The war ends, although not without casualties.
"All right, so no looting, no razing, and especially no raping." Alfred ticked off each of the points on his finger. "Got it, Braginsky? If I hear about anyone getting hurt, I'm putting you in the doghouse, and I can hold a grudge for a long time." Alfred glared at Ivan for emphasis.
"Fredka, the soldiers will be expecting a reward for their efforts."
"So give them more money. You can afford it. I'm serious, Ivan. Not even a little pillage. And I'm doing most of the work, anyways. The angels will surrender peacefully. The war will be over." Alfred uncrossed his legs; his knee had started to bounce, sending vibrations through the folding chair.
Sitting across from him on the other side of the hastily-constructed table, Ivan frowned. "Are you sure that you want to do this, lapochka?"
Alfred bit his lip. After today, Heaven would have lost the war.
The war…
Decades of Alfred's life had been devoted to it, and now it was going to end at his hands, by his betrayal.
As if reading his thoughts, Ivan gently grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know it is hard, Fedya. This is a lot for one person. If you want to back out, I would not think less of you for it."
The angel shook his head. "No, I'm sure. I can do it." He took a deep breath. "No hurting any of the angels, okay? You'll treat them with respect. Make sure the tents are nice for the captives, and leave the civilians alone. Don't take captives if you don't have to."
"Da, da, dorogoy. I promise that I will treat any captives we take well."
Alfred nodded, satisfied. "All right, then." He extended his hands. "Bracelets off."
—
The bushes outside the tunnel really needed pruning, but everything else was largely as Alfred remembered: the discreet crevice in the stone he had to squeeze into; the dirt walls of the cave that opened into a metal chamber when Alfred pressed his thumb to the biometric scanner. The door—camouflaged to blend in with its surroundings—silently parted, and Alfred stepped into the narrow passage.
Mattie and he were the only two angels to have access to this place. It had been constructed, under Alfred's insistence, as a failsafe. Impenetrable as a fallout shelter, stocked with all the necessities in case of the absolute worst scenario, secure enough to store top-secret projects… Even if all of Heaven had been invaded by the demons, the bunker would conceal and preserve the Light side's last hope, its last resort.
Alfred headed down the hallway to the control room. It was pretty early, so Mattie was probably checking up on the surveillance footage from the night before. Alfred liked being spontaneous, but Matt liked routines. He needed coffee as much as Alfred, but once things got going, he went through his days like clockwork. Back before Alfred had been captured, Mattie spent most of his time fortifying the existing strongholds and making sure that they were adequately protected by his magic.
Matt did a great job—it took the demons much longer than Arthur said they would, to locate the city-fort. A small spark of pride spread through Alfred at the thought. No one had magic like Mattie's, even though Matt didn't get enough credit for it. Concealment was the type of thing that people didn't tend to fully appreciate until they really needed it.
It had been so long since he saw his brother. Despite the circumstances, Alfred was excited to see him again. Hopefully Matt wouldn't be too mad at him—
Oh, who was Alfred kidding? Matt would be furious. It couldn't be helped, though. It was either this, or more bloodshed. And Alfred had enough blood on his hands already, enough for the rest of his life.
Sighing, the former Light general unlocked the door to the control room.
It was empty. On the monitors, scenes of life flickered.
Alfred cocked a hip and studied the sea of screens. The soldiers were doing their daily drills. Crowds of angel civilians passed in the market streets.
Everyone looked so… normal. As if the world they knew—a world where angels were beholden to no one, where they were on top of the world, independent, free—wasn't about to end in a few short hours.
A quiet shuffling sound came from behind, and Alfred whipped around, one hand creeping to the holster on his hip.
"Alfred?" A small polar bear, barely up to Alfred's waist, stood up on his hind legs and rubbed at his snout.
Alfred dropped his hand. "Kuma! Little buddy! Long time no see!"
Kumajirou snuffled. "What are you doing here, Al?"
"Just paying a visit. How're you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. You smell weird, Al." The bear padded closer, nose twitching. "Do you have salmon for me? Or candy?"
Alfred let out a nervous laugh. Was Kuma getting suspicious? "No, I don't have any salmon or candy for you, pal. Hey, do you know where Mattie is?"
"Who?"
