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Windforce is a simple woman; she sees a man come over to take her son out on a date – an outing, she has to remind herself – and she, as a mother, gets curious.
While she could be labeled as what many would call an absent parent in the earlier years of Banhammer’s childhood – Firebrand already gave her enough snark about that whole situation, still does – she worked hard enough in the recent years to get to know her son more. They’re closer. Banhammer still acts like he’s a child all over again whenever he gets a crumb of motherly affection, and Windforce – because guilt always seems to pierce through her heart like a sword whenever she sees the evidence of her absence in Banhammer’s youth – indulges in him as if he were still her tiny little boy, ruffling his hair and picking at his clothes and all the things she should’ve done.
They’ve talked all those childhood issues out, of course. Somewhat.
With how often her duty as a deity takes up her time, the happenings in Banhammer’s life always surprise Windforce when she’s around to witness them. Like the ways he has gotten better at cooking and stopped eating so many instant meals; the fact he cleans the entire house once every few weeks instead of the whole months he neglected such a simple chore. Banhammer has always been horrible at cleaning, and Windforce can only dedicate so many minutes of their precious time together to teach him Cleaning 101, but he’s doing better.
The worst of Banhammer’s habits – sleeping in one of the spare rooms at the prison – has also tapered down. Windforce cannot count on both hands the frequency in which she used to wrangle some free time from her duties to visit her son, only to find him dozing off in an office chair or face first in a dingy, paper-thin cot. The answer is too damn many.
But no, Banhammer has indeed gotten better. He functions like a working adult of society now and fans the undying flame of pride for him in Windforce’s heart, and she can’t help but get a little bitter when she remembers why he had to grow up so fast.
So maybe that’s why a tightness envelops her chest as she watches Banhammer stumble into his stupidly thick converses – boy’s already tall enough, now all those extra inches are just overkill, really – and nearly trips over himself in an effort to get out the door, only steadied by the hand this… strange, tiny demon places on his forearm.
Though she’s letting this guy take her son out on a date, Windforce can’t help but feel a little cautious.
He doesn’t look like a bad guy, per se. Fancy suit, stiff looking cravat, a thick watch on his wrist and a few rings on his thin fingers. A bit familiar. She can’t put her thumb on it. Either way, he barely reaches above her own waist and looks like a twig-and-a-half glued together, so she isn’t worried about Banhammer’s chances if push comes to shove. Though… that pistol on the small demon’s hip does look well-worn. Eh, better than a twig who doesn’t know how to defend himself.
“Have fun, alright? I don’t wanna see you back before noon.” Windforce scoffs, leaning by the door. Banhammer glowers at her as much as he will dare, all four eyes narrowed because she had grabbed him by the collar of his bomber jacket – a rather nice jacket, she will add. Might borrow that one… - and yanked off the offending blindfold. What man goes on a date without being able to see? Not her son, that’s for sure.
The handsome, put-together demon, unlike her butt-hurt son, lets his lips curl into another one of those winning smiles and nods his head cordially, his smile turning exasperated when Banhammer elbows him and they glance at each other.
“We’ll be off, then. Have a good day, Madam.”
“Yeah, see ‘ya, Ma.” Banhammer mumbles, barely even meeting her gaze.
Windforce pretends not to notice the way the small demon offers the crook of his arm and gets it smacked viciously as she closes the door, but a small grin does slither onto her face.
With nothing else to do – she had taken most of the day off and only had to foresee her duties later that night – Windforce cleans. She doesn’t have to, really. Banhammer may be her son, but the snob could clean his own damn house. It’s just that when she’s feeling any particular way, whether negative or postiive, she cleans. The motions of wiping counters and sweeping floors helps take her mind off the idea of storming out and tearing apart the first, non-innocent soul she lays her eyes on, so even if she herself despises the idea of cleaning in itself, Windforce drags herself through the actions and keeps herself in check.
The house is definitely a bachelor’s house; Windforce can’t help but think that to herself as she picks up stray can bottles and cups and finds sporadic patches of dust. The disarray isn’t as bad as normal, so that means Banhammer at least tries to keep a sane and healthy routine regarding his space.
And then she sees it.
