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denbroughbill · 7 years

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puppy knuckles (pt 1)

summary: “do an eddie and richie meeting in college au fic!” thanks, anon ✿

eddie buried himself deeper in his jacket. the little glowing open sign seems like it’s laughing at him. the neon red letters distort themselves into manic grinning faces, mocking eddie for his inability to open the door and walk in. through the window he can see people gathered in chairs, a short queue at the counter, and the smell of coffee wafts out into the cold autumn's night air. it was just a quaint little coffee shop, right outside of campus where some students worked easy jobs and others studied, and bill promised him a job this morning

"remember why we left d-derry?" bill asked him this morning, ransacking their dorm for the notes from his morning class. it's a question eddie's heard a lot. a question asked, breaking the silence of feeding each other chinese take out while watching shitty week night television, or asked when eddie denied his friend's invitation to whatever frat party was happening that night.

eddie rolled his eyes, flipping the page of his notebook. bill answers his own question, and they speak in unison. "to meet new people."

bill leaned against their shared desk. it seemed the only person eddie spoke to since they left derry besides him, was his mother, the person he was supposed to be running away from. ms. kaspbrak had a tight grip on her son, and bill thought he needed some freedom, and somehow got eddie to agree on going away for college. it only gotten worse. eddie and his mother had a calling schedule and if eddie didn't call her, she was ringing bill's phone for an explanation,

"you're the one who took my baby away from me," she spat through the phone.

bill wasn't phased on bit as he finished annotating his essay. "ms. kasprak, eddie won't be able to get through to you if you're on the line with me,"

there was a pause of silence, "very well then," and a click before the dial tone.

the frigid weather had turned eddie's nose red now, and he thinks about what he should've said this morning

what he should've said when bill said, "you would look g-guh-good at the shop," he was grinning, stuffing stray papers and note book in his book bag. 'good behind the counter of a place that sells overpriced iced coffees for the entire impatient study body when we have a coffee maker in this dorm?' is definitely not what eddie responded with. he didn't respond at all, actually.

bill and eddie had been the best of friends since grade school. bill and silver, his trusty bicycle, were always getting into some sort of trouble. eddie, just so happened to keep bandages in his fanny pack. bill denbrough was the name of the lips of girls and boys alike on the playground, when he snuck off and dragged eddie with him to sneak through holes in the school yard fences. they threw rocks and climbed trees and called out each other's names when they reached the top. everyone liked bill, and bill liked everyone, too. but he chose eddie because he didn't slam doors and speak so loud., like the other kids.

eddie was grateful to have a friend like bill, because he didn't look after him, he encouraged him. there was difference that he couldn't exactly explain, but bill treated him as equally, even when eddie was inches shorter and missing his two front teeth. it made him feel better about himself, and brave. but they weren't boys at recess anymore and they are far from home, they're in college now and this would be eddie's first real job. he's not sure if delivering new papers for scrap change counts yet.

"are you going in?" a voice asks him, and he whips his head around to see a girl holding the door open. the bright chatter of the coffee shop grinds in his ear and he feels his stomach turn, but he swallows hard and smiles at her.

"yeah, thanks,"

there were plant terrariums hanging from the ceiling along with unique light fixtures, but eddie only looked ahead as he walked through the aisle of stools and chattering people. luckily, there was no line at the counter.

bill leaned against the counter, folding his arms and smiling at his approaching friend. "what c-c-can i get you?"

