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Chapter 6: Angel's Eyes

Angel didn't sleep. He couldn't. What had he done? He let himself get fucked, used!

He looked at the man in his arms, oblivious in sleep. Othello... He seemed so young while he slept. What had happened? What had built up to this? Not even three days ago, all he wanted to do was kick the shit out of this queer, and only when he bothered thinking about Othello at all!

But now... what the fuck changed?!

His muscles flexed and the sleeping Othello gave a small grunt... And suddenly he seemed so frail! It would be so easy! I could finish kicking his ass right now!_He thought. _I could even fuck HIM! I could... I could...

But it wasn't working. He couldn't talk himself into it. He still felt so angry, but he couldn't take it out on his Man... Why?

I'm so... pathetic! That's a word Thello might use: Pathetic! Angel loosened his grip as his vision blurred. He couldn't dislodge himself from Othello before the tears came. All he could do was not snivel, and try not to wake the other boy. He loved Othello. He knew that. And he hated himself for it. Othello was the embodiment of all of his fears, conscious or otherwise.

Othello was beautiful... Beautiful people were special people. They rule they fucking world, and most of them act like their petty problems somehow diminishes that fact! They walk on unimportant ugly people like Angel until he breaks their perfect noses. He held that beautiful body and let it fill him... and Angel felt a little beautiful as Othello looked down at him. Those brown eyes and the heaving undulation of his body. Othello could only be beautiful.

Othello was crazy... Crazy always meant dangerous. Of course he'd never seen Othello freak out but, Othello was rarely really "there"... Except tonight. He was totally "here" tonight. And the focus he lavished on Angel was too intense to be normal...

Othello was, well, black! It was one thing to see them in the world, on the street, even hanging out. But, though Angel had no words for the feeling, he was taught, and therefor knew, that black people, in general, were loud and aggressive. He knew that there were once laws to prevent the races from mixing... But then, there were also laws against what he let Othello do to him an hour ago... Laws are stupid.

Any one of these fears would have sent Angel into Angry-mode. Why did the three combined turn him on so much? There was probably something written somewhere. I should read more...

Angel hovered a hand over Othello. He imagined he could feel something there, radiating off his skin almost like heat, but not. He imagined it felt hard, somehow...

Angel noticed something weird. He pretended to press at that... thing, and Othello physically tensed. He tried it again, moving from his shoulder, to his cheek, and... there! Othello's lips twitched in the same direction. Angel moved his hand hovering it inches over Othello's naked back. Othello's back arched until he suddenly propped himself up on his arms like a stretching animal. Then he shook, again like an animal, before settling back. As he sunk in more next to Angel as opposed to on top of him like before, Angel feared that Othello had woke up, but Othello was breathing deeply, snoring softly.

Angel watched him wide-eyed. What was that...? Othello Montague.... What are YOU?

Othello snorted once, then again, and then Angel realized that he was talking. Angel tried very hard to catch a word, but it was like his ears weren't able to grasp them. The weirdest part was that it was all in a language that Angel felt he SHOULD understand!

But then, just as fast as it had begun, Othello fell silent. Back into peaceful sleep.

"Othello?" Angel muttered softly. "Who are you...?"

Othello took I a sharp breath, but then stopped, and even in his sleep Othello's brows knit gently while he formed a word. Othello opened an eye. One without pupil or iris. Twice as big as it should have been and mother-of-pearl in color. Then in a voice that was so heavy with authority something spoke.

"Kaard Tierp Sotae... Suthroee"

Angel was on his feet, out of the bed. The voice Othello's lips spoke with was not his. It was steady, nothing like his usual slow and thoughtful pace. Angel had felt it in his bones almost as heat, in his blood like an itch, and over his skin like an inappropriate touch.

"What...?" Angel breathed softly. But Othello didn't answer. His overlarge eye drooped, then started to close. "Othello... Kaard... Wait. Don't go back to sleep yet, please!" Angel whispered tersely. "What are you?"

The eye opened and Angel felt it focus on him, despite its blank appearance. "Tired." It said, its eye already drooping again. "Soon... Soon..." Then Othello took a deep breath and the eye closed completely. Othello began to snore.

Angel dressed and snuck out of the window, leaving the screen perched against the wall. He let the thing he used to call Othello sleep, afraid for his new lover.

