The Archangel stands, still and terrifying, his dark eyes cutting through Alastair’s skin.

“Father Julius! I didn’t intend to sleep in. Oh my goodness, it’s so late. I’m sorry, you see I-”

Father Julius holds up a hand to silence Alastair.

He immediately goes quiet.

Julius stares him down, eyes flicking over his disoriented figure. “Come,” he orders, his voice cool and emotionless. He then turns sharply, not waiting for Alastair as he makes his way back towards the archives.

Alastair’s spine straightens and his mouth pulls into a thin line. He already feels that sick churning in his gut and the back of his neck is hot. He wonders if he should ask to change first but asking for anything at the moment seems entitled. Alastair wraps his robe around himself tighter and follows Julius, hands trembling.

Julius pauses at the end of the small hallway that connects Alastair’s room to the Archives, his eyes drilling into Alastair’s taller figure as he follows. He waits with a calm stillness, hands folded behind his back, for Alastair to go inside.

The Archives’ Master hesitates and tucks his head down. The shame has already settled in him, pressing heavy on his shoulders and making his head spin. Keeping his eyes pointed towards the floor, he steps out of the hallway and into the wide cavern. He feels immediately even smaller than before in the vast space. His fists clench around the fabric of his robe and he inhales deeply. His head aches, ringing with the familiar lectures he knows he will receive.

Julius slowly steps inside behind him. The click of the hall door shutting feels louder than it is and Alastair flinches at it. Julius’s gaze never leaves Alastair. He stalks, slowly, circling him, sizing him up like a predator watching its prey.

Alastair knows the drill with these lectures. They’re almost routine. He moves to stand in the middle of the room, feeling infinitesimal, placed in the center of these towering shelves that seem to bend in towards him, looming over him, leering at him. Julius lingers behind him. His presence feels heavy like a foot on Alastair’s throat, stopping his air. “Father Julius,” he starts, his voice catching on the title. “I’m sorry.”

There’s no response. No, Julius always did like to let Alastair sit with the uncomfortable silence, the anticipation, for longer than needed. He likes to drag it out. Alastair doesn’t dare speak again. He waits it out like always, feeling like he’s suffocating. His eyes burn and he thinks he might cry when he’s finally relieved of the torture.

“Alastair,” Julius starts, his voice low and even. “You’re aware of the importance of your job, correct?”

Alastair grimaces and his hair falls over his eyes without his glasses shielding them. “Yes Father Julius,” he says, blinking harshly.

“Do you really?” Father Julius asks, his tone almost mocking. “Can you comprehend how vital these archives are to the church? Do you even care to?”

“Father Julius,” Alastair starts, voice strained and quiet. “I know how sacred this job, these files are. I care deeply about the- about the records we keep here.”

Father Julius finally stops, his eyes glaring into Alastair’s very being. “Enough.” He hisses. “Your lies mean nothing. Do you take me for a fool, boy? Do you think I believe that for a second?”

Alastair flinches at the snap. He wrings his hands together, squeezing his eyes shut. “Father, I am honored to be graced with such a position.”

Julius scoffs. “After all I’ve done to hide you away from the rest of the church, to protect you, you don’t fail to disappoint me.” He draws back his shoulders, eyes burning Alastair. “Tell me why that is. Why, even the simplest of orders, you fail to complete? Are you truly so incompetent? Or are you purposely defiant?”

Alastair slowly tips his head up just slightly so that his hair no longer falls over his eyes. He can only meet Julius’s molten gaze for a second. “I’m sorry, Father Julius. I don’t mean to disappoint you.” For a moment Alastair thinks it might be worth it to tell Father Julius why he wasn’t present for his duties this morning. He can tell him about the newcomers that trespassed. Though he can already hear Julius’s scolding bite at such excuses.

“You disgust me, boy.” Father Julius spits. “Everything we have done for you, and yet, you’re still a scar on our community’s spirituality, a curse upon our kind. You are undeserving of our generosity.” His lip curls and he pauses, eyes flicking over Alastair.

Alastair fights back a sound in the back of his throat that fights to get out as his lower lip trembles. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry, Father.”

Julius grabs Alastair’s face between his thick, meaty fingers, pressing hard on his cheekbones, harshly yanking him upright. Alastair yelps, the sound coming out muffled through squished cheeks. “Look at me when you apologize.” He hisses.

Eyes wide and fearful, brimming with unshed tears, Alastair pants, his chest tight. He cannot even manage to nod with Julius’s bruising grip on the sides of his face.

