Hyoutei: All In One

The stories focusing on Hyoutei with guest appearances by Aziraphale and Crowley, and eventually Angel Sanctuary’s Uriel.

Profession

by Branch

Belial chats with Sakaki, who turns out to be an old ‘friend’. Drama with Humor, I-3

Character(s): Mad Hatter, Sakaki Tarou

Sakaki Tarou paused on his way across the grounds of Rikkai Dai to visit his
contemporaries on staff, and watched the junior high tennis team practicing.
This team was always worth watching, but this time something specific caught
his attention. Something about them had changed, since the last time he’d
observed these players. It was most notable in Yukimura-kun, and Tarou sighed
faintly as he contemplated the inherent disorder of what he was seeing.

"Taken," a light voice stated next to his ear.

"Belial," Tarou greeted his ex-associate. He didn’t move at all as
a very sharp edge scraped against his throat.

"There are, at this time, exactly two people permitted to call one by
one’s old name, and neither of them is you. You may call one Mad Hatter."
The sharp edge vanished, and Tarou turned his head far enough to see Belial…
Hatter, lounging against the fence, from the corner of his eye. "As
one was saying, Yukimura Seiichi is taken. Signed and sealed, though a significant
delay in delivery was part of the deal. And, as the rest of them belong to
him, you can just keep your hands to yourself where they’re concerned, too."

Tarou knew better than to cross a Demon Lord without better backup, and Hatter
was clearly serious despite the teasing tone. His silence gave his answer.

"Delightful." Hatter pushed off the fence. "After all, it wouldn’t
do to have your boys notice anything odd about their dear mentor’s associates
and pastimes, would it?"

Tarou didn’t even bother to glare at the implied threat of revelation. "They
don’t ask," he said, levelly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I’m
simply their tennis coach. And music teacher."

Tarou waited, with scant patience, for Hatter to stop snickering and go back
to her humans.

End

A Small Problem

by Lys ap Adin

Aziraphale comes looking for Crowley. Humor, I-2

Character(s): Aziraphale, Crowley, Ohtori Choutarou, Sakaki Tarou

It was a beautiful day: the sunlight was warm and the bleachers reasonably comfortable,
and his host didn’t have a match with Atobe for at least another half hour. Crowley
stretched and yawned, supremely content with just how good life was.

It really was a pity that things were about to get so complicated.

The man had been peering at passing students and his surroundings with such confusion
that it was obvious that he was wildly out of place. Choutarou pegged him as a
tourist immediately, and felt obliged to offer his assistance (in his most careful
English, since this man seemed to be about as non-Japanese as they came) in the
form of directions, or perhaps a map.

However, the offer of directions had turned into a playing tour guide, with Choutarou
dredging up vocabulary words he didn’t remember learning and wondering how he’d
agreed to this. The man was very polite and very curious, and somehow Choutarou
just couldn’t bring himself to be rude enough to excuse himself from his newfound
role. Their walking tour of the Hyoutei campus dragged on, until they fetched
up at the tennis courts.

The expression on Atobe’s face promised that he would be especially cutting in
regards to Choutarou’s lateness, and there was no telling what Kantoku would have
to say—

Except that Kantoku seemed more concerned with his befuddled tourist than with
Choutarou’s late arrival to practice.

"What do you want?" Kantoku demanded of the stranger.

"It’s lovely to see you again, too, Sakaki-san," the man said, in flawless
Japanese, suddenly standing much straighter and looking much more comfortable
than he’d been a moment ago. "I trust you’ve been well?" Choutarou wanted
very badly to let his manners slip so that he could make a face at his formerly
clueless tourist, especially after the man slid his eyes sidewise and gave him
a small smile.

"Well enough. Ohtori, go warm up," Kantoku said, crisply, and wasn’t
it funny that he seemed ill-at-ease?

There was no chance now to find out what was going on, so Choutarou bowed and
headed for the clubhouse, shrugging at Shishido along the way to indicate that
he didn’t have any clue.

"What do you want?" Sakaki asked again, once the boy had left the range
of earshot.

"Really, there’s no need to be rude," Aziraphale said, chidingly. "I
merely happened to be in the neighborhood, and thought I’d stop by and say hello."
He glanced around. "So… tennis? How fascinating."

"Yes, tennis," Sakaki said, and really, his chin couldn’t jut out much
further. "And music."

"Delightful," Aziraphale murmured.

"If you’re here because of the demon, I assure you, I have it under control,"
Sakaki said.

"You do?" Aziraphale blinked.

"Of course I do," Sakaki said. "Belial is completely focused
on Rikkaidai at the moment." He sniffed. "I believe she’s
only interested in tennis at the moment."

"How shortsighted of her," Aziraphale said, torn between laughter
and gibbering. Belial was on Earth? Up to something? On top of everything
else? The more he thought about it, the more attractive gibbering began to
seem. "How good to know you have things under control here."

That mollified Sakaki a bit. "Thank you."

"If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to like to observe your tennis practice
for a while. It seems to be quite the fashion lately," Aziraphale said, casually.

"As you like," Sakaki said, tilting his head towards the bleachers.

"Thank you kindly," Aziraphale said, and walked over to the bleachers.
He sat in the row up from the napping boy, and once Sakaki had turned his attention
back to his team, leaned over. "Crowley," he hissed, "wake up!
We’ve got problems."

One sleepy eye cracked open to stare at him. "What, are you trying to blow
my cover?" Crowley replied in a whisper.

"There’s no time for that," Aziraphale said, urgently.

"Like hell there’s not," Crowley retorted. "Hastur’s still out
for my blood, you know. And my rank."

"Worry about that later," Aziraphale said. He looked around. "Did
you know that Belial is active? Here on Earth?" he asked.

Crowley winced. "She doesn’t like people to use that name," he said.
"Use Mad Hatter instead."

"Whatever," Aziraphale said. "Crowley, Michael and Raphael
are down here, too, and so is the Messiah; Lucifer’s been lurking around,
and I’ve misplaced the Adversary."