"Looks like me, a couple inches taller." Alfred gestured to the air around his head. "Has a curl that's kinda bouncy. Glasses. Says 'eh' a lot. Drinks maple syrup straight from the bottle."
At Kumajirou's blank stare, Alfred wilted. "Has cared for you and fed you since you were a cub? You probably saw him this morning."
"…Al, why are you here? You were captured by the demons." The polar bear squinted until his tiny black eyes were barely visible in his furry face. "Why do you smell so much like General Ivan Braginsky?" On all fours again, Kumajirou glowed with divine power as he doubled in size, tripled. "And why are you pointing a gun at me?" Kumajirou's final question finished in a roar as he completed the transformation into his battle form.
Shit. Alfred ducked just in time to avoid being slashed to ribbons by cruel, knife-like claws.
The polar bear growled. "Coming here was a mistake, Alfred."
"I don't have a choice, Kuma!" Alfred shot a tranquilizer dart at the bear, who dodged it with an agility unnatural for his bulk. "I'm trying to keep more people from getting killed." Before Kumajirou could react, Alfred leaped over him and out the door. "And don't mess up the control room! I spent a lot of time programming those computers." He took off running in the hallway.
Where to go… Alfred saw an open door, and veered inside. Oh, the break room—it's been a hot minute since Alfred was last here.
The former Light general was briefly distracted by the sight of his favorite espresso machine—he'd have to get Ivan to move Amy into the New York apartment—when Kumajirou emerged in the doorway, eyes flashing as white as his fur, the tundra.
The angel raised his gun and fired; the bear snarled as the tranquilizer dart glanced off of his pelt, over which a layer of celestial magic was beginning to crystalize into shining armor.
Alfred swore—Kuma was so hard to deal with like this—and thrust his hand forward.
The beam was rendered instantly harmless, absorbed by the divine plates. Kumajirou lunged forward, snapping his jaws. Alfred dived to the floor beside the espresso machine to evade the attack. He quickly jumped back up.
The polar bear roared again, and swerved to strike at the angel with a heavy paw. Alfred danced out of the way, but the motion jarred the table beside him, and—
"No," Alfred gasped, horrified, as Kumajirou's blow inadvertently sent the espresso machine to the ground with a ringing clatter. "AMY!"
As if to twist the knife deeper in his heart, a faint plume of smoke rose up from the metal appliance.
"Oh, shit," Kumajirou said. The large bear scratched at the back of his head as his claws vanished and armor faded. "Oops. Uh, sorry, Al. I didn't mean to."
Alfred scrambled over to the shattered remains of his beloved. "Amy," he sobbed. "Why'd you have to go like this? I've been putting up with shitty human coffee for so long… You were supposed to be my salvation."
Kumajirou self-consciously shifted from one paw to another. "If it makes you feel any better, Amy's been malfunctioning the past couple of months," he offered. "I don't think she had too long left."
"Did you try backflushing?"
"What?"
"Amy," Alfred wailed. "I never should have left you here, with these idiots who can't even maintain you properly!" Weeping bitterly, the angel cradled the broken machine to his lap.
Kumajirou gave an awkward pat to Alfred's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Al. I'm sure that she was happy to see you one last time." He adjusted his blue bow-tie.
Alfred's head shot up. Pure fury blazed in his eyes. "Fuck you, Kuma," Alfred spat as he aimed his gun. A tranquilizer dart buried itself cleanly in the polar bear's nose.
With a low whimper, the enormous polar bear collapsed on top of the golden blond.
Ah, Alfred probably should have thought this out better. Kuma was ridiculously heavy in his battle form, even without the bracelets inhibiting Alfred's strength. The angel grunted as he finally managed to shove the comatose bear off of him.
"What the— Alfred?" A dull thunk echoed through the room as something hit the ground, and drops of coffee splattered Alfred's boots.
"Oh, hey, Mattie," Alfred panted, turning around to face his twin. He brought up his arm and pulled the trigger in a single smooth movement. "Sorry."
The other blond fell like deadweight; the bag he had clutched in his hand split open, sending golden spheres rolling.
"Ooh, doughnut holes!" Squatting down, Alfred snagged one of the glazed pastries and popped it into his mouth. Five second rule.
