Fallen: Synn

74 Years Later

"I thought you were visiting every ten years," Castiel frowned, flipping the pancake in the frying pan. He was dressed, as had become usual, in his boxers and the frilly apron Bastien had gotten him for his birthday nearly a decade ago. Castiel never cooked in anything else. "You're early."
"By six years," Synn pointed out, crunching into a slice of bacon. Myurin yawned from the other side of the table, nodding in agreement. Bastien was MIA, as he always was when Jeriah came to visit. No matter what, Bastien still couldn't forgive Jeriah, and their relationship had just seemed to go downhill after the banishment. Synn wondered if they would ever make up. He doubted it.
"I have a bad feeling," Jeriah told them ominously.
Castiel paused, but flicked the hair that had fallen out of its clip over his shoulder. "What kind of feeling?"
Synn had tensed along with his brothers. Jeriah's "feelings" were never far off the mark. In fact, they were normally spot on. That, unfortunately, always meant that something bad was going to happen. Considering they were already banished, that could only mean that they were at risk of losing their immortality.
"The kind that doesn't bode well," Jeriah answered. He sighed and leaned on the table, lacing his fingers together. Even after all these years, Synn was surprised that Jeriah still looked as young and frightening as he did. He hadn't changed at all. "You seem to be doing well this decade. I see you're famous."
Castiel grinned. "We've been famous before. But you should see the humans this time. They gone insane when they see us."
Jeriah's eyes narrowed in worry, but Myurin was quick to add, "We're singers, Jeriah. We're not affecting the humans negatively and we haven't exposed ourselves."
"We've moved every fifteen years just to avoid suspicion," Synn put in, grimacing. He hated moving. In any era it was just a pain in the ass. "It fucking sucks."
"These past four years have been fun," Castiel countered. "Debuting has been a blast."
"The nineties were great too," Myurin purred. "Oooh, and the forties were fun--war and all."
Jeriah was frowning again. "You always push the boundaries. Isn't one of your curses secrecy?" Their curse bands gave a slight burn as the word rolled off his lips. "You gain prestige and glory in nearly every era. You have enough money to last you one hundred lifetimes on Earth. Why must you keep searching for more?"
Castiel sighed, taking the pan off the burner and turning off the stove. His voice was cold and unwelcoming as he addressed his brother. Synn resisted the urge to duck and cover. "Because you took away our home. We are only looking for a way to pacify that and pass the time. It's your fault. If you had wanted to torment us, you're doing a damn good job."
Jeriah stood, pushing away from the table. His voice was just as cold as Castiel's had been and Synn hoped they didn't fight here. He was tired of cleaning up the houses they've destroyed, and the top floor of a hotel wasn't going to be any easier. "I didn't want to do anything. You forced my hand--all of you. What was I supposed to do? You were walking all over my authority. I couldn't let that continue. Obsidia would have risen against me and then everything would have gone to hell."
"This is hell," Synn pointed out sharply. "Or have you forgotten?"
Jeriah straightened to his full height, seeming to shrink the apartment. "I live with my decision every day, just like you, Synn. Believe me or don't, but I miss you.
"I'll see you in six years. Please heed my warning."
Synn tensed, struggling to not throw himself after Jeriah as the air shifted around them. A pocket formed behind Jeriah, the Lines opening, discoloring the air and making it waver, looking just this side of out of place. Synn gripped the edge of the kitchen table as Jeriah stepped back into the gate, disappearing. Going back home. Even if he tried, Synn knew that jumping after his eldest brother would do no good. Bastien had tried once and the curse had blocked him, pulling him short and slamming into the nearest wall, breaking the stone. That was over thirty years ago, and none of them had tried to do so again. The consequences hadn't been pretty and there was no point anyway. They were stuck here until their sentence was finished.
Twenty-six more years, Synn thought. Only twenty-six and then we can go home.

****************************************************

Bastien was out and about. He knew Jeriah was in the apartment and he did not want to be there. So he was enjoying the attention walking the open streets of the city got him. His face--next to his brothers', of course--was everywhere. There were billboards, posters and electronic signs with their advertisements all over the city. The technology of this era was amazing compared to just twenty years ago, and still it was developing. Bastien wondered when humans were going to stop making new things. Before he had even got used to CD players, humans had already invented the iPod. Not that he didn't appreciate the iPod. In fact, he loved the hell out of the thing and took his everywhere, but humans were creating a new version almost every year and it was getting ridiculous.
He supposed that's the way humans were, though; selfish and always searching for the next best thing, never satisfied with what they had. It was probably why he got along so damn well with them. It was like looking at a mass reflection of himself and he loved it. The attention they showered on him was the best feeling in the world. He still had to go home alone at night, but that was okay. Just sex was fine, for now. Besides, he wasn't looking for anything permanent. Fuck, no. That would be signing his death-wish. Literally. He wasn't about to risk that. So just sex was fine.