Angel returned home, sneaking in and grateful that his parents were asleep. He showered, washing cum and shit off of himself. He knew being fucked would be messy, but now that the deed was done, he felt disgusting on several levels. He also felt a new sort of emptiness inside. It seemed like the more time spent with Othello, the less there was of him to leave with. First it was in his chest, the longing to be near the other, but now he felt physically, achingly scooped out; hollowed. Deep in his belly, he felt a cavernous pit that hadn't been there before. When he moved, it burned dully. Made his knees weak. It had made the walk home slow. The hollowness was awful and savory at the same time. He touched a nipple, and noted that it was tender and sore, but touching it felt wonderful... Othello was so... rough... Almost mean. But making it to the other side of the abuse felt like a triumph.

Angel realized that he was happy. And he hated himself for it all the more.I shouldn't be happy about this... Shit... If this is what makes me happy, then I shouldn't be happy at all... He refused to cry anymore. Instead he let the rage in him heat and bubble. It was easy. So easy.

He stepped out of the shower and dried off. He went to his room and fell into bed. He was asleep in moments, dreaming of his revenge. Othello Montague was going to pay for making him feel this way...

"Othello!" Angel called. Othello turned around, giving him the bug-look. "You fuckin' ball-licker!" Angel punched Othello in the face again. But this time, it didn't effect the other boy at all. Angel tried again, and again. With all his might, he wailed on Othello. But the blows seemed to bounce harmlessly off of his skin.

"Angel?" Othello asked, "Are we fighting again?"

"No!" Angel roared. "I'm just kicking your ASS!" He punched more, with still no effect.

"Why?"

"Because you made me... Made me..." Angel couldn't say it. He just let out a frustrated roar and punched Othello in the eye.

Pulling his fist back revealed the big white eye.

"I made you my bitch, Callahan..." The Kaard-voice said. "Because you begged me to..."

"Shut UP!!!" Angel punched again, but this time, Othello did react: He caught the fist and suddenly, Angel had no strength. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees, staring up at his Top-Man.

"I made you Mine, Callahan..." Kaard went on. "Because you're useless. Worthless. You weren't ever going to be anything else!" He threw Angel to the floor, where he found himself stuck; trapped by his hair and wrists by something sticky. Othello stooped and forced his legs up and open."Now, I'm going to rape you, as promised..." Kaard stooped lower and Angel felt him sniffing and licking his bung-hole.

"No...! Stop! STOP IT!!!" Angel thrashed. He tried to kick but Kaard was too strong. But when he raised his head up and smile, it wasn't Othello eating out his ass-- it was his father!!!

"DAD?!!?" Angel screamed in horror. "What are you... STOPPIT!!! NO! NOOOOO!!!!"

Angel awoke to see that his nightmare had followed him into the waking world. "His dad really WAS licking out his sore, raw ass-hole!

"What the SHIT!??!" Angel kicked and his dad stumbled away.

Mr. Callahan licked his lips loudly, cheeks flushed. Angel saw that the man's eyes were total black mirrors and that his mouth was full of pointed teeth, too big for a human skull.

"...dad...?" Angel squeaked in disbelief. He tried to sit up but found that he couldn't move. He had now idea why, but nothing between his waist and neck would move.

Mr. Callahan went back to sucking his son's ass. Sucking out the cum Othello had put in him. Angel's brain shut down. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling and pray. Pray that it'd be over soon. He couldn't even ask himself why any of this was happening, or ask his father to stop again.

Eventually, Mr. Callahan did stop and rose, eyes closed, letting Angel's legs fall back on to the bed. He wiped his lips and licked his fingers. When he opened them again, they were his usual dull blue. "Angel, Son..." He wiped his hands on his jeans. "Where did you get that stuff?"

Angel looked at his father blankly, unable to actually process the question. For the first time in his life, he saw this man for what he was: A monster. It was incredible. His father had finally claimed him as his son, but now he wanted nothing to do with the man. The irony fell like a suffocating weight. He needed to go back to where shit made sense. He needed... needed...

"Othello..."

"The, boy...?" His father's eyes narrowed as if trying to remember something.

Angel stood up stiffly, not even noticing that he was suddenly able to move again. He dressed, and began packing his things.

"What are you doing, now?" Mr. Callahan was starting to sound like his old self more and more. He looked around as if slightly confused.

