Embers From The Inferno

Chapters: [1] ✦ [-2-] ✦ [more coming soon]

Summary:

Before Anton even has time to make peace with his new tail, another change starts taking place, and the weight of what it might mean weighs on him more than he's willing to admit.

Warnings:

discussion of blood/wounds, swearing

The next thing he noticed was the claws.

The night before, not too long after he got home, Anton had pushed his nerves to the back of his mind and settled in for bed, cuddling up with his lover. Maybe, he'd thought, if he just ignored it long enough, it'd go away. Or he'd wake up the next morning and it would all have been a dream. But as he idly scratched his bare shoulder upon waking up, the sharp sting of broken skin snapped him right back to the harsh reality that he was in.

He hissed as he quickly pulled back his hand. Fresh, glistening blood clung to his nails and fingertips, and in the low light of dawn, he wasn't sure he could believe his eyes. Years of hard manual labor and a tendency for nail-biting usually left them dull and short, perhaps a bit uneven. But now…

Slowly, Anton peeled back the covers and pushed himself out of bed, careful not to wake the man beside him. He padded over to the bathroom, and when he flicked on the overhead light, his suspicions were instantly confirmed. His nails had grown long and dark, ending in points that had proven sharp enough to draw blood. He swallowed loudly. His throat felt tight. How much of it was coming back?

For a moment, he just stared. Stared at his hands, his tail, his reflection in the mirror. Things were different. He said he was okay with different. He wanted to be okay with different. But the thought of what it meant — what it meant for him, what it meant for Jazz — he wasn't sure if he was ready to face that. He met his own eyes through the glass. They were tired. They were so, so tired.

Finally, he tore his gaze away. If this was the way things were from now on, he was going to have to figure something out. He just didn't know what. In the meantime, he turned on the sink and ran his hands under the warm water, washing away the blood, watching as it swirled around the porcelain like paint before being quickly whisked down the drain.

He needed to cut them. He didn't want to hurt himself again — didn't want to hurt his partner. He sifted through the jumbled drawer beside the sink, but when he finally found the pair of nail clippers, they didn't seem to be enough. The metal strained, creating haphazard slices and rough edges, leaving dents and scrapes in places where the blades couldn't quite cut through. His nails weren't only long and sharp — they were sturdy. The keratin had already grown thick, as if it was meant to withstand much more than itching and grabbing.

These weren't just nails. These were weapons.

---

Anton jolted in surprise as the bathroom door bumped against the wall. He whipped his head around to see his husband standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled from sleep, his pajamas wrinkled and baggy on his heavyset form. Through his distracted haze, Anton hadn't even heard him getting up.

"Jazz—"

"Mnf…" Jazz grumbled softly as he shuffled close, leaning heavily against his partner's broad back. "Back to bed…"

Jazz's voice was low and slurred. His expression still seemed foggy. Though he'd managed to get himself standing, he clearly hadn't quite woken up yet.

"I'll be there in a minute, baby," Anton replied, shying away from the touch. "Just… gimme a sec."

Jazz pouted. "You took the week off," he complained with a yawn. "You're s'posed to sleep in with me…"

Reluctantly, however, Jazz backed off. As he did, he finally opened his eyes more than just a crack, struggling to adjust to the bright artificial light, squinting slightly without his glasses. Immediately, something about the other man felt off. Anton's body language almost seemed withdrawn, his shoulders hunched, his arms drawn close. His hands were balled in loose fists. He wasn't even willing to meet Jazz's gaze.

"Honey…?"

Jazz held out his hand, gingerly reaching towards his partner. He only pulled away when he realized what he was about to touch.

There, on Anton's shoulder, nearly blending in with the vibrant red of his skin, was a patch of half-dried blood and a clean set of scratch marks.

"I said gimme a sec," Anton snapped. Just as quickly as the words left his mouth, he was hit with an embarrassed wave of regret. He took a breath, then tried again. "I just… I'm dealin' with somethin' right now. I'll come to bed again in—"

"What happened? Is that from yesterday?"

Jazz's naïveté gave Anton pause. "It's… it's nothin'," he assured. "Don't worry about it. I just banged myself up a bit."

"I can help, if you want," Jazz proposed. "And if you wanna talk about anything…"

"I don't."

Anton's response didn't come as much of a surprise. As close as they were, and as much as they loved one another, neither of them had ever been the best about speaking their minds. Not when it came to things this serious. Still, Jazz sighed.

"Well… I can still patch that up for ya." He looked hopefully at the other man, his expression full of sympathy and adoration. "It's the least I can do after you went through Hell and back."

---

Anton hissed as Jazz dabbed gently at the wound, a warm, damp washcloth wiping at the half-dried blood. He slumped forward, both of them seated on the edge of the tub, angled just enough to let his husband tend to him. His leathery tail flicked impatiently behind him, thudding softly against the white acrylic. The sound seemed to echo faintly throughout the room. To him, it was almost deafening.

