Jolting awake, Azrael's mind was immediately flooded with the panicked thought that Pavel had woken up and had run off or, the worse option, he had died in the night. In a startlingly fast motion, Azrael pushed himself up from where he had been sprawled on the ground so he could stand over the bed and check to see if the man was there. Sighing, that bubbling panic was swiftly quelled.
Azrael noted that Pavel was there, his form obvious even in the dark, but he didn't allow himself to be glad until he leaned down. Bringing his hand up, he pressed the edges of his clawed fingers, wary of his talons so much as touching that delicate skin, to each of Pavel's identifiable pulse points. Then, and only then, did he allow his tension to unwind slightly at the fact that the man was still here and still alive.
Something Azrael noticed that also gave him a sense of relief was the fact Pavel had moved about in the night. He was now curled up on his side, his hand pressed between his cheek and the pillow, a much more natural position than the one that Azrael had placed him in. In his limited medical knowledge, Azrael could deduce that that was something good at least – Pavel wasn't in a coma, just asleep. I'm pretty sure, at least. There's was a slight scent of blood in the air but Azrael didn't see anything in the darkness, so he didn't take it be too serious.
His, evidently, deep sleep hadn't been interrupted by Azrael's taloned fingers pressing on his neck and wrists, giving a decent time for Azrael to vacate the room and make some food. He didn't want Pavel to wake up to a stranger's face in an unfamiliar room so he took himself out of that equation as he was the only part that was controllable. As an extension of that, Azrael thought that it would be pleasant to smell breakfast upon waking up because it might put Pavel a little at ease, knowing he isn't in an isolated dungeon. It seemed a good enough idea to comfort him some.
As Azrael turned on the oven, waiting for it to heat up so he could put some of the bacon he'd bought yesterday afternoon on the grill shelf, he strained his ears. He was attuned to all of the noises the house made now, which meant that he would be able to identify the unfamiliar sound of another person arising from his bedroom. It had been many years since he'd shared a space with someone else. Many years since he'd lived in a home, not a bare-walled house.
He watched the minutes go by on the clock on the wall, the morning slipping away as he simply waited. While the bacon cooked, Azrael put some bread in the toaster and got the butter out of the fridge. I hope he doesn't have any dietary restrictions. I don't know what rabbits can eat.
The smell of cooking pork was permeating the house now as he left the bacon in the low-heat oven so it remained warm for when Pavel woke up, whenever that would be. If it took too long, the bacon would probably become soggy, but Azrael was sure he would appreciate it either way - food was food.
The light sounds of rustling pulled Azrael out of his thoughts as he tilted his ear towards the ceiling, listening in to see if that was more than just the man readjusting his sleeping position. Azrael's shoulders drew closer together, tense, when he heard feet touch the creaking floorboards beneath the carpet of the bedroom, followed by slow, timid footsteps creeping across the room. There was an anxious edge to Azrael's breathing and he felt decidedly perturbed by this reaction. Oddly, he couldn't quite shake off his nerves.
After a brief bought of silences, he heard the squeak of his bedroom door's hinge as the man pulled it open before scampering down the hallway. The top of the stairs was just out of Azrael's line of sight, just as the kitchen was out of Pavel's, so there was a pregnant pause as he seemed to wait to see who was in the house. With bated breath, Azrael waited too.
Before Azrael could decide what action to take, Pavel began to tentatively descend the stairs, taking one step every few seconds. Azrael could hear how he leant forward each time, the slight bending of the floorboards indicating how the man changed how he stood. Almost choking on nerves, Azrael could see Pavel's lower legs come into view. His apprehension was evident, in the way he pressed his feet together, his toes curling tight to the ball of his feet, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller. Everything went still, the air palpable and unpleasant.
It seemed that Pavel decided to bite the bullet because he suddenly marched down the stairs confidently, walking down them with sure footing and good speed. While Azrael was still out of his view, he could now see Pavel fully.
Pavel was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as his eyes scanned the environment around him, somewhere between erratically and systematically. Azrael vaguely saw his nose twitch as he sniffed at the scent of food in the air and he could the grumble of Pavel's stomach from across the hall. Heart sinking to his stomach, Azrael saw a violent purple mar Pavel's face and down his neck that had been shaded in the night and gone unnoticed in his earlier panic in the unlit bedroom. Evidently, the wounds of last night had become much worse as he slept.
Certain of what to do know, Azrael gently cleared his throat before he called out to him. "There's some food in here, if you're hungry. I'll explain what I can."
The man froze, his mind fawning as Azrael could see him trying to decide whether to listen to the voice of the strange man in the strange house or if he should try to make a run for it through the front door. It wasn't surprising that he felt that he was in such a hard position – he had been in a state of constant fight or flight his entire life.
It seemed curiosity or, more likely, hunger won him over because he padded towards the kitchen, his ears tight to his skull. I think. Did I leave my glasses in the car? Annoying.
After what felt like an eternity, Pavel stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Azrael couldn't help but find himself becoming short of breath – this was incredibly surreal. The fact that the man he had killed dozens to protect for years was actually in front of him, in his house. Azrael could actually talk to him now. Those words had been the first he had ever spoken to Pavel.
"Who are you? Why am I here?" His voice was thick with his peculiar mismatch of accents, something that must have been put together from growing up around people of many tongues. Azrael would not be shocked if he taught himself English with little outside help. It was mildly tinged cockney from Pavel's years in London, but not quite that, the undertone of whatever his original language was there in his words. Those were the first things that he had ever spoken to Azrael and the first time Azrael had ever heard him speak properly, rather than his voice being used for less than savoury purposes. Despite the aggression, was something almost melodic to Pavel's voice. "Tell me now. Explain yourself."