"School..." Angel muttered numbly.

"So soon?" Mr. Callahan grunted. "Without my twins? You're not skipping out on your duties are you?" The threat in his voice managed to undo the subtlety that was meant to be there. And for a moment it worked. Angel stopped just as he was about to pass his father. He stopped and considered what might happen to the Mi-Mi's. They were clever, and stronger than anyone gave them credit for, they'd be fine, right?

They'd be fine. Angel raised his eyes and was startled to realize he didn't need to raise his chin to meet his father's eyes. When did he get so... Small?

"I need to go..." Angel muttered. He pushed past his father, but then Mr. Callahan gripped his wrist and held it in a vice-like grip. "Let go.." The protest came out before he even thought to stop himself. And he paid for it before he could regret. Mr. Callahan's wedding ring reopened his split lip. He thought now, as he'd thought when Othello had given it to him, that this was a small, small recompense for hitting him.

Angel tried to shoulder past, but his father squeezed hard Angel had to struggle to stay on his feet. The more he tried to escape that grasp, the more pain his father caused him. He started to panic as his mind refused to start up again. Then, all Angel could do was remember Othello's voice: "If you can't handle it, walk away. If you can't walk, run. If you can't run, then you fight!" No one had ever _told_him to fight before. It was the green light he never knew he was waiting for.

"You can't keep me here..." Angel began, he was going to continue by saying that he had other places to go now... but now that he looked, he realized there was more to it than that. He doesn't have to take this from such a bitter, irrational man. Mr. Callahan was too small, too drunk, and... He didn't belong to this man anymore! The realization allowed the voice in his heart to to cut through the trauma-induced numbness.

Then fight!

Then FIGHT!!

THEN FIGHT!!!

"Get the fuck OFF ME!" Angel lurched forward, suddenly. His entire bulk surged all at once, and he drove his forehead into Mr. Callahan's nose. He felt the bone break, almost heard it even. Angel saw the blood trickle out. He knew that no one could resist the instinctive urge to cover his face after taking a blow like that.

So then, why did Mr. Callahan's grip only tighten...?

Angel looked up and saw his father's face twisted into a hideous snarl. Mr. Callahan wasn't Mr. Callahan at that moment. He was rage and hate in the flesh. Angel watched as he raised his fist and knew he was to get the beating of his life.

FIGHT!!!

Angel reacted without thinking. His fists were suddenly flying, pummeling Mr. Callahan's face and head. Each blow hurt his hands, but satisfied him a little more. He didn't need to take this! He_didn't_ need to fear his father. Now he was free! Free to be with--

A single high note pierced the air and Angel froze. The sound dropped in pitch and Angel knew the voice... It was his mother... It was the lullaby she sang to him as a baby... It always... Put him... right... too................

Angel slumped over, unconscious. Mr. Callahan scrabbled out from under his hulk of a child. Mrs. Callahan scooped him up with inhuman ease, cradling him protectively, just as Mr. Callahan made a lunge for him. "Fucking RUNT!"

_ "No, Jason!" _ Mrs. Callahan spoke firmly, the only word any human would recognize was Jason. _ "Remember what this child means..." _

The being now knows as Jason Callahan calmed, scowling at his wife's host. _ "Yes, my love..." _

* * *

Othello woke up with a name on his lips. He tried hard to remember it... but it soon slipped away like a dream one couldn't quite remember...

"Kaard... Chirp... Chip? Soda...?" He screwed his eyes shut as a dull pain throbbed behind his left eye. "Fuck...!"

He reached for Angel only to find that his boyfriend was long gone. He opened his eyes and looked out the window. The fog outside was thicker this morning. He could almost imagine shapes and features in the swirling mists. I think... I'll run again...

Ten minutes later he was suited up and stretching in the chilly filtered sunshine. He climbed up to the roof and was off running. It felt so good to run alone. He felt utterly free and weightless, and when he jumped with all of his might, he felt like he was flying. The burn in his extremities reached up to his head and he felt it as a euphoria... not unlike the high he got off of Angel...

He was so wrapped up in his runner's high that he didn't notice where he was going. He found himself on the roofs of a neighbor hood he didn't immediately recognize. He looked back... And saw that his path was awash in mist so thick he couldn't see through it.

