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He could b***h, or wail –

Gnash his teeth till they crumbled from his jaw—

He did neither, wanted to badly enough, didn’ still! Mulled over that and redid his locs in a fury, found tasks that would take his patience and time and so he’d have to cool down and think. And after awhile? Sucked it up. Fetched like a reluctant dog heeding a new, if disdainful master. Waru told himself pretty lies as he trawled the new alleys he frequented, further and further beyond the bounds of his original starting point. Working ever outwards; like a nautilus building a most hellish shell. It was made of the shiniest things; hand-picked, scrupulously chosen.

And if he left DC’s borders? Driving into the less than familiar, learning to teleport into the epicenter of newer routes the hard way. Onto a too rich yacht with too happy people living out his vision of a honeymoon that never quite was or would be. A camp in the woods, hunting hunters for sport, hoping the bears, bucks, and birds would appreciate the bodies he left them. Strip clubs innumerable, and those were the easiest haunts to hunt of all. Providing him with a slow if steady slew of mouth-breathing, ******** whose pockets were better emptied into the coffers of a church or the hands of escorts, where proper patrons and staff didn’t blink twice at the strangeness of too many noises outside, so long as those noises and their problems were gone when they checked. The kind of well deserving assholes whose bodies were oft’ left looking robbed many blocks away, in increasingly messy and hard to define ways…

Cerbs didn’t follow orders the way he did, wasn’t a soldier Senshi on an Eternal hunt, but? It was a good beast! His second best bonded! Getting braver, working on being more front line when he counted on the tribis most. The little scrape they’d had with the shamrock-farms, page-o-plenty made him keenly aware how he was failing to utilize the creature's potential to its fullest. He simply didn’t want to risk losing him, not over something he could easily handle.

But as a distraction? A slight of hand shadow passing through ethereal planes of existence, a vulture descending on a corpse? Cerbs was perfect for that…

And so he told his pretty lies – mostly by omission – knew it was better to ask for forgiveness for something he’d not *quite* done wrong just yet. To dodge suspicion of the one thing, by doing thirty others that were ten times more concerning on a grand stage of a scale. He wouldn't need to ask Helio for his stash of emergency horrors in soul form….

Or explain why he needed them, or who they were for, or why, or..…

And he swore to himself he’d apologize later! Truly! For hiding what should’ve been such a small thing to them all thing. After all!? What were a couple of starseeds in exchange for some very necessary info? What were *many*, a number great enough to match the importance of the exchange, and ethically sourced at that!! (For the most part.)

He wasn’t doing anything wrong! Not really—

And he’d tell them all everything! Truly! Eventually — everyone –

Once he was done here, and had something more to offer his people than crazed, broken sentences, devoid of sounds existing in reality. Concepts more concrete than his own horrible gut feelings and terrible vibes.

Proof.

I’ll bring them proof that somethings actually wrong.

He thought sullenly, heaving a sigh before teleporting straight into Faustite’s (Headaches for now) office.

It was easier like this, he told himself, to deal with Headache when he looked like—

Well…

Like what his own expectations of the creatures true appearance was, he supposed? A mass of miniature moving parts, a voice run through filters. Entirely other, devoid of human masks and mimicry on a scale that tested every edge of his mind. He’d always liked Headache better like this, (for what minuscule amount he could claim to like his beloved's bonded youma.) as a buzzing sea of hive-like beings, intelligent as they were, still youma to its core.

“That’s for you to answer, isn’t it?” Simple, clipped sentences, words filled with tired bite. He felt a bit like a drug dealer as he removed the large backpack from his inventory, hefting it’s weight to slide it across the breach of space between them. He was a dog, not doordash, he wouldn’t place the damn thing in Headaches not-hands and wait to watch the thing check that it’s order was correct.

“Whatever news you have…bout him..cause I kept my end of this…” Impatient loathing in every breath, Albite straightened and tried not to fidget more than was natural for him to do. To not look baited and on the verge of begging —-

“Now you keep yours.”

Or snapping loose…

Breathebreathebreathebreathe!! It’s fine! Breathe!!

With the deer-like stillness of a creature that sensed it’d been spotted across a hunting grounds. Albite waited, statuesque, crumbling inside. His very being tied by a thousand thin strings to Headaches vocal whims, the b*****d-bugs penchant for dramatism.

Headaches here, so he’s alive, right? He has to be—

Except for all the ways he was unsure about even that much in his newfound panic of late. Whether or not one, bonded to another, could feel their bonded’s absence like a wound? If youma cared when their masters died?! Hadn’t Faustite described Squiddies demise enough times in subtle ways? It’d seemed a crippling thing on his beloved's end. As he’d watched the man who would (much later on) become his husband work through the aftermath of that loss, even if he hadn't understood it back then. Not in complexity, or pain, or those odd sixth senses no one ever warned another person of.

He knew it now—

Knew how it felt to be soul-tied and heart-tethered to another living, breathing soul! To be a Senshi with a Mau on his shoulders, an Eternal tied to a Celestial in birdy form. To be a husband with vows worth honoring. Every last one of them. All of the time. Even if it meant doing bullshit like this!