"Please sit first. You collapsed last night and I know you must be hungry." Azrael tried his best to keep his voice soft so he didn't scare Pavel. He also attempted to look him in the eyes so he didn't think he was some shifty lowlife or at least not one who wanted to hurt him at least. Desperately, Azrael had to hope he wasn't coming across as a threat.
Pavel bit back his words when his stomach grumbled again. Hesitantly, he moved further into the kitchen, never once taking his eyes off of Azrael. His gaze was fixed upon the swooping curves of his folded wings, as he made his way to the chair opposite him. Once he was comfortable, Azrael got back up to get the bacon out of the oven and butter the toast. He made sure he could watch everything that he doing so he knew that nothing was being added into his food.
The room remained quiet during this time, which was something Azrael normally welcomed but now it disconcerted him. He tried to dispel that oppressive silence as he set the food on the table with an awkward grimace of a smile. He dropped it quickly though when he realised that he was just brandishing a mouthful of flesh-tearing teeth to a man who was already apprehensive. Smiling and comforting was not something natural for Azrael, no matter how much he wished it was.
"Here it is. You're not vegetarian, right?" Azrael asked, unsure that he was making the right choice at every turn he took. Pushing the plate towards him, he let Pavel know he could take whatever he needed. The man's eyes were now fixed on the razor-sharp claws that Azrael's fingers ended in so he quickly retracted his hands and tucked his fingers against his palm, hoping to limit the fear his presence and appearance struck with him. It was not the first time Azrael found himself cursing the way he was born.
"Costs too much money to be selective." Azrael's offer was met with a suspicious glare and a scathing remark but, once more, Pavel's hunger won over and he grabbed some toast and bacon. He at it quickly, like he hadn't eaten in days, though that wouldn't have been that surprising. Pavel finished the plate off in only a handful of minutes, pushing it back to Azrael as soon as he was done. "…Thank you."
Azrael nodded. "No need, you're a guest."
All was quiet again, Pavel just staring at Azrael distrustfully while Azrael waited for him to initiate conversation, to see if there was anything that he wanted to ask without being pushed into it. Azrael tried not to stare back too intently, fully aware that people never enjoyed being caught in his line of sight for too long – it was something he had used as an intimidation tactic in his younger years. His stare was one of a predator, after all, slit-pupiled and a pallid, strange colour. Ominous, despite his lack of clear vision.
Finally, Pavel leaned forward slightly and tilted his chin up a slight bit. His brows furrowed and Azrael could feel that Pavel was trying to portray himself confidently so he wouldn't be seen as prey. This was the mask he chose to wear now he was entertaining Azrael's presence. "Who are you, then? Why are you keeping me here?"
Softening his demeanour the best he could, Azrael finally explained, "I'm not keeping you here – you can leave when you want. But," he made his tone harsher for a second as he saw Pavel flickering his eyes to the front door, "I think I should check you over for injuries. As I said, you collapsed on the street in front of me."
"Are you a doctor or a paramedic or something? Why did you not check me when I was unconscious?" He was still sceptical but he seemed to relax now he knew he was free to leave. Pavel continued to stare at Azrael but he no longer had such an intense fear behind his eyes. "Hm? Why aren't you answering?"
Azrael sighed slightly. "I'm not a doctor but I know enough to help. You aren't dead, so no internal bleeding. That's good." Pavel scrunched his nose in a flickering display of confusion, but he didn't interject. "And I didn't want you to wake up with me looking at you. I… I didn't think that would be… pleasant."
Nodding, Pavel digested my words. "So you wanted to get my permission to check me for injuries. Fine, whatever. But you still haven't answered my question: who are you? Why did you bring me to your house to look after me?"
It was obvious he could see that Azrael was avoiding answering that at all costs, but he was intuitive enough to know he wasn't the type to hurt him even if Pavel pushed it. "A good Samaritan, maybe?" An uncomfortable joke that escaped his lips before he could think. Quickly, he moved past that blip. "But my name is Azrael. That doesn't matter. You can leave or you can let me assist you. Your choice." It felt unnatural to speak as much as he was now. Azrael tended to keep his words to a minimum, barely talking with more than a sentence at a time.
Azrael knew he was injured, more than what he could see on Pavel's face, but he couldn't let him know that he was a concerned as he was. The scent of blood was beginning to ooze into the air again. All Azrael had to do was hope that he would allow him to extend his helping hand – Azrael would be making extra sure Pavel would never see him again after this interaction. He watched Pavel's face as he thought intently, fascinated by the man's inability to maintain a poker face at all.
Flickering his eyes between the front door, only a few metres away, that led to his treacherous home and Azrael, the stranger who had made it clear his intentions were pure. It was down to trust, something that Pavel had not reason to place in Azrael. The decision was eating him up from the inside out, his desire to survive kicking in and his desire to be entirely self-sufficient, as he always had been, fighting back. Finally, Azrael saw that fight die down and a look of belaboured resignation replaced it. A choice had been made.
"Sure, let's get this over with, Mr Good Samaritan." There was no hint of anything other than distrust in his words. While this was a step in the right direction, Pavel's impervious walls were still just as high as before but that was not something Azrael had any right to complain about.
Nonetheless, this meant Azrael could help Pavel more directly now. "Good. I'll clean up while you go back to the room you were in."