DAEMON・DAES

"Of course. There's no one I trust more."

Cherry could say what she wanted about August's choice to trust her, but August knew it was wise. Out of everyone he knew, no one understood him like Cherry. No one cared for the wizard like this sweet short girl with 'I will suplex you' energy.

And naturally, such a beauty, such a trust, such a love, inspired his total attention. There was rarely a time where they were in the same room and August couldn't help but gaze at her. Unless the setting was professional or improper, August would admire the way her cheeks grew rosy with her genuine smile, the way her voice caught the air like a shot.

Her eyes widened, but her grin grew even bigger. "Someone's secretive today!" She searched his face for some clue what he was roping her into, but all that came back was an impish delight.

Curiosity got the better of her. She set her paintbrush down in her cup of coffee, which was, at this point, nearly indistinguishable from the mug she was rinsing her brushes in. By the time she realized what she'd done, all she could do was blink at the mugs in resolute acceptance. It wasn't the first time, and it would certainly not be the last. She liked to brag that she'd grown accustomed to the taste of paint water. Paint coffee would be no different. C'est la vie.

as she airs her mothers dirty laundry [ almost literally ] five cannot help but smirk slightly into his straw . ❝ she && my dad would have a great time together . ❞ he said , before placing his glass down && reaching for some fries . ❝ trust me , what i've told you is only half the shit that's happened to my family && me . especially me . ❞ he adds . ❝ i'm missing major ... plot ... ❞

he waved his hand . ❝ that's what the kids say right ? plot ? for the plot ? ❞

he shakes his head . he's never been good at keeping up with gen z slang either , even though he certainly looks it .

time hopper . mother was making kids for her own academy . that was just as twisted && fucked up as reginald buying his kids from terrified new mothers . && from what five was gathering , she had siblings with their own abilities .

when she mentioned that he knew his purpose , five snorted , shaking his head . ❝ my purpose is gone . done . dad reset the universe . got what he wanted && more . ❞ he glanced around && shifted his weight , now uncomfortable && realizing that there was really no point to him being alive . it was a thought that he had frequently , but now it was thrown into sharp painful relief .

"You should celebrate." From the way he looked around, his discomfort was obvious. Nutmeg wanted to kick herself for mentioning purpose at all. It was too early into the meal to be so heavy and dramatic. She exhaled through her nose and fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"If you've already achieved your greatest purpose, then you're retired, dum-dum. You can do whatever you want, and no one can say anything." She slurped down more of the margarita-lemonade blend. Watching it travel through all the bends in the crazy straw was comforting. "It's not unbearable to have a...lightness of being. That's your reward. Seize it."

She withdrew until her back met the plush cushioning of the booth and examined him with ardent curiosity. He'd made his circumstances known in the abstract, but all detail was foreign to her. If she knew why she was made, it would make achieving her purpose much easier. Her mother wanted to create the most powerful beings she could. She would readily admit that much. Naux never admitted why it was so important that she did so, only that there was, in fact, a reason. Nutmeg knew she was supposed to be "number one" but that didn't mean much without a point of comparison.

"We get along well enough," she finally admitted. "Not perfectly, but we don't have a choice. We're all we've got." It sounded heavier than she'd meant it. "Naturally, we have a home base here, but we...move around a lot. Time, space. If I lost track of my siblings while abroad, there's no way my mother would be able to round us up and 'blink' us back. We're usually dropped off, you see. 'Field trips.'" Her fingers bent to form air quotes. "We're already down two—not under my watch, by the way. Any more would be gross negligence." That wasn't something she wanted to elaborate on.

"But we're not a smiley, Stepfordian, Brady Bunch cult, if that's what you're thinking. No kumbayah around the campfire." Her fork was pointed accusingly at Five. "We fight. I'll beat up my little brother if he's asking for it." Her lips puckered. That sounded bad. "It's an even match: he has claws."

five hates that word . there's nothing exceptional about it . it's a word his father has used - or did use - to describe the hargreeves children . at least , he used it with six of them . viktor was always left out . && now five wishes that he had not been considered exceptional either . just having her compliment the arm , the thing he stole from his father to make his life easier as that , made five's skin itch uncomfortably .

he watches as she reaches into her pocket && pulls out the painkiller bottle , giving it a shake && dispensing two . then she reconsiders && drops a third into her palm . for a moment , five thinks she's going to give him over the limit , but when she takes one for herself , he realizes that she's proving to him that they are safe to take . like he's some sorta paranoid jackass or something .

he was . he just wasn't gonna admit that willingly .

five then weighed the pills in his palm && he was brought back to a memory of his thirty-fourth year in the apocalypse . the first one . where he had the worst toothache known to man && had to find something to numb the pain enough for him to rip out the back tooth . he had found a pharmacy that had remained relatively untouched , but the medicine was out of date . he had ended up crushing much of the pills && taking that && he wondered [ briefly ] if crushing these && taking them through the blood brain barrier would make a difference . break through && hit the pain receptors in his brain instead of waiting for it to absorb through his stomach .

he quickly pushed the thought from his head && then tipped the pills into his mouth , swallowing them immediately .