“You’re a failure, do you hear me?” Julius speaks low and rough. “Filth. A demon of the devil’s own making. The archives, this dungeon — it’s more than you deserve.”

“I understand,” Alastair rasps out and his words are mushed pathetically with the way his mouth is squished hard enough to make his cheeks sting. “A demon.”

Julius flings Alastair to the floor and he hits the ground with a thud, grunting. “You’re an abomination.” It’s like silver wisps of shining smoke curl around every word Father Julius utters, penetrating Alastair’s mind, luring him deeper into the dread that pulls at him, clogging up his nose and clouding over his eyes.

“Why—” he chokes, voice shaking. “Why keep me here then.” Alastair’s voice is pleading, desperate for an answer. And yet he regrets the words as soon as he speaks them. The cold rage in Julius’s expression making the knot in his throat swell. “I-I’m sorry…” Panic is rising higher in his chest and he instinctively tries to move away, weak hands grasping at the stone beneath him as he crawls backwards.

“Enough!” The sound after it is a resounding crack.

Pain erupts in Alastair’s jaw, his vision going white and his head whipping to the side. It takes a few dizzy moments for him to realize what had struck him was Julius’s knee. Tears pour down his cheeks instantly as blood floods his mouth and his expression crumples. “F-Father Julius,” he whimpers, blood coating his lips, the taste metallic.

“Shut up.” Father Julius snarls. He glares down at Alastair, abruptly grabbing him by his collar and yanking him upright, Alastair’s body jerking forward weakly. “On your knees. Now.”

Alastair whimpers and sways out of Julius’s. His limbs shake as he pushes himself onto his knees slowly, his head bowing.

Julius sneers and Alastair can’t stand to meet his eyes any longer. “You’re a disgrace.”

Alastair clutches the fabric of his robe in his lap. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t speak as Julius’s harsh words sting in his chest. What can he say that will resolve this? The obvious answer is nothing. He knows better than to think interruption will spare him any cruelty. Yet he still itches to speak up in his defense.

Julius’s hand is on his head in an instant, taking a fistful of his hair, dragging his face closer to his harshly. “Repeat it.” He hisses.

Alastair whines long and slow, pathetically. His face screws up in pain as Julius’s fingers tighten around his hair. He takes in a shaky breath and then whispers, “I’m a disgrace.”

“Speak up.” Julius mocks.

Alastair flinches. “I’m- I’m a disgrace.”

“Louder.” Julius snaps. He’s becoming less put together the longer he drags it out. Punishments are always the worse when Julius’s composure slips.

“I’m a disgrace,” Alastair says louder, clearer, his eyes stinging.

“You’re a monster.” Julius spits.

A shaky inhale. “I’m a monster.” Alastair’s throat begins to burn and close up.

“You’re weak.” Julius continues, voice loud and harsh. “Useless.”

“I am weak… I am useless,” Alastair croaks, his voice trembling.

“You’re worthless.” Julius’ says, voice raising.

“I am worthless.”

Julius suddenly lashes out, slapping Alastair straight across the face.

The sting is hot against Alastair’s cheeks, burns deep into his skin. His face throbs. He brings a shaking hand to his skin and sniffs. It’s already bruising, he can feel. And the skin is raised like a burn or a scratch.

Julius stares down at Alastair for a long time, watches as his eyes go glassy and wet, revels in the pain Alastair feels for a moment. Then, with an unnerving quickness, the deranged light in his eyes fades a little, returning to the usual cold, more put-together yet still scrutinizing look that Alastair is used to. He sighs.

“Forgive me,” Alastair whispers, a sob barely held back.

Julius drops to his knees. He stares at Alastair, face-level, expression neutral. “I hate that you make me do this.” He cups Alastair’s cheek where it throbs, skin angry, though the initial burn of it has dulled.

Alastair’s shoulders shudder as he peaks at Julius through his unruly fringe. “I’m-I’m sorry, Father,” he sniffles, voice cracking.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Father Julius murmurs, his voice taking on a quieter edge. His fingers stroke the raised skin, calloused fingertips against tender, flesh. “If only you tried harder.”

Alastair lets slip a weak, pained sound he’d been trying to hold back. Blood drips down his chin and splatters onto the cold stone. “I’ll try harder. I promise. I’ll do better Father, I’m sorry.”

Father Julius takes Alastair into his arms, hugging him tightly. The embrace is nauseating, makes Alastair go rigid. He feels like he can’t breathe. “Good. Clean up your mess when I’m gone.”

Alastair squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks as he tries to pretend the man is not there at all.

── ⟡ ˙

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A big thanks to @oros-ash3s for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