Category: Darksiders I & II
Rating: M
Couples: Azrael/Abaddon
Warnings: AU, Disturbing Imagery
Chapter: 5
Copyright: Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me
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"You really need some more clothes." Azrael told Zeruch during breakfast the next day. The poor child looked completely blown away at the sheer variety of food the angel's cook had placed on the table. He chuckled a bit at the boy half-hiding in the fluffy bath-robe still.
"New clothes?" The boy asked in a distracted voice. It was so much! Many plates filled with different kinds of food; many of which he never even knew existed.
"I think it would look strange if you kept running around in the robe." Azrael rolled his eyes at the cook. "And please stop, Damiana, you are overwhelming the poor boy." He added with a dry look at the mountains of food on his table. "Abaddon is not going to come today, you remember that, don't you?"
"The poor child needs to eat!" The white-dressed female countered, somehow managing to find a spot for the plate of cookies. "He looks downright scrawny!"
"I-I dunno what to eats." The young Nephilim looked at both Azrael and Damiana, silently asking for help. "It so much. Never see so much food at brothers and sister."
"See?" Azrael pointed out. "Now shooo, dear, how about you go make some cookies for after dinner?" He snorted lightly when she promptly turned on her heel and muttered something about 'poor'. "Well, then let's find you something to eat, shall we?" He smiled at Zeruch, getting up from his seat to walk to the child. "What else did you eat at your siblings' aside from meat?"
"Uhm meat? And if there wasses no meat, plants. Nobody likes the plants. They are blah." Scrunching up his nose to indicate his disgust, Zeruch continued. "Sometimes fruits, if Eldest gets some. They is sweet and yummy!" He grinned at the memories getting small berries from his eldest brother.
"Well, then I guess you'd like this." Azrael reached over, making a sandwich with jam. "Try it." A smile formed on his lips at the reaction of the child to the food. Chewing enthusiastic, Zeruch then tried to shove the whole sandwich in to his mouth.
The Archangel chuckled, deciding to let the boy do as he wished for now. No need to change him. "Easy there, it won't run away." He gently said as he made a few more sandwiches for the child before returning to his seat to eat himself.
Still eating in a rapid pace Zeruch managed to slow down, though just slightly. A few moments and an empty plate later, he sighed in delight. Noticing that his hands were under the sweet spread, he tried to lick his fingers clean, but made an even greater mess on his face.
"C'mere." Azrael got up and lead the boy to the nearest sink. "Let's go shopping, shall we?" He asked after dressing the child in his old clothes – washed and fixed – and untangled the long hair again.
"Shopping? You dun make them?" Zeruch asked the Archangel while tugging at his clothes, looking at the fixed areas of his tunic. "Can't you magiced it, like the white fire?"
"Oh Heaven no, I am a scholar, not a tailor." Azrael chuckled, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Which is also why I don't 'magic' it. It's quite hard to get them to fit right. Besides, you can't pass up seeing the White City now that you are here." He headed for the door on street-level. "Do stay close though, I wouldn't want you to get lost."
Zeruch held on tightly to the back of Azrael's robes as they walked through the city. He felt small and tiny between all the tall buildings and angels flying overhead. Pressing himself against his saviour, the Nephilim child whimpered softly. "They is too high..."
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"What do you mean 'you cannot leave'!?" The pale-skinned male was frantic. "Absalom, the demons took my youngest! I cannot let them just... keep him."
"And you will just carve your way through them, I suppose?" Absalom countered, being this close to throttling his second-in-command. "It's a five-year-old brat in the entirety of Hell, Death..."
"It is my five-year-old brat still." The smaller Nephilim snarled, orange eyes burning with rage. "And my first-raised brat. You saw what they did to Strife! Am I supposed to let that slide?"
"You will not leave this camp, Death, not now and certainly not to go incite the demons to even more slaughter. This was just a rogue faction, but what if you have to go beat around Samael's – or heck, the Dark Prince's – bushes to find that thing?" The taller male growled, a mere breath between their two bodies.
"He is not a thing!" Death roared. "He is my brother!"
The hit got him under his chin – surprisingly enough considering their size-differences – and lifted him clear of his feet. It had got to have been three metres before he touched down again, cracking the dried soil with the impact of his body.
A hand capable of crushing a demon's skull closed around his neck. "You are mine." Lilith's son snarled, tightening his hold. "And nothing of mine leaves this camp."