Just shy of two months passed before Pavel turned back up at Azreal's house.
Between that first night and now, Azrael had dispatched three men and two women, which was an unusually high amount for such a short period of time. He knew that it had been inevitable that Pavel would come back due to that, for one reason or another, but his sudden appearance caught Azrael off guard. It had almost slipped his mind that he had granted the man permission to enter his house whenever he needed an escape.
It was not long past midday and Azrael was just rising from sleep when he heard the distinct sound of a door opening, though whoever was opening it was clearly trying to be sneaky. It failed as it was such a foreign, unfamiliar sound to Azrael's ears. As attuned to his house's sounds as he was, it quickly spurred Azrael up and out of bed, aclothed in his underwear and still bleary-eyed, despite the glasses he had instinctually slipped on. If he wasn't so sure-footed, he could easily have tripped over himself in the hurry he was in. Quickly, Azrael considered what to do, sleep still heavy on his mind.
A thief – I don't want to just kill them in my house. That's a hassle. His taloned feet made no sound on the old carpet of his upstairs landing. Calling the police? No, I don't need them involved. Azrael hunkered down as low as he could, essentially creeping down the stairs on his hands. Instincts took over as he moved liked he would if he were dragon-shaped. As panicked as he was, his heartbeat was unsettlingly slow and his breathing was so even it was like he was still sleeping. Shit, what should I do?
Azrael reached the ground floor but kept his stance low to the ground, tensing his body to attack whoever was intruding on his house. Instinctively, his wings began to flair outwards, making himself seem bigger, more of a threat, even though it was unnecessary. Azrael couldn't help his nature sometimes. His ears homed in on the sound of breathing in the kitchen and just before Azrael leaped around the corner and pinned the invader to the floor, something changed. Their breath hitched, like… like he's crying.
Against his instincts and typical judgement, Azrael spoke through the still-dark room. He kept himself crouched in the shadows of the hallway, just in case he was wrong. In a low voice, "Is that you, Pavel?"
A chair scraped on the floor and a shocked gasp was inhaled. "Jesus! You scared me. I thought you were out because the curtains were drawn and it was all dark. I'm sorry, do you want me to go?"
He's definitely crying. Oh, fuck,why's he crying? Azrael stood up quickly, worriedly barrelling into the kitchen to check on him. A deep panic had set in, his protective desire overwhelming the temporary concerns he had just had about a potential home invader. His heart, previously so slow it had almost stopped, was thundering against his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
The curtains were drawn in the kitchen, the lights were off but Azrael could still see, from the dim glow of the microwave screen, that Pavel was drenched. Pattering rain could be heard against the windows as Azrael stared at his hair that was limply plastered to his face and shoulders. It wasn't raining hard enough for him to become this soaked through – he must have been outside without a jacket or umbrella for a long while. Pavel watched him back with teary eyes; there was no way to differentiate the tears from the raindrops. As Azrael looked at him, formulating what to say, he could see that Pavel's t-shirt was torn and watery blood was slipping down his body, puddling on the floor with the rain beneath the chair. The hint of blood was evident of the air now, making Azrael feel oddly nauseous. Collecting himself, Azrael took a tentative step forward. "Pavel. What happened?"
Before he realised it, Azrael was squatting down next to him, his gaze just below Pavel's eye level, his hand resting on his shoulder. As if Azrael wanted to hug him, an action that deeply foreign to him, Azrael stretched one of his wings to vaguely curl it around his back. His movement stopped short of touching Pavel further as he was scared to do more than he already had – Azrael couldn't bear the thoughts of him pushing him away. He almost forgot that he was nearly nude, but Pavel didn't seem to notice or he just didn't care. So it became quickly irrelevant.
Pavel whimpered, instead of answering, water-logged rabbit ears trembling against the side of his head. Clearly, he was rattled by whatever had happened as all the man could do was stare at Azrael and weep. There was no attempt, this time, to play the part of an unphased, untouchable statue, showing his weakness clearly. Moving his hands from where they had been balled up fists on his lap, Pavel tentatively slid his shaking arms around Azrael's torso and pulled him into a weak embrace. Wet cloth clung to him like a second skin. Frigid, damp flesh slotted together.
