He was even more surprised to find that when they walked into the parking lot, the storm was done, and there was a burly man with a large white truck fixing Shaun's flat. He blinked, staring, and Shaun was over there immediately, about ready to spew fire before the man told him he was fixing it. He clutched the Bible in his hands tighter, having talked with the pastor afterward. The man had been pleased to make his acquaintance, and that, apparently, he had been praying for him since he first heard about his curse. The man had just given the Bible from the pews, telling him to take it home, and he even slipped in a business card for him, in case he had questions. The other kids in the youth group were watching, and he could hear some of their conversations.
"Dude, what's going on?"
"Ya think it's the curse?"
"Curse? How? The dude's fixing the car. The flat's probably from Miles."
"Desmond!" He looked to see Shaun with a hand cupped around his mouth and waving his new phone around, and his eyes grew wide. "He found your phone!"
He took a step forward before he found himself running over as if he were in slow motion, and when he reached his best friend, he hesitantly took the phone.
"It still works?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah. I stopped 'cause a cat was sitting there, and it jumped into my truck when I picked up the phone."
Before Desmond could even peek curiously at the man's truck, he jumped when he saw a cat on Shaun's trunk. It was a light grayish-blue, with big, serious golden eyes. He blinked, and it blinked back at him. With his luck, it was probably going to jump at him and give him rabies. He jerked when he swore that he saw the cat shake its head. He pursed his lips and tilted his head, reaching out slowly to touch the animal.
"Desmond, you are not taking this cat in the car. I don't care if it attaches itself to the bottom, you are not taking it in."
He jumped back when it butted against his hand and stared at it wide-eyed, a little miffed he wasn't bleeding or scratched. The cat was giving him an unamused look. He looked over to Shaun as if he held the answer to why he wasn't dead yet from a vicious strange cat, but Shaun was busy thanking the man for his help. Desmond rubbed his hand over the spot the cat butted against him, and he found his eyes trailing back toward the cat. It was staring at him, studying him. He reached for it again, tensing when it met his hand. He was paralyzed when the cat's paw swung up and wrapped around his wrist, rubbing its cheek against his fingers.
"Sh-Shaun…" he managed to squeak, still terrified that it was going to eat him. After all, there was nothing to say it wasn't going to go seriously wrong as it had all his life.
His friend turned to look at him, and he watched him take in the scene before he started laughing.
"Desmond, it just wants attention. Pet the damn animal."
He looked back at the cat, one paw still slung over his wrist and the fluffy cheek pressed to his fingers. With a swallow, he tentatively moved his fingers, flinching when it immediately started pressing against the touch. He felt it pat his wrist, and he started a scratching motion. The cat seemed happy enough, rubbing its head as he kept scratching it, and a small smile slowly crept onto his face, still cautious enough to be fully expecting an attack. When Shaun finally announced that they had to leave, the cat hopped down and padded off, leaving him in wonder as he climbed into the car.
"Thank God that cat left. I will not be having a cat in my car."
Desmond watched it curiously as it disappeared behind a tree before leaning back and looking at his phone.
"I can't believe it was returned to me. I thought for sure it was gone for good."
He wanted the cat back.
"I must admit. I am rather surprised someone bothered to return it—and fix my flat tire for free."
Desmond flipped open the phone, seeing the only picture on his phone—one of him grinning with an arm around Shaun's shoulders as his friend rolled his eyes.
"You know that picture makes you seem utterly gay."
"Says the European," Desmond murmured, closing his phone gently and tucking it into his sweater pocket. "Besides," he lowered his voice, "you're really the only person who talks to me or has ever let me consider him a friend."
Shaun said nothing more, and Desmond found his thoughts wandering back to the youth group and the Bible verse. He smiled again as he nestled down in his seat, looking at Shaun, who was glancing over at him.
"Thanks," he said, looking back out at the road and feeling, actually, rather safe for once. "Thanks."
"It's not me that you should be thanking. Try thanking God. He is, after all, the one who saved your miserable arse on the way over here."
He blinked and looked at Shaun, who gave him a serious look, and he looked out his window. Slowly, his eyes found their way up to the night sky, and he found himself mentally thanking that mysterious power that had eluded him for so long. He was grateful, and if tonight after youth group was any indication of what life would be like with God's help, he would be more than happy to keep singing his praises. He had thought he was doomed to be cursed all his life, and he actually had his phone back, and he hadn't gotten bitten by the wild cat.
Perhaps he could actually start saving up for a motorcycle and not have to worry about dying. Of course, it was only a brief flash of good luck, but it was still a brief flash more than what he had before.