In that haze he could just make out tiny dark shapes. He stepped forward and looked closer at the things. It was Them. Spirits. Of every shape and form, but none were bigger than a small dog or a large rat. They were basking in the thickened fog. Some crawled along the ground, and it was a moment before he realized that They were licking something. They hadn't noticed him yet and their presence here had Othello curious; they'd never grouped like this before. He was nervous because of the numbers, sure, but the small ones never gave him any trouble before he went to Norn's club.

He stopped at the edge of the thick gloom. He stooped and watched the closest; at first it looked like a bird, but instead of a head a ball of light bobbed above its shoulders and instead of breasts and tummy, there was a disturbingly doll-like face. A long black tongue slurped at the ground... What is it lapping at...?

The Thing stopped lapping and turned to face Othello. Its eyes were closed and Othello questioned how it could see him. But indeed, see him it must have. It hopped towards him and leaned back, turning its face to him. Othello lifted his hand towards it, hoping to pet it, just as he would to a dog. He didn't even get close before the tongue lashed out and wrapped around his hand. Othello grit his teeth to keep from shuddering. The tongue slid away from his skin, leaving it moist with clear, oily spit. The tongue retreated and a second later, the Things lips parted in what might've been a lovely smile on a child.

"Hello, little one..." Othello whispered, as the Thing licked his hand again. "What... Are you all doing here...?"

The tongue withdrew but when it opened Its mouth, It spat a series of chattering chirps. Othello chuckled. It was always the same with the little ones: they seemed to speak, but in a language human mouths could never hope to mimic.

Remembering that made him remember Kamaitachi... Why could THAT make human speech? Othello was pulled out of his thoughts by the tongue lapping further up his arm, dampening the fabric of his absorbent shirt. He jerked his arm back and he saw the other little Spirits watching him. They looked at him with pleading, hungry eyes.

"They need not take... What can be willingly spared..."

Othello started to shiver, chuckling a little. His curiosity was beating away his apprehension. They're just licking a little sweat... Right...? What harm can that do?

He spread his arms and nodded.

The Bird-Thing shrilled happily and every little spirit present surged to surround Othello. Then, slowly, cautiously, they approached and began to rub what must be their equivalent to "tongues" against him. It never hurt, though each tongue brought a different texture; rough, soft, fat, prickly, cool, dry... It all made his skin tingle. He giggled at the tickling, but under that something in his head purred: These little ones, it felt like they were worshiping him. Somehow, it felt nostalgic...

But then the little Spirits flowed away, seemingly all taken on the same breeze. The cries were cheerful and raucous. The doll-faced-bird chittered happily at him face to face, then, instead of flying off with the others, it flew down and called to him from the roof of a house a few properties away. Othello had long ago caught his breath and easily flew to the other house in a few leaps and maybe a few dozen dashes. He tried to shake the burn from his muscles; it was a burn that was soon going to be a near-crippling ache. Christ... how far have I come? He stretched with the sound of popping joints.

"Get the FUCK OFF ME!!!" It was Angel! Othello pressed his ear to the roof, listening hard. He heard the sounds of a fight. Shit! His dad's beating him? Now!? Othello scrabbled down from the roof and he looked through the windows of the ground floor. It took him a moment to realize that since he had heard Angel through the ceiling, then what he had heard would have taken place in the attic or on the second floor. He was about to start trying doors when he heard movement inside. He ducked and peered through a window and saw the creatures that lived in Angel's house.

They looked perfectly human at first, but it only took a moment to see the crystalline protrusions jutting from under their skin. The male looked like Angel, but smaller. Despite this, his more compact frame was layered thick with muscle. What stood out about Mr. Callahan's form was that he was coated in spiky, plate-like crystal, primarily around his head, back, and arms. Black flames crackled between the plates. The armor was the same sort of black-purple gemstone that was currently lodged in Angel's heart.

The female, Mrs. Callahan, was clearly the source of Angel's height. Crystals seemed to drop from her eyes like tears, and flow from her hips and shoulders like iced-water. A large crystalline horn sprung from the back of her head and two smaller ones crowned her temples. Where has Othello seen that pale, silver-blue sheen in her Bogey...?

Othello watched as the two creatures carried an unconscious Angel into the living room, petrified. "Oh shit.... Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!!" He gasped in a high whisper. He backed away from the window just as Mr. Callahan turned and saw him. The older man ground his teeth in rage and ran for the door. In the 45 seconds it took him to land in the yard, Othello was just lifting himself onto a roof across the street. Othello didn't once look back as he hurdled through the mists.