At first, neither of them spoke. Anton didn't want to talk, and Jazz didn't want to press. But as Jazz worked his way over the myriad of scrapes and cuts that scattered Anton's arms and torso, carefully treating each one, it became more and more clear that the scratches on his shoulder were fresher than anything caused by his fights against the devil and his band of lackeys.

Jazz couldn't help but break the silence.

"Wish I coulda seen you in action," he commented playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "With all these scrapes and bruises, y'know, I bet you put up a good fight. Makes you look real tough."

The other man's response came quick and dry. "No you don't."

"Huh?"

"You wouldn'ta wanted to see half that shit." Anton hung his head, his newfound claws all but digging into his thighs. His mind raced. There were things he wanted to say, things he didn't know how to say.

"Honey, if something's wrong—"

"All this demon crap," Anton snarled. "The tail was one thing. But now these damn claws — I mean —" He cut himself off with an annoyed laugh. "That big ol' gash on my back? I did that one myself, y'know. Imagine what could happen if—"

He stopped.

His heart sank.

The room went quiet.

"Nothin'." Anton huffed out a breath. The tension left his body, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own fears. "Forget it."

It wasn't often that Jazz saw his husband like this. In his mind, Anton had always been the boisterous type, carefree and playful. Sure, like everyone, he had his ups and downs, and the things he went through over these past few days would be more than enough to wear anyone down… but Jazz couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on. If he tried too hard to get his partner to open up, however, he knew he'd only be met with more resistance. Instead, he could only hope to meet him in the middle.

Jazz set the bloodied rag aside. At first, Anton recoiled when Jazz's hand found his own, but the tender invitation was enough for him to let his guard down, as hesitant as he was.

Anton's hand was large in Jazz's palm. The skin was worn and calloused from work, but beneath the rough exterior, Jazz could sense the softness in his touch. Affectionately, he ran his thumb over his lover's knuckles. But when he traced his way down the length of Anton's thick fingers, he realized just what Anton meant. His nails were thick and sharp and jagged, admittedly worse for wear than he'd ever seen them.

Claws. He really did have claws.

"Honey," Jazz murmured, "is this what you're worried about?"

"It's sure fuckin' part of it." Anton's voice was a tense growl. "Tried to cut 'em when I woke up, but— shit, Jazzy, you saw what they did. Fuckin' lucky I didn't rip ya apart in my sleep."

The image made Jazz's chest feel tight, but it was his husband's way of speaking that really hit him. He sounded angry, of course… but he also sounded scared.

Jazz pressed his lips to the back of Anton's hand. He kissed his knuckles, speaking softly against the warm skin. "You're not gonna hurt me," he promised. "Not on purpose. Never on purpose."

"And what happens when I do it on accident, huh?" Anton yanked his hand away. "You gonna forgive me? You gonna be all sweet with me when I sprout wings and horns and—"

"Anton—"

"Tell me the damn truth, Jazz!"

For a while, they were both silent. The air was thick with tension.

Then, Anton sighed. He stood up. His broad form, usually so strong and imposing, seemed almost small. His tail hung limp between his legs.

"You didn't marry a demon…"

"I married you." Once again, Jazz took his partner's hand, using it to pull himself up to stand before him. Gently, he cupped Anton's face. His thumb brushed over the long, wiry hairs of his husband's dense beard. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it was like Jazz could see right through him. "I love you," Jazz said. "No matter what, I love you. I want you. And I wanna be with you. Every damn day for the rest of our lives."

Anton averted his gaze. Deep down, he knew it was true, but his emotions wanted nothing more than to fight back.

"Honey, look at me," Jazz continued. "There are so many things in this world that we don't understand. And, y'know, I'll be honest, I'm not gonna pretend this isn't one of those things. But what I need you to understand is that I'll be here with you for it. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

Like a helpless dog, Anton nuzzled his face into Jazz's palm. His breath was slow and heavy. As comforting as Jazz's words were, Anton couldn't help but overthink it. The line between what he understood and what he didn't was far too fuzzy, and he wasn't sure it'd ever get any clearer. Frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted it to. His thoughts started to wander… back to his time in Hell… back to the fight… back to when he…

Before they could wander further, Anton snapped himself out of it. The last thing he wanted right now was to dwell. He had his husband. His husband had him. He didn't want to worry Jazz any more than he had already. Not this morning.

Instead, he laid a hand on Jazz's shoulder, leaning in close. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his forehead against the other man's, brushing his nose against his partner's. For a moment, he just stayed like that, sharing breath, sharing heat. When he spoke, his voice was deep and hushed.

"You're too good to me…"

Jazz chuckled softly. A subtle grin graced his lips as he leaned back to meet his husband's gaze. "Someone's gotta be. And I'm really glad I get to be the one."