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[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]
Part I (extremely NSFW) (it's very gross) (I'm sorry about everything)
Part II (NSFW post)
IT'S BACK, BABY
Imagine, if you will, that Drift is not a robot, but a gratuitously tropey half-demon hunter roaming around Boston killing demons in order to atone for his as a, well, killer for the demons. For all intents and purposes you can just assume this takes place in the same universe as Buffy (or something like it) for the sake of using a conveniently existing lore that I already really like. Maybe with an extra side of Kabbalah. whatever
HERE ARE SOME FACTS ABOUT DEMON HUNTER AU DRIFT:
- Drift is half-demon on his father's side. He never really knew his dad, idk he like fucked off or got slayed at some point when Drift was young and he was mostly raised by his mother, who died of cancer when he was a teenager. It was real sad and Drift had no money and got pretty promptly kicked out of his mom's apartment shortly after her death. This made Drift a TRAGIC TEEN ORPHAN who was homeless on the streets for a while, and given his ~UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA~ it wasn't really very long before he fell in with a bad crowd. A demon crowd
- Tragic teen orphan Drift got into drugs, specifically orihalcon, a potent substance derived from the refined blood of certain types of demons, because regular human drugs don't quite cut it for him. He was pretty knee-deep in the local demon community, partly because he didn't fit in anywhere else, partly because some of them knew his dad.
- Drift spent a while as a homeless addict, barely scraping by, until he was recruited by Megatron, a powerful demon lord who saw much more potential in Drift and his untamed demon powers. He offered Drift a place in his ranks even though he was half-human, and helped him hone his terrifyingly natural talent for violence. For a while Drift mostly did it to feed his habit, but he began to enjoy the rush of violence and of releasing his DEMON SIDE way more than the drugs and eventually got clean.
- He also inherited this sweet demon sword from his dad that Megatron apparently had handy. It is powered by his DEMON SIDE
- Eventually though Drift's taste for violence got a little out of control and after pissing off some of his superiors for wildly disobeying orders in favor of MORE VIOLENCE, he fucked off and went into hiding. It was at this time that he met a witch named Wing from a smug hippie witch cult based in San Francisco. Wing offered him sanctuary and to teach him to better control his demon side by being ~~more in tune with the spirits~~. Drift took the sanctuary because he had nowhere else to hide, but wound up begrudgingly coming around to Wing's way of seeing things, at least enough to grow to care about him. Unfortunately for the both of them Drift's UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA led Megatron's forces right to the Wing's door and he got horribly murdered. Drift managed to get away but he was so tragically torn by the untimely death of his spiritual sensei that he swore off working for Megatron and decided to USE HIS POWERS FOR GOOD
- Since then he's discarded the name Megatron gave him and returned to Boston as the newly-reformed demon hunter Drift. He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment in Southie and fights demons by moonlight in order to help people out and atone for his murder-filled past. He has fully embraced his former mentor's spirituality with a level of enthusiasm that, tbh, should probably be worrying. He believes (or hopes, at least) that what Wing taught him will not only help him keep his demon side in check (he is pretty much always concerned he will LOSE CONTROL), but also lead to his eventual redemption. Unfortunately Drift is still learning how exactly to have real faith in something because he is the world's biggest faker
- He is Jewish because I know what I like and oh boy does he ever dabble in Kabbalah and a lot of other magical spirituality bullshit that mostly drives other people up the wall
- Being half-demon has a lot of perks, SUCH AS: super strength/reflexes/stamina, accelerated healing, and being able to jump way higher than any human. He's obviously not as powerful as a full-blooded demon, but plenty powerful enough to be able to take them head on. He's also really good at fighting shit. Drift's swordsmanship is pretty solid, having been trained in Megatron's demon army, but also he has studied very seriously from a lot of kung fu and action films
- He literally owns fourteen swords
PREVIOUSLY ON DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU:
- Rodimus is this AU's equivalent of the Slayer, and Ultra Magnus is her Watcher. She and Drift are best buds who also make out a lot. Ultra Magnus STRONGLY DISAPPROVES of Rodimus spending time with someone with Drift's substantial murder past but Rodimus believes wholeheartedly in Drift's turning a new leaf.