Licking the sugar off of his fingers—Mattie always knew where to go for the good shit—Alfred stood back up and surveyed the scene. Amy was in terrible shape, but maybe some parts were still salvageable; she'd been custom-ordered from a company that went out of business during the war, so Alfred had to take care of repairs himself. Kuma was unconscious and wouldn't wake up for a day at least, Mattie most likely two—the tranquilizer Yao gave him was pretty strong, enough to take out even a magical creature of Kuma's mass. The coffee was starting to pool around Matt's prone form, so Alfred dragged him out into the hallway.
So far, things had gone according to plan. The next step was to deliver his brother and Kuma to Ivan's forces and announce to the other angels that Heaven had lost.
Right. That wouldn't be hard at all. It wasn't like the angels still depended on him, still trusted him—not after he had been gone for so long.
Like ripping off a band-aid. But before he did that—before he had his heart shredded to pieces, these were his people, they raised him, they loved him, he was their hero—Alfred had to check on something first. It wouldn't take long, Ivan and the demons could wait, they'd never notice if Alfred took a little longer to get back—
Right. The former Light general brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand and squared his shoulders. Time to get going.
—
"Alfred." The tension in Ivan's frame visibly melted when Alfred opened the flap of the tent. The demon hurried over. "Are you hurt, lapochka? The angels didn't harm you, did they?" Ivan anxiously inspected his consort for injuries.
Alfred pushed the platinum blond away and took a step back. "I'm fine," he said, voice monotone. "The angels surrendered. You guys win."
Ivan exhaled in relief and straightened up. "Marvelous. The war has been going on for far too long. To think it is over at last… I will prepare a dispatch for the king immediately…" Muttering to himself, Ivan turned around to go to his desk, where paper and ink had already been set out.
A hand on his coat stopped him.
"Alfred?"
"Fuck me, Braginsky." The fabric was crumpling in Alfred's fist.
"What?"
"Fuck me, Braginsky," Alfred hissed, eyes glowing. He roughly jostled the Dark general onto the nearby cot and straddled the demon's torso. "Fuck me like a man."
"Fredka, what does that even mean? Should I be offended? And no," Ivan sat up and scooted his legs from under the angel. "Not until we sort this out." He stroked Alfred's cheek. "What's come over you? Why aren't you looking at me, sunflower?"
Ivan grew more alarmed as the golden blond started to cry—soft, broken sobs that shook his entire body.
"Lapochka, Fedya, what's wrong?" Ivan asked gently, fingers slipping into his pocket for Alfred's enchanted bands. Sometimes the angel lost control of his magic, when he was very emotional. Ivan didn't want Alfred to accidentally hurt himself.
Head ducked and still crying, Alfred let Ivan put the bracelets on. "Amy's gone, Ivan," he finally hiccuped.
The demon's brow furrowed. "Amy? Who is Amy?"
"My espresso machine…" Alfred burst into a fresh bout of tears.
"Ah…" Ivan carefully wrapped his arms around his consort, bringing the angel into a comforting embrace. "I am sorry to hear that. I am sure that she made wonderful coffee."
"The coffee she made was the best," Alfred sniffled. He felt a little better, now that Ivan was holding him. "I, I just—"
Ivan soothingly petted the base of his consort's wings. "It is not just about Amy, is it, dorogoy?"
Alfred slumped against Ivan's chest. "The other angels all trusted me," he whispered. "I was their hero. I was supposed to defend them, save them, and I failed them. Condemned them instead. The way they looked at me when I came out of the bunker with Mattie and Kuma… I'm a traitor, Ivan." Shifting around, Alfred unwound Ivan's scarf and lapped at the faint, white scars. "Fuck me, baby. I want you so bad. Don't you want me, too?"
"Nyet." Ivan's voice was firm. He grabbed the scarf from Alfred's hands and looped it back around his neck. "Sex is not what you need right now. This is a major event in your life. It is normal that you are experiencing many conflicting feelings right now. I will not lie with you when you are vulnerable this way. I am serious," he added at Alfred's piteous whine. "You must process your emotions in a healthy way. You may cry as much as you want, Alfred."
He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of the golden head. "I will be here with you for as long as you like. If it helps, reframe the situation. Think of all the blood that you kept from spilling. You did save them, Alfred…"
