Demon Division Chapter 1: Pick Up, a x-men: evolution fanfic

Disclaimer - While the universe is ours, the characters are not. Come to think of it, actually a hefty chunk of the universe isn't ours, either. Bugger.

A/N - While I wrote the first part of this, the rest is an interfic (a piece of fanfiction written piecemeal by several different writers). A lot of it was written back in early-to-mid 2004, but I found the old file sitting around and edited it into some sort of continuity to keep my eyes open on a babysit. It was either that, or watch the fifty-billionth repeat of Ghost Chase on the Horror Channel. Naturally I chose the fic.

Demon Division

1. Pick Up

Officer Smith leaned backwards against the wall, gun held high in one hand, the other palm by her side and pressed to the brickwork. Her uniform was damp with sweat and clung in all the wrong places. Had her partner been here he probably would've made some chauvinistic comment or other - right before she slammed his teeth down his throat.

As it was, she was alone with only her gun for company, since that idiot, Alvers, was somewhere five floors down with a twisted ankle. She'd told him that the elevator, though not as glamorous, was definitely safer than thundering up ten flights of stairs like cops did in the movies, but had that rookie listened to her? Had he hell!

Tabby twisted so that she could call and be heard through the chipped apartment door without getting her face blown off. There was no evidence yet that the suspect within was armed, but you never could tell in cases like this. This side of town was notorious for that sort of thing. Just last week she'd apprehended a Golgothin whose very body was one big disgusting weapon, and then the week before it was that bloody Succubus. Led them a merry dance, that one, and once again Alvers had been a great asset - not!

"We know you're in there!" She chose not to mention she was alone, although the prospect of badmouthing her idiot partner, even to a felon, was tempting. "You might as well give it up now. We have you surrounded," she added as an afterthought.

There was the sound of movement from inside, and what sounded like furniture being turned over. Tabby swore under her breath.

The details on this one were sketchy, at best. All she knew for sure was that there were at least two people inside this room, one of whom she was after, the other... she didn't really know much about. NYPD had received a desperate call from a neighbour just short of an hour ago, claiming that something distinctly unnatural had been spotted in the upstairs apartment. It'd taken two more reports of raised voices and sounds of a scuffle before the police hierarchy finally agreed to dispatch her and Alvers to deal with it.

Those higher up in the pecking order didn't like the Demon Division, as a rule, despite their usefulness in situations like these. The Chief of Police was likely to let Imps chew his face right off before he even admitted to their existence, and had dismissed the reams of supernatural sightings as flukes and college students for years, until his own superior demanded he at least make the effort in the eyes of the public and employ a set of officers to handle the cases he and his boys couldn't even explain, let alone solve.

Something thudded against the other side of the door, causing bits of whitewash to flake off. One of the three metal digits came loose on one side with a squeak, and it lurched, swinging upside down on the other nail. The sudden movement caught Tabby's eye, and her trigger-finger twitched involuntarily as she looked up and read off the new number.

666.

Figures.

More scuffling, and the jingle of breaking glass. An unexpected scream rent the air, but was abruptly cut off.

Right, that's it.

Tabby pushed off the wall and took a few steps back to get a good run up. Then she ran at the door with her shoulder down. Her body struck it solidly, but though the hinge creaked, it didn't give way. She tried again, with much the same result.

If only it was as easy as they make out in the movies. One good kick and boom, you're in. Jeez! Much more of this and I'm gonna put my damn shoulder out!

It took three collisions in all to open the door. Tabby grit her teeth and smashed into it one last time, feet pedalling the floor like pistons to get up enough power. The lock gave one pitiful whine, followed by a suspicious crunch, and then she was in with her gun raised and both hands ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"Police! Freeze!"

And then her jaw dropped.

From the reports and noises she'd been expecting a Filth Demon, or at least a run-of-the-mill troll. The figure that looked up at her entrance was demonic looking enough, but she could tell at once that he was either a child, or a simpleton, or both. His golden eyes went wide at the sight of her gun, and he emitted a small squeak more suited to a mouse than hell spawn.