Kicking the already open door with her foot and stomping through Banhammer’s bedroom with a hefty trash bag and gloves, a teal glow catches her eyes as she looks around the space. There on the desk sits a collar – Banhammer’s collar. Nothing out of the ordinary, if not a stupid place to put such a criminalizing object.
She nearly dismisses the object, instead ready to sneer and scrunch up her face at the plethora of documents scattered across the desk, but then the teal gem hanging off the clasp grabs her attention.
Well, isn’t that familiar?
Now thoroughly intrigued, Windforce walks over to the desk and picks the collar up, holding it to the light and squinting at the crystal which seems awfully similar to the one she saw on the small demon that whisked away her son. Same color. Same shape. Same… aura. As if she’d be vitalized the moment she touched the thing.
Windforce unclasps the trinket and twirls it around between her fingers, frowning contemplatively. Then, with a resigned sigh and a brief shrug, she shoves the crystal into her cargo pants for safe keepings and resumes her cleaning.
It’s three in the afternoon when Banhammer and the small demon return. Windforce readies herself when she notices them pulling up in the driveway in a much too nice car, leaning her shoulder on the wall in front of the door while toying with the trinket between her fingers.
(She still doesn’t understand why the hell Banhammer doesn’t just buy a car instead of hopping on buses. Is this… perhaps the reason? His little friend always drives him around?)
As she stands there, ready to welcome her son from what must’ve been a very lovely date considering how long they stayed out, a question grabs Windforce’s attention.
If this is truly that demon’s property, why the hell was it on Banhammer’s collar? Was Banhammer that comfortable with him, comfortable enough to the point he actually doesn’t mind someone else knowing of his little gift?
An odd array of emotions settles in Windforce’s chest – confusion, wariness, curiosity – and for a moment, she doesn’t know what to do with it. Banhammer’s never been the most open when it comes to sharing his personal life with others. Hell, even Windforce barely gets him talking about the worst of his issues, and she can’t help but wonder with a hint of guilt where his reluctance came from during his childhood.
Banhammer sharing something about himself with someone other than Windforce herself is… surprising. A bit worrying, if she is completely honest, but she knows that worry only stems from the fact she doesn’t know who Banhammer is opening himself up to and not because of the opening up itself.
Her mind refuses to stop running even when the front door eases open, and Banhammmer’s curious face peeks in. They blink at each other for a moment, and Windforce can’t help but find the humor in the situation.
“The hell you looking in here for? Too scared to walk into your own house?”
“That’s—never mind, hey Ma.” Banhammer groans, now more familiarly shoving the door wide open and letting in all the chilly air. Behind him lingers the small demon who watches them with a look of exasperation, if not curiosity when said gaze shifts to Windforce.
Raising a brow, Windforce glances back at Banhammer kicking off his shoes. “Not gonna say bye?”
“Already did. Did you cook? I’m starving!”
Huh. So they… didn’t spend any of the six hours they were out getting something to eat? What the hell did they even do?
Windforce narrows her gaze, glancing between Banhammer who promptly raids his own kitchen, and the small demon standing by the door, still yet to step inside. He keeps glancing at her with that single eye of his, expression slightly guarded but still intrigued, and Windforce clicks her tongue when they catch each other’s gaze, and he looks away, turning her focus back to Banhammer. “What am I, your personal maid? Go make your own damn food! Should’ve grabbed something while you were out.”
While Banhammer bemoans his grievances from the kitchen, Windforce looks at the small demon,
“I… uhm, I supposed I should head out—”
Staring down at the small demon, knowing that he’s about to slip through her fingers and leave her waiting until her next increasingly rare free day, Windforce bites the bullet and says the first thing that comes to mind, “I’ll be busy later tonight, so meet me at Iron Cafe tomorrow around two. We need to talk for a bit.”
And the poor demon, as most people would act when asked to meet up with a warmonger deity, goes stiff, staring owl-eyed at Windforce like she just told him to take the pistol on his hip and shoot his own temple. The small, but visibly calloused hands by his sides begin to tremble, and for a moment Windforce feels bad – only a smidge – for jumping such a request on the kid.
She doesn’t take her offer back.
