#soulsquad

Will and Brian are @crash-bump-bring-the-whump‘s ocs and are written with permission! 

When Brian calls him, Zuriel knows something is wrong from the first words out of her mouth. He’d been searching for Will for weeks after he’d gone missing again, and at first he’d thought the call was good news. But the soft “We found him” makes his heart drop into his stomach.

He touches down outside their house that afternoon, already feeling the sharp tug of distress and sadness, and he pulls Brian into a hug as soon as he sees her, promising he’ll do everything he can. 

Heavens, he hopes he’s enough.

When he goes to Will’s room, his friend is sitting on the bed, head bowed, arms held tight to his chest. He looks so small, it breaks his heart. It hurts more than he can say to see kind, sweet, funny Will reduced to nothing but a beacon of misery and hopelessness.

Zuriel knocks lightly on the doorframe, and he sees Will’s head lift slightly. “Hey, Will,” he says softly, closing the space between them. “May I sit?”

“Zu-riel.” Will doesn’t move, and his voice is small and low. “He-ey.”  The spark is gone, the smile hidden in his words has utterly vanished. And Zuriel can understand why, when he sees his hands.

They’re mangled, oh, heavens. 

“Brian called me,” he says quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed.  Will flinches, then relaxes when he comes closer. “How are you holding up?”

Will doesn’t answer at first, and Zuriel doesn’t push. He already knows the answer, after all.

“May I?” Zuriel places his hands atop Will’s lap, palms up. A few seconds tick by as Will hesitates, before lowering one shaky hand into his own, then the next.

He doesn’t move at first as he takes in the extent of the damage, scarred palms cradling ruined, crooked fingers, twisted knuckles. Will’s wrists feel so weak and fragile, his hands are cold and wrecked, this is wrong. How could anyone have so much hatred in their heart to do this to anyone? He can fix this, he knows he can. He has to. 

He murmurs a soft prayer before his hands start to glow with a soft golden light, his aura pooling in his palms. He’s always had an affinity for healing, purification. Just like Charmeine has his truth magic and Avrel his earth magic, Zuriel is a healer.

When the light dies away and Zuriel opens his eyes, his heart drops like a stone. Will’s hands look exactly the same.

No.

He focuses again, sends more healing to wrap around the shattered hands. He digs deep into his soul, grounding himself as he pours magic into his friend until he’s dizzy and swaying from the effort of staying sitting up.

There’s silence when the healing warmth fades from his fingertips. 

“Di-id, did you do it?” Will’s voice contains a note of hopefulness. “Do-oesn’t hurt, a-as much.” Before Zuriel can stop him, he flexes his hand experimentally, and a ragged cry wrenches itself from his throat. All he can do is watch helplessly as Will curls forward around himself, tearing his splintered hands from Zuriel’s and holding them close to his chest.

“Oh, heavens,” Zuriel breathes. “Will, I-” His hands are already healed. Crooked, wrong, but they healed. His magic can’t fix this. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.”

Will tips his head forward, his shoulders shaking silently. 

Will is missing.

It’s been weeks since Jack first called Zuriel to ask him to keep an eye out, and Zuriel’s checked everywhere for his missing friend. Every waking hour, he’s been searching.

He would ask Will’s superior, but she’s evidently missing too, having vanished two weeks after Will did. 

He’s even checked Daniel’s lab, flying as close to it as he dared. Nothing. Not even wards. Investigating Asao and LaChappelle gave him nothing, as well. Will is in danger, somewhere, he knows it. Just because it isn’t someone he knows doesn’t make the danger any less real.

But it makes the search that much harder.

When he’s flying over a neighborhood after another fruitless day of searching, he recognizes the pull of someone in distress. It takes only a moment to realize the soul reaching for him isn’t entirely human. But when he gets closer, and realizes there’s a second soul, weak and thready and barely clinging to a semblance of existence, he knows the search is over.

He knows Will’s soul almost better than he knows his own. It may be fragile and fluttery and dangerously faint, but that’s Will. 

Without hesitating, he tucks his wings and dives. 

Zuriel makes quick work of the lock on the shed door, and he hurries inside with his sword raised, doing a quick assessment of the room to check for attackers. No one. Just a woman pinned to the wall and- and Will, bound to the floor.

For a moment, Zuriel freezes, trying to figure out where to start. Every instinct screams for him to go to Will, but then he gets a better look at the woman.

Hands restrained above her head, pinned to the wall with an iron bar through her stomach, magenta blood, this must be Will’s supervisor. Her eyes watch him warily as he draws closer to her, ready to help her down. She’s more lucid and far bloodier than Will, it would be cruel to force her to suffer like this any longer.