Relief softens her posture when he swallows the pills. There was no expectation that he'd do something idiotic, like chuck them the opposite direction, but being helpless to help leads one to absurd thoughts. To Nutmeg, this is the curse of the firstborn.

The household is perfectly capable of running itself while she's away, even if it's she who leads her mother to bed when she's drunk too much, and she who looks after Lavender and Oregano when her mother is busy making deals in the shop. Oregano would assert otherwise, that he is the one preventing Nutmeg from getting in over her head, but she knows that can't be true. After all, when he tags along as she investigates abandoned buildings, she's the one who bandages his scrapes each time he takes a tumble.

Now, however, there's nothing to do but watch Five as he struggles with whatever symptoms plague him, physical or mental. His acceptance of the pills isn't enough to offset the odd voyeurism of the situation. Her head turns first, then the rest of her body, until her back faces him. Slowly, she sits, and draws her knees to her chest. Maybe this is easier for both of them.

After a minute of silence, she can't resist peeking over her shoulder for just a second. "Does this happen often?" It's easier to tell herself she's asking only to temper her own expectations—that this is not some freak malfunction, it's a routine issue, and he's just as grown as she is, so he can surely take care of himself. "The heat is radiating off that thing." Just barely, but it counted. Probably in bad taste to comment about it potentially exploding.

" let's get a move on ; i can't hold this thing for too much longer. " BRACKETED & THRASHING BETWEEN HIS THIGHS, flesh hissing, is the figure of a wide-set man. he has the kind of body that says former linebacker & he's strong as hell. literally. a flicker of dean's wrist sends another shower of holy water from the flask in his hand. a fresh round of sizzle, pop, & ROAR flourishes up from underneath him. the guy's eyes flash open, flooded out to the brim with ink black. he bucks for good measure & almost sends dean flying. urgency huddles in the cusp of dean's throat. hoarse & pressing down with all his might. " seriously, sister. this ain't ride the mechanical bull night at the local honkey tonk. "

"Yeah, yeah. Can you blame me for enjoying the show? You're in your element." Cherry, however, is not. To her credit, she hasn't kept her eyes solely on Dean's struggle. She's not that cruel. It's the presence of a partner at all that gives her pause. Teamwork is for people who aren't capable enough to defend themselves. Usually she'd be the one riding the bull, but there's no sense in swapping places now.

Her own dark eyes meet the abyssal demonic stare as she crouches closer to its level. Her nose wrinkles. The stench of burning flesh is always worse than the sight. "Would it help if I made him kiss my fist?" Her fingers curl one by one in a wave that emphasizes the iron rings adorning them. She offers a lopsided smile, half apology and half triumph. In her other hand is a pocket-sized notebook, dog-eared and sticky-flagged. The pertinent passages have long-since been memorized, but with Dean doing the lion's share, being able to consult her "manual" just in case makes for a major quality of life update.

five nearly snaps at her , jaw clenching down , teeth bared && very clearly agitated [ not with her , with himself ... with this hunk of metal stitched to his bones ] five does not look around , before he then pushes his hands into his pockets , ready to walk away . even blink away && lick his wounds in private . the subway would be a good call for this .

it was when she then asked if it was fighting him . ❝ it's my fathers technology . ❞ he said flippantly . ❝ but it's not made for me . ❞ he pauses , then looks down at the back of the sleek metal hand . when he stole it , he thought it a prize . the irony was not lost on him that his left hand being gone severed his tie to the umbrella's && the metal hand secured ties to his father . but five had gone about every way to ensure that the technology was not ... was not an echo of his father .

he had even roped in his sister in law - lila - to help dismantle the damn thing && ensure that it wasn't riddled with his fathers tech .

five hesitates , then after a second , he pulls off his suit jacket && then rolls up his left sleeve to expose the arm , which is whirring && && clicking , tucking over && it's hot to the touch . impossibly hot .