“Why?” The stranger questions cautiously, and Windforce has to hand it to him; the kid has balls for questioning a deity without melting into a pile of nerves.
“Why? Maybe this will answer your question.” Windforce tosses the crystal, and the small demon catches it with impressive reflexes only to pale considerably and fumble the trinket between his shaking hands. “Look familiar?”
A devilish, humored expression sneaks into Windforce’s face as the demon goes quiet from mortification and struggles to meet her gaze, a sight from how confident he seemed earlier that morning. She fights to control herself. “Madam— miss—Uh, ma’am. I truly did not mean anything by this—”
“Tell me all about it tomorrow, yeah?” Windforce smiles, all sharp fangs and crinkled eyes, and the small demon seems to stiffen further, his breathing thin and quick like spooked prey. She takes a step closer and claps him on the shoulder with a heavy hand, squeezing briefly for good measure. Her gaze brightens dangerously, smile turning sharp. “I don’t play when it comes to my boy. Keep yourself in check.”
And with that, she snatches back the trinket and levels the spooked demon with a foreboding glower before sprouting a small smile and slamming the door shut in his face.
The next day, Windforce finds herself using the few measly hours of her breaktime to sit in the horribly tiny chairs at Iron Café, leg crossed over the other, wearing the rare casual outfit of thin, grey long-sleeved tucked in dark cargo pants. All four of her eyes, freed from their usual covering, flit away from scrutinizing every demon in the shop when a teal demon in a stiff cravat and three piece suit walks her way.
He’s cautious if not fidgety when he approaches, offering a quiet greeting and sitting rim-rod straight on the chair across from Windforce, and she fights to suppress her amused grin the entire time, the corners of her lips twitching up in betrayal of her amusement. It’s been a while since she entertained a mortal for any reason other than necessity or duties. She nearly forgot how twitchy they are around her.
“Don’t worry boy. I don’t bite. Well, not now at least.” She says with a flash of razor-sharp teeth. “What’s your name? I don’t think I ever caught it.”
“I go by Medkit.” The demon – Medkit – relents, a certain air of dignity in his low voice. “You are… Windforce, correct?”
“The one and only. Hard not to recognize an eight foot deity with wings like these, ain’t it?”
“Indeed.” Medkit says carefully after a thick pause lingers between them, unsure as if he were scared of speaking out of line, and Windforce huffs, kicking back her chair and raising to her feet. The small demon blinks up at her in surprise. She raises a brow in return.
“Well? Someone’s gotta be hungry and it sure as hell ain’t you. I’m ordering something to eat.”
“Ah, okay then. Should I stay here…?”
“If you want something to eat, come with me. There’s no point talking on an empty stomach, and it wouldn’t be very nice of me to drag you out here and let you starve, now would it?” Windforce huffs, and a look of hesitance passes over Medkit’s face before he seems to get over himself and stands as well. He gives her a nervous look, neck craning just to match her height, and Windforce can’t fight the grin she sends the smaller demon before they go order.
Smaller the demon, the less they eat apparently. Windforce stares at the eight sandwiches, three slices of cake, and large coffee scribbled down on her receipt before glancing up at Medkit sipping on his second cup of black coffee, the two of them settled back at their table. She devoured all of that food, of course, but she can’t help but feel a little bad for eating that much in front of a guy who looks like he could serve to have a few more pounds on him.
Sighing as she stuffs the receipt into one of her many, many pockets, Windforce leans her cheek on her upright fist and stares listlessly as Medkit sips on his steaming brew once more, unable to stop herself from noticing the slight tremble in the smaller demon’s hands. “So, what are your intentions with my son?”
Too straightforward, apparently; Medkit nearly drops the cup in surprise, his face gaining a near imperceptible amount of flush, and his eye shakes frantically when it meets Windforce’s gaze. “I beg your pardon?”
“My son. Banhammer. Are you two dating or something? I don’t remember him telling me he was, never mind with a man such as yourself.”
Somehow, her words cause even more fluster in the small demon, who finally puts down his bound-to-spill cup and recollects himself. He opens and then closes his mouth a few times before slowly murmuring, as if he isn’t quite sure of his own words, “I don’t think dating is the right word. To say we are anything more than acquaintances would be… a leap. I believe involved with each other is the better way to describe our situation.”
