A/N: I'm glad you guys are still liking this~! Been a while since I updated, though I keep getting emails about people following. Reviewing and favoriting reminds me you guys still like this w~! I figured it's about time I added another chapter x'D. Sorry it's so short, but know that this story isn't dead! Not sure where this is going, but I never do, so here we goooo~

9. Forging

"So this is…?"

"That's X-Men."

"… and this?"

"Hellboy."

"Ugh!"

Brief laughed, surprising both of them with the noise. "Well," he grinned, "You don't have to read it."

It was spring, and along with the grass and the birds came Stocking. More and more they had talked as the snow melted, and less and less tense they became. It was a joint effort: Stocking vowed to learn more about the boy who had been there for them, and Brief promised to very slowly let her in if she knocked politely. Of course, they never spoke at length in public—it was almost an unspoken rule. Neither of them so much as spared more than a glance for the other during class, in the halls, or at lunch.

But after school and on the weekends, they would find themselves together. Today they were in a comic store; Brief had admitted to a passion for graphic novels earlier that week and agreed to educate Stocking in the ways of geekdom. She had solemnly sworn not to ridicule him, despite what ridiculousness she was finding on the shelves.

"There are so many," Stocking said, taking a bite of the king-sized candy bar she had brought along. She had about five more in her purse, a tiny pink strappy thing over her shoulder. Brief leaned against the shelf, carding fingers through his hair. Stocking had noticed a while ago that he did this gesture often when thinking.

"A lot of people like making them," he said. He was still smiling, staring now at the rows and rows of book spines, and Stocking felt the chocolate melt in her mouth as she thought about how effortlessly cool he looked. This was his place, she realized, and he was comfortable here. Wordlessly he reached and pulled a golden and black volume from the crowd, presenting it to her. It had a man and a woman intertwined on the cover, ready to kiss, surrounded by billowing black wings. Stocking received it with wide eyes, glancing up at him.

"It's called A Flight of Angels," Brief explained, nodding to the book in her hands. "It's about an angel who falls to earth, and the people who find him take turns guessing what kind of person he might be."

Her eyes widened when he told her it was about an angel, and again she looked down to the cover. The human presentation of angels had always amused her, but the comic in her hand insinuated elegance. Something substantial. And for some reason, the fact Brief had picked it from the bushel just for her made it all the more precious. She felt her cheeks alighting, growing warm. The silence stretched.

".. uh, you don't have to get it or anything. Just thought I would show you—"

"No!" Stocking said suddenly. She clasped the book to her chest. "No, I… might as well see what kind of absurd things you humans are saying about us." She tried to smirk, but worried that her attempted guise was weak. It fished a roguish roll of Brief's eyes anyhow.

"Oh yeah, because angels totally don't stereotype humans either."

Stocking found she liked this banter. They did it more and more, and it was both something familiar and something new. It was softer, kinder than she was used to, yet still biting. And Brief was biting back, which was also becoming more and more usual. Stocking assumed it was because of his discovered independence, but it could also be because they were…becoming friends. Friends.

Just friends?... More and more Stocking puzzled over this at night. Every day she was trying harder, whether or not she was aware of it, to impress him. Once Stocking had run out of laundry and was forced to wear a disgusting light green cardigan over a white blouse. Brief had paid her a compliment, telling her he liked her in such light, feminine colors, and that afternoon Stocking had maxed a credit card buying pastels. When she ran out of time before school one day, she crammed her bed head into a ponytail. And Brief had told her she looked very, very nice. So now she tried all kinds of new up-does.

Today, in the comic book store, she had an over-the-shoulder braid with a pale blue dress and white sandals. A frilly, flowing white scarf. It was nothing she would have ever tried wearing before, but Brief had told her just hours ago she looked, "like the beach and kind of Zooey Deschanel, which is awesome." She didn't really even know who Zooey Deschanel was, but her heart had leapt.

"Stocking?" His voice was so deep, and her name sounded delicious in it.

"Mm?" Dreamy. Did she sound dreamy? Fuck.