"an apron," eddie scoffed, looking around the place. it was small but definitely crowded. one of those places where there's so many people in one place all you could focus on was yourself. the noises didn't bother him much, he just hoped everything covered their mouth when they sneezed.

when he turned, bill was no longer behind the counter. he was in front of him, now, towering over eddie with an extra foot or so on his height. and when eddie reached for the apron, bill pulled it back.

he leaned down just a tad, and asked, "is that my jacket?"

eddie rolled his eyes, snatching the apron. "it's your beanie, too,"

and that's how his first day of work started. it was just the two of them that night, their work areas separate. eddie was behind a counter stocked full of fresh pastries and desserts, bill was across from him and was in charge for making drinks.

when the store closed, bill took care of that evil, intimidating, neon flashing light outside for eddie, defeating it with a single flick of the OFF switch. while eddie picked up chairs and bill mopped the floor, headphones over his ears, the manager introduced herself. she said she liked how eddie worked, that he was quick, and that she wanted him in tomorrow morning so she could show him how to make the drinks himself.

while walking to their dorms, bill joked about how his friend was stealing his job.

bill was walking in front of eddie, ahead of him and backwards, so he can talk to him still. "we were suppose to w-wuh-work together, now you're taking my shift,"

eddie smirked, but said nothing. he knew bill was probably relieved, the boy complained about his morning shifts all the time, never leaving fast enough to get to class on time. eddie normally liked to sleep in until noon or so, but he didn't mind the extra money, and his boss seemed to really like him, for it being his first day.

bill shook his head, pausing so eddie could catch up. when he did, bill wrapped his arm around his friend, resting his head on top of his. "first my jacket, now my job," he shook his head again, making 'tsk, tsk, tsk' sounds of disapproval. the two walked back to their dorm just like that.

the next morning, eddie awoke to loud beeping and a sticky note placed over the electronic letters of his alarm clock. 'make sure to take your meds :)' scribbled with bill's messy hand writing, the two have joked how it's almost worse than mr. keene's prescription papers. there was also a mug of coffee, still warm, and probably better than the ones he would learn how to make today.

the shop was different this early, the morning light shined through the windows and left sun rays, and eddie heard wind chimes sing above him when he opened the door that he swore he didn't hear last night. manager, name tag indicated her name was miranda, gave eddie his own personalized one. she walked him through the steps and instructed him to fix two coffees, one for her and one for him.

"oh, i'm okay, ma'am. i mean, miranda. i'm okay," but she insists.

they lean against the counter and laugh at classes for a while in the empty store, but the wind chimes sing their soft song again and she leans into him, with one hand on his shoulder, "put the drink away, you have your first customer,"

lots of students, similar to bill, thought taking morning classes was the smart route to take, because it would be just like high school. eddie didn't know of a lot of people who just classes later in the day like himself, but this boy and he shared the same idea.

when eddie first meets him months ago, he is a mess of flailing limbs and worry lines, almost stumbling face first into a pillar covered in club meeting flyers, almost.

he expects the worst, a broken nose would be the second injury he would have to explain to his mom. but a boy catches him, arms out in a hugging gesture that seems a little awkward.

"you okay there, man?"

the boy with glasses takes it in all cool, like he did everything. the boy, from one of his classes, who leaned back with his pen in his mouth and memorized notes instead of writing them down, who bounced his leg while staring at the clock. that boy, who was always cool.

eddie almost thought he would yell at him or something, but he says,

"watch yourself next time, alright?" and walks away with an amused smile.

it's him again, entering the coffee shop on this wednesday morning. he has a cigarette tucked behind one ear and his hair looks like just woke up, but eddie pretends he doesn't notice and is scrubbing the same spot on the counter with a wash rag. he orders a coffee,

"six sugars, plenty of cream, please,"

eddie laughs. he tries to hold it in, he really does. but he remembers how antsy the boy was in class the day before, chewing his gum hard and patting his hands on his knees for the last five minutes of class, and maybe this overly sweet drink was the reason. the boy raises and eyebrow, and eddie explains, "you seem like the type."

he shrugs, smiling sheepishly, his toothy smile, "i guess i am."

he took his drink without another word, and the ghost he left in that shop haunted eddie the rest of his shift. ✿ TAG LIST: @richiestoziers, @ghoulishkaspbrak, @beepbeep-trashmouth

#fan fic #writing #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #richie tozier #sydwrites

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lolibat · 7 years

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How Many Parts Make a Whole? Ch. 1

Fandom: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist

Summary: AU long fic: What if William found out about Solomon's soul much sooner? The last words of a father he can barely remember translates into a very different life for young William Twining. Gen fic, cannon compliant, spoilers up to most recent chapter (ch. 88).