Naturally, Azrael froze in place, unsure how to deal with the touch of another person that wasn't one of violence, but he returned the gesture the best he could. Azrael hands basically spanned Pavel's torso and his bony, thin body almost vanished under his arms. The wet expanse of golden fur on his chest rubbed unpleasantly against Azrael's frigid skin. Hopefully, the man couldn't tell that Azrael was shaking as much as he was as he rubbed his back. In a hushed tone, Azrael said, "It's alright. You're safe." Pavel's wet hair, wet ears, and wet fur were cold to the touch, unpleasant for someone a coldblooded as Azrael but he continued to rest his chin upon Pavel's head and hum comfort. This was not his forte, his actions stiff even as he tried to be gentle. "I'll help you."
The grip Pavel held on Azrael tightened now, his hands grabbing onto the joint where his wings erupted from his back, as if the man thought he was going to pull away. If Pavel had been any stronger, if could exert anymore strength at all, it would have been unpleasant or painful for him to grasp that vital part of Azrael's body so solidly. Pavel pressed his face more firmly to the curve of Azrael's chest before he choked a response out. "I- I was going home and I got mugged. They took all the money I had on me… beat me and left me for dead in an alleyway… must have passed out and when I woke up it was raining." He pulled away slightly so he could look at Azrael in the eye. Taking this opportunity, Azrael properly assessed any damage that could be seen from this angle and his face fell. "I didn't know what to do."
"I'm sorry." What had happened was not as bad as what he was put through by his client's but, it seemed that due to its unexpected nature, this rattled him far more. There was nothing else Azrael could think to say as he studied Pavel's face. He hadn't looked at it for long, only a few seconds before Pavel hid his face from Azrael in the embrace, so it stung to see that the facial injuries he'd sustained this time where deeper. Instead of just the flourishing, vibrant bruise, Pavel's eyebrow had split with crusted blood along his forehead and his face was littered with small grazes. His left eye was almost swollen shut and his teeth were stained with blood – too much to just be from his torn lip, so he must have been beaten hard enough to lose a tooth or to retch blood. "I'll check you over. Like last time?"
Nodding, Pavel fully retracted from the hug, hissing as he moved now, the pain seemingly no longer manageable. "Probably a good idea. I think." No longer crying, he looked at Azrael with a more confident expression though it was easy to see the biting agony hiding behind his gaze. That flash of vulnerability was thinly shrouded again as if Pavel regretted letting Azrael see him cry.
Azrael stood up, looking down at Pavel as he sat still on the chair. The puddle of bloody water had grown beneath him and Azrael felt damp, the rain dripping down his body, transferred from the other man. "I'll get you a towel. Wait here, Pavel."
Without giving him time to respond, Azrael swept out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, moving with some considerable speed so there was less risk of Pavel losing too much blood, if he was still bleeding. Fortunately, there was an older towel stuffed in the back of a cupboard so Azrael didn't mind throwing it out if it got too stained to clean. Hurrying back, Azrael found Pavel now standing in the middle of the kitchen on legs that wobbled slightly, his posture mildly hunched from pain. Despite this, he was staring at something out of view as the rhythmic dropping of water from his body echoed off the tiles. Pavel was so entranced by whatever it was that he didn't notice Azrael's return.
"I'll put your clothes in the wash, so dry yourself. I'll check you after." Azrael offered the towel to Pavel, who startled slightly at his voice, and he took it without looking away from what Azrael could now see was the door of the fridge. Ah. His brows furrowed. Azrael could guess what was coming, but he couldn't help but ask, "What is it?"
Pavel lifted his finger and pointed at the singular magnet that Azrael had. His voice was mild, hoarse at the edges, though it was still pleasant on the ears. "I noticed last time. You don't… have any decorations anywhere apart from this. Why's that?"
