#Crossroads!Alastor

[paper-stars-and-fireflies]

6. Dancing with a wolf

The sixth story in the Grimm Omens series! As before, both main characters are OCs: Magnolia is mine, and Omen belongs to the wonderful @splanoot.Thanks for reading!      When Omen woke up the next morning, he found his bed empty, sheets cold. He growled, reaching out across the bed. So much for whatever last night had meant- or what he thought it meant. There was a shuffle in the other room and the sound of his door shutting that caught his attention after a moment. The crinkle of plastic and sound of his stove clicking on followed, and Omen willed himself to check it out, absentmindedly grabbing for his helmet. He crept around the corner, peeking into the kitchen. Maggie stood by the sink, unpackaging something, a pan set on the stove to heat. She was dressed in different clothes than last night, and wore clunky headphones as she worked. She’d definitely had a shower recently, and her makeup was fresh. Omen crept closer, trying to see what she was up to. Completely unaware, she slid back and forth, humming, jumbled lyrics falling from her lips as she continued on with whatever she had.

I’m interested but distant to a fault. And I’d never wanna complicate your heart. I’ve gotta let you know, that I think that I love you so You could be my only one, cuz I think that I love you so. 

     She kept working, starting on breakfast, washing things as soon as she was done with them, and doing her best to keep quiet as she went about cooking. Omen crept closer, setting his helmet on the pub-style table in the corner, leaning on the wall to watch her, lost in her own mind. 

I know we only just met, so why do I feel invested,  And do you feel it too? Do you feel it too? I could be your best yet, future favorite regret,  Do you feel it too, do you feel it too? 