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11877003

"Father?" William asked, his voice uncertain and trembling with a child's fear. He looked for reassurance- of comfort, as a child needs- and all he found was crimson blood. Blood splattered over the broken carriage, bodies upon bodies, horses with their legs snapped and crying in pain.

"Mother?" He asked, shaking hands gently reaching out for his mother's hands. They were cold and lifeless, limp in his grasp. Her lace dress was torn and her hair unbound. Perhaps she would just be sleeping, if it weren't for the blood oozing out of her head and dying her light blond hair bright red.

From underneath his mother's protective embrace, his father stirred. "Father!"

William raced over as fast as he could, ignoring the stinging pains of the wounds on his legs. Tears welled up over his eyes as he knelt beside his father's figure and tugged. His efforts were futile, and the man remain pinned underneath the carriage.

"William..." He said weakly. "My child... Take my ring and promise me to never let it go. This is our heritage- Solomon's Ring. It will protect you, my child. Please, stay safe." He said in between coughs. Slowly, his breaths grew weaker, and his last words were but a wheeze, but William heard them none the less. He stayed by his father's side. For how long, he didn't know, but in the time between high noon and twilight- the time he waited while his parents expired and breathed their last- he quietly slipped off the ancient and rusted ring from his father's cold hands and onto his own.

When Barton found the tragedy-struck family at sunset, cold green eyes greeted him. Green eyes that were far too ancient to belong to a six year old child. When he would search his brother's corpse for Solomon's Ring, he would find it gone, as though it had never appeared in the first place.

He saw things, sometimes. Ever since that fateful night, he began to change. He saw things when he was awake- feathers and flitting gossamer wings around the edges of the gardens. He would pluck herbs nilly-willy and brew herbal teas. The maids would always scold him, but the tea he made, he was sure to have made it before. He saw how the animals and pets around the manor which used to greet him during the day, ran away with their tails between their legs.

More so, he saw things in his dreams. He saw a timeless metropolis in the desert, surrounded by bustling marketplaces and bright fabrics. He saw white pillars and a bright tower, overseeing all of the city from far above. In his dreams, there was a man: a very sad man, reclining on a seat high above in the tower.

"Father?" He asked once from within the dream. His heart ached for his parents. The manor was far too quiet, and everyone was in mourning. He missed the days where he would play catch with the hunter's dogs and interrupted his mother's tea with her high classed lady friends. He missed catching caterpillars with Kevin and slipping them in the maid's dresses. He missed the days where he was just William Twining and not the six year old Lord Twining. He didn't dislike Uncle Barton, but he could never replace his parents.

The man turned and stared at him with piecing emerald eyes. He stroked the fur of the lion next to him and got up. William stood, ramrod straight and raised his gaze in challenge. He swallowed nervously but refused to back down. Chuckling, the man kneeled down and patted him on the head.

"My, what a brave young soul you are. What are you doing here, Child? It is far before your time." The voice was gentle and soothing and nothing like his father's.

"You're not my father..." William said, his voice trembling. "I miss my father." He looked down to hide his tears, his fists clenched and shaking.

With a sigh, the man who was draped in gold and silks embraced him tightly and pulled him close. The fabrics felt soft on William's tear stained cheeks, and he let his tears fall. Surely with all that fabric, he wouldn't notice if some of it got a bit damp.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Little One," he murmured, stroking William's hair gently. He didn't even know the man, only that the stranger appeared in his dreams and that he felt safe around him. He didn't know how or why, but he trusted him indiscriminately. For the first time since that day, he felt safe, in the embrace of the stranger. Perhaps it was a dream, which is why he didn't question his feelings.

"You'll be safe here, Little One. The world is not often kind to parentless children," his gaze saddened and his grip tightened over William's small body.

"William," he said, sniffling and wiping his tears on his sleeves. "My name is William Twining, and I'm six years old."

