Chapter Text
The demon is looking at you like you’re going to kill him. Or like he’s about ready to try to kill you. He’s an ugly one, one of them that doesn’t resemble a person much at all beyond his general shape. Deathly pale skin covered in thick, night-sky blue stripes, close-shorn hair, and huge, unblinking eyes with sclera like shattered glass. He’s not very big, but the way he’s hunched in the corner isn’t from fear. That’s pure tension.
What you read in the paperwork was horrifying. This demon is from a fight ring— one of the worst known yet. The conditions there were so brutal that they’d been shut down in a second, no chance to defend the brawls.
While demons don’t have much in the means of rights, the ones found in the leftover warehouse the ring had been operating out of were in such sickening shape there was no question if it had to end. More dead than alive, more blood and wounds than clear skin, so starved and torn up their ribs showed through and their mouths dripped non-stop with saliva. That’s what your coworkers described. The one in front of you was apparently some sort of champion. He’s in better shape than the rest, but that’s after having a solid three weeks away from the ring to start to heal and recover.
They asked him for a name. When he couldn’t give one, they searched whatever records were left. Akaza. A nonsense name given to a creature who probably doesn’t think he needs one. From the way he’s eying you, entirely unblinking, you honestly can’t tell if he’s murderous or terrified.
“Hi there,” you say as gently as you can. You also stay by the door, the whole room’s length away from the demon occupying the far corner. “How are you doing? I’m here to check on you. Just seeing if you’re okay.”
The demon doesn’t say a word. He just keeps staring at you, unblinking, not so much as twitching to acknowledge your words. With those hauntingly sharp golden eyes, he looks almost possessed. It’s hard to picture a normal home willingly taking in one who looks so... creepy. Especially since you know exactly why he’s not responding.
He had a blanket. A big, soft one that would provide plenty of cushion from the cold tile. Apparently, Akaza decided he didn’t want it. Said blanket is haphazardly abandoned by one wall while he crouches on the bare floor.
“I’m going to get a little closer now. I won’t touch you.”
Announcing your actions before you move, you take a step toward the demon. Then another. Even though you’re moving slowly, Akaza tenses up visibly. His stare doesn’t falter, and he still doesn’t blink, but you can see his shoulders hunch up just the slightest bit. Two more steps and his fingers are curling against the tile. You’ve seen this posture before from demons who are thoroughly convinced that they’re about to have to fight— but this one seems downright trained. He knows exactly what he’s expecting to do.
By the time you’re within five feet of him, a low growl starts up in the demon’s chest. He hunches down slightly, just enough that you get the message. He thinks you’re going to try to hurt him. Considering that this demon is a brutal fighter who could snap you in half, that’s kind of sad.
“You’re okay,” you soothe. “I just want to sit down next to you. Is that okay? I’m just going to sit down.” As you talk, you start to lower yourself to the ground. Even this far away is better than nothing. It doesn’t help.
Akaza’s growl pitches up. He’s shaking a little, still refusing to break eye contact. The other employees told you that he doesn’t tolerate people getting close, but this is... bad. Very, very bad. You’re not even within a yard of his space, and he’s acting like you’re about to beat him. The best you can do for now is to back off and try again later. With food, probably. Having something in their stomachs usually softens demons up a little.
. . .
You come back the next morning. Akaza is still in the same holding room— small, sparsely furnished, and with only his abandoned blanket to occupy him. The rooms are meant to be ‘safe’, but you don’t think they’re very reassuring to the traumatized demons who wind up in them.
And of course, Akaza hasn’t moved a bit. He’s still in his corner, still staring, and still looking at you like he’s expecting nothing but the worst.
This time, you come armed. You have a bowl of ground meat tucked in the crook of your arm (a blend meant for demons who haven’t eaten in a while), and you’re hoping, really, really hoping that this’ll make some kind of difference in his behavior. The distrustful, haunted gaze is fixed on you all over again, and yeah, he seriously hasn’t blinked since you’ve been there.
“I have food for you. Not a whole lot, so we don’t upset your stomach, but food, yeah?” You try to stay cheerful despite the fact that you’re still all kinds of creeped out and concerned. “I’m going to get close enough to give it to you, okay? I’ll step back as soon as I set the bowl down.”