"What the hell?" Shishido was staring when Choutarou came out of
the clubhouse. "Choutarou, who is that guy?"

"What?" Choutarou followed the stares of his teammates to the bleachers,
where Jirou was sitting bolt-upright, talking with his tourist. "I don’t
know. What did he do?"

"Just leaned over and started talking to him, far as I could tell,"
Mukahi said, sounding as awed as Choutarou felt.

Jirou stood, grabbing the stranger by the wrist, and turned to call over his shoulder,
"Sorry, gotta run, things to do, world to save, I’ll bring Jirou back in
time for Nationals, ‘bye!" and the two of them ran.

Kantoku was staring, eyes bugged out, and even Atobe seemed to be having difficulties
keeping his composure.

Finally, Choutarou broke the silence. "What did he mean, ‘I’ll have Jirou
back in time for Nationals’?" he asked.

Nobody could give him an answer.

Family Reunion

by Lys ap Adin

The Messiah and the Adversary chat, and Lucifer drops in. Aziraphale and Crowley sweat. Humor with Drama, I-3

Character(s): Adam Young, Aziraphale, Crowley, Lucifer, Michael, Mudou Setsuna

The Adversary stared at the Messiah, frowning. The Messiah stared right back,
also frowning.

"You’re not what I was expecting," Adam said, at last, feeling that
a Messiah ought to be wearing a white bathrobe, or have a halo, or somehow demonstrate
his difference from ordinary humans (perhaps funny-colored eyes?). A Messiah most
assuredly should not have looked like any other teenaged boy.

"Funny, I could say the same about you," the Messiah said, and grinned.
He stuck out his hand. "The name’s Setsuna."

"Adam." He took the proffered hand and shook it. "Nice to meet
you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you, too, I guess." Setsuna looked thoughtful. "…Wanna
go get a burger?"

"Will it have fish in it?" Adam asked, suspiciously. He’d heard things
about Japanese cuisine.

Setsuna chuckled. "No, no fish."

"Well, that’s all right, then," Adam decided.

"Great. Hold on a minute, willya? I’ll be right back." Setsuna headed
over to the two girls and the guy with the really neat tattoo, who had been watching
them from a distance. The guy was giving Adam some funny looks, but the girls
waved Setsuna off after he spoke to them. The guy just looked more puzzled than
before.

Setsuna jogged back over. "All right, just wanted to let my girlfriend know
I was going," he said. "Let’s go."

"You mean you never noticed that Mad Hatter was in Japan, too?" Aziraphale
demanded. "Or Michael? Or Raphael? Or Lucifer?"

"Oh, come off it," Crowley grumbled, trudging along after the angel.
"I was hiding, remember?" He gestured at his host’s body. "Jirou’s
pretty oblivious, okay?" He stopped short. "Wait a minute. Lucifer?
I thought he’d disappeared."

Aziraphale stopped too, and grumbled something under his breath. "Honestly,
do you even try to keep up with current events?"

"Hiding," Crowley reminded him. "A person can miss an awful lot
of gossip that way." They began walking again. "So… Lucifer?"

"Emerged about the same time as the Messiah," Aziraphale said, briefly.

"And who’s the Messiah?" Crowley prompted, when irritation seemed to
have gotten the better of Aziraphale.

"The reincarnation of Alexiel," Aziraphale said. "You really are
out of the loop these days."

"It happens when you get into the napping thing," Crowley admitted.
"So… how did you manage to lose the Antichrist?"

"He’s gotten adventurous," Aziraphale explained, with a sigh. "I
try to keep an eye on what he’s doing, but…" He shrugged. "He’s getting
good. And without someone to help…"

"Look, you deal with Hastur for me, and I’ll come back," Crowley said.
"That’s easy enough, right?"

"So easy that you’d rather hide in a teenager than do it yourself?"
Aziraphale inquired. "Never mind, we’re here."

"Fudoumine?" Crowley asked. "Why here?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Michael will know where to find the Messiah."

Crowley paled. "Michael? …Aziraphale, he kills demons, you know."

Aziraphale smiled. "Then it’s just as well that you’ve had so much practice
pretending to be human, isn’t it?"

It was, Michael decided, shaping up to be a really weird afternoon. First Setsuna
and that kid—who looked familiar, even if he couldn’t quite place the face—and
now this.

"Lord Michael." Aziraphale was bowing, and the demon lurking behind
him pretending to be one of Hyoutei’s elitist bastards was trying to bow and be
inconspicuous all at the same time. It was pretty funny, actually.

"Yeah?" Michael had to admit, he was damn curious about what was going
on. Last he’d heard, this guy’d helped stop Armageddon, which wouldn’t normally
qualify him for an entry in Michael’s good book (He’d had his sword all sharp
and ready to go, and they called the whole thing off? Bastards.), but it did qualify
him for entry under the "Interesting People Whose Asses I Might Need To Kick"
heading. "Whaddya want?"

"I was hoping you could tell me where I might find the Messiah," Aziraphale
said, speaking in an undertone after a quick look over at Ann, who was watching
the proceedings with avid curiosity.

"Who, Setsuna? He left here a while ago with some kid," Michael said.

The demon’s head came up. "Oh, fuck," he said, obviously forgetting
that he was pretending to be inconspicuous. Michael gave him a look, and the demon
gulped. "Um. Hello?" he said, with a little wave. "You’re looking
well, Michael-sama."

"So much for that," Aziraphale muttered. "The, uh, child the Messiah
was with—"

"Who is he?" Michael asked, but if this was Aziraphale and his pet demon,
then there was really only one answer. "No way. No fucking way."

"He is," Crowley sighed.

Michael growled. "That bastard Setsuna never said a word."

"So," Setsuna said, halfway through his hamburger. "What brings
you to Tokyo?"

"Godzilla," Adam said promptly.

"…okay." Setsuna waited.

"Well, mostly Godzilla," Adam said, thoughtful. "It was a really
neat movie."