“So, you aren’t together?”
Medkit’s brows furrow deeper, and he doesn’t reply for a good few seconds. “No.”
“But you’re interested in him, no? Not only did you specifically drive to his house to take him out, you guys spent so much time together, I’d be led to believe you guys went to more places than a simple watch shop. I don’t think I’ve seen a demon that isn’t interested in someone do that.”
“That was… no, I don’t think—” Medkit trails off, sitting silently before her with his eye downturned and cloudy with thought, and Windforce can’t help but feel a pang of dreadful suspicion.
“You aren’t toying with my son… are you?”
Medkit’s gaze snaps up, the demon looking slightly offended as well as mortified. “What?”
A rush of protectiveness seizes Windforce. She does not need a little… little twink playing with her emotionally constipated son’s feelings and leaving him with a broken heart. Banhammer’s already shut himself out to the world on multiple occasions, and if Windforce had a say in it, she is not going to let there be another. He isn’t ready for heartbreak yet. Not now and not ever.
The table shakes and thumps when Windforce brings her open palm down on it, a flare of agitation rocking through her as the demon in front of her – said demon that she is seconds away from slamming into the concrete – flinches, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun-clad hip before wisely thinking against it.
“Windforce, Ma’am, I have no intentions of toying with your son. I just—”
Windforce seethes, claws digging into the table, “If you’re not dating, and you ain’t interested, then tell me; why the hell should I let you get so close to him? If you keep doing things like, I dunno, taking him out and driving him around, don’t you think he might feel like he can get something more from whatever relationship you guys have going on right now? If you don’t want to be his partner, act like it. I don’t need no damn heartbreaker ruining my son’s life and leaving him at the last second. Don’t give him that hope or gods so help me, I will destroy you the moment you try to step out of his life.”
“I don’t mean to toy with him.” Medkit settles on after a moment of trying to find his words, and though the statement sounds truthful enough – Windforce knows how to sniff out a lie like no other – the evident conflict in his mind shows on the valley between his brows and the frown twisting up his face. Does the boy even know what he wants? What is his endgame?
“Then what do you want from him?”
“I—” A brief pause as the demon’s adam’s apple bobs nervously, his hands curling into fists in his lap. “I’m not sure what I want from him.”
“Is that so?” Windforce sneers, “Do tell, then, why you insist on hanging around him? You sure as hell aren’t interested, according to yourself.”
It takes a few moments for Medkit to find his words. His fingers dig into his thighs, and he stares pointedly at his cup of coffee as his mouth works wordlessly, apprehension and, as Windforce would expect, fear in his gaze. “There’s… no reason for us to be around one another. We get on each other’s nerves. He insults me and threatens my safety at every mild inconvenience, and I’ve found myself doing the same whenever my emotions get to me. We barely communicate. The whole six hours we were gone, I… I spent more time in my mind than actually trying to have a conversation with him.”
Windforce nearly opens her mouth to say something – that something bound to be snide and sharp – but as if summoned by the circumstances, Firebrand’s words ring in her ears.
“You could serve to be a little more thoughtful when other people confide you in, Wind. I know you like opening that trap of yours and spewing all kinds of nonsense, but it doesn’t hurt to hear the other side of the story.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and she merely stares back at the other demon when Medkit glances at her, chin tilted up in what could be seen as arrogant, a gesture to say go ahead. Logically, there is no reason to simply bar the young demon out of her son’s life without hearing his feelings on the matter. Even if it makes the more… violently inclined side of her snap and snarl in protest, vehement on protecting Banhammer from any kind of hurt, emotional or physical, she needs to learn how to shut up and hear the other side. If not only temporarily.
The demon across from her shifts in his seat as if unused to being heard out in a conversation like this and slowly continues, his voice carefully neutral. He seems afraid to say the wrong thing. Let the wrong emotions slip. Windforce doesn’t blame him, nor does she make it any easier, unwilling to ease the awaiting wrath dripping off her person.