Othello arrived at school early, an hour before classes started. He sought out Mr. Ames. Enough was enough.

"Good morning." Ames greeted.

"Ames... Sir..." Othello started, not sure how to continue.

"Something's happened..." Ames straightened.

"It's Angel..." Othello said shakily. This was harder than he'd thought, asking for help where They were concerned... It never ended well for him in the past. He took a deep breath and tried to continue. "His parents... They're doing something to him, I know it..."

"We already know that his father abuses him," Ames said slowly.

Othello immediately felt a rush of frustration. People ALWAYS explained him away! "No! Ames... They're possessed! They're worse off than Angel is!" He never felt so alone that in moments like this. He desperately wished to have Angel at his side right now...

"Tell..." Ames started slowly. "Are you sure...?" He stared into Othello's eyes.

""Yeah, I'm fucking sure!" Othello said, trying to swallow down his humiliation. He felt eight years old again. "Do something!"

"Get a grip, Othello." Ames' eyes turned steely. "If his parents are as in bad shape as you say, then they've been that way for awhile. We can't rush in there for a slap-dash exorcism. You need to know what you're dealing with."

"What... What I'M dealing with!?" Othello was dumbstruck. "Why not you? You could do something, right?"

"I could, but I won't."

Othello gaped. "WHY!?"

"Lower your voice!" Ames snapped as early-bird students began to trickle into the room. "Because it is both difficult and dangerous on the host to drag a spirit out of them. I may be strong enough to handle one - MAYBE, but NOT both."

"Then... Why ME!? How?!" Othello hissed through gritted teeth.

"It's Friday," Ames began. "Meet me after school. We'll begin training you then." He looked p at Othello who balked in rage and added: "I'll handle it personally. Not Norn."

Othello felt only a little better about that, and was ready to say as much, when Angel shouldered his way into the room. Othello was surprised to see him at all... and was terrified that small, second shard now jutted from one of his shoulders. He stepped forward and reached for Angel.

Angel jerked back like a frightened animal. "Don't TOUCH me!"

Othello jerked his own hand away. "A-angel...?"

Angel lowered his eyes and shoved past, taking a seat in a far corner. Othello sat in his own and rested his chin on his folded forearms.

"Trouble in para-" Neil started, but then his jaw dropped. "Shit, dude! You're crying?!"

"Am I?" He wiped his face on his sleeve. "Hm... Look at that..."

If he hadn't put his head down at that moment, he would have seen Jean and Neil cross death-glares with Angel.

* * *

Angel glared back. He hated them. He hated them for so obviously loving him. They didn't know him. How could they? Did those two know what he sees? Do they know the pain Othello goes through any better than he does? Do THEY have what it takes to be Othello's outlet for that suffering?

"Fuck you both..." Angel growled under his breath. The doll-girl's eyes widened, then she whispered to her nerd-boyfriend, whose scowl relaxed into something cold; something scary. Like a robot. Angel smiled. If only they knew...

Angel watched Othello from afar; 'afar', of course, being from across whatever room they were in. He didn't know what to do. He remembered last night with more disgust and shame than he'd ever experienced in his seventeen years... He didn't even notice it until he went... home...?

When did I go home...? He tried to remember... but there was a blank between his orgasm and his leaving for school. These blank pages occurred every now and then, but his parents didn't think much of it...

"Dude!" Angel was surprised he didn't jump. It was Eli, sitting next to him. "Is... um, how you doin', man...?" He reminded Angel of a kicked dog.

Angel tried to answer but Eli was just another streak of runny shit in the sucking toilet drain of his life right now. "Fuck off..." He whispered.

"Shit... What's he done to you...?" Eli drew back, wide-eyed.

Angel chuckled. "He... Fucked me..." He took a deep breath and continued, " ...and it. Was. Incredible."

Eli flushed. "Whoa..." He looked at Othello's back and gulped. "So... um... I mean... Now what?"

Angel chewed his tongue, gnawing at the topmost layer of flesh on the tip, while he thought. Then he turned to Eli. "Eli, I'm gay."

Angel was surprised that Eli didn't jump out of his seat; though he looked like he REALLY wanted to. "You mean you were _before_you fucked Montague? Or after?"