However, right now, that wasn't what he was looking for. Nope, right now, he just wanted to kill time until that stubborn bastard, Jeriah, left. Since that was the case, he was looking for something different, something new.
He turned down an alley, ignoring the cellphones clicking pictures of him as he walked or the whispers that he might be who he actually was. Bastien stood out even in disguise, and he certainly didn't mind, but it was his sense of style he supposed that attracted the most attention. He pulled the hood of his black and red checkered sweater closer and linked his arms behind his head, watching his breath fan out before him. It wasn't quite cold enough for snow yet, but it was getting there even though it was only September. Unlike Castiel, he liked the cold, so he'd left his jacket open to reveal his long-sleeved knit shirt underneath. Snow, he had to admit, was his favorite thing here. They didn't have it in Obsidia.
Bastien sighed, upset that he'd reminded himself of home. Earth wasn't so bad, but Obsidia was . . . well, it was Obsidia. Nothing topped that.
With a jingle of the massive amount of chains hanging off his dark-neon-blue skinny jeans, Bastien clumped his way into Voice, the blast of music hitting him like an old lover. This place was like a third home to him--the first being Obsidia and the second the apartment he shared with his brothers. The sounds, the smells and the dancing excited him more than anything ever could. It was just like being on stage when he came here, but instead, everyone could dance with him, he didn't have to play drums and he didn't have to worry about doing something outrageous. Here, the more outrageous, the better. Fuck, he loved this place.
"Bastien!" the bartender called over the noise, waving from the crowd of people and people crowding the bar. "Good to see ya!"
"Marrissa!" Bastien called back, squeezing his way through the people to get in front of her. "Always a pleasure." He grabbed her hand and kissed it. She wasn't the prettiest human and her years of hard work showed on her thirty-something face and greying hair, but Bastien liked her. "Got anything new for me?"
She frowned at him fondly. "You devil. If I were twenty years younger, I'd teach you a thing or two."
Bastien smirked, leaning on the bar. "If only you knew," he muttered. "Hold me a drink, would you? I'm gonna dance."
"Gimme your jacket, then." She held out her hand expectantly. "You know you'll lose it otherwise."
Bastien grinned, slipping off the coat and feeling the chill of the night slip through the knitting and to his skin. Marrissa never heated the place. It got hot enough without it. "Remember to hold that drink."
"Yeah, yeah." She waved him away, turning back to her customers.
Bastien disappeared into the crowd, soaking up the laser lights, the thumping music (thankfully, Marrissa kept the bass to a minimum), and the people. To them, he was just another body on the dance floor, but soon, someone would recognize him. When that happened, he would be the center of attention. When it became obvious that he was the star, the DJ would start playing his music. That was when things would get epic and it would become a party. For now, he would bask in the anonymity and flirt with the guys and girls pressing against him.
He was there for nearly two hours before the last of the humans had left. The DJ was packing up his equipment and Marrissa was cleaning glasses. Knowing that she needed the help and that it was just wrong not to offer, Bastien hopped off the stool at the table he'd snagged and slid across the bar, grabbed a cloth and, after pushing up his sleeves, immersed his hands in the sink of water, starting to wash dishes.
"Kiddo," Marrissa reprimanded, coming over to dry the dishes he cleaned. "I keep telling you that you don't have to do this."
Bastien shrugged. "You give me free drinks. The hell else am I supposed to repay you?"
Bastien did not like having debts. Not that he really did with Marrissa anyway, since he sneaked her money to cover his drinks and everyone's tips each week.
"You bring in customers." She grinned, blowing a strand of hair that had escaped her tight ponytail out of her face. "Did you know that this is known as your hot spot? I'm getting so much business I've had to hire more staff just to make sure half the people in this place are served."
He grinned. "Glad I could help."
She snorted. "Kiddo, you're everything."
Bastien's heart swelled, but he quashed the feeling. Marrissa was the mother he'd always wanted, but she was reaching her limit, he could feel it. He could sense the sickness in her, and wondered when she would break the news to him. He had a feeling she wouldn't. If she didn't, then he would confront her. Sometime. Just not now.
"Where's Jim?" Bastien asked instead.
Jim was her brother and part-owner of Voice. He was a worrisome older brother and Basiten liked him only because he treated Marrissa well. He really didn't get along well with family members, for some reason. They always thought he was a threat to their sister or daughter or whatever. They were right, of course. Given the opportunity, he would taint every girl he could, but nowadays it was getting a bit repetitive. Jim, though, was okay. at least he didn't look at Bastien like he was some bug. In fact, he was a lot like Castiel in a lot of ways, and that suited Bastien just fine.
"He's got the night off," she smiled. "He needed it."
"And you couldn't give it to him on a Monday instead of a Friday?"
She shrugged. "I'm just lucky we close early on Fridays."