"It’s not bad," Setsuna allowed, and waited some more.

"I thought I’d come over and see if I could find Godzilla for myself."

Setsuna raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"Well, it could happen," Adam said, his tone indicating that he’d seen
stranger things happen before.

"I suppose it could," Setsuna conceded. "This is Tokyo."

"Exactly." Adam grinned. "And then, since I was over here anyway,
I thought we should meet."

"And here we are," Setsuna finished, and waited.

Adam held out for most of the rest of another hamburger before caving. "Actually,"
he said, fidgeting with the wrapper, "I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Setsuna asked.

"Um." Adam looked distinctly embarrassed. "D’you, uh, know much
about… girls?"

Setsuna grinned and sat back. "Well," he said, "I might know something."

"Well, they don’t seem to be fighting," Crowley reported, ducking back
into the alley where Aziraphale was waiting. "If anything, they’re bonding."

"Bonding," Aziraphale repeated.

Crowley shrugged. "I call them like I see them."

Aziraphale snorted, and shook his head. "The Messiah and the Adversary, bonding
over hamburgers. Perhaps this isn’t going to be a complete disaster after all—"

And then Lucifer showed up.

"So I shouldn’t be trying to impress her." Adam said.

"Nope." Setsuna shrugged. "I find that it usually doesn’t work,
and ends up making you look stupid, too."

"And I should be myself."

"Yup," Setsuna nodded.

"But still be nice and pay attention to her," Adam finished, wondering
how he was supposed to be himself and be nice, both.

"Sounds like you’ve got the idea," Setsuna said.

Adam mulled it over. "Well, I can give it a shot," he said, still harboring
some doubts, although not trying to impress Pepper—who could do a better "I’ve
seen it all, and it all bores me" than anyone he’d ever seen—sounded like
it would make his life infinitely easier. "Thanks."

"No problem—oh, crap." Setsuna dropped the french fry he’d been about
to bite into. "What’s he doing here?"

Adam sat up as the sense of that presence washed over him. "Oh, God,"
he said.

Setsuna’s grin was crooked. "Not exactly," he said, "and I wouldn’t
make that comparison to his face, if I were you." He slid out of the booth.
"C’mon, let’s go see what he wants."

Aziraphale was doing his best to merge with the wall at his back, since an out-and-out
retreat would have involved stepping past Lucifer, and he wasn’t crazy.

Beside him, Crowley exhaled softly. "It’s true. He really is back."

"You didn’t believe me?" Aziraphale snapped, all-too-conscious that
the odds were not the least bit in his favor, and wishing Michael had decided
to come along after all.

"And what have we here?" Lucifer asked, sweeping an amused gaze over
them.

"My lord." Crowley bowed, deeply. It had been a good run, at least,
Aziraphale decided.

"Crowley." Lucifer inclined his head slightly. "I trust there’s
a reason for you to be possessing that human?"

"Professional friction between Hastur and me, my lord," Crowley said,
and there was nothing but respect in his tone. Even if he hadn’t fallen so much
as sauntered downwards, this was an alarming development.

"Well, looks like quite a meeting to be having out here by the dumpsters,"
someone said cheerfully. "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Lucifer."

Lucifer shrugged. "I merely thought that it was high time I met my son,"
he said, mildly.

Jirou was having the most fascinating day he’d had since, well, ever, and he hadn’t
even played any tennis yet. He’d had no idea Crowley-san knew such interesting
people, and that he’d get to meet them (albeit only as a spectator).

"Your son?" the new guy said, sounding surprised. He turned to the boy
who was lurking behind him. "You never mentioned that."

"You never asked," the other boy retorted. He looked at Lucifer. "So,
you’re him, huh?"

"I am," Lucifer said. "What’s your name, boy?"

"Adam," he said, and Jirou had the oddest feeling that the boy was assessing
Lucifer, and not the other way around. "And you’re not my father."

Since he was essentially doomed anyway, even with the Messiah standing right there
(and the Messiah had helped kill God anyway, so his allegiances were questionable,
and Alexiel had a history with Lucifer), Aziraphale spoke up. "What I believe
Adam is trying to say," he said, meekly, "is that his father is the
one he grew up with, not the one biology assigned him."

"Exactly," Adam said, crossing his arms and sounding satisfied. "That’s
what I meant, only with smaller words. So I guess you came up here for nothing."

"Hardly," Lucifer said, after barely sparing a glance for Aziraphale.
"If I am given to understand the events of Armageddon correctly, you are
a formidable young man."

Adam blinked. "What, you didn’t know what happened?"

"Of course he didn’t," the Messiah said, ruffling Adam’s hair. "He
was kinda lock—"

"I was indisposed," Lucifer interrupted, firmly.

The Messiah grinned. "Whatever you wanna call it, he wasn’t around. My guess
is that the old bastard rigged it."

"Possibly," Lucifer agreed. "Beelzebub is more malleable than he
thinks."

Adam looked to Aziraphale. "Who are they talking about?"

"God," Aziraphale said.

"Old Ineffable Himself?" Crowley said. "So he does have a hand
in all this?"

"Had," Lucifer corrected him, absently. "He’s dead now."

"And good riddance, too," the Messiah muttered. Aziraphale winced a
little. Definitely no help from that quarter.

"And I missed it?" Crowley sounded outraged.

"What rock have you been hiding under?" the Messiah asked.

"A pretty big one, I’d say," Crowley said, "if I missed a deicide."

"And at no small cost to your responsibilities in hell," Lucifer added,
"or have you forgotten that the rank of duke carries duties?"

"Yes, lord. Um. I mean, no. Um—I didn’t kill Ligur for his job." Crowley
waved his hands. "Mostly I was just trying to survive."

"Indeed, and stopping Armageddon while you were at it, and consorting with
an angel." Aziraphale gulped as Lucifer made a complicated gesture, but there
was just a soft pop, and then some swearing, as Jirou and Crowley’s bodies tried
to occupy the same space and failed miserably.