- Perceptor (Percy) is a talented witch and physicist who also serves as Drift's go-to for information about demon lore and magic. They go back a long, long ways, and is one of a handful of people Drift trusts implicitly.
- Dealer was, predictably, Drift's orihalcon dealer when he was living on the streets. There were some bad (good) (bad) times that Drift would really love to never talk about, and Dealer loves to hold over his head.
- Ratchet is a trauma surgeon whose family was killed by demons around the time Deadlock was active. After patching up Drift a couple of times, they fell into an undefined sort-of relationship that nearly came to an end when Ratchet found out just who Drift used to be. After taking some time and talking to just about everyone else Drift knows, Ratchet decided he still wanted to know Drift as he is now, though things between them are still uncertain.
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Once Wash is out, Drift checks all his wards, cleans the blood off his sword and jacket, and takes a shower himself, just to rinse off the rest of the grime, physical and spiritual both. He grabs a fresh pair of jeans and goes about finding a set of clothes for Wash -- the sweats will probably be a little long, but they should fit just fine. He even tries to tidy up some of the clutter, but...not to terribly great effect.
When Wash comes to, Drift is in the tiny excuse for a kitchen standing over the stove, the sound of boiling water quiet in the background. Even if Wash isn't up for food, after that fight against the cult Drift is really hungry.
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He wakes slowly, shifting a bit. He's not lying down, and he has his face on a cushion, and he's hungry...oh. Oh, yeah, he knows what this is. He had a hard workout and fell asleep in his armchair again. When he opens his eyes, his dinner will be cold on the end table next to him, and Netflix will be asking him if he's still there.
He stretches a little - okay wow is he sore; must have been one hell of a workout - and opens his eyes.
For a few moments, his brain refuses to process what his eyes are telling him. This isn't his apartment- he's not- this isn't- this-
And then the past four weeks slam into his brain with perfect, awful clarity. He makes a pained noise and pulls the blanket over his head, pressing into the couch. He thought he'd be able to handle this once he woke up, but having that moment of amnesiac peace so brutally shattered has cut his stability off at the knees.
He breathes deeply - in and out, in and out, and now that he knows why his back hurts it only hurts all the worse - and slowly pulls the blanket back, lifting his head to look around. "Hey," he says when he catches sight of Drift. His voice doesn't sound any better, but that's less screaming trauma and more the voice of someone who just woke up out of a dead sleep.
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"The clothes and the towel on the table are for you, if you want a shower. I'm just cooking up a little dinner." He turns away from the stove and leans against the refrigerator, his hair still a little damp with a towel slung around his neck. This is probably a fantastically stupid question to ask, but it seems to be the only safe one. "How are you feeling?"
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He blinks as the question takes a moment to process. "Like I've been held captive by a satanic murder cult for a month," he says flatly as he gathers up the clothes and towel and slowly gets to his feet, letting the blanket slide off his shoulders and drop to the couch. "I'm going to shower." He heads to the bathroom, strips once he's inside, and figures out the shower, all far more slowly than he would have liked.
The hot water feels good - better than he's felt in weeks - and for a few minutes he just stands and lets it thunder down on his shoulders. It's only after those few minutes that he finally starts washing a month's worth of blood and grime off his skin and out of his hair. He eventually needs to lean against the wall to keep himself upright, and he tries not to think about it.
It's only when he's drying off and pulling on the sweatpants (and rolling up the legs, because they are way too long for him) that he pauses and looks over his shoulder at the mirror over the sink. It's the first time he's gotten to see the scarring that spreads across the expanse of his back and shoulders.