Tabby's eyes narrowed, taking in the grisly vista at a glance. The demon was covered in blue fur that highlighted it against the sunlight streaming in through one of the windows. No chance of it escaping without her seeing then, but she kept her gun raised just in case. Trailing from each of its wrists were manacles affixed to knots of cord that looked like they'd recently been broken, and his spaded tail was attached to a wide steel ring around his neck via a chain that made it impossible for the serpentine appendage to move. It was a classic breakout look, and the patches of bare, rubbed-raw skin under each fetter supported the supposition.

The room itself was in tatters. Furniture had been smashed, the window hung open like a rotting wound, and there was a dressing table against one wall that sported a shattered mirror where a body had obviously been thrown against it. The blood spatters told her that much.

A corpse lay spread-eagled on the floor. Human male, Caucasian, he stared blankly up at the ceiling with sightless eyes. There was a ragged hole in the front of his shirt, rimmed by a rapidly spreading circle of red. From the way the blood was moving it was obvious he'd died mere minutes, maybe even seconds ago. Probably while she was still breaking the door down.

Damn it!

The demon was clutching at a long kitchen knife in one grotesque, three-fingered hand. Its blade was smeared in blood. Tabby blinked. From her experiences, knives and weapons like that weren't usually a demon's first choice of killing implement, especially if humans had made them. Something about 'impurifying' the deed, as she recalled.

Still, she cocked the revolver.

The demon laid his ears back and looked in horror at the bloodstained bread knife. Tabby almost fired as he dropped it and it clattered noisily to the floor, but stayed her hand when, instead of running or trying to attack her, the beast covered his head and crouched down on the floor into a tiny rocking ball.

"I didn't mean to!" he whimpered pathetically. "I didn't... he came at me. I... he was going to... but I... I-I-I didn't. I couldn't... I didn't mean to." And then he did the last thing she expected.

He started to cry.

What the f - ?

Tabby wasn't stupid enough to relinquish her hold on her weapon, but the incongruous sight made her stare all the same. The demon was really crying. Weeping like a baby with his head in his hands. It was such an odd sight that she wondered whether it was actually an illusion - hypnosis or glamour or something, but a bite to the tongue soon cured her of that idea.

"I didn't mean to..." the creature wept soulfully.

For the first time in her career as a member of the Demon Division, Tabby Smith had absolutely no idea what to do.

Oh... shit!

It was three long, terrifying breaths, before some form of routine took the place of innovation, and gave her some idea of what to do. The lean, furry demon was still weeping hysterically- there was a dead body on the floor, and he was clearly involved, though what an investigation would turn up was anybody's guess.

Officer Smith edged closer, still aiming but pressing more delicately on the trigger. "You are under arrest. You will be detained at NYPD Demon Division-" Come on, Tabby, don't choke now... "You have the right to an attorney. Anything you do, say, cast, inscribe or excrete can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

She recited the rest of the Demonic Miranda, and approached closer still- until she was as close as she could get without touching directly. The demon looked up again, gold eyes puffy and still leaking fluid- no telling if it was saltwater or something else entirely. He- yes, it appeared so- he didn't resist when she grabbed for his oddly shaped extremities and cuffed him, the warded gloves protecting her from contact.

Weird- no yelp or jerk as the ensorcelled cuffs latched on and the binding spells took effect. He only trembled, tail twitching as it was strained in an unnatural position attached to his collar. Once she was sure she had him secure, Tabitha reached for her radio.

"Have Harkness and Maximoff prep the interview room- suspect in custody. And get Homicide in here."

Wanda Maximoff glared at the occupant of the warded circle. Trace had been in earlier to gather everything they could from the demon's body, but the blue fuzzy creature still bore spatter from the attack.

Currently, he was rocking himself back and forth as he huddled in a crouch. All that carried across the audio was the occasional squeak.

"Something's not right," said Agatha. "Tread carefully."

Wanda nodded once before entering.

The demon whimpered and covered his head.

Agatha pulled up a seat and started the recording. "Interview begins at thirteen fifty-four. Officers present, Agatha Harkness, SCS... and Wanda Maximoff, JWA. Suspect is an unknown class of demon."

"Let's start with the basics," said Wanda. "Do you have a name?"

Whimper. Nod.