Jirou scrambled to his feet. "That was so awesome!" he enthused, and
if Aziraphale hadn’t reached out and held the boy back, he might have actually
managed to seize Lucifer’s hand. "What else can you—"

Aziraphale eased the boy to the ground as he fell asleep mid-sentence (with only
a bare hint of Aziraphale’s encouragement), and the Messiah laughed at Lucifer’s
face. "He’s excitable, isn’t he?" he noted.

"Very," Crowley grunted, climbing to his feet and manifesting a suit.
"You should see him when he’s playing Atobe." He bowed to Lucifer again.
"Thank you, my lord, for the new body," he sighed. "I’ll return
to Hell immediately to see to my duties."

"Don’t," Lucifer said. "You’re being reassigned."

"I am?" Crowley looked at him blankly.

"Yes. You will be serving as bodyguard to my—to Adam," Lucifer said.
"Do try not to lose him again."

Adam protested. "I don’t need a bodyguard!"

"Of course you do," the Messiah said. "You’ve already got one."
He nodded at Aziraphale.

"What, really?" Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale.

"Not officially. Officially, I’m watching him," Aziraphale admitted,
shifting under the weight of Lucifer’s gaze. "But unofficially… I’m watching
over him."

"And I’m certain Crowley will be a great deal of help to you," Lucifer
said.

"I don’t want bodyguards!"

"Tough," Crowley said, sidling around Lucifer and snapping a pair of
sunglasses into existence. He perched them on his nose. "Because there is
no way I’m disobeying a direct order from him."

"This isn’t fair," Adam grumbled, leveling a glare at them all. He looked
at the Messiah. "Do you have a bodyguard?" he demanded.

"Nope, but then, I’m in control of my own powers," the Messiah said
cheerfully, "and that tends to deter most would-be assassins."

"Besides, life doesn’t tend to be fair, or so I’ve noticed," Aziraphale
murmured, deciding that perhaps he was going to live after all. He placed his
hands on his hips. "And do you have any idea how worried I was when you disappeared?"

"Had things to do," Adam mumbled. He waved a hand. "People to see."

"And it never occurred to you that it might be dangerous to traipse across
the globe to meet the Messiah, who by definition has every right to try to kill
you on sight?" Crowley asked. Adam shook his head, sullenly. "Damn.
You don’t need bodyguards. You need babysitters."

Aziraphale stared as Lucifer began to chuckle, and even the Messiah looked impressed.
"I’ve chosen well, I think," Lucifer murmured, finally.

"They’ll do," the Messiah agreed, and then he checked his watch. "Crap,
it’s getting late. I’ve got to get going. Nice meeting you, Adam."

"Yeah, you too," Adam said.

The Messiah looked at Lucifer. "Will we be seeing you at Nationals?"
he asked.

"I wouldn’t dream of missing it," Lucifer said.

"Thought so," the Messiah said. "Remember what I told you, Adam.
See you around." He waved and headed off.

"Should the Messiah be giving advice to the Antichrist?" Crowley asked
Aziraphale.

"Are you going to be the one to stop him," Aziraphale asked.

"Well… no."

"Then the Messiah can give the Antichrist all the advice he wants,"
Aziraphale said. "It’s up to Adam whether he takes it."

"Gentlemen," Lucifer said, politely. "If I may have a word with
Adam?"

Adam glared. "Don’t wanna talk to you," he grumbled.

"You don’t have a choice," Crowley said, as Aziraphale woke Jirou up
and dragged him out of the alley. "We’ll just be out there," he said,
and followed Aziraphale.

"So… you must be Aziraphale," Jirou said, apparently perfectly at
ease with his narcoleptic fit.

"Yes," Aziraphale said.

"So you’re an angel like Kantoku?" Jirou pursued.

"I should hope," Aziraphale said, slowly, "that I’m not very much
like Sakaki at all."

"Fair enough," Jirou said. He looked back into the alley. "So that’s
really the devil?"

"And the Antichrist," Crowley said, helpfully.

"He’s really cool," Jirou said, eyes shining.

"A lot of people think so," Aziraphale grumbled.

"A lot of people are right," Crowley said sharply.

"Hmph." Aziraphale shut up.

Adam crossed his arms and sulked against an alley wall. "Well?"

At least, Lucifer decided, he could be grateful that he’d had experience dealing
with prickly teenagers. "Why not destroy the world?" he asked.

"Because I like it," Adam said, with an eye roll for emphasis.

"And why not rule it for yourself?"

Adam frowned. "Too much work, for one thing." He shrugged. "Sure,
I could rule it myself and fix everything, but then people would be coming to
me all the time and asking me to fix stuff for them. It’s better that they learn
to fix things themselves."

Lucifer nodded. "Very good," he said.

Adam rolled his eyes. "My turn for a question," he said. "Are you
really my father?"

"That’s what they tell me," Lucifer said, frowning. "I wasn’t exactly
consulted beforehand."

Adam’s eyebrows went up. "Then how…?" He flushed.

"Demon magic and a laboratory, I believe." Lucifer looked him in the
eye. "It was a shock to return home to find I’d been gifted a son in my absence."

Adam frowned. "Then who was it who nearly showed up back then?"

"One of the higher-ranking demon lords," Lucifer said. He examined his
nails. "He has since been relieved of his duties."

"Good," Adam said. He made a face. "You aren’t really going to
make me put up with them, are you?" he said, jerking his head in Crowley
and Aziraphale’s direction.

"So… I guess this means you’re leaving, huh?" Jirou asked, when it
seemed like neither Crowley-san nor Aziraphale-san was going to speak.

"Yeah. Duty calls, and all that." Crowley-san waved a hand. "Kid
belongs in England."

"That means you’ll miss Nationals, though!" Jirou protested, horrified.

"Uh… yeah, I guess I will," Crowley-san said, looking uncomfortable.
"Hyoutei’s sure to win, though," he added.