Somewhere, Angel knew that coming out was supposed to have been harder, or more dramatic, but right now there was nothing more insignificant to him. "Before.... Long time before... We done?"

Eli blinked then refocused. "Dude... No..." Eli pulled away as Ames stopped in mid-sentence. It was a moment before Ames turned away and a moment more before Eli would dare speak again. "So... We cool, right, man?" Eli didn't move, but looked out of the corner of his eye at Angel. "This, uh, gay-thing means we're cool after, you know, what happened with the Duke, right?"

"No, this means I want you to piss the fuck off!" Angel growled. "God, you hate fags, remember?"

"Angel... You don't count..." Eli looked wounded. "It's... still you in there?" Eli mumbled, "It's not like... well you'll start... um, acting like some glitter-queen, right?"

"Does it matter? Not like you could stop me." Angel forced a little lisp into the sentence.

It took a longer time to answer, and Angel filled the gape in time staring at Othello. Eventually, however, Eli did answer; "Maybe I never hated fags all that much... Annoying as they are... Maybe I was just following your lead..."

"Bullshit, you always have it out for me." Angel muttered. "Any chance you get you try to out-do me. You joined the team because I fucked up tryouts. You argue with me until I slap you down, and this last time, you were going to come at me if you beat Othello..."

Eli didn't know how to answer the latter two, but the first one came out right away: "I did it to rep you, man... It was fucked up. Everyone knew you were the best. If Carson hadn't... If he hadn't shoved you you'd be on the team instead of me... So I go out there and try to play like you..."

Angel sat, stunned. "So... All those times you've been benched...?"

Eli only cleared his throat.

Angel went back to watching Othello, not even bothering to process this.

"Listen..." Eli started up again. "I was wondering... Is it... I mean, what's it like...?"

"Huh?" Angel almost successfully forgot he was there.

"You know, fucking a dude?"

"Why're you asking me; I've never done that."

"What?" Eli scowled. "You just said you fucked him!"

"No..." Angel took a deep breath, silencing the bitter things in his head and heart, "What I said was he fucked me..."

"Dude..." Eli let the image sink in, but then quickly shook it off.

"You still curious?" Angel grinned.

"No. Just answer me this..." Eli said. "Will it happen again?"

Angel knew what he wanted the answer to be, but...

"Nope..."

* * *

"... It'll probably be a one time thing..." Othello said, getting annoyed. He walked with the other two toward the cafeteria.

"It should have been a 'no time' thing!" Neil grumbled, walking ahead of the other two. "Seriously, what were you thinking?"

"He was THINKING..." Jean interjected, "...That a taming a bully off the end of his dick would be all kinds of hot... And now he's thinking that getting to do kinkier shit is going to be even better..."

"Kinkier shit!?" Neil gasped. "Wake UP man! He's going to kill you to keep that on the DL!!!"

Othello snapped his fingers and as if on cue, Jean went on: "Pfft! I bet Angel WANTS to be Tell's dick-sleeve! BOOM!"

Neil snapped his own fingers and Jean went on. "Of course his peanut-sized brain will probably serve Othello another ass-beatin' before THAT happens!"

Othello snapped his own fingers again. "Bet Othello beats then tags that ass this time though... Oh, yeah: BOOM!" She added, as if almost forgetting.

Neil snapped his fingers once more. When Jean was silent, the boys looked at her expectantly.

"What?" She demanded looking from one to the other with deceptively wide eyes, "I'm tapped." She shrugged.

Othello smirked. "Thanks for cheering me up, Jeanie."

"I did what, now?" She looked up at him, having forgotten what she'd just said, as was her usual way.

"You spoke the future and won his argument for him!!!" Neil yelled in frustration.

"Oh, so now I see the future?" Jean scowled at both of her friends. She hated this 'running joke' the two seemed to have. She felt like the ass of it somehow... "I WAS usually only right about passed things..."

The two guys stopped and glanced at each other. "Hmm... That is a good point..."

Are her 'powers' growing too, now? Othello had a sudden thought: Like MINE are...?!

They WERE growing... It was taking some getting used to; thinking of his abilities as something other than some ailment, but he if he did, that was the only explanation! The spirits are reacting more to him because he AND his powers are maturing!

'Maturing'... Othello had to remind himself that he was about to turn eighteen in a few weeks... Why does that feel so damn important...?

