The Creature

“What?” Victor wrote, staring at Pilate.

“The fae man…” Pilate rasped, “He killed Dusk. He ripped her open.” His hand trembled over his heart, gripping his shirt until his knuckles were white.

Dad? Victor thought, feeling his hopes rise, That must mean he's still alive! But if he's just finished fighting that dog, he has no idea where I am.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Victor asked, steering Pilate away from the topic of his father. His love for Umbra might cause conflict between them, as he was an aggressor in Pilate's mind. And Victor wanted to have as little conflict with Pilate as possible.

“Yeah…” Pilate whispered, setting his head on his knees, “I've had my summons die before, but it still hurts so bad. And they don't remember me when I bring them back. I have to start all over getting to know them.”

Victor sat his hand on Pilate's back, smiling gently at him. He may had captured Victor, but Victor could tell he had no malice. Pilate was on the verge of tears, and Victor couldn't stand to see him so upset. Victor's tender heart wouldn't allow it.

Pilate let his head slip, falling onto Victor's shoulder. Victor flinched, trying not to grimace. Even if he was trying to comfort someone, physical contact by a stranger still wasn't acceptable. All the nerves on Victor's shoulder buzzed in alarm, and his hand on Pilate's back became tense.

Despite Victor's discomfort, Pilate seemed at ease. His eyes were fluttering shut, and Victor feared he would fall asleep.

Taking a deep breath, Victor let his head fall back. I've just gotta stick this out until he gets bored.

Victor gasped when cold fingers touched the back of his head. Pilate had an arm behind his back, twisting locks of his hair. Umbra brushing through his hair was sweet and comforting, but Pilate doing it was disturbing.

Pilate’s other hand reached to his belt, gripping his knife. Victor's eyes widened, and he attempted to flee, but Pilate wrapped his arms around his neck, jerking him by his hair. Victor groaned in distress as Pilate jerked his knife upward, the cold feeling of nakedness falling on the back of his neck.

Victor finally pulled himself away from Pilate, hands flailing over the nape of his neck, which was now entirely exposed. His once shoulder-length hair was now barely scraping his neck.

Victor grunted, hitting his fist against the concrete floor. Every fiber of his being yearned to yell, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate.

“What?” Pilate asked innocently, clutching several inches of Victor's oily black hair, “What's wrong? I cut my hair all the time.”

Victor scrambled for his notebook, his hands trembling in rage and fear. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” he wrote, the lack of hair hitting his shoulders making his stomach churn.

“I-I liked your hair,” Pilate mumbled, falling back on his hand. His mouth twisted in a frown, sheer confusion flicking In his eyes, “I wanted something to remember you by, since my boss is probably gonna kill you when he gets here. I really like you. I think I'll tape this to my sketchbook. That's where I put all the things I like.”

Victor's breathing turned harsh as he stared at Pilate. His tone was so sincere- he couldn't had been sarcastic!

“What is wrong with you?!” Victor scribbled.

Slowly reading his words, Pilate’s eyelid twitched. “W-why are you so mad? I already gave you a gift, one of my pins. I thought this is what friends do, we give each other gifts.”

Pilate tapped the plastic button, Victor scowling. “See, um, this is to make you happy. I don't want you to be sad. And I got my gift so I'll be happy too. Do you get it now?”

He really sees nothing wrong with this, Victor thought, his heart sinking, Does he even understand what's going on?

“You aren't mad at me, are you?” Pilate asked quietly, leaning towards Victor, “Please don't be mad. You're the only person who's ever liked me this long.”

Victor's gut twisted. He had no idea what was going on with Pilate, but it was obvious he needed him.

Giving Pilate a sad smile, Victor shook his head.

----

Slash!

A body hit the floor, sliced clean in half.

The man staggered back, watching his fallen comrade’s dead eyes stare blankly at the ceiling.

Before him, the rest of his patrol was in pieces. He had spared no mercy. The man was the only one left, he had to stand his ground.

From the darkness, he crept toward the man. Two violet slits stared coldly at him.

A human? the man thought, but quickly threw away the musing. He couldn't had been a human.

He was a beast.

As he slinked into view, the man felt a tremor grip his spine. Blood stained his weapon.

His thin lips split into a snarl, exposing wicked sharp fangs.

“Where,” he growled, his voice husky and dry, “Is my son?”

Author's Note- i almost wrote this from umbras perspective...but i think the reversed perspective has a better effect.