The man smiled- he looked gentle- "My name is Solomon, and I'll take care of you from now on."

And William believed him.

It was odd, Solomon thought with wonder, that his soul would manifest in a child so young. He mourned briefly for yet another vessel of his soul, dead for a curse that neither he nor anyone else was to blame for. Another family torn apart- descendants he never had the chance to meet. He mourned, though in his heart, he wasn't quite sure mourning feels like anymore.

The child was fearless, that is for sure, he thought and chuckled as six year old William Twining tugged on the lion demon's tail and clambered over the great beast's back. He tugged on the ears, laughing as a six year old would.

He visits the dream world often, in the aftermath of the accident; or rather, to the outsiders looking in, William Twining slept a lot for a six year old. In reality, he was escaping to the dream world with Solomon, far away from his troubles. He tells the older man of his parents sometimes. The wise king knows that getting the child to open up- not to bury his miseries- would only be part of the recovery process. Still, he was fascinated by William's family, however short it lasted.

He had a loving father, a scholar at heart and a top student when he was in school. William proudly takes after his father that way, boasting of his kindergarten grades. They looked alike, with Solomon's blonde hair and green eyes inheriting strongly. His mother was the third daughter of a noble family. Their marriage was an arranged, but loving, one. They were childhood friends who grew up together and married to start a family. They had one son, a proud son whom they raised with utmost care... A son who turned out to be a rambunctious little hellion, dropping beetles and caterpillars onto the maids and climbing trees daily. A son who would burst into his mother's tea parties crying with scrapes and bruises, who would fall asleep on his father's study waiting for him to come home on the carriages. They loved him dearly, taking him on outings and spending time with him when they were able.

It was like something of a fairy tale, Solomon thought bitterly, thinking of his own dysfunctional family. Perhaps this was what he wanted for so long- a different life far away from Israel and the burden of being king. A life where he wasn't hounded by demons and angels alike- where he has a loving family and could live a normal life.

A normal life- he chuckled- that part has already disappeared. He glanced at the child, only to find him trying to pry the lion demon's mouth apart to look at the teeth. The poor beast was at its wits end, knowing well not to harm the carrier of Solomon's soul, yet not quite sure what to do with a humanling this young.

He would have to pay attention to William and guide him carefully- even in a land as unfamiliar in England, human greed remains universal. There are already hungry sharks aiming for the Twining family's fortune, and the closest and dearest ones are often the root of disaster. For one brief moment, he saw Thomas Barton through William's eyes. He saw the exaltation of heaven around him like a halo; he smelt the pestilence on him, draping over him like the sheen of spilt oil. It was no accident that the carriage driver suddenly had a tuberculosis attack and died, he thought. And to think that the Rider of Pestilence who once laid waste to Jerusalem would want to claim his soul for greed. Solomon's green eyes narrowed in thought. He would have to be very careful.

Yes, he would have to protect the little ray of sunshine with all his power. The child wasn't ready to take on the burden of his soul- that much was clear. Yet, he had potential... bright potential indeed, he thought, listening to the child's laughter echo through the halls.

"Solomon! Solomon!" William shrieked down the halls, tracking in muddy footprints and shedding leaves in his wake. Even in his dreams, his attire is in disarray, the king thought amusedly. In his days, he would surely have been given lashings for his behavior.

"William," he said with an oomph the eight year old barreled straight into him. "What has got you this excited today?" It was a wonder how the child still had so much energy to spare, seeing how he was just as awake in his sleep as he was during the day.

"I made applewood tea like you taught me to today, and the maids said it tasted good!" He puffed out proudly.

"Really?" He chuckled. Applewood tea was one of his favorites- he remembered how he often had Dantalion keep a mug of it nearby. He tipped it over often over his papers, but magic was useful for a reason. He wasn't a great magician (as Asteroth often jibbed) but he could manage a small spell like that.

"Yeah!" He crowed and tugged at the older man's clothes.

Solomon chuckled. "You're far too big now to ride on my shoulders," he berated. The child only pouted in response but continued on.