This is him now. His old life is over; his new life is written in a language he can't read, letters and symbols and interlocking rings carved with a hot knife and magic into his back, opening a door to hell that he carries with him and doesn't know how to close. This is his life now-
He pulls the still-wet towel over his head and presses his face into it, breathing through the warm and damp until the pinpricks at the corner of his eyes subside and he can swallow back the burning need to scream. If he loses it now, he's not sure he'll come back, and so he can't fucking lose it.
It's a while before he hangs the towel, pulls the shirt on, and pads back out into the apartment proper. He sinks back down on the sofa and starts folding the blanket. At least he can keep his hands busy. "Do you have a phone I can use?" He needs to get his life - his life, not the bullshit he's been thrust into - started again, and making a few calls is a start.
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"Oh, yeah, sure. I was actually going to ask if there was anyone you needed to call..." Drift digs his cell phone out of his back pocket and hands it to Wash. "And hey, if you're hungry, I made dinner."
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It's a longer conversation than he'd expected, namely because he'd expected to be seen as a tenant who'd defaulted on the rent. He hadn't expected there to be a missing persons case centered around him. Evidently the cult hadn't bothered to grab his bag when they'd kidnapped him, and his neighbors had figured out pretty quickly that it shouldn't be sitting his front door for days on end. The complex's security cameras had footage of the scene, and that was that.
He stumbles through an explanation as to the hows and whys of his reappearance, promises to meet with her tomorrow to get his keys and his home back, and slowly puts the phone down on the couch after he hangs up. "Someone opened a missing persons case for me," he says, dazed. "You think the police will believe I was kidnapped by a cult?"
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"Depends on who you talk to," Drift says, entirely seriously. "I know someone you can talk to if you want it resolved quietly, without dragging you through some big investigation. I'm guessing a fuss is the last thing you want."
He'd had four weeks of his life taken from him -- Drift's sure he wants the rest of it back. He brings a steaming bowl of ramen to the coffee table, pushing it toward Wash, and then drops onto the couch next to him, picking up the phone.
"You can stay here as long as you need," he offers, like that's a perfectly sensible thing to offer a stranger whom you have just rescued from a demon-worshiping cult. "Until things get sorted out, I mean. Oh, hey. Text from Percy." He taps his phone. "She's been doing some research -- looks like she came up with a few things. She might want to talk to you. Uh -- that is, if you want to talk to her. Anyway -- yeah -- couch is yours if you want it."
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"I want it to be quiet," he says after a moment, "but I want it to be thorough." He locks eyes with Drift. "Promise me, if there are any of them left, that you'll finish the job." Drift owes him nothing, and he owes Drift everything - he knows that. He also knows that the idea of even one of them still loose in the world will keep him from sleeping soundly ever again. They'd found him once; there was nothing to stop them from finding him again, except for a swift and bloody one-way trip to hell.
And then Drift offers him dinner and a place to stay, and his mind stutters as it tries to make the shift. "Thanks," he says, gingerly pulling the bowl towards him. Hopefully he wouldn't have to stay long, but...well, as soon as he can get things in order, he's finding a different place to live. No sense in making himself too easy to find. "And...yeah, I guess. Now, or...?" He doesn't really know who Percy is, aside from the fact that she seems to work with Drift. For now, that's good enough.
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His eyes are intent, almost grim, his face perhaps the most serious Wash has seen it all night. "I'll take care of it. You have my word. I'm not going to let them hurt you again -- or anyone else, for that matter."
This is maybe a little intense for a promise to a stranger, but he takes this job, however self-appointed, seriously. He'd hurt enough people as Deadlock; as far as he's concerned, protecting others from that same kind of harm is the bare minimum of what he can do. He shakes his head, waving his hand.
"Nah, it's late. We can meet her tomorrow. She's got a little book shop in Back Bay -- normal enough at a glance, but she's got an impressive collection of magical and demonic texts in the back room. She's a pretty brilliant physicist, too." Drift rubs the back of his neck, sitting back against the couch. "Hey, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want. I know it's been a long day."
