(A/N) Whoo, well, this little tale's been a bit of a whirlwind. I wrote this one for Sugarsaurus as part of the VLD valentine exchange and I didn't have much to go on, so I just started tinkering with pieces of urban fantasy AU and this is the result. It's a bit of an experiment in different types of story structure for me, so hopefully it's at least a little interesting. Happy reading!

Don't Look Back Until You're Free

Then

If you were to ask him, Keith would say he did an honest day's work. He hunted what needed hunting. He killed what needed killing, and he banished what needed banishing for the odd creature in between who couldn't actually be killed. He made his living honestly, which was difficult in this day and age no matter what percentage of your blood was demonic, so when he made his way to his somewhat-father's bar at the end of the day, he had certain expectations of being able to take a load off – of knocking back a few drinks and being able to forget the day's incidences.

He should've known better than to expect anything by now, really.

Takashi Shirogane had run the Den for time out of mind, and that was saying something for a community of less than natural beings; a number of whom could say when some new thing was the greatest thing since sliced bread without a trace of irony. No one actually knew what sort of creature the man was, but his bar had somehow become the center of the West Coast's supernatural community.

There were rumors, of course. When were there ever not rumors? A banished arch demon, one of the Elder fey, from before the People had divided themselves into Seelie and Unseelie. Whatever the case was, the stories couldn't help but agree that Shirogane was possessed of powerful magic. How could it be otherwise when the man had survived numerous centuries of imprisonment in the Unseelie court, and had somehow managed to attract a fallen angel for a mate?

Adam himself would always debate the term 'fallen' angel, but he could never seem to satisfactorily explain what his actual state was to those few who were bold or stupid enough to ask, so the term remained.

Keith knew what both his guardians were, of course, but even in nearly eighty years of living with them, he had never glimpsed either of their true forms, and if Shiro wasn't sharing, it certainly wasn't his place to go babbling it around. So the rumors persisted.

On this particular evening, the angel was entertaining the tale that Shiro might be a demon. After all, all the best love stories included angels and demons. Keith wasn't really listening and he could see that Shiro was trying not to, but he would let loose an occasional chuckle as he cleaned glasses. Keith just rolled his eyes as he nursed his fire wine, Shiro and Adam's own special blend that they refused to share the recipe of, but that seemed to be the only liquor that could reliably get the cambion drunk. He was well into his second glass when he happened to notice Shiro's disapproving look in the direction of the bar's entrance. He followed the gaze to find the unfortunate soul on the receiving end of Takashi Shirogane's displeasure, having experienced it himself often enough.

Katie Holt.

More commonly known as Pidge, the seventeen-year-old witch was among the number not permitted in the bar after dark. Keith had honestly never been able to figure out what Shiro's actual rules were so far as drinking age went. What it boiled down to was, 'you're old enough when I say you're old enough'. For Keith, it had been twenty-seven. For Pidge's older brother, Matt, it had been fifteen. Pidge herself, though? Whatever Shiro's determining factor was, she had yet to hit it. So the stipulation remained.

But the young witch didn't seem to notice what dangerous ground she was on. Spotting Shiro, she headed straight for him, a look that could kill burning in her eyes. Even with his more than human senses, Keith couldn't hear what she was saying to the bar owner, but he couldn't help but notice when Shiro nodded exactly in his direction.

Pidge made a beeline for his table, slamming her hands urgently down on the wooden surface when she reached it.

"Keith, I need your blood," she said, her voice telling him that this was very much not a joke.

The cambion started to shake his head. "Goblin Town still hasn't recovered from the last spell you used my blood in. Whatever you're planning, I'm pretty sure you can find something a little less destructive than my demon mutt blood."

Already, Pidge was shaking her head so insistently, Keith was half-amazed it remained attached to her neck. "This is nothing like last time. It has to be you. I don't know any other cambions."

"So who are you trying to blow up this time?"

"Opposite, actually. It's for a healing spell."

"Healing spell?" Keith repeated in mild shock, aware that their conversation was beginning to draw attention. What healing spell could possibly call for cambion blood? His blood didn't heal. It harmed. It harmed like a pack of werewolves on a moon bender. What sadistic moron would dream up such a spell?

"Keith...please," the young witch tried again, her gaze becoming desperate. "It's for Dad."

That one immediately drew Keith's gaze from his young friend over to Shiro, who nodded when he caught his eye. Adam was still regaling the patrons with whatever tale he was telling, but Keith could tell he was paying attention to this, too. He also offered the cambion a similar, subtle nod.

It had been years since anyone had heard even a whisper of Samuel Holt. Most had given the brilliant witch up for dead after he had tangled with Haggar and the Wild Hunt over the murder of his wife, but his son and daughter had never been among that number. They'd never given up searching. Now it seemed all that time spent might not have been for nothing. Only...what did any of that have to do with Pidge needing his blood?