"And Kevin helped me peel the inner bark of the wood! He wouldn't let me touch Father's knives though," he reported, nodding.

"You're much too young to handle knives, William- you'll hurt yourself," he looked down at the child clutching to his robes, feeling every year his age. He had heirs once upon a time- he was never close to them- was this what being a father felt like? Honestly, it was exhausting at times.

"Can I make some for you next time? I'm really good at it now!" the child insisted loudly.

"Maybe next time," he conceded, thinking of how he didn't even have a body to drink tea with. He didn't want to discourage the child from causing chaos though. It was honestly quite entertaining. "Did anything else happen today?"

William nodded, his hair turning even more of a rat's nest with the motion. "I made top of my class again in the exams, and I finished my homework really quickly today! Kevin promised me he would teach me how to identify all the bugs and plants around the garden!

So that would explain his appearance, Solomon surmised. Kevin was someone he heard a lot about; he had refrained from taking over the child's body after that fateful day. Instead, he spent his time scrying and planning the future. Occasionally, he would see William's dreams when he wasn't in the dream world. He knew of the outside world from the small child and thus grew familiar with the people around him even though he didn't see the world from William's eyes. He knew to give the child privacy where he could.

"Congratulations," he smiled gently. "I'm proud of you." He ruffled William's hair, and the child beamed back at him.

He saw William's dreams sometimes. They're not all pleasant. Sometimes they're an innocent child's dreams, full of doll houses and flowers and bugs that squawk like chickens. Sometimes, they're... something else.

"Father! Father!" the screams echoed. As a spectator, Solomon could do nothing to wake him from the dreams. But even then, the world was black before them. The floor sloshed with an unidentified fluid. It smelled of copper.

"Mother!" William screamed, running and slipping on the blood in the dark. He ran, his short legs carrying him nowhere in the darkness. With lips pressed tight, Solomon could only watch with sad eyes- these were dreams no child should have. He observed as the child tripped over something- a piece of cloth that sent him stumbling face first into the blood.

He picked himself up, crying and gagging at the smell. A hand emerged from the folds of the cloth to grasp his ankle. He screamed, trying and failing to yank his leg free. An arm rose with the hand, and with it a torso and a head broken and bleeding.

"William, it's all your fault. You killed us! Why did you survive and not us?" A woman's voice moaned in pain. A closer inspection revealed that it was William's mother, dying in her last moments.

"... No, no!" the small child scrambled backwards, yanking at his foot still.

"You'll lead the family to ruin," a broken body rose from the darkness and whispered into his ears. A dark hand of shadows caressed his face, covering the child's face completely. Soon, the screams became muffled, and the dream faded into nothing.

Solomon looked away, mourning the cruelty of fate. He didn't know whose fault it was, really.

When he saw William next, he gave the eight year old a long hug. If his robes got wet, he never mentioned it.

He was nine years old when the dreams started. He has known Solomon for a while now, ever since the accident. It was odd, how no one saw Solomon but him. The maids were almost convinced they ought to call a doctor when William asked them if they saw a blonde man called Solomon. When he complained about the maids' stupidity to the king one day, he only chuckled.

"No one can see you but me, William. You're special that way."

"But they don't believe me!" the seven year old said, frustrated beyond belief.

"You don't need them to," Solomon said calmly. "If you know- if you believe, you don't need any other person to do so as well."

Getting praise from Solomon was always the highlight of William's day, but he never told anyone else about Solomon after that. In an odd way, he was happy that Solomon was his secret and his alone- a confident who would always have time for him, who didn't mind that he broke the rules constantly and let him roam free and be a child. He was almost the cooler uncle that he never had (not that Uncle Barton wasn't cool, but no one was as awesome as Solomon who seemed to know everything and still wants to know more). When he mentioned it hesitantly to the man, he only received a blink and a laugh.

"I'm far older than your uncle, Child."

"You look younger though," William pointed out with the blunt honesty of a child.

Sharp as a tack that one, Solomon thought, privately amused that his current incarnation thought that he looked better than the Rider of Pestilence.