He scanned the lunchroom for Angel, but didn't find him. Instead, he spotted the duke headed his way.

"Oh, here comes this bitch..." Jean muttered under her breath. Neil nodded and licked his braces under pursed lips.

"Stuff it, Raggedy-Angry." Duke said in a clear, election-winning voice. "Or maybe you'd like me to stuff it for you?"

The Conquer-Beast gave Othello the image of the Duke, bound with his mouth "stuffed"...

"Dude..." Neil nudged Othello's ribs.

Othello cleared his throat and put the image aside. "What can I do for you?" Or to you? He couldn't keep from smirking.

"You can fight your own goddamn battles, chicken-shit," His charming smile ran counter to the senior's words, but the look n his eye was dead-serious.

Othello gulped as he felt panic lance up his spine. "Oh, certainly!" he said, stowing the anxiety. He knew the Duke wouldn't start any shit in school; not without tarnishing his good name. "But not here, I suppose?"

"Why not?" Duke asked flippantly. The two thugs behind him tensed as f ready to lunge forward.

But Othello felt t in his nose: Neither of the two wanted to have a go at him. "I bet you've been talking to... Angel?" There! That slight twitch in one! And the other actually whimpered! "Hmm... Maybe? No... I bet you spoke to Eli, right?" There it was again. It was sharp and sweet and it made Othello's blood fizz sweetly: Fear. Othello was growing adept at picking out that sweet, sticky scent. But under that... where was it...? There, the brute on the left! No way...! Othello grinned and stepped forward. "Bret, right?"

Bret stepped back. Othello bared his teeth in a grin that made Bret take a second step back. "What do you think?" He had to keep his voice low to keep from giggling. It came out instead as a purr. "Can you do worse to me than I could to you...?"

Bret scrabbled for a second before he turned and walked away. Othello heard him mutter under his breath: "Psycho..."

Othello pouted, feeling the Conquer-Beast's disappointment. But then turned to the other bully at the Duke's side? "Well, WE can still dick around, right?"

"I'm out." The other bully said before hurrying away.

"Dammit." Both the Duke and Othello muttered. Then the two looked at each other: Othello with a smirk, and Duke with sneer.

"As I said:" Othello raised eyebrows and paced around the Duke before standing next to Jean and Neil. "Unless YOU'D like to 'fight your own goddamn battles'...?" Othello paused a moment as if awaiting a response. "No? Then I win." Othello turned and walked away to get food, leaving Duke to stare at his back with seething hate.

"That was amazing!" Jean sad softly. Othello almost felt bad she wasn't the squealing type; he felt it would have been appropriate.

They were at the tail of the line by the time they realized Neil wasn't behind them. He was glaring at them as if they were body-snatchers wearing their skins. Without a word, Neil tromped out of the lunchroom.

Othello didn't spend as much time as he perhaps should have fretting over Neil's odd behavior. He finished his lunch and continued his day. He was feeling odd. Something about the air had changed. He shook himself of that thought right away. All this "spirit-talk" was making him new-age-y.

He spent the rest of the school day fidgeting, thinking about what was supposed to happen next. Dealng with norn was not an option. He couldn't learn anything while she toyed with him. He settled his nerves with the bell-charm, ringing it incessantly, much to the annoyance of every teacher and many students who shared his class. No one bothered him beyond eroding looks. Othello watched them and smiled, ringing the bell more. Don't bother the crazies, boys and girls...

The final bell rang, the sound was piercing after the chuckling, gentler chime of the jingle bell. Othello rose, grabbed his things and immediately returned to Ames' room. Ames was awaiting him, already to depart.

"You look ready to bolt." Ames said looking at him.

"I am." Othello put bluntly. "This is it, Ames... I'd rather go back to the... the..." Othello wanted to say the asylum, but he knew he'd kill himself if he ever had to see the inside of that place ever again. "Don't fuck with me, Ames."

Ames nodded, then stepped out into the hall with. Angel stood there, as if waiting for them.

"Angel!" Othello said, stopping short. Was what Jean said happening? So soon?

"Othello..." Angel muttered, with that lost look again. "I hate... And I hate you... but, hate that I need you so bad... Why can you do these things to me?"

"Angel," Othello sighed, "I'm on my way to some after school studies."

"Those magic ones?"

