaking his bones, snapping his fingers? Samael was really taking this too seriously. What could Echo mean to him? If the conversation the night before was any indication, that relationship was still very new, and so clearly this was something else.
"Will you," the slighter boy returned rather airily, believing it but not showing any hint of fear.
§
Samael scowled at the back of Famine's head. While the Horseman couldn't see that, the waves and waves of unadulterated malice could surely be felt. He murmured quietly, "if I had the time or the fucking inclination to figure you out, Horseman-" He bit off the end of the sentence. Seeing a Horseman suffer was rather outside his angelic remit. His hands crept up to either side of Famine's face. It would be so easy to break his neck. So fucking easy. Samael was angry enough to do it, too.
Instead, he turned the Horseman around and elbowed him in the head. It wasn't remotely graceful but it knocked the Horseman out, sending him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. And fuck. Now Samael would have to carry this deadweight. He slung Famine over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and continued his exploration of the basement.
It was fortunate for Famine, in some ways, that Samael happened upon Echo, next. The girl was tied to a pipe against the wall, her head lolling and she was blindfolded. Samael dropped Famine, not bothering to cushion his fall. A few more bruises wouldn't mean a thing to Famine so Samael wasn't going to let them worry him. He hurried over to Echo and felt for a pulse. Still alive, to judge from the slightly too-fast, flickering pulse. Dehydrated all to fucking hell; the girl's lips were dried and cracked. Samael tugged off the blindfold and untied her.
The logistics of transferring both unconscious figures out of there presented something of a challenge but Samael was nothing if not inventive. He flagged down a passing taxi and heaved both into the back.
"Drunk," he muttered. The taxi driver didn't complain. The first stop was the nearest hospital. Bellevue. Fuck. He deposited Echo in the emergency department or, rather, handed her straight into the arms of a passing paramedic. "Erica Monteverde. Call her brother. There are some sick fucks out there."
Finally, he returned to the taxi and went home. He dragged Famine up in the elevator and dumped him in his own bed. Then he sat down and, using Famine's own phone (because Samael's was in pieces on the living room floor), he texted Death. Come collect Famine. [address]
Once that was done, he stepped out of the bedroom and ran his hands through his hair. Fuck. They could all go to hell. Every single last fucking one of them. He was fucked if he was going to be forced into doing anything like this again. Clearly Famine had no fucking clue what he'd done. Samael was not a good angel. He was not a kind angel. He didn't always know the different between right and fucking wrong but sometimes he could understand what do to when given the choice between saving the life of an innocent or indulging the whim of creature like Famine, when they were all trapped in mortal flesh. Fuck.
Death could not come fast enough.