She doesn't take his disposition personally. That would be uncalled for. She's been nothing but civil, after all. There's no reason for him to be upset with her. So, she simply watches him struggle. It's probably a good sign that she's able to watch him at all—that he hasn't blinked away. Multiple questions float through her thoughts, but she pops every bubble before it gets too tempting. He's clearly not in the best frame of mind, and she doubts he'll be able to provide satisfying answers even if she frames it as an exercise in distraction for him.

When he reveals his arm, her eyes widen a fraction. "Exceptional," she breathes softly. Even if the exact nature of Five's relationship with his father is lost on her, the tension in his prior statement was obvious. This wasn't made for him, but the craftsmanship is undeniable.

Her gaze quickly pivots to her bag, though she doubts it makes her staring less blatant. The bottle of pills is fished from an inner pocket. She presents it to him and draws a finger across the name to emphasize any lack of trickery. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, she uncaps it and shakes out two pills for him. There's a moment of reflection, then she shakes out a third before putting the bottle back in her bag.

then he lets his gaze shift . && he realizes in that moment , he hasn't actually introduced himself either . it takes five back but for a moment , he wonders if he should . he lets his eyes flicker then he speaks . ❝ alright , meg . ❞ he then says with a dip of his head in acknowledgement . ❝ i'm five . five hargreeves . ❞ he adds , like that means anything , he's not sure how much an influence his father has nowadays , if any .

he sits back into the booth cushions , watching her as she explained the intrinsical nature of it all .

&& he was smart enough to know when people were choosing to avoid certain things && make it sound like an answer . five had been a known practitioner of the technique for many , many years now . he might even call himself a master of it .

okay , so her mother could blink . maybe not like five , but similar enough that it was easy for her to adjust to . && the lightning -- whatever the hell was -- was her ability . so to speak .

it didn't seem like she had much control of it .

it reminded him [ briefly ] about how his siblings had dealt with their manifesting abilities . five was lucky to have found himself adept with his blinks fairly quickly whilst his siblings were a lot more ... inept with their own abilities .

&& then she asks something that five doesn't expect . that feeling of being overwhelmed && five gives a slow , very strained nod . he had experienced it before . actually multiple times , during the end of the world . the one where he was trapped . the one where he had no one else out there . back when he was just a kid . the memory of feeling like that sits in the pit of five's stomach && is not resolved until his margarita arrives .

❝ you haven't been trained in it . ❞ he says slowly . ❝ or at least trained yourself in stabilizing your emotions . that would help you in controlling && understanding your ability . ❞ hell is he going to teach her , but maybe he could rope viktor into that .

❝ oh my father . he was ... ❞ five exhaled slowly . ❝ it's a long story . forty-three women gave birth to me && my siblings in 1989 . they weren't pregnant to begin with . apparently we're human but with ... something extra . reginald hargreeves created us so we could help power his machine to reset the universe . ❞

When Five stated his full name, the same insight and understanding flashed in Nutmeg's eyes as that of someone who'd heard words they recognized in a language they didn't speak. The spark left as quickly as it came. Still, she held onto his speech with rapt attention. This was broken only by the return of the waitress, who Nutmeg thanked with a wide, sweet smile. By the time she turned back to Five, it was gone.

"That wasn't a long story." Her brows raised pointedly. She set about the burger first, and carefully cut into with a knife and fork. It wasn't until she'd thoroughly chewed through her first two bites with gusto that she spoke again.

"My mother dreams of her own academy for those with unusual abilities—something about a missing birthright? The details are foggy." Naux wasn't particularly forthright about her past. Many a curious question was met with an oblique answer or a long, tangential story that Nutmeg was certain must be false. It didn't bother her. Everyone was allowed their secrets. If she poked too much into her mother's life, it would be fair for her mother to poke into hers. This was the opposite of what she wanted.

"So far, her only students are all...homemade." She let the statement linger as she savored her lemonade. Whoever Five was supposed to be, he seemed sharp. Surely he understood the implication. Still, just to avoid ambiguity:

"She finds a man with power and promise similar to her own, and..." She gestured glibly to herself with a fry on a fork, then sighed. Three children (thus far!) did not an academy make, especially when their unschooling was driven largely by typical academia, and little in the way of harnessing their abilities to the fullest extent. That was supposed to be a journey of personal discovery. Maybe she put too much faith in them.

"My father wasn't her first choice. In her perfect world, she'd have had success with another time-hopper. There was someone else like her, back when she was—" Nutmeg cut herself short. Her eyes narrowed. She was getting too comfortable, too pliable. Maybe the food was to blame. Not everything had to be laid out so plainly. "—Back at one of her old jobs. I guess he was too career-oriented." Naux would never admit that she'd struck out, unable to beguile her target, but it was embarrassingly obvious to Nutmeg.