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The younger demon looked up at him with unfocused yellow eyes and tried to smile. It was an expression he wasn’t used to seeing, let alone on the other’s usually blank face.
“Faust. Do you want something?” He was trying very hard to sound like an adult, even though he was young and foolish and only the less confused of the two by a very small margin. They didn’t even look adult, though the one called Faust was gangly and long-limbed; their master always said they looked like little children.
“Messer... hands?” the younger demon asked, splaying his spindly fingers in the air between them. He wondered if more coherent words would come with time, but obligingly held out his own hands.
“Like this?” he asked. The younger demon nodded, then turned away for a moment.
“Eyes!” he ordered firmly. The demon called Messer frowned, but closed his eyes regardless, and in a moment felt something soft and alive pressed against his outstretched hands. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at a furry creature with whiskers and a fluffy tail. It meowed at him.
“... Hm? Oh, it’s called... a cat?” he offered uncertainly. He did not know much about animals.
“Soft,” declared the younger demon, smiling as widely as he could. It was a little too widely to look human, but the one called Messer did not pay attention. The little living creature had been deposited on his lap, and in a show of bad sense had decided to curl up there, rumbling softly and rubbing its head against the demon’s bloodless hand.
“... Ah. Soft fur,” he echoed. The little creature yawned. “And sharp little teeth.” It was a nice package of creature, he thought. Deadly weapons and comfort all in one. Curious, he ran a hand over its back, and the rumbling intensified as the little creature leaned into the gesture. Against his will, the demon smiled softly. His companion leaned against his shoulder.
“... Happy noise?” he asked.
“Yes. See? It likes me.” It certainly seemed to be the case. After a moment, he realized his hair was being tugged on.
“What are you doing, Faust?” He could not bring himself to express anger at the moment.
“... Soft,” declared the younger demon again. “Soft cat. Soft Messer.” He felt a pressure against his back. “Soft. Sleep.”
“Alright, then,” he replied, returning his attention to the happy bundle of fur on his lap.
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It crossed the demon’s mind that it was too bright in the garden that day. It was the sort of day that ought have been gloomy, but it was bright and sunny to an almost unnatural degree and the most aggravating part was that he couldn’t fully understand why it ought have been a gloomy day at all. It was a completely normal and unexceptional mid-autumn day. There was nothing much to be done around the manor except rake leaves and make food. There were no assignments from the Queen. There were no reapers, no unexpected visitors, and no lurking shadows. The air was crisp and clean.
“Don’t jump in the leaves, please,” said the demon with a tired sigh. Finny decided to look apologetic mid-jump and cannonball into the pile of leaves anyway, sending them scattering to the winds while Meirin tried not to giggle and Bard laughed uproariously anyway.
“Sorry!” yelled Finny from the middle of the remaining leaf pile. “Um... We’ll clean it up?”
“Indeed you shall,” said the demon. The sight of those three laughing as they scrambled for rakes brought an unwilling smile to his face. It was difficult to sow or rejoice in torment if people were having so much fun.
“Mr. Sebastian!” Finny tugged on his coat-sleeve excitedly. “Close your eyes and put out your hands!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Finny,” he replied firmly. The boy pouted, but shoved the fluffy gray kitten at him regardless.
“I’ve not seen this one around before! Look, feel how soft he is!” The kitten mewled somewhat uncomfortably, and the demon hastily rescued it from Finny’s too-strong grip. It cuddled against his arm and purred.
“Ah... yes, very soft,” he admitted, and Finny grinned at him brightly. “... You have leaves to rake.”
“Yessir!” the boy nearly shouted, giving the kitten one last pat before running off. The kitten’s big blue eyes were sleepy, and it curled up quite willingly in on the demon’s shoulder, its nose pressed against his pitch-dark hair. It was certainly much to bright in the garden.
-------
“Run!” It had been the second time he had been frightened enough to give another demon a direct order. The first time, it had been the same order, and he had been clutching his companion’s wrist and fleeing from a guard at the gates of Hell itself. This time, there was a black-clad figure between him and his companion.
“Messer...!” The younger demon’s voice was laced with fear as well. In the back of his mind, he was proud at the improvement in expression.
“Come this way!” he shouted, holding out his hands. The contract was through and they had no further need for these names, but... “Faust, I am right here!”
The next moment seemed slowed down, as if it lasted hours instead of seconds. His companion lurched towards him, trying to dodge around their attacker, but a blade crashed down on him, gleaming in the mid-autumn sun and the younger demon hit the ground with a sickening crash, his blank gaze fixed desperately on his elder’s face. The sharp blade rose again, dripping blood that stained everything, even the twisting strands of cinematic record, even the grass, everything but their attacker’s bright green eyes, a disgusting shade of red. He heard screaming, as if from far away and behind a wall, and the blinding red of death and bloodshed swirled into blackness.
He regained lucidity alone, covered in blood, and running, a full dukedom away.
------
“Huh? Mr. Sebastian, what’re you thinking about?” Finny asked, clutching an armload of vaguely singed leaves. The demon blinked back to reality and suppressed a shiver. He hadn’t known he could shiver. How odd.
“... My childhood.” It was not entirely a lie. Finny stared at him for a moment, then smiled shyly.
“Oh... you’re like us, then, huh?” That was a decidedly silly thing to say, from the demon’s perspective, because he was nothing like them at all.
“Pardon?”
“You... you must have had a bad life before you came here too, right? You looked so sad a moment ago...” Had he looked sad? The idea threw him off a little. Normally his few and constantly tangled feelings remained firmly internal, but... it seemed reasonable to respond to that particular memory with sadness, if he had to pick an emotion.
“I was thinking about someone who died. That was all.” Finny looked like he was about to cry himself.
“O-oh. I’m sorry...” the boy mumbled, eyes downcast. “Was it Mr. Sebastian’s friend...?” Finny had a knack for asking innocent questions that prompted a lot of thinking. Had the yellow-eyed young demon been his friend...? Certainly, he had not been aware of the concept at the time. Despite that, they had hunted together, they had... trusted each other? They must have trusted each other, though he had not understood that either. Neither of them had understood much about the world.
“A childhood friend, I suppose,” said the demon after a long moment’s contemplation. “... It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.” Longer than Finny could have possibly imagined.
“But... even long ago things are real, though...!” the boy managed between sniffles. “I... I’m so sorry, Mr. Sebastian!” And he dropped the armload of leaves and pinned the demon in a tight hug, sobbing hysterically.
-------
The little demon called Faust had trouble seeing, much like he had with talking. He stumbled over sentences and thoughts and roots and stones and doorsteps, and held on tightly to his stronger and older companion when they walked. When they were at ease, sometimes he would tangle his fingers in the older demon’s hair or run them along his face or the sleeves of his new clothes as though he could make up for his weaknesses with his sense of touch. That was probably a weakness itself, because the gestures opened him up even more. Once, he had gotten bold and wrapped his long arms around his companion’s waist when they had been resting, but he had lurched away, frightened, at the sound of the older demon’s pulse.
------
He had forgotten that he remembered that. He had forgotten most of those memories, forgotten almost all the days spent hauling a fiend with the body of a child and likely the mind of an infant around the battle fields and keeps of what had been so ironically called the Holy Roman Empire. He had forgotten the amused face of their soldier-master, who had bargained his soul for a demonic assassin and gotten – in addition to that – the children he could never have had, if only for a few brief months. He had forgotten the reaper – it must have been a reaper – painted red and grinning madly. He had forgotten all of that, and now, very abruptly, he remembered it all.
As he tried to sort through those dim thoughts and sensations and file them among the ones he already had, a very disconcerting inconsistency came to light and made him freeze up in the middle of washing a plate and then retreat a full three steps from the sink as though it was to blame.
The demon-child he remembered as Faust had been blameless. Faust had been cut down before they had had the chance to devour their first meal, and he – Messer, still, at the time – had somehow managed to escape that reaper’s scythe. That was very clear to him. He remembered it vividly.
He also remembered a Faust who had been a thief, who had robbed him of what was rightfully his and hunted him across contracts for no apparent reason and was very much alive, and he also remembered facing a reaper for the first time in a dark alleyway stained disgustingly red with blood not a year prior. He remembered that all vividly as well.
This was entirely wrong. His memories did not match up correctly, which could only happen if someone outside his head had gotten inside it. The concept made his skin crawl and the bile rise in his throat. He pressed his back against the wall and tried to stop himself from shaking, and managed a semblance of normal conversation when Meirin popped into the kitchen with a stack of letters. He glanced through them distractedly, but definitely vocalized his shock at the sight of a familiar spidery scrawl on one. The letters, a tray, and two forks hit the ground. Meirin had to catch hold of his arm to stop him from joining them.