     Maggie continued on, finishing up two plates and turned to take them to the table, startling when she saw Omen standing there, practically right in front of her.       “Having fun?” he asked, the smile not just in his voice, but on his face for once. She smiled back, setting the plates back down on the counter and yanking the headphones off, settling them around her neck.       “Good morning,” She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him in a loose hug, giving him the opportunity to step away at any time. “Sorry, did I wake you? I wanted to surprise you.” She gestured vaguely to the plates.       “You left?” He asked, helping her carry everything over to the table. She made a face, noticing his helmet, but said nothing.       “Yeah, I just stopped by Ruya’s, I have spare clothes and stuff up there. Didn’t wanna be a mess.” She chuckled, short, but comfortable. “And I got groceries from the market, I didn’t know what you had, didn’t wanna use up something you needed. You like steak and eggs, right? Breakfast burritos?” He nodded along, pulling her chair out before she could. She smiled again, wide and bright and climbed up, letting him push her back in before taking his own seat. They ate in peace for a moment, Maggie tapping her nails on the table as she chewed. Half-way through her food, she cleared her throat, trying to pick the right words to start.       “Hey, Omen, can you just, hear me out a second? Real quick. I, uh, I’m not sure what you, ya know, thought of yesterday and all, but just. I thought it was really important and special and I uh….” She buried her face in her hands, muffling a groan. “Can I start over?” She asked, peeking out from between her fingers. Omen smiled back, nodding, waving his hand as if to say, ‘go on’. She took in a deep breath, waited, then blew it out slowly. She pressed her left hand flat against the table, knuckles going white as she lifted the palm to bend the fingers farther.       “I trust you, and I hope you trust me, and I know someone knowing you, knowing what you look like, and your other form and everything, it’s scary. Probably scarier for you than it is for me, and I never really wanted to do this, but um, well.” She flipped her hand over on the table, curling her fingers in one by one, a motion she’d picked up from watching Alastor while he waited on his contracts to deliberate.       “I want to make a deal. In exchange for not mentioning my… other appearance, I swear to keep anything I learned yesterday, not limited to, but including your identity, hunting methods, form, appearance, all of it a secret, until my extermination or until the deal undone.” She recited it carefully, her eyes kept closed tight as she focused on forcing the words out in just the right order. One word misspoken could create loopholes and disaster, and he was the last one she wanted snared in that. Really, she was trying to protect him. She just hated this was all she could come up with to keep anyone from compelling the information out of her. If she had her eyes open, she might have known to stop, to think of something else.      “Is that all this was?” Omen snarled, hands slamming on the tabletop. She flinched back, mouth open in a tiny gasp. “Was it all an act? Some way to gain something you could blackmail me into a deal with? Is that all you want?” He thundered, snatching at his helmet. Her eyes were glued to it, terrified he’d throw it at her, or worse, lunge over the table at her and hold her down all over again. She could almost feel his claws in her skin, and the words caught in her throat, sputtering incoherently. She withdrew her hand, clasping it with her other in her lap, shoulders slumping forward, the slightest tremor breaking out despite her best efforts.       “No, Omen, I-”       “Save it! You crossroad demons are all the same, I should have known. You’re just like your boss, that two-faced venison bastard.” He stood, shoving away from the table, huge, furious, too close. She stumbled out of her own chair, almost twisting her ankle as she tripped and reached for the couch arm for balance. He took a step towards her and she snatched for her bag and belongings, all piled in the corner of the couch, and raced for the door, biting her lip hard enough to bleed as she tried to swallow gasping sobs. She paused by his door, her back almost pressed against the wall. Her face was red, tears rolling down her face and dripping from her chin. She tried to swipe at them, but only succeeded in smearing her makeup. Omen took another step towards her, crossing the threshold into the living room and she bolted, practically ripping the door open in her haste. She ran from the room, down the hall and up the steps, headed straight out the front door without a word to anyone. She hesitated only briefly in the dark alley that housed Omen’s bike, yanking on a jacket and pulling her bag on, wiping her face clean in an attempt at normalcy. A shadowy form peeled itself off the wall, leaning over her, and she sighed, offering it a look at her face, the smudgy remains of her makeup, the redness, the remaining tremor. The shadow leaning closer, what might have been a face tilting in her direction as if it had eyes. She huffed, stepping past it into the city light.       “Let’s just go home,” she told it, waiting for it to slink into her own shadow on the sidewalk. Then she started the long, silent walk to the Radio Tower, arms wrapped around herself the whole way.       Back in his suite, Omen righted the chair he’d toppled over, grumbling to himself. He couldn’t have anything, ever. He picked up both plates, scraping the leftovers into the trash and dropping the plates in the sink. He’d deal with it later, and his appetite was gone anyway. Guilt nagged at him, prodding at his stomach, his sides, tugged at his heartstrings, lagged behind his every thought.       “She wasn’t trying to hurt you, she was being sincere. She was trying to protect you in her own way,” it urged, begging him to go after her, talk to her, make it right. He huffed again, checking the lock on his door and putting on the deadbolt. She was a crossroads demon. One of Alastor’s.       “You have to protect yourself. No one else is gonna do it. Who knows what she could have made you do with her deals. Crossroads demons are shady business. You’re smart,” another part of him applauded, bidding her a bittersweet good riddance. Omen groaned, thumping down on the sofa. His discarded helmet had rolled over to the coffee table. He leaned forward, scooping it up and pulling it on. It didn’t make him feel as safe and contained as it had yesterday morning.       Maggie sat on the couch in what was quickly becoming her room at the Tower. Her heels were wedged on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around her legs, drawing them up close to her chest. Alastor sat on the far edge of the couch, silent, cradling a china cup of coffee older than Maggie’s grandmother. Neither of them spoke, save for the subdued crackle of her boss’s radio static, but she could feel the shadow who’d followed her home over her still. She pressed her forehead against her knees, wishing he would just leave her alone. Her left hand burned, she could feel her crossroads mark carved into it. She flexed it, rolling her knuckles and burying her nails in her palm, trying to stop the ache. She’d rather be sitting at Husk’s bar, whining her blues and drinking away the pain, or cuddled up on Ruya’s bed, letting her friend’s cards and runes make sense when she couldn’t, but both of those would mean the Hotel, and the Hotel meant Omen. It always would to her. The Tower was her home now.       “I see someone refused your deal.” Alastor finally spoke, taking a gentle sip from his cup. It must have gone cold, waiting her out.       “Yeah. Funny, I was trying to protect them.” Her voice was bitter and she just let it hurt for now. He offered her a glass, and she was surprised to find it spiked. Al’s expression didn’t change, and she took a sip, setting it on the table to her other side. They settled in the silence again, until Magnolia felt strong enough to ask what was on her mind since Omen had screamed at her, since Al’s shadow had walked her home.       “Hey, Alastor. Can crossroads demons have lives without deals? Love, have friends, all of that, without contracts all over the place?” She looked up at him, a powerful demon of unimaginable influence and presence. Anything there was to have in Hell, if he wanted it, he had it. But he was always alone. He took another sip of his coffee, setting the cup and saucer aside. He turned towards her, just so slightly.       “I don’t know, my dear.” He spoke softly, almost mournfully. She dipped her head again, steadying herself from the wash of despair. Finally, she leaned her head back, resting back on the couch.       “Alastor,” she whispered. “I think you should give Angel a call. I think that’d make me feel better.” She didn’t bother specifying for who, or why, and the way he turned, taking his cup and leaving without letting her see his face was answer enough. She slumped over the arm of the couch, letting herself slip into a fitful rest.