Thank the Powers that they had video as well. "Can you tell us your name?"

Another whimper. Another nod. "...K'rt W'gn'r..." Some soft sobs.

"You'll have to speak louder for the recording devices, dear," said Agatha.

'Dear'? pondered Wanda.

The little demon cleared his throat. "Kurt Wagner," he managed, German accent as thick as his voice was with tears. "I want to go home..."

If I was a rookie, thought Wanda. I'd swear he was truly crying. "What happened?" she asked. "What happened in the apartment?"

"He - he came at me... said I was... no use to him alive. He said... he said I might be good bait." He sobbed, rubbing at his wrists and ankles. "I did - something... and I was free. I was out of the... uh... what is the word? Begrenzungen? Uh... To tie down?"

"Restraints," said Agatha.

"Ah, dankeschoen, Frau." He wiped his face, smearing it with blood and tears. "I was out. I tried to get out the window, but he threw things. He did magic that stopped me. There was noise and I was afraid and so tired. He caught me. I just wanted to stop him. I wanted to live. We fell and... Gott..." he collapsed into more weeping. "I didn't mean it. Please. I didn't mean it... I didn't want to..."

Agatha gestured for Wanda to follow her out of the room.

"Looks like a classic case," said Wanda. "Guy summons a junior demon, discovers it isn't worth crap, tries to get an upgrade and the critter turns on him."

"Oh?" said Agatha, pointing to the observation window.

Inside the warded circle, the demon calling himself Kurt Wagner was trying to get the blood off his hands. Agatha turned up the volume on the audio.

"Gott... Gott... Jesus... Helfen Sie mir. Heilige Mutter, helfen mir..."

"Since when do demons pray?" said Wanda.

"Exactly," said Agatha. "I don't think he is a demon..."

Wanda resisted the urge to snort. "Um, are we looking at the same thing, here? Blue, fuzzy, fangs, forked tail, yellow yes - whole kit n' caboodle. What else could it be but a demon?"

Agatha looked thoughtfully at the wall, stroking her chin. "I don't know," she said softly, "but I intend to find out."

There was a long pause.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Agatha nodded.

Wanda took pause. She respected the older woman a hell of a lot more than the rest of the department did, but even she had trouble following the line of thought this time. "So... what? He speaks a few religious verses and suddenly he's an unknown quantity? Call me a sceptic, but I don't buy it."

"Neither will the prosecution. Most likely they'll call it a glamour or some such, intent to deceive us and pervert the course of justice." Agatha blinked, and then turned to her associate. "Who made the arrest?"

"Uh..." Hastily, Wanda checked her flipchart, tracing a line of meaningless gibberish and legal jargon with her finger. "Says here Alvers and Smith took the call, but Smith made the arrest alone. Alvers got send home about an hour ago with painkillers to practice with his new crutches."

Agatha sighed, loud and long. "Why does that not surprise me? Have Smith come here. I need to ask her a few things."

Wanda nodded, departing in a hurry. When she returned, Agatha was still on the wrong side of the glass, watching the demon with pensive eyes.

"Here she is."

The woman turned. "Tabitha."

Tabitha had a plastic cup of steaming coffee in one hand, pen in the other, and a hearty scowl on her face. "What?" she asked minimally, glancing through the glass. "Oh. That one."

"Yes, this one. Tabitha - "

"Tabby. You make me sound as old as you when you call me that."

Agatha's smile was brittle. "Tabby... how did this arrest go?"

"Excuse me?" Tabby raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Wanda. "You lugged me out of my nice, comfortable coffee break for this? You've got the report sheet, sweetheart. Or the internal phone network."

"Just answer the question, Smith. Don't make me pull rank on you."

Tabby's scowl deepened. "The arrest went smoothly, if you're really interested."

"Smoothly as in how? Did the suspect struggle? Any verbal abuse? Attempts at cursing you?"

Her expression wavered for a moment, as she peered into the adjoining room, where the demon was still rocking like a patient on a psychiatric ward. "No. No, nothing like that. Went real quiet, actually. Well, aside from the 'crying'."

"He cried?"

"Still doing it, as far as I can see."

"I see." Agatha nodded, stroking her chin again.