Solomon wasn't very fond of Uncle Barton (William wasn't quite sure why- Solomon will always be the cooler uncle anyways no matter what ancient books and artefacts Uncle Barton brings home), and he seems fascinated by Kevin.

"He's really tall," William confessed. "I want to be that tall one day," he pouted.

"I'm sure you will be," the man said mildly. He knew that William probably won't get all that tall if he takes after him at all, but he won't dash the kid's hopes and dreams.

"He's been around for a long time! He was going to go be a lawyer in London, but he stayed for me." William said one day, watching the sunset over Jerusalem with his legs dangling over the ledge.

"He could still be one," Solomon said gently. "He's still young, and you'll be off to boarding school soon."

"I guess," he looked down guiltily.

"I'm sure he doesn't blame you," Solomon said, thinking of the kind man who stayed with the child after his parents death. Oftentimes, William would run to Solomon babbling about what "awesome and amazing thing" Kevin had done that day or how he was really good at gardening and could read Latin really well or how he knew his scriptures like the back of his hand. He thought of how the young man would help his charge escape priests and strict schoolteachers alike and knew that William must bring Kevin just as much joy as he does Solomon.

William nodded, still a bit guilty. "By the way, I dreamed of you yesterday."

Solomon paused. "You dream of me every day, here."

The child shook his head. "No, not here where I'm talking to you. You looked a lot like me when you were my age, right?"

He froze. It can't be- surely, it was too soon. "It's more the other way around, but yes."

"You had a sister named Tamar too, right? She's really pretty!" William crowed, not noticing Solomon's growing unease.

"She is," he echoed. Was, his mind corrected. William nodded, enthusiasm undimmed.

"You had way more books than you do now, but I couldn't open any of them. I called your name, but you didn't see me or recognize me, so it must have been a dream," the child reasoned.

"A memory," Solomon said quietly. "What you saw was my memory."

"Huh, I wonder how that happened." William cocked his head in confusion.

"How indeed," the king mused. Looks like fate would not even spare this small child from disaster, he thought with grief. He didn't want William to die. Was it too much to ask, for this idyllic life to continue for just a while longer? Just yesterday, he was but a small toddler, just a little over six, looking for his dead father. In the span of these three years, he had lived far more than he had in the past thirty years, slumbering in different incarnations of himself. He saw sunshine in the bright laughter of this child. He saw bravery and courage and stubbornness that rivaled his own. Truthfully, he didn't want the child to inherit his curse. William Twining was what he could have been, had he been born to a different family in a different time. He didn't want that joy to disappear.

With a hardened heart, he knew that he would just have to do his best to make sure William will weather through whatever demons and angels may put him through (Is it possible, that this curse might have an end? He didn't dare to hope.)

"Are you really the wise king of Israel?" Ten year old William Twining asked one day, sitting next to Solomon.

"I am," he admitted honestly. "What makes you ask?"

"We got to your name in the Bible in church today," he answered.

"I thought you got to that part a long time ago," the other man chuckled. It was fascinating to know what happened after his death, with the rise and fall of God's son (perhaps a particular human who caught God's eye? That Gabriel, the General of White Lilies, be the one to bring news to the mortal in question was rather unusual.)

The child was silent for a while, looking down at this toes. "I'm having troubles with my Bible studies," he finally admitted.

"With which part?" he asked, holding back laughter. Of course his incarnation would have problems with God.

"I yelled at the pastor today. I told him that God doesn't exist and the world is made of atoms." He said matter-of-fact, having only recently learned of the existence of atoms.

He couldn't help it- he burst out laughing.

"What?" William pouted, an expression far too cute on a face that was beginning to lose its baby fat. "Kevin had me write lines in Latin, and he never makes me do that!"

Solomon looked at William's upset face and laughed louder.

"Who was this King David anyway? He sounds stupid." William muttered angrily. Solomon stopped laughing.

Ten year old William Twining learned that day not to never bring up Solomon's past, if only to avoid seeing that look on his trusted mentor's face.