"Are you…going to pay for that?"

She blinked. They had made their way up to the register at some point, and the clerk was staring at them warily, blank faced. Brief looked mildly concerned, green eyes bright and creased. Stocking's brain worked extra fast to catch up.

"What? Of course! Lemme just-.." She fumbled with her purse and ended up dropping a wad of her change, which went exploding over the floor like a metallic firecracker. Coins rolled everywhere. And when she bent down to collect them, so did Brief; they butted heads. It was more than a scene in a movie—it was a nightmare. "Sorry, sorry," she growled, more angry at herself than she had ever been.

And of course right then her phone rang. If it was who she thought it was, Stocking didn't want to pick up. But she had to, in case it was serious. Sighing, she flipped her phone open without even looking at the ID.

"Speak."

"Where the fuck are you?"

Stocking cringed. Yeah, that was Panty.

"Why do you want to know?" Stocking asked, trying to pick up coins with one hand while Brief leaned over the counter and paid for her comic himself. It wasn't that expensive, and he was rich after all. Stocking didn't notice, and if she had, she might have protested his act of kindness.

"Why? Why? Because I'm fighting shitty ectoplasm bastards all by myself, that's why!"

"Since when are you the responsible one?" Stocking scoffed, only half-believing Panty's account. "And since when do you ever take a job without me making you?"

"You think I wanted to do this? They found me, bitch. Surrounded the church."

"That's hallowed ground. They shouldn't be able to get in—"

"I know," Panty groaned, and Stocking could hear the rumbles of something pounding on wood. Panty sounded more annoyed than afraid, but Stocking couldn't keep the cold dread from her stomach. "But they're coming anyway. So get your ass over here ASAP!" Panty didn't wait for a response, and the line was dead before Stocking managed to get a breath in. She abandoned her coin collection, instead making a beeline for the door. Brief jumped, startled, and manhandled the bag quickly from the cashier.

"Keep the change!" he called over his shoulder. He just barely cleared the automatic doors as they opened, sprinting after Stocking who was already halfway down the street. He forgot how fast she could be. Sometimes forgot she was immortal. He drew quick breaths as his shoes pounded the sidewalk, trying to keep up. "Stocking! What's going on?!"

"Get lost, Geek Boy!" Stocking didn't even bother looking over her shoulder, in too much of a trance. She was in "Save Sister" mode, and that was a mindset Brief wasn't privy too. Probably never would be. For as much as she and Panty argued and punched and swore at one another, they had a strong bond.

"What?" Brief's voice was a little meek. Hurt. Stocking grit her teeth and tried not to hear that tone in his words.

"You'll just get hurt!" she shouted as she turned the corner, hopping into See Through. They had left it on the curb at the end of a long block, and she slammed the driver-side door, coaxing the engine into a roar. Brief was still running for her, panting, arms pumping, carrying that dumb comic he had bought for her.

"Don't follow me!" she warned him, and then peeled out, leaving Brief to choke on the exhaust from the tailpipe. It was a sadly familiar feeling for the two of them, harkening back to the older times when Brief would be cast aside from ghost business without a second glance in the review mirror. It was because he always screwed things up on missions, Stocking told herself. He would get himself hurt, or get one of them hurt.

Brief tried to catch his breath, chest heaving from the run, the plastic bag clutched in his hand making crinkling sounds in the faint spring breeze. What little semblance he had left of his bangs blew back from his forehead. Eyes narrowed at the pink dot disappearing down the road towards the edge of town—toward the church. Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Brief straightened up.

No, he wouldn't do it again. They had made a deal, him and Stocking. They stay on good terms until one of them screwed up and reverted to the "old way," and Brief sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to do it. She had broken her promise, treated him like she used to, and that was that. No more outings, no more phone calls, no more laughing together over stupid jokes he tried to tell when they were both in especially good moods. Spell broken, end of story.

And yet even when Brief turned away and pulled out his cell phone to call a chauffer to come pick him up, he couldn't help but look back over his shoulder down the road toward the edge of town—toward the church.