You do exactly that. Akaza doesn’t lash out at you, but he does start growling again when you get within about a yard. His gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, not even when you place the bowl of meat about a foot away from him. Because it’s just what happens with demons, he’s drooling already. As the smell of the raw, bloody flesh sinks in, you see him almost gag. But even when he starts shaking all over, Akaza doesn’t lunge for the meat. Maybe he’s just too nervous to eat with you there? That makes sense?
So with one last reassurance that the food is for him, you back off. Shutting the door behind you feels kind of cruel, but you know this demon isn’t comfortable with you (or anyone else) there. It’s kinder to leave him be. You’ll give it like an hour, then come back and see if he’s okay.
When you do exactly that, though, what you come back to is far from reassuring. Akaza hasn’t moved from his corner. The bowl is untouched in front of him. He’s shaking violently, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and there’s drool dripping down his chin and chest to puddle on the floor. He hasn’t taken even a bite. You’d never believe it if it wasn’t in front of you.
This time, he doesn’t growl when you get close. He doesn’t even seem to notice. All he’s paying attention to is, for whatever reason, not touching the pile of perfectly good food in front of him. You get to sit down maybe two feet away from Akaza without him doing anything but whimpering miserably.
“Hey, that’s for you,” you say softly. “You can eat. It’s okay.”
As much as you want to, you don’t touch him. The chances of that ending in freak-out are high. Akaza’s eyes finally slit open. They fixate on you in an instant, but even though his breathing picks up, he stays still.
“I-I’m not that st-stupid...” spills out of his salivating mouth, his voice weak and trembling, pained. Not eating has to be absolute torture.
“What do you mean? It’s for you. I said it’s for you, yeah?”
Akaza just makes a tense, unhappy sound. “I know th-the rules,” he whines. “I-I know them. You c-can quit... quit t-testing me. I ha-haven’t won yet. I haven’t w-won, so I d-don’t eat!” The words all come pouring out with such determined certainty you can only sit there and stare. “J-Just take it away! I know better—! I w-won’t eat, so ta-take it away!”
A starving demon refusing food is unheard of. When you try to tell him, again, that he’s allowed to eat, Akaza snarls at you. He’s still drooling all over himself. His claws have left lines in the tile. It’s slowly dawning on you that he’s not going to believe you no matter what you say and that leaving the food in front of him amounts to torture more than kindness. He needs to eat. But if this is the reaction to putting food right in front of him...
In the end, you have no choice but to leave him to his self-imposed starvation. You take the entirely untouched bowl with you.
. . .
You leave him alone for another day. No one minds. The other workers are just as confused by Akaza’s behavior as you are. Sick as it is, no one minds leaving him to his own devices. Your job is to decide if he gets passed on to a new, normal home or gets his neck cut. Right now, the prospects aren’t looking good. Some demons, when they’ve been through such extreme levels of trauma, are too damaged to ever live in a real home. They don’t get better. They’re dangers to themselves or to others, too dangerous.
This time, you’re going to push a little more. You need to examine him properly, and yesterday proved that, at the very least, he won’t attack you if you get too close. He’s scared but trained well enough not to lash out.
He’s still huddled in that corner. But this time, you have a strategy.
You sit down next to him, once again about two feet away. Akaza doesn’t growl this time. He just stares at you, a faint tremble setting into his shoulders and hands. “Hi again. We’re going to do something new today. You didn’t eat yesterday because you hadn’t earned it, right? That’s why?”
Akaza nods. “I know better,” he mumbles, low enough that it seems half like he’s talking to himself. You really don’t want to think about what made him ‘know better’, but you’re going to have to if you want to help.
“Okay, so you’re going to earn it now.” As soon as you say it, Akaza’s whole body perks up. He’s expecting a fight, no doubt, and the look of frenzied need that sinks into his shattered-glass eyes only makes that knowledge sadder. “And not through a fight. I need to examine you, and I know you won’t like that. So if you can stay still and be good, you’ll earn a meal.” When Akaza stares at you like you’re insane, you continue. “These are the rules here. You know that if you’re good, you eat. Well, our standards of ‘good’ are different. This is all you need to do for now.”
It feels sick to manipulate him like this, but it’s all you can do. If using his programming against him is how you can make progress, then that’ll just have to do. Akaza keeps staring, unblinking, for a long moment, as if he’s considering what you just said quite thoroughly. And finally—
He nods and shifts out of his tense, ready-to-fight posture.