A strangled sound from her stops him as she shakes her head. “Help him,” she wheezes, jerking her head towards Will, bound and muzzled and lying limply on the floor. Blood stains her teeth, her lips, and more bubbles from her mouth as she tries to say more. “Please.”

Zuriel doesn’t have to be told twice. He kneels next to Will, freeing his hands with a careful, precise swipe of his sword. “Will, it’s me, it’s Zuriel,” he whispers, fumbling with the muzzle. Oh, heavens, this is mercilessly tight, can he even breathe? Even when the buckle releases, the cruel contraption stays firmly secured over Will’s face, as if it had grown into his skin. 

As much as it pains him to do it, he has no choice but to get a solid grip on the muzzle and yank it away. Will wheezes out a groan of pain that reaches straight to Zuriel’s soul, especially when he sees the horrid, bloodied grooves carved into his friend’s face by the harsh leather.

“Oh, heavens,” he whispers. 

Zuriel’s heart locks in horror as he realizes Will still isn’t breathing, he’s still only drawing thin gasps of air, his lips are blue. How long has he been in that monstrosity of a contraption, to train him into taking such tiny, reedy breaths? He knows the answer to that question, it’s been weeks. Weeks.

“Will.” Without hesitation, he presses a hand to Will’s chest and unleashes a burst of healing magic, forcing his lungs to expand. “Will, please, please-” 

When Will gasps and lurches, Zuriel’s ready for him. He quickly maneuvers him into a half-sitting position in his arms, a steady pulse of warm healing reminding weary lungs how it feels to take a full breath. Will’s wheezing now, struggling to draw breath, and Zuriel holds him through it, whispering soft encouragement as finally, finally, free of the muzzle and aided by magic, the exhausted reaper breathes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zuriel can see the woman relax, looking as relieved as he feels.

Will’s eyes flutter, and a weak hand reaches up, searching faintly.  “Zur..l?”

Zuriel doesn’t waste a moment before clasping Will’s hand gently in his own, letting his thumb brush over the scars on his knuckles. “It’s me, Will, I’m here. You’re safe.” He gently brushes Will’s hair from his face, and his friend leans into the touch, trembling.

“Zu-uriel.” His name is whispered out again, almost a prayer, and Zuriel squeezes his hand gently.

“I’m here.” He’s reluctant to leave his friend’s side, but he still needs to help that poor woman, pinned to the wall like some macabre display. He whispers a quick promise that he’ll be right back, he’s only moving a few feet away, but the soft sound of distress Will makes when his hand moves away tears at his heart.

When Zuriel turns back to the woman, he meets a calculated gaze, startlingly alert for her condition. He has the feeling she’s been assessing every move he’s made, every word he’s whispered to his friend, and he shrinks a little under the focus of her piercing eyes. 

He hurries to her side and carefully frees her hands, catching each arm and slowly lowering them to her side instead of letting them fall. He’s as gentle as he can, but he can’t ignore the agonized groan that spills forth from her as her shoulders snick into a natural position that must feel foreign, now. He can’t heal her, not until he frees her from that vile bar through her stomach.

“You must be Miss Sophie,” he says softly. “My- my name is Zuriel. I’m here to help you, but this, I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt.” He watches her eyes for recognition as the words sink in, and her head dips in an infinitesimal nod.

With that permission, he carefully gathers her into his arms, prepares himself, and flies backwards, pulling her off of the angled rod. The woman screams when he does so, arching and coughing and shaking in his arms.

Zuriel touches down lightly on the ground and sets her next to Will. His hands are already glowing with healing light when he kneels down next to her, preparing to heal the gaping magenta wound.

“No!” The raspy word gives him pause, and he draws back uncertainly. He’s never had someone refuse healing before. “N-no. P-lease, he ne-eeds, needs it more.”

“Zu..ri-iel?” Will twists a little on the floor when he kneels down again, leaning towards the warmth of his aura, and Zuriel doesn’t hesitate to hold him close again. Miss Sophie’s eyes follow his every move, watching as Will relaxes into his touch.

Zuriel pauses for a moment. “There is, there’s a way to heal your wounds without my magic,” he says softly. He won’t say it explicitly, but he’s seen Will do it. He’s even done it to Will before. But this woman, this Sophie, she’s never met him, doesn’t now him. Asking her to be so vulnerable as to remove her soul around him would be incredibly insensitive. 

“C-clearly, Will trusts you.” Her voice is strained, raspy and cracking even as she struggles to keep it even. “So I-” She swallows, her breath hitching as she fights to compose herself. “I will trust you.” The unspoken for now hangs in the air. 

Her arm twitches as she tries to lift it to her chest, to her soul, but her limbs are uncooperative from being forced above her head for so long and the most she can do is flop her arm across her chest. 