"Anything you can tell me before we leave the Den?" he asked as he rose from his table, following Pidge to the back exit, where his motorcycle was parked.

"Wouldn't risk it," was her only response. The bar's wards were good for unwanted listeners on the outside, but the place was widely considered neutral territory. There was no accounting for who on the inside might overhear something you didn't want them to. Further information would have to wait until they reached the Holts' apartment.

"Save that bottle," Keith called to Shiro on the way out. "I'm getting the feeling I'll be needing it later."

"Be careful out there," Shiro warned them with a pointed look. Then they were out the back door and all conversation ceased.

Keith passed Pidge the helmet he stored with the bike. He had no use for it, but on the rare occasion he had a passenger like Pidge or Matt, who were slightly more on the mortal side, it was useful to have. once they were both situated, the cambion gunned the bike out of the alleyway. It had been a few months, but he still remembered the way to the small apartment complex on the other side of Marina.

Pidge was already pulling the helmet off before Keith had properly brought the bike to a stop. In the time it took him to park, she'd already leaped to the ground and was halfway to the dilapidated front door of the building where she lived with her brother. The pair remained silent as they climbed the creaking stairs up to the third floor.

Keith felt it the moment they passed through the wards surrounding the siblings' small home. Much more specific than the wards that protected the Den, they always reminded him of a chain locking in place behind him. As soon as the front door was shut, Matt was rushing into the front room, already asking, "Was he there?"

"Yeah," Keith answered for her. "Yeah, he was. What's this all about?"

Matt shook his head as he headed into the small kitchen. "Man, you really need to get a phone."

Keith shook his head, glaring at the older witch. "I did just fine without one before this decade, thank you."

"Spoken like a true immortal," Pidge cackled, though there was a slight edge in her voice as she went to help her brother prepare. Picking up a dagger from their table, she tossed it to him without looking. "Catch! Don't touch the blade if you can help it."

"What's this for?" he asked, catching the handle with a practiced flick of his wrist. Immediately, he felt the faint burn of holy power against his skin, even through the barrier of the golden handle. Glancing at the blade, he saw Enochian sigils traced upon its silvery surface with ash. This was some serious sanctifying mumbo jumbo. He wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

"Pretty sure you understand the purpose of a knife, Keith 'cut-all-the-things' Kogane," Pidge snarked as she yanked open the fridge, pulling out a faintly smoking beaker that was filled near to the brim with a blue sage-scented liquid.

"No, I mean I have my own blades," he pointed out, free hand gesturing vaguely to the twin belts around his waist, both bristling with any kind of dagger any hunter worth their salt could want.

"No good," Matt fired back as he set an old, banged up cooking pot down on their stovetop, pushing the dial to the highest setting before pulling a tackle box out from under the sink and setting it on the counter. "The blood has to be drawn by a holy sword. I just spent the last hour consecrating that."

"You want me to cut myself with a holy blade?" Keith demanded incredulously, resisting the urge to drop the dagger. "Do you have any idea how long that's gonna take to heal? What the actual fuck, you guys?"

The Holt siblings ceased in their preparations to share a look. Pidge looked uncertain, but Matt finally nodded. Leaving the prep work to his sister, the witch jerked his head in the direction of the back rooms. "Come on. I need to show you something."

Keith followed Matt back to his bedroom. The small space was lit only by a few candles, but it was still enough for the cambion's enhanced eyes to see perfectly. Laid out on the young witch's air mattress was a man, naked from the waist up.

Well, a man, perhaps, but no human man. Keith could tell that right away. The scent was all wrong. If he had to choose something to compare this man's scent to, he would have to say it most closely resembled Adam's scent. He'd never had a name for the scent, but it made him think sunlight – sunlight and a warm breeze with just a touch of ozone. As peaceful and volatile as a spring sky. But mixed in with this strange, undefinable scent, there was also the distinct scent of blood, and that was due to the horrific gashes that traversed the length of the man's shoulders and back, marring his bronzed skin with oozing trails of blood. Unconscious, the man groaned pitifully in his sleep.

"What...what happened to him?" Keith managed to make himself ask, unable to tear his eyes away from the man.

"We're not really sure. Dad sent him to us, along with the spell to heal him. Wherever they were, it looks like this poor bastard just barely managed to escape. We...we think he's probably..."

"An angel," Keith finished when Matt was unable to.

"Right. And if anybody would know how to heal an angel...it would be Dad. So...whatever happened to him...it was probably her that did it."

"Haggar," the cambion said quietly, voice tinged with venom and rage and a touch of fear.

"Yeah. He needs your blood, Keith. Otherwise, he's gonna die. Are you going to help us or not?" Matt asked him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

Seeing the injured angel, lying so still and helpless on the mattress, Keith couldn't help but picture others in his place – others who had suffered at the hands of the Queen of Air and Darkness.