Great. You scoot a little closer into his space, getting the little plastic bag of bite-sized meat chunks out of your pocket as you do. Akaza stays perfectly still. And, then, you touch him for the first time.
Starting small, you place your flat, open palm on his head, cupping the spiky, short-cropped mess of his hair with gentle fingers. He flinches, because of course he does, but just squeezes his eyes shut instead of trying to pull away. After a few seconds, you bring that hand down to the nape of his neck slowly, keeping a slow drag of contact the whole time. Akaza’s whole body stiffens up at that, and it only gets worse when you lightly trace the blue lines encircling his neck. His hands tighten into shaky fists.
Next, you cup under his chin. He doesn’t look at you. You hold his head for a moment, then move on to take one of his hands. Carefully spreading his fingers to lace your hand with his, you watch his posture carefully. There’s no aggression yet, but he seems to be close to hyperventilating. When you rub your palm down his back in one long, slow slide, that only gets worse. A sharp, terrified whine tears out of him.
“There we go. You’re doing good. See? You’re earning it.” You remove your touch and get a little chunk of meat out of the bag. Akaza shakes even harder instantly, but you hold it to his mouth without a hint of fear.
Whether he believes he’s earned it or not, hunger gets the better of him. He snatches the meat from your hand with a desperate sound. The whole thing is swallowed in a second, so you get another one. Then another, feeding the trained fighter bite by bite out of your palm. And he’s careful. Even though he’s clearly frantic to get something in his stomach, Akaza doesn’t bite you. You feed him the whole bag one piece at a time.
. . .
After that, you decide to try one more thing. Simple touch had him shaking. Knowing what happens if you push is probably a good idea.
So the next time you visit the room, it’s with the knowledge that you’re probably going to poke at some point of trauma better left alone. And... this is going to be telling. If he responds with aggression, that’ll be the end of it. It’s already clear he’s hardly suited for a normal home.
When you sit down next to him, still in that cold, lonely corner, Akaza flinches. No growling or tense, fight-ready posture. Just a full-body flinch coupled with a gaze full of the expectation of pain. He’s... probably starting to see you as some kind of handler. The same as the people who owned him before. That’s not exactly a good thing, but at least he’s listening to you...?
“I’m going to touch you again,” you say simply. “You can get more food in a bit if you’re good, okay? All you need to do is put up with it.”
Akaza looks at you like you said you’re going to torture him.
And this time, you don’t try to be subtle. Instead of the slow, careful, professional touches from before, you get your fingers in his hair and scritch like you’re petting him. As soon as the drag of your nails registers, Akaza ducks forward like his body is trying to escape. You follow him. You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek and trace the lines there with your thumb. His eyes squeeze shut. The shaking starts again. He tries to pull away, but you keep your hand right there, stroking, petting, and—
“It’s okay. You’re doing good. This is perfect.” Soothing words just make him shake harder. His whole chest is heaving with too-sharp breath, and when you scratch lightly at the soft underside of his chin, Akaza all but chokes on a frantic, vulnerable sound. He’s still trying to escape it.
“N-No— Stop, s-stop, no—!” And then, the whimpering pleas start. He tries to scramble back, press himself farther into the corner, and the utter terror in the poor demon’s wide eyes breaks your heart then and there.
“Does it hurt?” you ask. It can’t, but you’re almost worried it does.
“ No . No p-pain, why— It doesn’t h-hurt—!”
That’s the moment where it clicks. He doesn’t understand that touch doesn’t hurt. This sudden breakdown, the fear whenever you got close— Akaza very literally doesn’t have a concept of touch that’s not painful. When your fingers drag through the fuzzy little hairs at the base of his skull on curling reflex, the way he moans tells you everything you need to know.
He’s never going to make it in a normal home.
You’ve never felt more pity for a demon in your life. Of all the ones you’ve worked with, this is quickly turning into the saddest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s going to die. Without ever knowing that just living doesn’t have to be filled with fear and pain, he’s going to be put down and forgotten about.
As the tears start flowing from his scrunched-shut eyes, as he keeps whimpering, begging for something that you don’t understand, you stroke the dark lines on his cheekbone and come to a decision that’s probably a bad one. You want to see him happy, safe, curled up in soft things, and finally able to understand that he won’t always be starving and in pain. If you take him home and adopt him yourself, it’ll be his only chance at staying alive.
Akaza’s confused, terrified stare when his eyes slit open makes up your mind. He’s going to have a chance at something better.