Othello laughed. "Yeah. Those ones..." Angel glanced at Ames, with plain distrust. Othello sighed. "I want to make this make sense to you. And I will. Later." Othello looked at the two shard-bogies sticking out of Angel. "I'll make good on my promise to fix you..."

"Fight me!" Angel yelled suddenly. When passerby turned and stared, Angel lowered hs voice. "That's all you need to do. Stop fucking with my brain and take me on."

Othello smiled. "Will you still want me to be your Man after that?"

"Of course... But... but at least I'll know then what I can be to you." Angel stopped and thought for a moment, but then he seemed to relax as f something just made sense.

"But not on school grounds?" Ames huffed. Othello grimaced; he thought they were out of ear-shot of the other man.

"Of course, you don't need to be privy to our foreplay." Othello smirked. "Angel, I'll meet you n a week... Can you hold out that long?"

"A week? I won't get to see you for a week?" He raised his large hands as if to take Othello's shoulders, but then they curled into fists and he lowered them, nodding. "A week. Yeah. I'll be ready."

"Ballsy..." Ames muttered as Angel lumbered away.

"He's really not so tough..." Othello bluffed lightly.

"No, that you think you'll be back in a week..." Ames glanced down at him. "You didn't think that this'd be so simple that you could Awaken in a week, did you?"

"Thought you'd discuss things with me and then I'd go home later on tonight." Othello frowned.

"My dear Mr. Montague... No... Kaard, as you will soon be known, you won't be gong home anytime soon." Ames said softly, "Are you sure you want to try this?"

Othello didn't even bother to think about it: "This has to happen, Ames. I'm done being crazy..."

"Attaboy...." He clapped Othello on the shoulder and the two walked out of the building.

Angel watched Othello's back, and felt abandoned.

One week... He reminded himself. One week... Why are we fighting in a week? Why are we fighting at all? Why does thinking of that day feel so good? Why does thinking of not being with him for so long feel so NOT-good? Why can't I just tell you I love you without feeling so much... Shame...? Why can't I look at those with you without feeling so much... Rage...?

Othello... Come back and make shit right again...

"Angel Callahan..." Angel looked around and spotted Neil Chakhar. Othello's closest male friend.

Are they they just friends...? The sudden notion that some other dude was vying for his affections was infuriating. "What the fuck you want, metal-mouth?"

Neil rolled up the sleeve of his baggy sweatshirt and flexed. It was almost as if the muscle tripled in size and density right before Angel's eyes. Then Neil reached over and broke the door-handle from the mens room clean off with a sharp snap. Neil then tossed the scrap-metal into the trash. "I don't know and I don't care what it is you've done to Othello, but I suggest you step off, got it?"

"... Can't... Do that..." Angel said, trying and failing to keep his voice from trembling. "I l-l-l.... I love him... And I th-think... He loves me... I h-hope--"

"Othello doesn't 'love' you bimbo." Neil said through gritted teeth. "And you wouldn't know love if it bit your dick off."

"He fucked me--" Angel started.

"To see if he could! You were a conquest, you fuck-slut! And now he's done with you. Take a hint." Neil laughed. "Why else would he leave you hanging a week?" He heard that?

He idly picked at a lock of greasy black hair.

"Fuck you! You keep running those dentures of yours and I really will feed them to you, I don't care if your Othello's friend!" Angel jabbed a finger into Neil's chest.

Neil didn't flinch or react. Angel feared for a moment that he was back in the dream, except it was Neil instead of Othello.

"Angel," Neil said as he took hold of the finger, "Listen closely: I've been to one of Ames' 'after-school-lessons."

There was a pop, and while Angel tried to figure out where it had come from, a sickening sensation seeped up his arm and into his belly, making him queasy. A moment later, he remembered the feeling as the inescapable pain of a broken bone. Neil had broken the digit.

"When Othello comes back, he'll be better. Just... better. In ways that will terrify and alienate simple, worthless people like you. For your own good: Leave him alone."

"I wish I could!" Angel said through gritted teeth. The pain in his finger was nothing. He'd been through far worse. He was going through worse now. "Fucking get it through that skull: I love him!"

Neil's eyes widened. "No, you're hooked on him! You're like some junkie!" Neil shook his head before backing away. "Get help, man! Seriously!" He turned and trotted down the hall.

Angel watched him leave before kicking a locker, denting it.