Colleen...Shiro...Allura...Alfor...his own parents...so many. And now this innocent angel had gotten caught up in it as well. With a renewed sharpness, he felt the pain of the dagger clutched in his fist. He nodded once.

"I'll help."

"Keith! I'm ready out here!" Pidge called for them. "I need that blood. It's now or never."

Hurrying back out to the kitchen, Keith held the consecrated blade just an inch above his vulnerable skin, not yet daring to touch the dangerous weapon to his skin until he knew exactly what it was that was going to happen.

"How did you want me to do this?" he asked them. Pidge waved him over to the stovetop.

"Just bleed into the pot. I'll let you know when we hit capacity," she informed him, stirring the concoction simmering on the burner once to the right and twice to the left before backing away, making space for Keith before the brew.

Taking a moment beforehand to steel himself, Keith slashed the holy blade cleanly across his left wrist, feeling the burn of it like he would no other injury. His blood welled up quickly from the wound, so dark as to almost be black. Once he had enough of a flow going, he held his wrist over the pot, letting the liquid pour into the brew.

The blue substance swiftly turned red, coming to a roiling boil in the pot. Pidge stuck her head over the concoction, inhaling the scent, determining things Keith would never be able to. She threw open the tackle box Matt had brought out earlier and retrieved a chip of fluorite from inside, pitching it into the mix. This caused the brew to turn a very pale blue.

"Still not there," the young witch growled. "Matt, what do the notes say for spider fang?"

"Tablespoon," he answered after glancing at a sheave of papers on the table, taking a moment to toss Keith a ratty dishtowel to press against his bleeding wrist.

"I'm...gonna say he wasn't accounting for Keith being halfway to drunk. We'll try an extra half," she said, pulling a jar down from one of the cabinets and divvying out the requisite amount of spider fang. Once it had dissolved, the mixture emitted a small puff of smoke before transforming back into its initial deep blue color. Pidge pumped a fist in the air, a look of triumph lighting up her face. "And we are go."

"Then let's get going," Matt said, pulling a chipped Hello Kitty mug down from another cabinet and ladling some of the freshly brewed potion into it. Pidge and Keith both followed him back to his bedroom.

The elder Holt knelt beside his mattress with the mug in hand, reaching forward with his other hand to touch the side of the angel's face.

"Hey, Lance? You still with me in there?" he prodded gently.

The angel, Lance, whimpered in pain, fingers digging into the rumpled bedding.

"No...no...please," he whispered in a desperate voice.

"Lance, it's over now," Matt tried to soothe him. "You're safe. We're gonna help you, but I need you to drink this." He tried to get the angel onto his side, but he couldn't manage to get a handle on the injured man without fear of spilling the potion. "Pidge? Keith? A little help?"

The two moved to the other side of the mattress, quickly rolling the angel onto his back. Keith felt a small twinge of guilt when Lance cried out, struggling against them, but he knew this had to be done. There was no two ways about it. Once they had him in position, Matt forced the mug against his lips, making sure he drank down its contents..

At first, Keith couldn't properly describe what was happening. It was like the angel's blood was suddenly lit from within, forming crystalline red rivulets along his skin. Then his injuries were no longer oozing blood. They were oozing light.

Then the angel's eyes burst open, stark white light pouring from them as a violent wind tore through the room, blowing all three of them back from him.

"Ol zir a noco de olapireta," he declared in a voice like thunder as he slowly rose into the air.

"What's happening?" Pidge demanded over the noise of the gale force wind.

"I don't know!" Matt shouted back. As they watched, an actual pair of wings burst into existence at the angel's back.

"Ol zir a napea de malpirgi od a arezodi de teloah," he said, voice like nothing so much as it was like everything, the possibility virtually endless. Even as his wings glowed with holy fire, a strange dark light began to thread through them, slowly turning each feather black.

"Hoxmarch en dooain, lap Ol zir bagie. Ol zir a ialapereji de anupe, a hara imtelo," he proclaimed, and as Keith beheld the fiery being before him, he was faced with the understanding that an angel is both beautiful and terrible to behold.

When the wind finally died down and the light began to fade, Lance's eyes flickered closed and whatever power was holding him aloft simply dissipated, leaving him to collapse. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Keith was in motion, taking the angel in his arms before he could fall to the floor entirely. Even with what should've been the added weight of his massive wingspan, he felt no more substantial in the cambion's arms than a handful of snow.

Matt and Pidge were talking, but he wasn't really hearing what they were saying. All of his attention was focused on the angel cradled in his arms. Whatever episode he'd just been through, his injuries were healed, and he looked to be somewhat at peace as he slept. At rest and free of pain and terror, Keith knew he could say, without doubt or exception, that Lance was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Might be in trouble here.