Wanda gave her a sidelong look. "You've got that glint in your eye. What're you thinking?"

"I am thinking that this case isn't as classic as it looks. Are the crime scene photos in?"

"In glorious Technicolor. Usual business. Blood, sigils, sigils in blood..."

"I would like to see them."

"What about our perp?"

"Ask him what he wants to eat," said Agatha. "Research is still trying to narrow down his species... knowing his diet is bound to help."

He was cold and hungry and tired and all he could do was cry.

The door opened and shut again, admitting the young one who had a taste for red. "Is there anything you need for your comfort?" she asked.

"I'd... like some food?" he risked. "Please?"

The young woman sighed. "What sort of food?"

"Hamburger, Pizza..." he thought about the wonderful tastes he'd been missing. "Gebratenes Huhn... haben Sie gebraten Fische?"

"In English?"

"Entschuldigung, fraulein..." he rubbed and rubbed his hands, making washing motions. "I would like some fried chicken and fried fish, bitte." He made sure to emphasise the word 'fried'. His late captor had often served him raw things. Disgusting.

"All at once?" she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at his feet. Blood matted the fur there, too. "I'm very hungry... there was never anything proper to eat. He warded... everything..."

"Uh-huh," said the woman. She scribbled some notes. "Anything else?"

"I get more?" he startled.

"The more we know about you, the sooner we can sort this mess out," she said. "What do you need?"

"I need to wash." His hands spasmed again, frantically trying to clean when there was no way to clean and nothing to clean with. "I would like my tail free, please? It hurts like this. I promise I will not hurt anyone."

"I'll see what I can do." She made to leave.

"Fraulein?"

"Yeah?"

"When he took me... he took my beads. Can I have them back?"

Agatha copied the sigils in the photos. Some were the standard wards against theft and violence, but the newer ones refused egress without permission from the one who'd made them. They had, of course, been shattered upon his death.

Interestingly, the apartment's one bed held the other half of the creature's restraints. He would be... very vulnerable in the position that the bonds dictated.

"Fascinating," whispered Agatha.

"Got all you need?"

"Get forensics to document the creature's wounds," she said. "I want to reconstruct the events."

"Want me to call in Necromancy as well?" volunteered Tabby.

Agatha glared at her. "Please. Corpses that die from their own actions make horrible witnesses. We'll only call in the deceased if we reach an impasse."

Wanda arrived, brandishing her notebook. "You're not going to believe what he wants."

"Food, clothes, and a bath?" suggested Agatha.

"People food. Fast food, even. He wants it cooked."

"Hey, some of the naturalized ones want people food," said Tabby. "Hell, my neighbour upstairs is a retired Revenger and it just loves deep-fried chicken."

"He's that young, he might think he's human," said Wanda. "Remember the last time that happened? Nothing worse than a demon who's FUITH ..."

Tabby snorted. "And how. That took three SWAT teams and half the ATF to take down."

"If this man summoned him," said Agatha, tapping the sigils, "he should have been able to refine the sigils to restrain the demon specifically. He wouldn't use this catch-all ward. If he'd bought the demon, on the other hand …"

"Aw, man..." Tabby griped. "Not another illegal auction ring."

While food was being arranged and forensics stepped on to get moving on documenting the demon's wounds, the harried department psychiatrist was also contacted. He would most certainly be interested in the case here, once the other backed up work was completed, delayed, or otherwise handled. Dr. Xavier was a gently formidable shrink, who some on the force had taken to calling Mindflayer because he seemed able to root out anything from anyone.

When Xavier came to the holding cell, the creature was shivering and alternating between obsessively rubbing his hands and obsessively rubbing his head.

They'd given him an altered jumpsuit to wear, instead of the stained loincloth that he'd had on being captured. Someone had cleaned him after forensics documented his every inch; and now, Xavier bought food.

Just the smell bought him out of his rocking huddle. He walked right up to the bars, but was careful not to touch the enspelled metal.

Xavier could feel the boy's hunger like a physical force, and slid a pizza box in through the food slot. "I understand you prefer to be called Kurt."

"Ja." Tridactyl hands opened the box and he drank in the scent as if it were a much-needed drug. "Oooooh... danke..." He tore out the largest slice and practically crammed the entire thing into his mouth, one bite at a time.
The relief from hunger was a palpable thing. Xavier picked up memories of sickening things, served raw... of biting hunger so bad that the creature had to eat things that would make him ill. Of far less pleasant things happening to him while he was weakened by such illness.

Xavier took notes on those mental images and let the creature eat. There was certainly not going to be any revelations whilst he was satiating his hunger.

It took him a few minutes to finish devouring the pizza, including the time it took him to pick the cardboard clean of remnants and lick his six fingers free of any trace of remaining grease. "Dankeschoen," he breathed. "Dankeschoen. Oh, I think I'd forgotten what good food tasted like... Danke..." Golden, glowing eyes fell to staring at the remaining boxes and packets on and around Xavier's chair. His fingers and tail twitched, but he stilled himself.

"Let's start," said Xavier, "with your name. Why 'Kurt Wagner'?"

"That's my name," he said. "Kurt Ignatius Wagner."

Xavier's brow twitched. He'd just freely said the names of two saints. That was supposed to be anathema to demons.

He felt the broadcasted thought from behind the observation window... Definitely FUITH.

Hush, he told Maximoff. I need to focus on his thoughts.

The creature was squinting, as if trying to see something. He stopped the instant he noticed Xavier's interest.

"Tell me, Kurt," said Xavier. "Where is your home?"

"Heirelgart. Germany. You might not find it on your maps. It's in the Schwartzwald."

Aha... A known area of paranormal activity. Most of their confiscated magical artefacts came from there. Not for the first time, Xavier found himself wishing that the Demon Division wasn't a fledgling organization on trial by the entire world. If he had the resources and connections... he could do so much... "The Schwarzwald... The Black Forest?"

"Ja. That is the English... ja." He seemed magnetically pulled by the presence of food. "Bitte... I'm still hungry... may I have more, please?"

Xavier could sense no deceit in him. Not yet. He handed through a box of deep-fried chicken and observed how he ate it.

Skin, flesh, bone. Those sharp teeth came in handy for cracking open bones and gaining access to the marrow.
But what bothered Xavier the most was his neatness. The discarded pizza box became a trashcan for the bones too little to be cracked, or shards of shattered skeleton now divested of any protein.

Greed-demons could take any shape, he knew, but they weren't habitually neat. They rarely cleaned themselves.

"How did you come into being?" Xavier asked.

"Nobody knows," he said. "Mama and Papa said they found me on their doorstep. There was no hint of where I came from, nobody lurking in the bushes to see if I was taken in." He shrugged. "Vater Heigl baptised me the next day and - "

"Baptised?" Xavier yawped. "But you can't baptise a demon... Not into the church..." Even the humanised, those who actually believed themselves to be human couldn't be baptised with holy water.

Harkness barged into the room. "CSI just came back with every bead they could unearth," she said, brandishing a swatch of plastic bags.

For the first time, Kurt's eyes left the food and focussed on the bags. He watched intently as Harkness laid down each one outside the bars.

"You may take what is yours," she said.

He went like an arrow to one specific bag.

The one that held a rosary.

He brought it through the bars and tore it from the bag. It was an old thing, the wooden beads polished by many fingers, and the silver crucifix shone from the reverent touch of many hands – including these, tridactyl, fur-bearing ones. Kurt Wagner, suspected demon, bought the crucifix to his lips and kissed it, then knelt on the floor and began muttering the rosary in German. It had to be an uncomfortable position for him, given that his digigrade legs weren't made for kneeling... but he knelt, regardless.

He wasn't doing it to shock, mock, or disgust. He was doing it because he needed to... with a palpable love for God.

"I was right," said Agatha. "This is no ordinary case."

TBC

ObNits:

Currently, he was rocking himself back and forth as he huddled in a crouch.

-Ubiquitous 'demons' are usually assumed as male unless investigators are informed otherwise.

"He's that young, he might think he's human," said Wanda. "Remember the last time that happened? Nothing worse than a demon who's FUITH ..."

-FUITH is an anachronism for 'Fucked Up in the Head'.