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The promise is intense, and he knows he hasn't earned it, but he still feels better. Not safe - he doesn't know that he'll ever feel safe again - but better. "Thank you." He turns back to his noodles, eating slowly despite the fact that his body has just remembered that he's fucking starving.
He listens as Drift talks, mentally puts 'meet Percy' on tomorrow's to-do list, and pauses at the question. "You saved my life. You're entitled to a few questions."
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Drift's pretty sure he isn't entitled to anything given his past, but that's another matter entirely. He's glad Wash doesn't mind sharing a few things all the same. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table (where there's space, anyway; it's mostly covered in half-full glasses of water, video game cases and other cluttered miscellany) and laces his fingers behind his neck.
"How'd you get mixed up with that cult in the first place?"
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There's also the short version, which better fits his energy level and ability to process four weeks' worth of trauma, and Wash goes for that one. "They fucking kidnapped me."
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"Yeah," he says. This is all deeply classified, but it's not like the demon hunter in front of him is going to go tell the world. "Until just recently, I was in the army, deployed overseas. A few of us were sent in on a mission with minimal information one day, and..." he trails off and shakes his head. "I don't know if the brass knew what was waiting for us, but this thing showed up. Bullets did nothing to it, and it tore through kevlar like tissue paper. It tore up my back, but I survived - nobody else did.
"So the brass sent me back home with a hospital stay and an honorable discharge and a military pension and the knowledge that I'd be court-martialed to hell and back if I ever said anything about it, and I thought that was that." He shrugs. "Evidently that cult decided I was their perfect daily ritual sacrifice. I think they took me because of my encounter in Iraq, but I don't know how they knew about it. Friends in high places or a talented hacker I don't know." He shakes his head and folds his hands tightly in his lap. "I do know whatever they were worshiping or working with or whatever, they were using me to talk to it. It needs help to get into our world, and it's not here yet, so it was using them and they were using me." Putting the bowl down had been a good call, as the shaking in his hands is threatening to become full-body shivers if he doesn't calm down. "I don't know if that'll help Percy with anything, but that's all I've got."
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"It will, actually, a lot. Any context is helpful for this kind of thing. I doubt they hacked anything, though. If this cult already had a connection with this demon, they probably found you through...alternative channels."
Some channels more literal than others. But Drift can get why he's so on edge about this, especially after that brief flash outside the cultists' building. The demon had pushed through, taken over even if only for a few seconds, which meant that whatever this is, it isn't over yet.
"Well, like I said, there are wards in here against possession." It's probably not much of a reassurance, but he has to say something, with how close to a nervous breakdown Wash is starting to look. "And Percy's not just an expert on demons and magic -- she's a witch, too, and a pretty talented one. Whatever else needs to be done to close the book on this for you for good, she'll figure it out."
His faith is maybe a little too strong, but hey, positive thinking is important.
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They'd found him in a way he didn't know about and couldn't defend against- in a way they'd burned into his skin- and he's still connected to it and he still can't defend himself and he can't escape-
His breath comes short and sharp and fast. Some small part of him recognizes this for what it is - a panic attack - but that part is buried beneath the much larger part of him screaming out four weeks' worth of captivity and pain, triggered by the idea that it will never stop-
The full-body shivers he'd been trying to avoid have hit full force, and he grabs the blanket - still neatly folded from earlier in the evening - shakes it out, and wraps it tightly around himself. He doesn't hear anything else Drift is saying; he's too busy trying not to shake himself apart.
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"Hey -- hey." He almost reaches out to touch Wash's shoulder, but he stops himself. Maybe he can channel his aura into some kind of harmonic resonance that'll make his voice sound more soothing. "You're here. I mean -- I'm here, and you're safe here. It's alright."
He has no fucking idea what he's doing.