Worthitworthitworthit—

He didn’t know what that meant coming from the other side of the fun-house mirror. How much Headache could feel, if the buzz of bugs was outright lying?

Youma were different— not people – not….

He told himself Faustite was alive in all the ways that counted, instead. Even if it was base ‘brain in jar’ fantasy. He wasn’t about to let that thread of hope go, it would shred him to ribbons and he’d hang by it before then.

‘Faustite is alive – Headache is *extra* proof of this – you went to see him yourself so there's no ********’ question about this Waru! You went down there, and you saw him, and he was – whatever the ******** he was!? But he damn well WAS before things changed!! And since he was then he still must be and…’

“what…..” Quiet, wondering if he’d misheard, shaking his head to clear it of all else. He worried that under the weighty cacophony of his own mind’s screeching court of crows he’d somehow misunderstood what Headache had said between one itch inducing buzzzzzzz and the next. Because he hadn’t been thinking about it like that, had he? Not in that way. Only the worst ones, only a thousand other nightmare scenarios, only—

“sorry..…..” Clearing his throat, his head, he tried again; focusing on a spot within the feasting hive before opening his mouth to speak at a normal volume. “Haaaah—s’just—c’n you clarify that s**t for me?” The words leaked with eerie calm. The seams of his attempt at a grin barely holding back whatever sat behind it. “I uh…I don’t think I get what ‘not here anymore’ means, Headache? I was never good with…meta bullshit, yanno? No phors of any kind…really…”

Everything within him short-circuited for a moment beneath a wash of dizzying emotions, eyes wide, fingers splayed. He nearly tilted over and burst out the place that very instant. His instincts screamed at him to GO in an entirely new manner—

Faustite is alive!!

Hope.

Faustite is awake!!

Joy.

“They. ********. Lost. Him—-“

Rage—-

He couldn’t help it, the way he laughed, low and grim and damn near giddy. How the buoy of feelings for his boy out in the world and with all his parts intact: working legs, a consciousness, lungs in his chest and a p***s on his torso!! All of it quickly drowned beneath the rising tidal wave of rage with no direction in which to flow—

Because if Faustite was alive and out there?

Then – then - then – ooooohhhhhhuuggghhhh, and the questions grew, the viprous irony of the situation morphed monstrously. He bore his teeth against it. Shut himself up lest he fall into ranting his way across the office, tearing himself to pieces against anything too hard to break down with his bare hands.

“They— you’re tellin’ me—that some useless ******** watchguard a*****e who napped off on duty? They ******** lost him!?! That he could be *anywhere* in the city…on the planet…just…oooohhhhh…” Growled distress as he dragged both hands through his dreads, his gaze rolling ceiling-wards before snapping back to Headache. Feral little pinpricks that hovered above a pinched expression, a flash of wet canines. “And you? Sittin’ here, playing dress up, enjoying yourself…huh? Don’t seem so frantic as t’be huntin’ for anymore n’your supper…”

“And barely even that…right, bugs? You’ve got doordash catering t’the darklands…you’ve got me playing fetch!” He hoped Headache was enjoying itself, truly. At least as much as a swarm of brackish beetles could. That the malicious seeming creature was getting its kicks and giggles out of pulling strings…watching him squirm on them…“S’good though….hah…I mean…even you’ve gotta eat, yeah? N’someone’s gotta wear the crown? Can’t leave the throne empty….”

“Least? Not n’til it’s owner comes back for it…” He wouldn’t ask why Eion hadn’t returned on his own, how ******** hard it was to find one person on fire, why it took a specialty team, why they were keeping it all hush hush and under the covers!! “N’til we find him? Which! If I were you? I’d be hoping we don’t..….” Albite dared to tease wildly as he stepped back, and back, and through the void. Away from the sole, maddening inhabitant, onto the streets of the city—

“Cause the first thing m’asking Ei for when *we* bring him back? Is a blank check with your name on it, Headache.” He couldn’t be a stan for consent if he simply took things, afterall? If he simply did what he pleased with other people's property without asking!! No, no, no…He wanted Faustites name in fire on a blank check, permission to do what he pleased, retribution in cold-blooded, scalpel sharp, writing.

Ink, to pen, to paper.

The taste of Headaches dust in the air, just for fun. Between his teeth, fine grit, crawling, choking himself on it. He'd swallow it down with a coke n’rum. It’d be his to take. To enjoy. Like little cricket candies!! The same as Faustites warmest hugs, always made both better and worse by a summer's day. Made best because he’d earned them, because he had permission to touch the stove without mittens!!

Because he loved him.

And that love clawed at him from the inside, carved open his veins, writhed wrong-ways in his marrow for how badly he needed his boy back. Right the ******** now. No matter what it took!

A few cursory deaths….

A little bit of fire….

Some agent on a spit….

Headache, you absolute b*****d. ********)