Those piercing eyes lock onto his own. “Do it,” she whispers. “Ple-ease.”

Zuriel searches her eyes for further permission and dips his head, the light dying from his fingertips. “I’ll watch over you,” he promises, a gentle thanks for her trust. “Both of you.” With that, never once breaking eye contact, he puts a gentle hand lightly atop her sternum and pushes gently. His fingers slip into her chest without resistance and emerge moments later with a marble-sized soul. As the woman’s body dissolves into smoke, the magenta mist curls around Will, caressing his face for just a moment before pooling around the soul resting in Zuriel’s palm.

He tucks the woman’s soul into his pocket, over his heart, where the soft, steady rhythm of his heartbeat can assure her she’s not alone, that he hasn’t betrayed the fragile trust she extended to him.

“Patentibus,” he whispers, and a doorway unfolds in the space in front of him. As he walks through the portal, cradling Will to his chest, the warm, cozy scenery of the pocket cottage unfurls around them, and he wastes no time laying Will on his bed. He sits at his side, both hands enclosed over one of Will’s, and periodically sends a soft ray of healing magic pulsing through him. 

The gashes on his face and wrists have long since been healed, but Will’s body needs reminders that he can breathe again.  Each time, Will sighs a little, relaxes just a little more.

As Will breathes easier, so does Zuriel, and he picks up his phone to call Elliot.

Zuriel doesn’t know how anyone can be alive in that wreck below him, but they’re alive, and in pain. He touches down outside the car and knocks carefully at the window, looking in at the victim. He can’t believe how much pain is roiling out from inside, how can th- His heart stops when his eyes land on the person in the passenger seat.

The reaper in the passenger seat.

It’s Will. 

“Oh, heavens,” he breathes. The door is too warped and twisted to open out towards him, so he wraps his fingers around the edge of the door and yanks, ripping it away so he can get to the wounded reaper. 

The moment the door is open, Will starts to panic. “Please, take me, jus- just me, y’don’t need him, jus’ me, please-” Breathless pleas tumble from his lips, and they break Zuriel’s heart. Of course- his holy magic. Will thinks he’s Daniel. 

“Will, Will, it’s me, it’s Zuriel,” he hurries to reassure him, taking one of his hands into his own. Brushing Will’s unmoving fingers over the scarred tissue left from their shared time together in the lab. His friend’s hand doesn’t so much as twitch underneath his own, and his words are babbled over by more begging, getting more and more heartwrenching and desperate.

“Will, please, Will, listen to me.” His hand travels up to Will’s face, and he lightly brushes the scarred back of his hand against Will’s cheek. The reaper freezes at the touch, the pleas dying mid-word. “Will, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

Will trembles against his hand, and Zuriel gently cups his face into his palm, his thumb brushing over the reaper’s cheekbone. “Will?”

“Zuriel,” Will breathes, going slack against the seat. “He-ey.”

“Hey, Will.” Zuriel’s other hand hovers over him, trembling slightly. He fights to keep his voice from doing the same. “Will, how- how do I help you? Do you want me to heal you? Or- or-” He knows the other option. He’s seen it a couple of times himself. “I can heal your spine, so you can- you can take out your soul?” He’s not going to offer his sword, he knows about Will and blades.

“Save your magic.” Will cracks one of those small, painful smiles that are so familiar. “Trust you,” he wheezes.

Zuriel hesitates. “Will, do you- are you saying-?”

“Zu-uriel…can, can you…you grab m-my soul…? Ple-ase…?”

Zuriel’s heart breaks a little, listening to that raspy, cracking plea. He can’t say no to that.

Zuriel places his hand on Will’s chest, palm flat, and takes a deep breath. Then he pushes, just a little, and his hand slides into Will’s chest. It only takes a moment for his searching fingers to find the soul, and he plucks it from its place as gently as he possibly can. 

The second his fingertips brush his soul, William takes a deep breath and relaxes. With a breathy, “Tha-ank you, Zuriel,” Will’s body dissolves into purple smoke in front of him, and he’s left with a marble-sized orb nestled in his palms.

Zuriel cradles his soul close to his chest, awed and humbled by Will’s show of vulnerability. “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers to the purple smoke clinging to his hand as it rolls down his fingers towards the corpse in the driver’s seat.

The corpse that suddenly gasps and starts moving.

“Oh! Oh, heavens, can you hear me?” He hurries closer, looking over the man. How- he felt nothing from the other side of the car just a moment ago, but now there’s pain, and fear, and confusion, and distress.

“Will?” The man turns his head just a little and his eyes settle on Zuriel. “Who-?” The man blinks up at him, and Zuriel’s eyes widen at the sight of the mile marker sticking out of the man’s ribs. Oh, dear.