"I'm going to start teaching you magic today, William," Solomon said one summer day. He had in his arms a number off books and scrolls.

"Magic doesn't exist," the now preteen said, busy working out his latest lesson in the dream world. "The world is-"

"-made of atoms, yes," the king interrupted. "But there are things that cannot be explained by science."

William looked up, a rebuttal on his tongue, only to see that the king was completely serious. He trusted Solomon enough by now to know when he was joking and when he was not.

"It doesn't exist," he insisted stubbornly.

Solomon sighed. "How else can you explain all this then?" He turned his head in a vague gesturing way towards the surroundings, which felt very real to William's mind. "Unless you believe what the doctors told you years ago? That you went mad with grief? That I am merely a hallucination you made up, despite knowing far more than you can possibly imagine or explain?"

William was silent, his chin jutting out stubbornly. He could see hesitance in the child's eyes, but it would take some more work to convince him fully.

"If you claim to be the scientist that you are- then the least you can do is to experiment to disprove a theory, not to reject a claim without proof. At least learn it first to disprove it." He persuaded.

"... Fine, but only to disprove you." He huffed.

This is turning out to be a very long year, Solomon thought tiredly. Hopefully his charge will have more magical talent than he did in his youth.

William turns out to be abysmal in all things magical, much to Solomon's dismay. It seems like he takes after his distant ancestor far more than he does either of his parents. He still sees Solomon's memories in his dreams. The venerable King David was but a blinded, prideful old man who would not accept the existence of his sin. He saw the lonely Solomon grow into an even lonelier King Solomon, surrounded by people he didn't care about.

Logically, he knew that it was impossible for him to dream up such an elaborate life story, unless he really was hallucinating. Yet, despite all reasoning, he had a hunch- an inexplicable feeling- that Solomon is real. That everything he dreamed of did happen. That the demon names and faces he saw in dreams do exist.

He touched the ring on his finger absently. He never took it off, from the day his father told him to put it on with his dying breath. He hid the ring's existence from everyone- not Uncle Barton, not Kevin, not the maids- none of them knew that it existed. Solomon is his secret alone, and he will not have him taken away (the king explained that he was connected to the ring, after sitting through three hours of the child genius' theories on how neuroanatomy and biophysics can explain the dreams somehow).

He practiced his magic in the dream worlds, not daring to even touch chalk in the real world. Who knows what the pastor would do? He only had harsh memories of the church, with lines upon lines of Latin and grammar that would make any child cry. He had no desire to go there beyond the bare minimum requirement or social niceties. In his dreams, he drew and redrew the pentacles and diagrams that would call to the seventy two pillars of his venerable ancestor. He was privately happy, each time he successfully memorized another diagram or performed another spell successfully. Praise from Solomon always made him feel a thousand times more capable than he was, and more often than not, he'd overreach in his next spell and have to start from the beginning.

He doesn't regret feeling happy though- someone was genuinely proud of him. Even if he didn't believe in God or magic or demons, he would still learn what Solomon had to teach him, if only to hear him say "Good job."

Occasionally, they would discuss demons instead. They would talk of whatever demons William saw in his dreams as of late- of Dantalion bringing Solomon jugs of tea and cleaning up after this spilled piles of books. He dreamed how Solomon collected his demons, one by one, and how he had their undying loyalty- one way or another. He saw Asteroth at parties- an ancient mother in law of sorts- Baalberith watching over a Sytry dancing through the fields of golden wheat. He took comfort in the pillars, knowing that no angel of retribution will take them away.

How odd is it, that the angel looked oddly familiar in his dreams. When he mentioned it to Solomon- that he couldn't quite place his finger on it- the older man only looked pensive.

Solomon was perhaps grateful that William had not quite stumbled upon his exact relationship with Dantalion quite yet, but he supposes it was only a matter of time until the observant child had some uncomfortable questions to ask. He shuddered.

Uriel observed the newest incarnation of Solomon soul's with a critical eye. He first met the child on his parent's funeral, where the child had come to him for comfort.