He hummed quietly, one of the hymns he vaguely remembered hearing the other kids sing, and pulled his phone back out, toying around with it as he found himself thanking God again that it was still in one piece and still functioning. Shaun parked at his apartment complex and offered to spend the night. He nodded, thanking him again for taking him to the youth meeting, and led him up to his apartment. Shaun rolled his eyes and told him he was a pussy as he slid the key in, getting it right on the first try, and he pushed the door open.
Only to see the cat from earlier push through his legs and pad into the room, making itself right at home on his couch.
He paused, blinking. He didn't remember the cat in the building, and surely the manager down front would have noticed a cat walking in.
"Where did that come from?" he heard Shaun mutter, and he looked over his shoulder at him.
"I don't know. I don't see how I got passed the grouch king downstairs if I had a cat follow me."
The cat looked at him from its curled up spot, sunken into the well-loved couch he had managed to scrounge up after a lot of sleeping on the floor. He paced in, letting Shaun in, and shut the door.
"That's kinda spooky," Shaun murmured, staring at the cat who was staring at them.
Desmond shrugged, walking over and risking a bite to pet it. Its tail twitched, and it even rolled over to let him pet its stomach as he laughed.
"Look, Shaun!"
He noticed the concerned look of his friend's fade into something a bit softer, and Shaun nodded.
"Looks like you've got more than one friend, Desmond."
Desmond grinned. "You really think so?"
"I do."
He looked at the cat, who was watching him as he petted its stomach, and he smiled.
"I do have another friend. I wonder what his name is?"
"You're supposed to name the cat, Desmond."
Desmond pursed his lips, staring at it, and he shook his head. "I don't think so. I'll just call it buddy for now."
"Buddy?" Shaun asked incredulously. "I always knew you were incredibly creative."
He stuck his tongue out. "Hey, maybe it's God telling me that I'm not alone anymore."
Shaun smirked. "You would."
He grinned, rising. "I did. Now, let's test my good luck and see if I can't cook for you."
"Are you sure you want to do that, Desmond?"
"Don't you remember those meals I would make you? You always said they were good. Besides, I've got at least a little luck now."
Shaun snorted. "Don't push it."
He laughs. "I'll push it for all it's worth. There's no telling when it's going to go away."
Shaun pursed his lips. "However true as that may be. We should probably proceed with caution, though, for when it does wear off."
Desmond paced into the kitchen, feeling Shaun behind him. He almost hoped the cat would follow him into the kitchen, and he would have a new constant companion.
He froze when the butcher knife went whizzing by his ear, followed by a crash as the whole three sets of silverware he had when tumbling to the floor from the drain board. He blinked, and he jumped out of the way as he felt something rush passed him, and he swallowed. Yeah. Okay. He was still definitely cursed. He remained frozen in his spot, trembling as he looked around cautiously.
"M-maybe you-you are st-still cursed," he heard Shaun whisper.
He swallowed again, looking to see the butcher knife lying on the carpet. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the cat walk over and butt the knife toward him. He stared at it, watching it, as the cat padded into the kitchen and leapt onto the counter. He shivered, then jerked when he felt Shaun's hand on his shoulder.
"D-Desmond?" He looked at his friend, who offered a small, concerned smile. "No letting your faith slip now, mate. If anything, a reason to believe more."
He nodded slowly, hesitantly picked up the knife and walked over, feeling, perhaps, slightly safer under the cat's watchful eye. Dinner went off without a hitch, and he actually found himself enjoying the meal as he ate in relative silence with his pal. When he was done eating, Shaun helped him wash and dry the dishes, then walked with him into the bedroom, the cat following along quietly the entire time.
"Hey, Shaun?" Desmond asked as he pulled off his shirt and threw it into his clean clothes pile.
"Yes, Desmond?" his friend responded, setting his glasses off to the side of the mattress on the floor and crawling into the tiny bed.
"Thanks again for being my friend," he murmured, feeling less than manly for saying that, but Shaun did deserve whatever thanks Desmond could give him. "It can't be easy."
"It's… certainly an adventure," Shaun said, looking at him as he climbed into the bed beside him. "But I have firm belief things are going to get better for you."
He said nothing more as he lay down and pulled Shaun close so they could both fit. Nevertheless, when he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard Shaun singing, "Amazing Grace." And he could feel himself waiting in his dreams, waiting for the terrible nightmares and the exhausting dreams, but they didn't come. Instead, he could see a man with brown hair and piercing golden eyes standing like a guardian. He had white wings and a sword of flames, and Desmond was almost scared shitless, if it hadn't been for the peaceful aura the man seemed to get out. The tiniest hint of an amused smirk played across the man's face, and he blinked.