"Still doing that, huh?"
"Obviously."
Bastien smirked, pulling out the plug and shaking his hands as the water drained. Marrissa threw a hand towel at him and put the last cup away. "You good, Mar? I'm going to head out."
"Don't want that drink, kiddo?"
He grabbed his jacket and flashed her a smile over his shoulder. "Nah. Maybe some other time."
"You still look eighteen to me, anyway," she teased.
"That's not what my birth certificate says," he countered, pushing out the door and into the late night cold.
The air hit him like a bucket of water and he took in a deep breath, looking up at the sky. From this alley, the city lights were a little more blocked and you could actually catch a glimpse of the stars. Unfortunately, Voice's bright blue sign diminished them. There was also the sign of the other shop ending the alley called Kiln. What that was, he didn't know, but it obviously closed long before eleven rolled around. If it was a club, then it was a lame one.
Turning to head towards the mouth of the alley, Bastien paused, his ears pricking. He looked over his shoulder just as the door to Kiln opened. A girl, small and thin, was struggling with what seemed like a large box of something obviously heavy and cumbersome.
Sighing, Bastien tied his jacket around his waist and went over to her. She was balancing the box with her thigh, her heeled foot in the air, as she tried to lock the door to Kiln. Bastien didn't hesitate to grab the box.
"Here," he offered, "let me help you with that."
"Wait!" she protested. "Do--"
Obviously knocked off balance by the sudden shift in weight, she tumbled backwards, the key breaking off in the lock as she struggled to keep her footing. Bastien reached out to grab her, but the box made him fall short. He let out a shout of warning, but she'd already tumbled backward, her arms flailing, her keys flying and her head landing solidly against the brick wall of the alley. Bastien winced as she thumped to the floor, not moving and obviously knocked out.
"Fuck," he swore, stooping to touch her. "Hey." He shook her shoulder, but she didn't move. She was still alive, he could tell, but he could smell blood. "Shit."
Shuffling his phone from his pocket, he dialed Myurin. He would still be up, no doubt reading or watching the History Channel like the old demon he was.
Thankfully, he picked up on the second ring. "Bastien?" his voice came through the receiver. "What's wrong? You never call unless something happens."
Bastien frowned, his brows drawing together. "Fuck you, bro." He sighed. "Look, I was helping this girl and she got knocked out. Can you bring the car?"
"Why not fly her?" he asked, his voice distracted. "It's dark enough."
"No can do," Bastien argued. "She comes with baggage."
"What? A dog?"
"Nah. A box full of . . . Uh, well, I don't know exactly, but it's he-eavy. I can't carry a human and a box of stuff at the same time."
Myurin sighed. "Got it. You're at Voice, right? I'll be there in ten." He hung up and Bastien was left with a stranger and a box of weirdness.
He sat on the ground, putting the box down and moved the girl into his lap. He'd learned early on that humans got cold real quick and that was not good when you were injured. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and marveled at how tiny she was. Her long, dark, wavy hair was soft and seemed to be the biggest thing on her, though she had big enough boobs to get even Synn's attention, but she was thin as a rail even if she was evenly proportioned. He couldn't see her face with her head hung the way it was, but he had a feeling she was going to be easy on the eyes. It would be interesting to find out what she was like in bed. That is, if he had a thing for the injured, damsel-in-distress type.
It was exactly ten minutes later that Myurin showed up in their unmarked sports car, just like he said, shining the lights down the alley so he could see. "It's not even twelve yet," he said. "Why didn't you get Marrissa to help?"
Bastien gave him a look, handing him the box and picking up the female himself as he followed Myurin to the car. "No can do. She's closing up, and this is my mess."
"Our mess now," he grunted, shoving the box into the front seat and heading around the car to the driver's side. "You're in the back with her."
Bastien smirked. "Could be worse." He climbed into the back, careful not to hurt her or jostle her too much. When he was situated, he let out a breath. "'Kay. Good to go. Let's get the fuck outta here."
Myurin grinned, shoving the car into gear. "Yes. Let's. The quicker we get home, the quicker you get to explain this to the others."
Bastien glared at his brother from the rear-view mirror. "And what are you going to do in the meantime?"
Myurin shifted gears again, going faster. "I'm going to enjoy the show."
Bastien let his head flop back onto the leather interior. He couldn't blame Myurin for just wanting to watch, he supposed. After all, seventy-four years of banishment was taking its toll on all of them. Though they had all lived nearly quadruple that, it was getting harder and harder to remember anything about Obsidia. It was also getting harder to find any type of entertainment to fill the days. Hell, they couldn't even get drunk off the alcohol here. But to remember . . . . If they didn't have an annual "Obsidia Day" every couple years or so, Bastien was sure that they would all forget, and he knew that his brothers wanted to remember more than he did. He didn't know if he could measure that kind of sadness even with his language.