Angel of penance, cruel sadist or not, he couldn't help but hold the child tight and let him cry on his shoulders. He was but a child of barely six years old- no sinner of any sort. Solomon's curse had taken yet another family, and even ‘til now, it ties him down in duty and obligation. Yet, he does not regret losing his wings.

Now looking at the preteen busy pouring over textbooks far above his level, he couldn't but help to be proud. He had pretty much raised the child on his own- with his uncle always abroad and the real Kevin Cecil sent to fulfill his dreams in London. He was a handful, for a child. Vivacious and energetic, stubborn and brilliant, little William Twining always managed to get into trouble and yet weasel his way out of any substantial punishment (by his account anyways). He was off to a successful life with a bright future in front of him. With a strong sense of morals, justice, and responsibility, the angelic patron of England couldn’t see anyone better to be the future Prime Minister.

He hasn't quite found Solomon's ring, but he knew that watching over Solomon's bloodline was just as important. If the two were to ever meet, Solomon may yet be revived. Little William Twining was nothing like Solomon, and Uriel would fight with all his might to keep it that way.

At seventeen, William Twining could feel his future going down the drain. His uncle had gone bankrupt, and he couldn't find a way to pay his last year's school fees without any of his family assets. He planned to become a lawyer, and from that, a politician. Now he couldn't do anything at all without any of his noble family's assets. Surely, there remains something that could be sold off.

He could feel Solomon stirring from his sleep in the back of his mind, rising to the feel of his charge's panic. He knew he would have quite a bit to explain later when he fell to his dream world, as per usual for the past eleven years. Perhaps the elder man will have some advice for him or some secretly hidden tomb that he can liquidate? It was a bit farfetched to even hope.

He burst through a wooden door in his basement rashly, looking for anything that may be hidden there. In his haste, he cut his hands, which now dripped with blood.

"Young Master," Kevin rushed in after him.

"It's just a cut," he said absently, waving away the concern. The blood dripped to the floor, and a very familiar diagram lit up on the floor. His breath caught. This was the moment to prove everything he had learned in the past decade. In the back of his mind, he wondered- who put it there? Who drew this and put it behind a locked wooden door with no key? And to put a glass vase behind the door, where it can easily fall over and break?

He could feel Kevin grabbing him from behind, protecting him from the rush of the summoning. He didn't care for that though. He knew that no demon would harm him- not his demons.

"I've waited many years, but I've finally found the one who has Solomon's soul. Rejoice- I have chosen you! I am Dantalion, the Duke who commands the 36th army of Hell. I am also a candidate to succeed the throne in the demon world!" A familiar voice announced. William's heart skipped a beat- he was the same voice from his dreams. This was the proof that he never dreamed Solomon up.

To the side, Kevin was looking decidedly unimpressed. Shouldn't he be shocked? William thought in the back of his mind. He certainly was surprised at a random man appearing in his basement in a tattered coat and odd costume.

William was silent, observing Dantalion and Kevin alike. "I know," he said finally. "You've grown, Dantalion."

Kevin's blood drained out of his face, and Dantalion looked gobsmacked. They looked at each other, angel and demon for once having the same thoughts. How did this happen?

Notes:

Mandy: A fic for the Makai Ouji fandom! Just a warning- I probably won’t see this fic to its completion. I’m a busy med student with a chronic disease to boot, so I writing fics is pretty low on my priority list. Nonetheless, this was just too good of an idea to pass up. I think the fic itself will mostly be in a series of drabbles roughly following the timeline of the cannon plot (yay, an excuse to reread one of my new favorite mangas). Feel free to take the general idea and run with it, but please don’t copy any of the passages.

Gift fic for @syphiria and @Imey-chan! Thank you very much for scanning, translating, and typesetting Makai Ouji! :)

#makai ouji #devils and realist #fanfic #HMPTaW #@syphiria #@Imey-chan #Gen fic #Cannon compliant #Spoilers up to most recent chapter

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