Just like when Pavel had worn that damn t-shirt two months ago, Azrael could feel swelling, unpleasant nostalgia crushing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. It was that little gaudy magnet shaped like some kind of dinosaur, a souvenir from some museum he could barely remember anymore. He'd never found it in him to get rid of it – it still hurt to look at it after all this time, that memory of a better life. "Mh, that. It's… sentimental, like the shirt you've not returned. I'd rather not discuss it."
Between his question and Azrael's answer, Pavel had stripped off and wrapped the towel around his waist, his hair still damp but his ears now stuck up more boldly from his head. The fur dried naturally in the cool air. It seemed he had settled down some. Azrael glanced at Pavel's body and grimaced at the injuries, though he was glad that none of them were as bad as they had been last time. There was only one deeper gouge that cut through the skin below his ribs and the rest were just large bruises but Azrael knew it hurt, nonetheless. It was if Pavel's body was a magnet for injuries, constantly battered and unable to heal. There were a myriad of new scars and scabbed, almost-healed wounds across his body that had not been there two months. Azrael was racked with sorrow.
"I'm sorry, I'll get the shirt back to you." Pavel did seem genuinely apologetic, though it made Azrael feel terrible to see that expression on his beaten face. "And I won't ask."
Azrael gave him a grateful mumble, though it was short as he quickly turned his full attention fully to treating the still wet, bleeding man. He decided it best to guide Pavel back to the stool before he began. First things first, Azrael cupped Pavel's jaw with his talons, gently resting them on his skin so he didn't get hurt more as Azrael tilted his head from side to side. Scanning his face, Azrael concluded that all he needed to do was treat the split lip, the cut eyebrow and check that Pavel hadn't lost any teeth before he moved on to his torso. "Open your mouth as wide as you can. I want to check that blood isn't from a loosed tooth."
Pavel obliged, gently saying 'ah', as he pressed his tongue to the bottom of his mouth and opened it to the fullest extent he could, though he did let out a hissing breath. He could have bone bruising. Jesus, why did they have to hurt him so much. Azrael scanned his mouth before awkwardly asking, "This may be unpleasant, refuse if you want. I'm going to run my finger across your teeth just to be sure you're alright. Tell me if you were already missing any already."
"That's okay and no, I have all my teeth – dentistry is something I do my best to get done. I don't need people to think I'm an addict or dirty." Pavel let out a bitter scoff, before locking eyes with Azrael, a vicious, wordless anger hidden behind the mild visage that was obvious he painstakingly maintained. Such scorn did not match his gentle face. "I have enough going against me."
Silently, he opened his mouth again, not allowing Azrael to respond. The man sitting on that stool was enraged at the world and that included Azrael, even if he did trust his presence to an extent. The world, people, society – whatever the hell it was – was the problem and he was utterly powerless to do anything about it, swept away by the merciless tides of an unforgiving universe. All he could do was scream into the void; his pain lost in the ocean of everyone else's voice. Pavel was one of many forgotten people. It hurts how much I understand him.
Lightly, Azrael brushed his clawed finger across Pavel's teeth and gums, trying his best not to scratch him or prod him too uncomfortably in the sensitive, fleshy parts of his cheeks. It would be no good if he hurt him while trying to heal him. A relieved exhale blew out of Azrael's nose once he retracted his touch, wiping the saliva that had accrued on his finger on the towel Pavel still had tied about his hips. "You've not lost any teeth. Good. I'll check your other injuries."
Swallowing first and running his tongue across his teeth, as if he was double-checking Azrael's assessment, Pavel met his eyes once again. That rage had subsided, or he had at least put up his mellow, but sorrowful, façade once more, and that did give Azrael some relief. Azrael didn't like how Pavel hid his true feelings, but he hated to see him so angry. With an exhausted, harrowing smile, Pavel's near-lifeless eyes just looked at him and said in a sigh, "Knock yourself out, Azrael."