“My name is Zuriel, I’m here to help you.”

“Will, where- where’s Will?” Those eyes focus on him warily.

In response, Zuriel holds out Will’s soul for him to see. “I couldn’t leave him like that.” With utmost care, he tucks the smoky orb into the pocket of his tunic, right over his heart. He won’t allow anything to happen to his friend.

He moves to the other side of the car, using his sword to split the door in two when it doesn’t open for him. “Okay, this is- it’s going to hurt, I’m sorry. I’ll heal you as soon as I get you off of that thing.”

The man wheezes, looking uncertain, but his eyes go to the purple light in his pocket, and he nods. 

Zuriel wraps both hands around the protrusion, eyes focused on the area between the man’s ribs where the mile marker had entered his body. He’s going to have to be fast with his healing magic, he has no idea how this man is still alive.

With a grunt, he pulls at the marker. The man groans in pain, and the sign inches forward, but it’s still embedded. Zuriel frowns. He has to get it out with this next try, he won’t force him to suffer any longer than he has to.

He braces his feet against the side of the wrecked car and yanks. This time, the blood-covered mile marker slides free from the man’s chest and Zuriel staggers back with it. The man in the driver’s seat makes a cracked sound of agony that morphs into a scream, arching in the seat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know that hurt, the worst is over now.” The sign is discarded on the ground without a second thought as he wraps his arms around the man, takes a moment to grab Will’s cane, and pulls him out of the car. That’s a lot of blood. “I’m going to heal you now,” he makes sure to tell him, just to give a warning. 

He presses a hand over the wound and focuses, concentrates, calling golden healing light to his fingertips. It spreads through his body, knitting torn flesh together and banishing the aches. Zuriel stays like that for a several moments, channeling his power to seek out the injuries, his arm, head, torso. Finally, the light dies, and Zuriel blinks away his dizziness.

The man lifts his head a little, looking disbelieving. A hand tentatively touches the place on his torso that had been bleeding so profusely before he looks up at Zuriel. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Zuriel smiles in response. “I’m going to bring you both to a safe place, is that okay? I doubt you want to stay by the freeway all evening.”

A bewildered nod from the man, and Zuriel unfurls his wings, tightening his grip on the man and double-checking that Will is safe in his pocket before he takes to the skies.

It doesn’t take long for Zuriel to find a suitable clearing, and he touches down lightly on the grass. A whispered command word, and the pocket cottage unfolds into existence, door already open for him and his newest charge.

He sets the weakened man on his bed and perches in a chair next to it. “Poor thing, you must be exhausted. What’s your name?” 

He groans, blinking open his eyes to look at him. “Jackson,” he answers feebly.

“Jackson.” Zuriel smiles gently at him. “My name is Zuriel. I’m a friend of Will’s.” He watches that sink in before he continues. “You can rest now, if you wish. Is there anyone you want me to call for you? Anyone who might be worried about you, anyone you want to come here?”

Jackson fumbles in his pocket, coming up with a cell phone. “Brian and, and Elliot,” he says, his voice cracking on the last syllables. “Eme-ergency c-contacts.” 

Zuriel nods and takes the phone from his shaking hand, placing his other hand on his shoulder as he summons his healing again. Warm light travels through his fingertips through Jackson, and he watches the man relax under his ministrations. “Rest,” he says again. “I’ll watch over you.”

Jackson’s out like a light before he can finish the sentence.

Zuriel heals a little more until he starts to feel dizzy, before he pulls his hand away and turns on Jackson’s phone. He doesn’t need to search for Brian and Elliot’s contacts, not when the screen so clearly displays twenty-seven missed calls. He calls the first number on the screen and gets an answer immediately. 

“Jack, thank god! When you didn’t answer our calls, Elliot and I thought-”

“I’m, I’m not Jack, I’m sorry,” Zuriel interrupts the frantic voice gently. “But he’s safe.”

The voice pauses. “Sorry, who are you?”

It takes a few minutes to explain the situation, but he gives the owner of the voice- Brian, directions to the cottage, along with multiple reassurances that Jack and Will are okay, and in return receives a promise that “Elliot and I will be right there!”

Once he hangs up the phone, Zuriel checks on Will’s soul, still safe and sound in his pocket, and puts a hand over him protectively. “You’re safe now,” he can’t stop himself from whispering. He won’t let anything happen to him, not while he’s under his protection.

“Howdy. My name is Austin, or if ya want ya can call me Justice. My friends and ah are startin’ an ask blog. Feel free to ask us anythin’, but please keep it appropriate. There are small children in this squad.”

* Austin is now open for asks

Feel free to send in asks!