"But don’t the other schools have angels? Or demons?" Jirou asked.

Crowley-san blinked. "Oh, no," he said, firmly. "No chance. Your
coach does not want my help, trust me… though he might not turn down Aziraphale."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale-san said, and sniffed. "I can’t work
with him."

Jirou didn’t really see a problem, but since one apparently existed, he went back
to a less touchy subject. "You really think we’ll be okay on our own?"

Crowley-san grinned. "You’ll be fine. There’s more to Hyoutei than meets
the eye. Promise."

"I still wish you were going to be there for Nationals," Jirou said,
a trifle wistfully.

Crowley-san coughed. "Well, um. Oh, looks like they’re done," he said,
quickly, as Adam-kun slouched out of the alley, followed by the devil.

"Gracefully done," Aziraphale-san murmured.

"Oh, shut up."

"Gentlemen," the devil said, "I believe I’ll leave things in your—"
and Jirou wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard an infinitesimal pause there "—capable
hands."

"Yes, lord," Crowley said, and bowed.

"Still don’t think this is fair," Adam-kun muttered.

"Duly noted," the devil said, sounding the faintest bit exasperated,
and vanished.

"Cooooooooool," Jirou sighed.

The boy spent the entire trip back to Hyoutei expounding upon the wonders of tennis
to the Adversary, and if Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken, there were a lot of tennis
courts pending in his near future—assuming, of course, that Adam didn’t just
bounce on to a new interest once they were safely home again. Judging from the
way Adam was hanging onto every word Jirou had to say (currently, something about
a player who could make the tennis ball roll along the net, which surely wasn’t
possible, right?) though, it looked like tennis could hold his attention for at
least a week.

At least tennis was wholesome.

"Looks like we’re even returning him before the end of practice," Crowley
said, with some satisfaction, as they strolled into sight of Hyoutei’s tennis
courts. "So, is it as much fun for you as it is for me to see Sakaki this
baffled?"

"Well…" Aziraphale paused, "one does wonder how he managed to
last so long without being demoted."

Crowley snickered, and waved to Hyoutei’s coach. "See, here he is, safe and
sound! World didn’t need saving after all!"

"For a change," Aziraphale added, under his breath. "Adam! Time
to go."

Adam-kun made a face at Aziraphale-san. "This completely sucks," he
complained to Jirou.

"It does," Jirou sympathized. "You really have to talk them into
letting you come back for Nationals. I mean, if the devil is going to show up,
you should too, right?"

Adam-kun considered it. "Practically a family obligation, when you look at
it that way," he said. He grinned.

"Adam!"

He rolled his eyes. "I’ll see what I can do," he said, with a grin.
"Nice meeting you, Jirou."

"You too. See you around." Jirou waved him off, and turned to find his
teammates eyeing him curiously. "So, did I miss anything while I was gone?"

Balance

by Lady Crysiana

Eriol visits Hyoutei and makes Atobe an offer. Humor, I-1

Character(s): Atobe Keigo, Hiiragizawa Eriol, Hiyoshi Wakashi

Hiyoshi noticed the stranger first, and decided that he’d regret it for
the rest of his life. This was especially true since the last time a stranger
had appeared on the courts, Jirou had run off with him and there had been
some business about an antichrist, the explanation for which Hiyoshi was
determined to ignore.

The stranger seemed to hover innocently by the side of the courts, but it wasn’t
a hovering Hiyoshi was used to. Fans came and watched Atobe or, occasionally,
one of the others with rapt attention. Scouts came and watched with a measuring
sort of concentration. While the man did seem to be weighing Atobe as the boy
played a rare game with Oshitari, Hiyoshi thought that there seemed to be too
much of an edge of amusement for a scout.

Hiyoshi marched over to the interloper. “Can I help you?” he asked
politely.

The interloper eyed Hiyoshi for a moment, then smiled a bright, unnerving smile.
Hiyoshi backed up a step before he could stop himself, even as the man said, “Oh,
I’m sorry. I’m here to talk with your captain…that boy playing,
correct?” He inclined his head towards Atobe.

Hiyoshi nodded reluctantly. “You’ll have to wait until the set is
over.”

The man strolled over to settle himself on the bleachers. “Then you can
come and talk with me.” He patted the seat beside him.

Hiyoshi settled there uncertainly, painfully conscious of the fact that it would
be rude to leave an elder alone, particularly one who seemed to have business
with his captain. “Talk with you?”

The man smiled brightly. “Oh, yes, of course. You see, I think that you’re
a very observant boy and can therefore answer some of the more pressing questions,
like whether you noticed that your coach is an angel, or that one of your fellow
students is possessed.”

“…well…everyone found out just recently,” Hiyoshi said.
“The person inside Jirou ran off with him.” Hiyoshi twitched at the
sudden gleam of interest in the man’s eyes, and had to suppress another
twitch as the man very deliberately set the interest aside to continue.

“I expect, though, your being brought up in a proper home as you were, you
noticed something beforehand,” the man went on blithely. “Now, I understand
your not coming to me over it, but I still find it terribly disappointing.”

Hiyoshi scowled and eyed the man. “I…you…”

“Exactly,” the man replied. “But I forgive you.” Hiyoshi
listened, more or less, for a few more minutes as the man went on. He was lost
enough, in fact, that he didn’t notice when Atobe came over to glare at
them.

“Excuse me, but I’m afraid we don’t allow visitors during practice,”
Atobe interjected. The man looked up at Atobe with an expression of polite disinterest
that Hiyoshi recalled from Atobe’s own repertoire.

“Of course,” the man said. “You know, I thought you’d
be more entertaining.”

Atobe hmphed and lounged against the air. “I’m eminently entertaining
at all times.”

Hiyoshi felt a spike of terror go through him as the man’s look turned thoughtful.
“Of course, Atobe-kun,” the man said smoothly. The man’s smile
was the brightest Hiyoshi had seen him give yet. “I have a modest proposal
for you.”