“…The only times we did talk to each other was to ask for something or to use anything but genuine words as a way to fill the silence. Even when his words hurt me – and even if he denies it, I know some of my words hurt him as well – we didn’t acknowledge it. Are we supposed to acknowledge that we are hurting each other? I—I don’t know how to act around him.”
“…His walls, they’re so high. Every time I get a chance to prod, I ask myself if I should. Would it be worth it? Would it all explode in my face and end up making what we have… invalid? And I myself—I’m not the best candidate for a partner. So many times, I’ve prioritized myself over others. Even people I consider close.” Medkit let out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his fatigued face. “I’m sure if I stepped back and actually took the time to look, my own walls would be just as high as his. I’m not ready to like someone. Maybe our relationship isn’t supposed to become something more? Maybe… we aren’t supposed to go further than company. We can’t communicate. We can’t talk things out without emotions getting in the way. Our circumstances clash so much, I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown me in a jail cell to rot.”
A silence settles over them – so thick that even Windforce, who normally doesn’t mind such situations, feels a little choked up. She honestly expects Medkit to go on, but the small demon looks constipated even after letting all that out. How many more words does he have in him? Is this not the entirety of their situation? She doesn’t know what to think of all this – Medkit’s inner conflicts, the evident relationship of oil and water he has going on with her son, the fact he’s able to acknowledge what they might not be able to achieve.
“Well, you’re self-aware, so that’s a start.” Windforce mumbles awkwardly, her fire from before withering at such honesty.
Medkit buries his face in his hands, the entirety of his slouching body heaving with a heavy sigh. “I try to be. I just… It would be nice to be this open with Banhammer. I don’t know why it all came spilling out the moment you questioned me. I’m sorry. That—that wasn’t like me.”
A moment of silence settles between them. Medkit stares at his cold coffee like he wished it swallowed him whole, frustration written across his face, and Windforce shifts, rolling the new information around in her head.
She’s unsure on about ninety percent of the things Medkit told her, but in all honesty, the only thing she retained from it was that he is rather… confused. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants from Banhammer and his relationship, and that, in it of itself, is a dangerous mindset. Feelings develop. People change. With how they act already, they’ll hurt each other beyond repair by the end of their relationship.
Windforce groans and rolls her neck, causing Medkit’s gaze to flit up to her.
“Do you think I should stop involving myself with your son?” Medkit asks quietly, genuinely as if it’s a question he constantly asks himself.
“Do you want the honest answer?”
Medkit nods, but his expression falls like a flash of lightning when she speaks again.
“Going off what you just told me, I think you two are going to screw each other over. So… yes, I do believe you would be better off without him. This may be my own emotions talking, but I’d rather you spared each other the pain.”
“I—I see.” Medkit struggles to get the hurt off his face, fights to compose himself, and for a moment, Windforce feels bad for being so blunt. Her words obviously struck something fragile in him. “I suppose cutting everything off would be the reasonable thing to do. If that is what you wish for… then I can—”
“—Then again,” Windforce loudly interrupts, resting her cheek on her upright fist again as Medkit trails off into confused silence, “Who am I to predict the outcome of your relationship? Are you really going to accept that so quickly? I suppose you are confused… still, could’ve held onto denial for a little longer. I’m a little disappointed.”
“What?”
“I said what I said. Who’s the say your relationship will end in heartbreak and tears and all of that? Of course, if it all does come to that, I will hunt you down and personally cut off your third leg myself, but… I dunno, maybe that won’t happen.”
“Windforce, with all due respect, the failure of Banhammer and I’s relationship is the most likely result. We aren’t ready for that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” Windforce murmurs, drawing the crystal – Medkit’s crystal – from her pocket and spinning it on the table. Medkit’s eye follows the movement like a hawk. “Still, I’m just saying. Who’s to say?”
“With all do respectful, my rationality.”
“Mm. Well, I may be reading the room wrong, but I think Banhammer is more willing to welcome you into his life than you think. Not saying you should charge in there, but, it’s not everyday he… shows someone anything beyond his job as a warden. Keep that in mind.”
Doubt shines in Medkit’s gaze – doubt and something else Windforce can’t quite grasp – but he nods either way with a contemplative look about him, glancing at the watch on his wrist.
“I… suppose I should get going. It’s around this time clients tend to call for me. I hope this meeting was to your satisfaction. Shall I take my leave?” Medkit asks as he hesitantly stands to his feet.
Windforce feels a little mean when she stands as well and walks over to the smaller demons side, resting her large hands on his shoulders and shoving him back down onto the seat with unsurprising ease. Leaning close to his pointy ear, she whispers to him. “Be careful with him, alright? He’s my little boy.”
And with that, she drops the crystal on the table and, with a flick of her wrist, leaves in a bold gust of wind, disappearing into thin air and leaving behind an owl-eyed bachelor.
It’s seven in the morning when Banhammer hears tell-tale clinking and clanking of his mother in the kitchen.
He almost considers kicking the woman out of his house for making such a racket on a day he gets to sleep in, the sleep-addled part of his mind not referring to common sense for a rational way to stop the noise, but eventually he relents to the inevitability of no more sleep and drags himself – sagging sweatpants and all – over into the living space.
Predictably, Momma leans on the counter of his kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand and a piece of toast in the other, her bare gaze immediately flitting up to him as he sniffles his way to the fridge and yanks out the carton of milk.
“Good morning.”
Banhammer grunts in reply, unscrewing the milk with sleep-clumsy fingers. It’s too early to be an adult. Didn’t he have some bills that were due? And the fridge handle felt a little loose when he grabbed it…
“I had a nice lunch with your little boyfriend yesterday. Not that that matters to you, of course.”
For a moment, the words don’t exactly register. Banhammer hums while testing the fridge handle, careful not to yank it out of its hinges. And then he pauses.
“…What?” He asks groggily, his mind tilting on its axis as if plowed by an eighteen-wheeler truck.
“I didn’t do anything bad.” Momma drawls innocently, “we just… had a little talk is all.”
Banhammer stares blankly as she moves to tend to whatever she has on the stove, fridge handle forgotten as his tiredness is replaced by stone-cold terror and way too many questions.
It really is too damn early for this.
It’s not even four hours later when Banhammer all but hauls himself into the first phighting arena he finds Medkit at, and it is on the first match that he slams aside Slingshot fluttering over his shoulder, sends Boombox flying into the nearest wall with a brutish kick, and shoves Vine Staff aside by her forehead in order to reach the cause of his recent heart palpitations.
Medkit practically bends backwards when Banhammer grips his face with both hands and looms over him, breathing the same air, sharing the same fear for entirely different reasons. “What did she say?”
Medkit, for once, looks terrified and weak in the knees, unable to tear his gaze away from the void of purple staring into him. “What?”
“My ma! What did she tell you? Was it something weird? If it was something weird—”
A barrel clinks against his forehead. Banhammer sucks in a sharp breath and pauses, blinking down at Medkit as the smaller demon recomposes himself with a hefty sigh.
“What your mother told me is none of your current concern.” He drawls, eyebrows raised sardonically, expression deadpan. “You are in the middle of a battlefield; focus.”
The pistol goes off with a ear-shattering bang, Medkit’s face the last thing Banhammer sees before his body materializes in a burst of white light at spawn. Skateboard beside him, who lied in a heap of bruised limbs, flinches as he spews and shouts a string of vile curses.
He doesn’t feel any better when Medkit strides up to him after the match and drops something into his hand. Just feeling the shape alone lets Banhammer know what he’s about to see, but the sight of the tiny green crystal still drags up the same sharp feeling of dread inside of him.
Medkit watches listlessly as Banhammer shoves the trinket in his pocket with all kinds of words on his tongue, ranging from a cordial how the hell did you get that back to blatant hostility. He doesn’t get to say any of those things, for Medkit lets his lips curl into smug semicolons and only increases the amount of paranoia haunting Banhammer into an early casket. “Your mother is not that bad. She’s quite the insightful lady. Anyways, shall we head over to yours for a drink or two? I’m in the mood for company.”
If Banhammer vehemently denies said company out of spite only to invade Medkit’s pitiful excuse for living quarters mere days later, that’s for him to know. Seriously, he needs to get that door fixed.