"Sleep, Desmond. We watch over you."
He could see the entire world fade to black, and when he woke up, he was cuddling with Shaun and feeling, for once, energized and ready to go. He sat up, quickly untangling himself from the guy's hold, and rolled out of bed. He could see the cat sitting in the doorway, and he smiled.
"Hey, buddy."
He needed to get ready for school, and he was lucky he hadn't overslept with school at eight. The cat turned and walked out, and he found himself following it, slightly worried about leaving Shaun alone but knowing that the cat was worth paying attention to. It hopped up on the table, and he grimaced.
"Shit! I don't have any food for you!"
He bit his lip, pacing over to the refrigerator and opening it. He didn't keep much in there aside from the necessities, and even less food that a cat would eat. All of his non-perishables he kept in there to keep the mice from eating them, as well, what little there was. Then he straightened and turned to the cat, blinking.
"You'll eat mice—"
"Don't bother," he heard, and he froze before looking to see a tan-skinned man with black hair and dark brown eyes was standing there in his apartment, scowling. "That thing isn't a cat."
He turned to face the man, pressing back against the counter and praying that the man wouldn't kill Shaun, or injure Shaun, because the last thing he needed was to have another kid's medical bills. He swallowed, saying prayers that God would protect him and that he would live to see another day.
"Oh, stop with that shit," the man hissed, stepping forward, and the cat was on its feet, growling softly.
The man glared at the cat, stepping back and snarling. The cat bristled and hissed, and Desmond was paralyzed in his spot.
"You can't fool me," the man spat before glaring at Desmond again, and Desmond could hear himself whimper softly. "Pathetic. And what if I went to attack him right now, hm? Made you get out of that ridiculous skin you're wearing?"
The cat looked like something from a cartoon, its hackles raised and its voice making one continuous hissing whine. The man laughed, plopping down on the table and frowning, looking at him. Desmond was terrified. He just wanted to know what the man wanted so he could either offer it or his life and be left alone. After several minutes of being stared at intensely, he finally found his voice.
"Wh-what do you want from me?"
The man's lips curled into a smirk, and he watched him rise. The man was beautiful and graceful, and he couldn't help but find himself slightly drawn in. The man seemed to know this, and the stranger chuckled quietly. Desmond scrunched back against the counter as the man drew closer, almost tempted to reach out and touch him. He watched the man's eyes glimmer with excitement, almost laughing at him.
"Atta boy, Desmond. You don't want to see me go, do y—"
He blinked, suddenly faced with a large expanse of white. Desmond looked to see the cat was gone from the counter, and then he realized that the white was the dress of a human. He stared, his eyes moving up the back to see a head of short-cropped brown hair like in his dreams. And then he felt the blood from his face drain as he saw a flaming sword planted in front of the man.
"Come no farther, demon."
"Oh, am I so base to you I don't even get a name, feather duster?"
"Call me Altair, creature."
"You wound me."
Desmond stood there, watching. This was the guy in his dreams last night. His name was Altair. And then he realized—
"Where's my cat?"
He saw the first gorgeous man look around him, backing out of reach of the sword and sitting on the table, smirking.
"I told you, kiddo, your cat isn't a cat."
"Huh?"
He looked at the man, unable to help his eyes from trailing over the man's body. He was absolutely stunning. Nevertheless, he found himself stepping forward, pressing against Altair's back as if he were a child hiding as he grabbed a hold of the silken cloth his dress was made of.
"Your cat. He's an angel."
His eyes grew wide when he saw the man produce a cigarette from nowhere and light it with his fingers. He watched him inhale once, then exhale the smoke slowly from his nose, letting it curl up. He made smoking look good.
"Sin. It's my job," the man said, winking at him invitingly. "Call me Malik. I'm sure you'll see me around. Anyway, your little limey bedmate is starting to wake, so I'm going to scram. Talk to you later, Desmond, angel cake."
The man vanished, and Desmond found himself trembling, still clinging to the man in front of him. He felt a little pathetic, and he realized he should just man up because that certainly wasn't the worst thing he's ever gone through, but—
"Desmond, relax. You are safe here."
"Who are you?"
"I am here to protect you, Desmond, in effect, your guardian angel."
"I… I get a guardian angel?"
"Every believer in Christian faith has a guardian angel. Every child, too."
He frowned, and then backed off. "I don't believe that."
"And why not?"
He watched as the "angel" turns around and looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. He scowled.
"Because then there wouldn't be child abuse. I wouldn't have gone through child abuse."
The angel paused, blinking once, then frowned and shook his head. "Desmond, there is still much you have to learn."
"What do you mean?"
Altair sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not every angel wins."
Desmond frowned. He was quiet, staring at the man. He watched the wings he didn't notice before stretching silently, the soft hum of the fridge in the background. He still wasn't sure this was all real, probably conjured up from the deepest depths of mind. He was finally going crazy. Of course the angels would win.
"How does good not win?"
"Wasn't your father taken away from you?"
He jerked slightly, his eyes wide, and then he looked at his feet. He scratched the back of his neck and sighed.
"Yeah. He was."
"In that same vein of thinking, a child dies from abuse when the demon wins."
"So then… Not every angel wins?"
"No."
"Then there's a possibility that you won't win."
There was silence for a long time, and he could see a harden, determined look come over the angel's face. He waited quietly, patiently, watching him with a worried frown on his face because he didn't want to lose the only good thing in his life so far aside from Shaun. And in speaking of which, he could hear his friend shuffling about in the bedroom. Finally, Altair spoke again.
"Yes."
His eyes grew wide, and he inhaled. He didn't want to lose him.
"In a war, there are casualties on both sides. If I lose, I will go down fighting for you, Desmond."
"So then…" he was quiet again, and he heard Shaun pacing about in the only bedroom in the three-room apartment. He started shaking his head, staring at his feet. "Why were you allowed to interfere in the physical world?"
"Because the demon has taken it to a physical domain."
He swallowed, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his guardian angel—that there was an angel in his living room, if even at all the man was real, and really, this was too much for his mind to handle at the moment—could lose, that angels lost all the time, and that there was a war going on around him that he couldn't see. He looked up to find Altair sitting as a cat on his kitchen table. He certainly didn't look like an angel sitting on the table as a cat. He almost wanted to say he was just broken and was finally going psycho. He stared at him for a while, then paced over and petted him gently, shaking his head again. He still didn't entirely understand. There was an angel in his apartment, who allegedly was fighting for him, but the angel might not even win. And allegedly, "God," who he was choosing to throw all his faith behind and already profiting from, had sent him this angel with a flaming sword to stand guard in his life. He needed to have a serious talk with this "angel" later. He was so confused, and it wasn't helping that the angel thought that he might not win. And then he scowled, because he wasn't going to go back to his old life. Already, his life was getting better, no cockroaches in his bed, no malfunctioning fridge, no missing objects, and he still had time for a bite to eat before school.
"No," he said softly before picking Altair up and shaking his head. "I have too much faith in you. You can't lose."
He almost swore he was smiling at him in cat form, and Shaun came pacing into the kitchen, looking at him funny for cradling the cat. He smiled at his friend, holding Altair as best he could, since he had never held an animal before without it clawing up his arms. He could make it, even as Shaun started prattling on about some dream he had. Even if this whole crazy early-morning dream went to shit, he wasn't going to let his life turn back into the pit it was before. As he split a package of Poptarts with Shaun from the fridge as they washed up for school, he found himself worrying that the cat wouldn't follow him, that he was doomed to have a bad day in school. Yet, as wondered aloud to Shaun, who told him to pray, he realized he was going to have to seriously start changing his lifestyle.
When he parted ways with Shaun at the entrance to go to his locker, he kept his head bowed, too entirely accustomed to the parting of the crowds trying to get away from him. He hurried to his locker, surprised when the lock came off on his first try. He blinked, taking a moment to revel in the utter joy that started to bubble in him. Then he remembered what Shaun said in the car, uttered a quiet thanks, and grabbed his books. His lock even locked on the first try and he was off, early to his first period class for the first time.
He wasn't, exactly, thrilled to be in history class, and that was always Shaun's better suit, but he knew he needed to pay attention. He didn't know much about wars, and he most certainly didn't know much about Heavenly wars, but the image of people fighting just over his head was a little disconcerting. He frowned, waiting for class to begin as he thought about why God would even let a war like this go on and wondered if it had something to do with the fact that angel-cat had mentioned that not every angel won. He pursed his lips, watching as the other students filed in and left a ring of empty seats around him. They knew better, too used to having desks breaking or chairs falling apart from under them. They were used to the broken pencils and the leaking ink pens, erasers flying off when he accidentally smacked it with his hand. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Okay. This is just an idea I'm tampering with in vein with the demon!Malik and angel!Altair thread that went around not too long ago. I started it for the kinkmeme, but I don't know if I should continue this. I figured I'd put it up. Lemme know what you think?