Atobe straightened to give the man a hard look. “I especially cannot tolerate
scouts interrupting practice,” he said coolly. “While I sincerely
appreciate your interest and will be willing to talk to you should you come at
another time, my first responsibility is to ensure the well-being of my team,
which means that practice should not be interrupted.”

“Of course, Keigo-san,” the man replied, rising. “I only intended
to offer my assistance in this rather confusing times. I could prevent incidents
like, say, the one that occurred with Akutagawa-kun, but I understand if you’d
rather take the risks that you’ll be facing in the Nationals on your own
power. I certainly admire it.” The man turned to walk away.

“…wait.” Atobe stared hard at the man, and Hiyoshi noted that
his captain’s mouth turned down in a rather sour frown usually associated
with Jirou running off the court to tell Atobe something interesting. “What
risks are you talking about?”

The man waved expansively. “Oh, Archangels backing up Fudoumine and Seishun
Gakuen, and a high level demon adopting Rikkai. You’ll be pleased to know
that Seigaku’s archangel has taken care of ’Mitsu-kun. That’s
Tezuka Kunimitsu.”

Hiyoshi noted that Shishido, who had just walked over with Ohtori, looked as if
he wished he had a camera to catch the appalled look on their captain’s
face. Atobe’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he said, “Do
you know him, then?”

“’mitsu-kun?” the man said. “Of course I know him. He sent me
out of concern that the matches would be unbalanced with the support you have.
Kunimitsu is very concerned with fairness, as I’m sure you know.”
The man returned Atobe’s suspicious look with unbelievable innocence. “In
any case, should you wish for my assistance, you’ll find my card behind
the photograph by your bedside.”

“You’ve been in my room?” Atobe asked, frowning. “You
shouldn’t have been able to get in.”

The man nodded. “I wasn’t able to get in, Keigo. And if you don’t
wish to contact me, my card will not be there. It will only be there if you do
wish to contact me.” The man turned again to walk away.

“What’s your name?” Shishido asked him, as Atobe didn’t
seem inclined to speak to the man again. The man smiled sunnily at Shishido and
inclined his head to him.

“Hiiragizawa Eriol, at your service.” With that, the man disappeared
in a cloud of cherry blossoms. Shishido dashed over to where Eriol had been standing
and looked around, but Hiyoshi was already turning back to Atobe, who suddenly
looked thoughtful.

“Hiiragizawa,” Atobe murmured.

Willing

by Branch

Sakaki gets what he wants. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Atobe Keigo, Sakaki Tarou

It was not, Tarou reflected, unusual for Keigo to sit in the window when he
and his coach were discussing the tennis club. Tarou gave him that much latitude,
because Atobe Keigo’s willing obedience was a valuable thing. Normally, however,
he paid proper attention, no matter how he lounged.

Today he was looking out the window.

"Sensei."

Tarou arched a brow. An unusual day, indeed; Keigo didn’t often call him that
anymore.

Keigo leaned his head back against the casement with a faint thump. "Is
all this really… real?" he asked.

Ah. So that was it.

"Yukimura selling his soul to a demon," Keigo continued, tone almost
dreamy. "Tachibana practically adopting an angel. Tezuka attaching another
one. Not to mention that… person he foisted on us. And Jirou…"

Tarou sighed. He really should have expected it. Keigo was a dyed-in-the-wool
empiricist. And Hiiragizawa was hardly the sort of person to reassure an
empiricist; even when he showed his magic openly, the form of it was far
too easily attributable to hallucination. Fortunately, Tarou had an answer
for the problem. "Atobe, come away from the window," he ordered,
rising from his desk.

Keigo blinked, but slid down readily enough.

Tarou unfolded his wings. Keigo’s eyes widened and he swallowed a bit hard.
Tarou shrugged and swept his wings forward.

"You can touch them. Carefully." He needn’t have specified. Keigo
barely touched his fingertips to the leading edge before he drew back to
regain his composure. Tarou had faith in his protege’s self control, when
he chose to exercise it, and left Keigo to it, refolding his wings and seating
himself again. "Jirou does not seem to have been possessed as such,"
he supplied when Keigo had regained some color and was looking him full in
the face again. "Rather, Crowley seems to be hiding in his consciousness.
The snake has always been good at hiding."

Keigo took a deep breath and let it out, perching on one of the office chairs.
"Is this going to interfere with the games?"

Tarou almost smiled. When Keigo thought something was important, he could be
relied on to swing back to it like a compass needle. It was one of the traits
that had first recommended him to Tarou’s attention, even as a child. "I
doubt it. Not," he added, "that the others wouldn’t do it. But
the players themselves would protest. Wouldn’t they?" He gave Keigo
a significant look.

Keigo’s chin came up. "Of course."

"Well, then." Tarou folded his hands, examining Keigo. "I hadn’t
intended to mention this until you were older, but I’ve been planning to
offer you something similar."

He waited for Keigo to decide how to take that.

"Like… a contract?" Keigo asked, slowly. Tarou was pleased, though
not surprised, that he seemed wary of the idea.

"Bonds between angels and humans are rarely that structured," he
noted. "Your word and mine are sufficient."

"Why?"

A good response. Perhaps, one day, he would actually teach Keigo to curb his
impulsiveness on the court, too, Tarou reflected. It wasn’t as if the boy
couldn’t think things through when he wanted to. "When the factions
of Heaven come into conflict," he explained, "a strong will is
the most valuable weapon anyone can have. Rociel demonstrated that conclusively,
as did the Messiah in opposition to him. And while the management, as Mad
Hatter puts it, has changed, the nature of angels hasn’t. Any more than the
nature of humans."

"I see."

And he might very well see. Tarou hadn’t chosen this human for nothing. "Think
about it," he directed.

"I will," Keigo said, quietly.

When, not too long after, Keigo came to him with intent burning in his eyes,
Tarou was hard pressed not to smile smugly.

Two Great Angels, three if you counted Gabriel, plus that interfering Principality,
on Assiah, and he’d gotten his human first.

End

Answers

by Branch

Sakaki meets an old acquaintance. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Atobe Keigo, Sakaki Tarou, Uriel

He was, Keigo reflected, getting better at spotting the angels. It was something
in the way they held themselves, apart from any mortal excitement around
them. At a place as excited as the courts hosting Nationals, they stood out.
The one that seemed to have caught Kantoku’s attention today, though, was
a bit different from the usual run.

For one thing, he wasn’t making Kantoku’s shoulders fall in the especially
straight line that meant their coach didn’t get along with him. That was
unprecedented, to date.

For another, he looked different. Tall and solid and dark, instead of slim
and fair. All of this made Keigo curious, so when their coach turned aside
toward the new angel, Keigo waved the rest of the team on and followed. Sakaki-san
didn’t send him back, and that was as good as permission. Still, Keigo decided
it would be tactful to stay unobtrusive. He picked one of the trees lining
the walk to lean against while he watched.

Sakaki-san stopped arm’s length away from the, really, very tall angel and
bowed, expressionless. "Uriel-sama."

Keigo blinked. He’d never heard Sakaki-san offer that kind of respect to anyone.

"Israfel," Uriel said, softly. "It’s good to see you again."

Sakaki-san gave him an extremely level look, the kind of look he gave a Regular
who had just lost inexcusably. It didn’t exactly match with the way he’d
greeted this angel, and Keigo started a mental list of questions to ask his
mentor later; he could usually get answers if he picked the right time. Uriel,
though didn’t seem too taken aback by the expression, and only sighed.

"Arariel had a few things to say to me about my absence, and those injured
by it. She mentioned you."

Sakaki-san sniffed. "Did she mention herself? I won’t say I was pleased
to have the majority of my power sealed, but it was better to come to Assiah
and work than to stay in Heaven and deal with the likes of Sevothtarte."
There was little variation in his deep, even voice, but Keigo watched his
eyes and they were narrower than usual. "Humans and angels should not
be apart. We were created for each other. I had, at least, the satisfaction
of saying so to those who had forgotten their purpose."

Uriel moved a step closer, looking down at Sakaki-san soberly. "You have
a right to your anger with them; and with me as well. But you don’t regret
your exile, then?"

Sakaki lifted one brow. "I occasionally regretted the company; I was initially
directed to Aziraphale while I acquainted myself with the mortal world. But
no. I have not regretted my time here."

Uriel turned his eyes on Keigo, and Keigo was startled at how close he came
to drowning in them. Dark eyes that didn’t challenge the way Raphael’s or
Michael’s did, or mock the way Mad Hatter’s did. Perhaps he didn’t have to
ask why Sakaki-san respected this stern, quiet person.

"From the binding between you and this young man, it seems you’re thinking
of returning soon?" Uriel asked, not looking away from Keigo.

"I am."

Keigo didn’t have to be looking to tell that Sakaki-san had slow, hot fire
behind his eyes now. It was the way he got when something he wanted was in
sight.

Uriel seemed to hear it too, or heard something that made his lips quirk. "Well,
then." He turned back to Sakaki-san. "It won’t do for you to return
with less than all your power." He spread one long hand against Sakaki-san’s
chest, and wings unfolded behind him, the color of last year’s leaves. Keigo
found his fingers itching to run though that rich darkness; bad manners,
he reminded himself.

Sakaki-san’s eyes widened and his breath stopped as something crackled around
him, something Keigo thought he might have seen had he looked just from the
corner of his eye. When Sakaki-san’s wings spread in answer, Keigo saw the
something far more clearly. It wrapped around the angel who had taught him
music and tennis and excellence, like heat haze that had coaxed a rainbow
down to play with it.

"If you return to our order," Uriel said, as Keigo blinked away formless
after images, "return as yourself, Israfel." He folded his wings
and nodded a farewell that encompassed Keigo.

"Uriel-sama," Sakaki-san called. When Uriel paused and looked back,
he bowed deeply. "Thank you."

Uriel smiled.

"So," Keigo mused as he followed his coach back toward their team,
"you aren’t actually a Principality."

"Not any more."

Keigo didn’t think it was his imagination that Kantoku sounded smug.

"What is your Order, then?" he asked, when it was clear the answer
wasn’t going to be volunteered.

"The Dominions."

Keigo recalled what his research had had to say about this, and smiled. "Those
who judge and order. I suppose I might have guessed."

Kantoku slanted a glance at him. "You have something to say, Atobe-kun?"

"Not at all," Keigo replied, airily.

The future, he decided, was looking better all the time.

End

The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei

by Lys ap Adin

Mad Hatter tempts Ohtori and tweaks Sakaki’s nose. Drama with Humor, I-2

Character(s): Mad Hatter, Ohtori Choutarou, Sakaki Tarou

Someone had claimed the practice room ahead of him; the plaintive notes of a violin filtered dimly through the closed door, flaunting his reserved 5:15 to 6:15 slot in Ohtori Choutarou’s face.

He suppressed an irritated sigh—didn’t anyone ever look at the sign-up sheets?—and hoped that he’d be able to evict whoever-it-was with a minimum of fuss. He crossed his fingers, prayed for Minami-kun instead of Arisagawa-kun, and knocked.

Whoever-it-was kept playing.

Choutarou did sigh at that point. Arisagawa-kun, then, who could be counted on to put up a fight for the room. Choutarou set his jaw and steeled himself for battle, and opened the door. “Excuse me, but I have this room—oh.” That wasn’t Minami-kun, or even Arisagawa-kun, perched in the window.

Rikkai’s demon lowered her bow and looked at him. “One wondered whether you had planned to stand out there all afternoon,” she said.

“Erm.” After Nationals had ended, Choutarou had hoped (albeit without much conviction) that the summer’s unusual events might be over. So much for that.

Rikkai’s demon, Kantoku had said, is dangerous, and nothing but trouble. Don’t have any dealings with her if you can help it, and leave her strictly to me.

Choutarou edged himself backwards; the demon smiled, eyes bright and amused. “If you’re looking for Kantoku,” he said, “he’s generally on the tennis courts at this time of day. I can go get him for you.”

Rikkai’s demon laughed. “If one had wanted Israfel, one would have found him already, Ohtori-kun,” she said.

The demon knew his name. Choutarou contemplated the implications of that, and didn’t like them. Shit. “Ah. In that case, I’ll—”

“One hears that you play,” the demon said, and lifted her chin, indicating the case that he carried. “Would you care to play with one for a bit, Ohtori-kun?”

Say no, his common sense whispered, but the oddity of the request tugged at his curiosity. “Why?”

The demon shrugged. “Does there need to be a reason?”

“If it’s you—yes, I think there does.” Choutarou was proud of how level his voice was. “And probably a catch, too.”

The demon tapped her bow against her thigh. “Israfel’s stamp is all over you,” she said. Tap, tap, tap, went the bow, until she came to a decision. “One wishes to play, and one’s own mentioned that you play well, should one wish someone to play with. Which one does.” She tipped her head. “Play with me.”

“I’m not prepared for a duet,” Choutarou hedged, turning her request (command? not quite, not entirely) over and examining it from every angle. There didn’t seem to be a catch.

She smiled like she knew that he was wavering. “Let one worry about that.” She set her bow to the strings of her violin again and played a quick run of notes, light and teasing.

“I’m not warmed up,” he said, and was faintly appalled at himself for giving
in to his curiosity so easily.

Her eyes danced. “So warm up.”

This was possibly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Choutarou found himself coming into the room and setting his case down, nonetheless, lifting out his violin and bow, checking them over and making small adjustments to them before tucking the instrument under his chin and beginning his warm-up exercises. He was conscious of the demon watching him all the while, and his fingers were clumsy at first. She didn’t speak, nor did she offer to move from her perch on the windowsill to pounce on him and drag him off to perdition (or whatever it was demons did; Kantoku had been vague on the subject). He relaxed by increments and his fingers unstiffened, and soon he was running through scales in long, effortless ripples.

At first, he thought that the sound of the second violin was an echo, and wondered, puzzled, whether the soundproofing of the practice room had begun to fail, until a flicker of movement caught his eye. She had begun to play again, following his notes easily, until she caught him looking. Then she smiled and was off, fingers dancing over the strings, spilling out notes that were dark and wild and sweeter than he would have expected.

Choutarou found that he was veering away from the familiarity of his scales as the demon’s melody coaxed him away from them, and chasing after the music that she played. The part of him that was standing back keeping a wary eye on the demon was impressed; he would not have thought it of himself, to be able to improvise like this, not with a partner he’d never practiced with (although perhaps that was less his skill and more the demon’s). The rest of him leaned into the music, relaxing into the wildness of it the same way he fell into a good game of tennis, and he swayed with the beat as the demon’s melody drove them on, faster and higher—

“What is the meaning of this?”

The question washed away the spell of the music like an ice-cold wave of water; Choutarou stopped short, mid-note, breathing hard and staring guiltily at Kantoku.

“One wondered when you would arrive, Israfel,” the demon said, lightly, and hopped down from her perch. “One must congratulate you on having such a specimen under your wings.” A hand settled on Choutarou’s shoulder, hot through the fabric of his uniform.

Kantoku rocked on his heels, looking very much like he wanted to knock away that hand, or possibly tear out the demon’s throat. “You have your own team, Hatter,” he grated. “I won’t let you steal from mine.”

The demon (Hatter-san?) laughed. The sharpness of it ran down Choutarou’s spine like ice. “If you say so,” she murmured. “One finds oneself inclined to prove you wrong.” Kantoku growled and took a step forward. Hatter-san laughed again, and held up her hand. “This one isn’t inclined to be stolen, regrettably. One will respect that.”

“See that you do,” Kantoku said, as Hatter-san stepped away from Choutarou.

Hatter-san smiled. “Or else?” she asked, tone deceptively light. “Oh, very well.” She tipped her hat to Choutarou. “Thank you for your time, Ohtori-kun. Do let one know if you ever feel like being borrowed.” With that, she stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

Choutarou shook himself from his daze, and realized that Kantoku was swearing.

“That,” he said, from between gritted teeth, “was a very foolish thing to do, Ohtori-kun.”

“I—ah—yes, Kantoku. I suppose it was.” Choutarou bowed. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Stand up, boy,” Kantoku said impatiently, coming to him and examining him, and frowning. “Did you make any agreements? Sign anything?”

Choutarou shook his head. “No.”

Kantoku’s frown deepened. “No? Nothing?”

“No, sir.” Choutarou paused. “I think she just wanted to play.”

“Belial never ‘just’ wants anything,” Kantoku said, but he seemed to be calming down, and his tone was dry. “You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” Choutarou agreed. He bit his lip. “I suppose I can’t let myself be borrowed?”

Kantoku looked at him for a long moment. “Do you have time in your evenings for private lessons?”

Choutarou blinked, and ran through his schedule. “I could,” he said, cautiously.

“Good. We’ll begin tomorrow. Meet me in here at seven.” Kantoku turned on his heel.

“…sir? Why?” Choutarou called after him.

Kantoku’s smile was thin. “Hell doesn’t have all the best musicians,” he said, “but they certainly don’t need any more. And Belial can keep her greedy hands off my team.” With that, he left.

Choutarou took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That was interesting,” he said, finally, to the silence, and took out his sheet music. He still had the room for fifteen minutes and there was no sense in wasting the time, demonic interruptions or no.

And he told himself, as he lifted his violin again and began to work on the tricky sequence at measure fifty-four, that he was only imagining the purr of Hatter-san’s laughter.

end

Ink Burns

Fanfiction by Branch

Hyoutei: All In One

Profession

A Small Problem

Family Reunion

Balance

Willing

Answers

The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei