Chapter Text
It was a cold, early winter evening, and the only thing on Momo Ayase’s mind was getting a coffee to hold in her frigid hands until her calculus class started in an hour. The wind chill was fucking negative ten degrees Fahrenheit, and she was beginning to regret having moved with her grandmother to Fairfield, Connecticut. Why, oh why did they have to go abroad? There was way less snow in Kamigoe City back in Japan. Fucking bullshit.
She’d been given the choice to stay home; but if she did, she would have had to get a better job to support herself and pay her way through grad school. And that sounded like a whole hell of a lot more work, okay?
They were here for some long-term spirit mumbo-jumbo that Momo couldn’t care less about, to be honest, but it had been a year and a half now. And learning English and sign language and experiencing the culture shock of becoming an expat to America had been fun for a little while, sure. She’d made a couple of sort-of friends here, even had one super disappointing boyfriend for a while; the attraction of being a foreigner was a real thing, it turned out. But the snow was seriously testing her strength of will to just power through and get her bachelor’s degree in interpreting and languages here before they ended up moving back.
It didn’t help that this stupid fucking class didn’t start until 7PM. Initially, Momo had liked choosing the later courses so she could sleep in as opposed to her fellow students that got up at the asscrack of dawn. But as time wore on, she was rethinking the extra sleep, since she had practically no free time during the week because of her spaced-out classes.
Sighing, she picked up speed into a penguin-y trot, trying to avoid breaking her ass open on the ice but also eager to escape the cold. Her favorite coffee shop was just a small cafe near campus that wasn’t owned by some major chain; the atmosphere was cozy, it always smelled amazing, and nobody tried to bother her about the screenplay they were writing or tried to get her to sign some stupid petition to save the rainforest. It’s not like she didn’t care about the rainforest, but if she signed every petition she was asked to, she’d flunk out of college on attendance alone. And everyone knew the petitions didn’t do shit.
As she approached the cafe, all the noise around her just stopped, as though it was muted by some deity fucking around with their sound settings on a holy laptop. From the whipping wind to the low hum of nearby traffic, it was all silent, and only her chilled breath and the crunch of her feet on the snow could be heard.
‘What the fuuuuuckkkk?’ Momo thought to herself as a trickle of instinctive fear made its way down her back. She peered into the cafe ahead of her, nobody was inside, even though the lights were on and untended mugs sat on the tables along with phones and laptops. It was eerie, as though everyone got beamed up by aliens or maybe raptured or something.
An echoing, high-pitched voice behind her made her twist around precariously, losing her footing in the process and landing hard on her tailbone, “This female human has the ability to enter the Empty Space. We must harvest her organs, as well as those of the male monster.” And then suddenly she was slammed flat on her back into the ground by this unexplainable pressure, some crazy gravity keeping her locked in the snow.
Holding a malformed, four-fingered hand out above her prone form is a... thing? A monster? It had black geometric stripes on a fat, white body and bulbous purple eyes that were glowing on stalks connected to its head. “You cannot escape my Serpo Grammetry,” it said, and what the hell was wrong with its humanoid, gigantic mouth, “We will take your organs and experiment on you to advance our species with your abilities.”
“What... abilities... you cunt?” Momo groaned out between clenched teeth, barely able to twitch her fingers, but if she could she’d be flipping this bastard the bird.
As the weird thing stepped closer, there was the deep rumble of a hate-filled growl that vibrated her skull, and then the pressure was released instantly when her attacker’s body was knocked to the side at a speed that she wasn’t able to track with her eyes. Just a black and red blur and the thing was just gone.
Momo started to clamber up onto her knees weakly, at this point she didn’t give a shit what was going on, she just knew she had to get as far away as possible. But another creature like the last one stepped out from the alleyway, though this one had glowing green eyes. It said, “You are fortunate to have been found by we Serpo and not the male monster, as we have always been friendly toward humans.”
“Yeah sure, you fuckhead. That’s why you want to harvest my organs, right,” she sneered contemptuously at it as it raised his knobby hands toward her, and she tried to brace herself against another weird gravity wave-
But it didn’t come.
The black and red blur materialized out of the air in front of her, and a hulking, black-furred monster stood between her and the... Serpo? It was as tall as her granny’s old Chevy Astro, almost as wide, and there was a fluffy looking tail with a red streak whipping around wildly behind it, like an agitated cat. She could see patches of white slowly taking over the short mane of coarse black and red fur wrapping from the top of its head (are those... dog ears?) and extending halfway down its curling spine. It was hunched over, but still so fucking big.
That hateful rumble started again, she could feel the snow shaking underneath her knees with the force of it. ‘Is... is that a werewolf? What the fuck, America?!’ Momo blinked at the back of the monster in baffled horror, unable to move – but not from some Serpo shit, just from the sheer presence of this thing in front of her.
Serpo struck again, blasting the werewolf (was that really what she settled on it being?) back into her and she was crushed under its strangely soft bulk. Then the white spread along the rest of the fur, suffocating the inky black like an insanely fast acting disease. The monster jumped up even against the gravity power that was still holding her in the snow, tearing forward on all four limbs faster than blinking and howling in chilling bloodlust.
Gravity relinquished control again, and she looked up to see the (now completely winter white and streaked with crimson) beast crouched over the pile of viscera and robotics, crunching and chewing noisily on the mixed bag of gross. From there she could see that it was, indeed, some kind of werewolf bullshit that Hollywood wished it could pull off, and the cold grip of fear tightened on her insides again. She should really get the fuck out of this nightmare.
Standing cautiously, Momo slid her feet backward, trying to reach the door of the cafe - the nearest source of possible shelter. But then her house keys fell out of her jacket pocket and clinked so fucking noisily on the frosty sidewalk.
The massive beast whipped around and sickly yellow, glowing eyes were welded onto her, unblinking. It did, indeed, have the face of a wolf, if that wolf were seven feet tall and had a ludicrously big maw of teeth seeming to wrap almost all the way around its head like some demented, sharp zipper. And those were canine ears at the top of its mane, swiveling and twitching like it was on speed. God, she hoped it wasn’t also on speed.
There was also half of... a warding slip attached between the eyes? Like the ones her grandmother placed around their apartment when they moved in, and again every week since then.
“G- good... uh, doggy? Umm... you stay... over ther- ohhhh shit,” she ended up shouting when the bastard lunged on her, the only reason it wasn’t snapping her head off was because she already had her arm up defensively. The cartoonishly large fangs pierced the skin and gouged and broke into her bones instead – and jesus fucking christ it hurt more than anything she’d ever felt and the blood was gushing out onto her coat and the white fur of the monster and she was completely sure she was never going to see her grandmother again, or meet Ken Takakura before he died, because she was going first damn it-
The world turned into a turquoise snow globe. Like being filmed in a pool in the middle of a bright summer day, her chestnut brown hair and the shaggy white and red fur of the werewolf were drifting and floating as though fully submerged. Suddenly her arm didn’t hurt anymore and the teeth were being pushed back out by... some warm power inside of her?
“Get the fuck off me, you freak! I will not be the chick killed in the first ten minutes of some shitty B-horror film!” She slapped her free hand between its wide, roving yellow eyes, right where the remains of the familiar talisman were stuck on, and pushed (she doesn’t know with what, only that she pushed).
A howling scream of red, white, and black was thrown off of the creature like so many gallons of paint scattered by a hurricane, and a much smaller figure collapsed face down on top of her chest and legs, limp and feverishly warm.
It was a... regular dude? He had black, messy hair and a bunch of scrapes on his face that were closing up as she fucking watched, one big cut sealing perfectly within the deep purple bags beneath his eyes. His teeth were normal now, she could tell since his mouth was hanging open - he was unconscious but breathing heavy, wet, and annoying puffs of air into her neck. He could be Japanese, like her, probably around her age, too.
Oh wait, he was also completely naked.
And then they were both surrounded by men and women in black suits pointing guns at each of them, screaming at her to get on the ground (she already was.)
Fucking Americans.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this shit?! We’ve been here for almost two goddamn years! Why did I have to get assaulted by an alien and a fucking werewolf before you thought ‘maybe she deserves a warning’?!” Momo shouted in her Granny Seiko’s face, her rage palpable and pouring off of her in waves of twirling teal energy.
Oh yeah, she had psychic powers, apparently? And that was the only reason she didn’t turn into Kibbles N’ Bits like those motherfucking aliens earlier, because it turned out that the coterie of armed secret agents can’t actually stop the big bad wolf?!
“Aliens aren’t real, those Serpo things are definitely yokai. And, you’re an early bloomer, what can I say? My daughter didn’t unlock her spiritual powers until she was twenty-one years old, same as myself. Wasn’t expecting it to show up in you for another year at least.” Seiko blew a cloud of cigarette smoke in her general direction, undeterred by the uncomfortable shuffling of the agents still standing by the door of the interview room they had been stashed in. They’d both slipped back into their native language immediately, Seiko starting the conversation in Japanese with a quick glance to their “bodyguards”.
Momo was stunned. They rarely talked about her mother since she passed away when Momo was only five. The only real memory she had of her mom was a bright smile and trying to grab the turquoise earrings she wore (which Momo always wore herself now) with her little chubby hands. She’d practically always been raised by her grandmother, who tried to impress the importance of spirits and yokai and rituals from that tender age, but she hadn’t really bought into it since puberty.
Guess she should have paid more attention.
“You, what... work here? What is this place anyway?” Momo grumbled at the old lady, smudging her finger on the pristine stainless-steel table they were sitting at, noticing there was an indentation with a bar on it, clearly for handcuffs (or something stronger) to be attached to. She had so many questions, but could really only muddle through things one at a time, she was so fucken wiped now that the adrenaline had run its course.
“The Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense has been around since the early forties, fighting paranormally pumped-up nazis first, but then other spirits and monsters around the world, even yokai back in Japan. They reached out to me a month before we moved here, looking for help with four eyes, who you met earlier. I don’t work for them, I’m a subcontractor; just a temporary gig until they figured out a more permanent solution for the kid.”
Right, the “kid”. The young man that was sprawled out naked on top of her after trying to shred her arm in his monster teeth – at least until one of the agents had wrapped him up in a big blanket and carried him off to a garbage truck.
Because that’s how secret agents get around undetected: a shitting, smelly garbage truck.
“The talismans? Those are your idea, right? They don’t work?” Momo asked suspiciously, seeing as wolf-boy was wearing half of one when he turned into a berserk killing machine.
“They work well enough, it lets him be somewhat normal here, anyway, but they aren’t indestructible. And when four eyes has to go out in the field, anything from ending up in a pond or having a flamethrower in his face is gonna destroy the ward and unlock the yokai possessing him. She’s a bloodthirsty bitch if I’ve ever seen one, and she’s from around Kamigoe City, which is why they called me.”
Momo nodded absently, not quite absorbing everything, but not about to forget anything either, “So, she’s a Japanese spirit? What’s she doing in fucking Connecticut?”
“Kid’s from Kamigoe City, too. You guys are actually the same age - might have gone to school together if he hadn’t been snatched by Turbo Bitch when he was a child. BPRD grabbed him before she could cause too much damage to cover up and brought him here. They’d exorcise her if they weren’t so scared of her power, since she’s so ancient. So instead, they keep her locked up here as much as they do four eyes.”
“Turbo Bitch... you mean Turbo Granny? Really? And wait, he was a child when he was possessed? That’s beyond fucked up.”
“Kid was only ten years old. He’s been dealing with this shit for half of his life now, and Turbo Granny is just getting wilier and more adept at taking over his body – and you saw him, he’s almost impervious to typical weapons. So, Bruttenholm had to call in the big guns.”
“How humble of you,” Momo rolled her eyes, trying not to think about what it must be like to be possessed by a murderous yokai at such a young age, “So are there other monsters here you’re not telling me about?”
“The world is full of monsters, kiddo; just so happens most of ‘em are human. As for the abnormal creatures and spirits that don’t merit a one-way ticket to the other side, yeah, a lot of those work here, too. You know those Hellboy comics you used to read when we first moved here?”
“Yeah, they were- wait a goddamn second. Hellboy is real?!”
Seiko nodded and blew out two perfect smoke rings, this time toward the other agents, “Yup. They call him Big Red around here. He’s out on mission in Argentina or something right now, so they had to bring out the puppy dog to deal with the Serpo before they ended up killing a lot of college kids. Red is actually the one that brought the kid into this shithole. He'll probably be back soon if we can crack this thing.”
Confused and overwhelmed by all the information, Momo shook her head, “What, uh, what do you mean shithole? Aren’t they, like, protecting people from spirits and monsters and shit?”
Her grandmother peered closely at the agents again, they were shifting their weight in the manner of those who are extremely bored but unable to leave, and almost mumbled, “Four eyes hasn’t been outside for anything other than a mission since he came here – except maybe once or twice when Red smuggled him out. Most of the beings with ‘uncontrollable’ powers or monstrous features that they can’t hide never leave at all. Your mom was almost trapped here too, until she married her ‘handler’ . It’s a prison as much as it is an enforcement division. And they’re talking about keeping you here, too, so thank your lucky stars I’m around to knock some sense into them.”
“... Mom was here? Wait, Dad was her handler? What the hell does any of that mea-”
The metal, windowless security door opened between the agents, admitting a reedy, elderly man with wispy white hair and a styled moustache and goatee. His identification badge clipped to the pocket of his brown tweed suit read “Bruttenholm”, and Seiko nodded at him more amenably than Momo has ever seen her acknowledge anyone. It was really fucken weird.
“Ah, Seiko-san,” what the hell, were his eyes fucking twinkling, “And this must be your granddaughter, Momo. I am Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, wonderful to meet you at last. Your grandmother has been essential in assisting one of our more sensitive cases. And I understand you’ve also come into your power as well?”
Momo squinted at him and darted her eyes between the two older people in the room, “Yeaaahhhh... I knocked out your pet monster.”
“Indeed, though I would never refer to him as such. Actually, that is why I am here at the moment. Young Mister Ken is ardently requesting to see that you are unharmed - he had quite a fright earlier when the spirit possessing him attacked you.”
“Ha! He had a fright?! He tried to kill me! ” Momo snarled back at the diminutive man (she was taller than most girls and a lot of guys, a fact she flaunted quite frequently), just about done with this whole fucking place. And what the fuck was with that name?
“Mister Ken is also threatening to release the spirit of Turbo Granny, your true attacker, again if he does not get to confirm you are alright with his own eyes. Therefore, I would be deeply in your debt if you would please come and speak with him.” Brutten-whatever spoke softly but firmly, and though he never seemed anything other than pleading and friendly, Momo almost couldn’t resist her anti-authoritarian urge to flip him off and storm out, secret agents be damned. Almost.
“Come on brat, let’s go help the other brat out. I wanna see how your power works on him, too,” and Seiko (accompanied by her smog) drifted out of the door, which seemed to be unlocked and maybe had been this whole time? Numbly, she followed, eyeing the Professor as he took up the rear of their small procession.
The structure they were in was very large, the walls were made of solid steel and concrete and stretched about twenty feet above them until they reached a ceiling, each step echoing horribly down the stupidly long corridors. A few turns down intersecting (and unmarked as far as she could tell) hallways and she started to hear a loud banging and indistinct yelling.
There were about fifteen agents and one blonde woman in a sweater and tactical gear surrounding a thick window. Everyone but blondie had their weapon fixed on the commotion within. Inside was the Japanese man that had fallen on top of her earlier, now fully clothed, thankfully, wearing round nerd glasses and with a warding slip stuck onto his chest. He had the fingers of one hand wrapped tightly around it, and he was pulling it up out of his (half-undone) white dress shirt collar. In his other hand he was holding a cheap, metal and plastic office chair, which had been smashed nearly to pieces from his rhythmic attacks on the so far unscathed window.
“I want to see her! If she’s not actually dead, I should be allowed to see her! Don’t just bring me the fucking shapeshifter from three floors down either, I swear I’ll rip this tag right off and turn into that monster-” Almost as soon as they stepped into view, he noticed them through the crowd of agents and dropped the chair with a clatter. His eyes were glued to hers, both palms now pressed flat against the thick glass.
“Oh my god, are you okay?! I- I couldn’t stop her and then I blacked out, I thought I killed you! She kept saying you were dead!” Was he fucking crying? He had deep brown eyes, like strong coffee or strong black tea, and sure enough, there were tears gathering at the corners of them. If she thought his hair had been wild and messy before, it was nothing compared to just then, sticking up in all directions as though he’d been wrenching on it for hours. And maybe he had, he seemed really upset.
Brutten-dude stepped forward genially, getting close to the window so he wouldn’t have to shout through it, and the almost-monster darted his eyes down her whole body, focusing on her crossed arms, “As you can see, Mister Ken, the young Miss Ayase is alive and unharmed-”
“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Momo quickly found herself striding to the glass right in front of the boy, meeting his shocked stare with her own angry one, she thumped her fists where his hands were and shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you that you can’t control yourself that much?!”
The tears dried near instantly (thank goodness for that because she didn’t know how she’d fucking deal with him becoming a sappy mess when she was still a little pissed at him), and his lip curled in a confused disgust. He shook his head and squinted at her, “Not when the ward gets power-slapped off my face by some piece of shit alien – you're fucking welcome for taking that hit, by the way! You wouldn’t have survived! Sorry if that pissed you off!”
“You motherfu- ”
“Momo, that’s enough,” Seiko interrupted the (admittedly childish) argument and stepped up to the glass, “Hey four eyes. How are you feeling?”
The boy seemed immediately cowed, and took his arms off the window to adjust his glasses and look meekly at her grandmother, “Umm... b- better now, thank you Sensei. She's quieter, anyway, I think that hit took a lot out of her.” Wait... Sensei?
“Did Turbo Bitch tell you to jump face first in the way or was that something you figured out on your own?” Her eyebrow was raised, cigarette sticking out the side of her mouth as she talked completely neutrally at him.
The guy (Ken, she half remembered? It wasn’t the first time she’s heard it in America, but still) blushed from his ears down to his still partially uncovered chest and looked at the floor of the room he was in. He was barefoot and standing on a rug that had a bunch of planets and stars on it. Was... that his freaking bedroom?
“I- I think it was... my idea. I just... didn’t want s- someone else to get hurt.” Yup, he pulled on his hair when he was nervous.
“The instinct to protect is commendable, but maybe we should focus more on the execution, next time. Like not sticking the talisman directly in the way of a wave attack.”
“... y- yes, Sensei.”
“Okay, kid, rip that thing off. I want to see something.”
Ken (it was fucken sus, okay) met her grandmother’s eyes in horror and surprise, “Uhhh... it’s... it’s the full moon, Sensei... I- I won’t be able to hold her back.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the point. Do it.” Her grandmother was using a stern look and no-nonsense tone, and Ken darted his eyes to Professor Old Guy and the mysterious blonde woman. Both of them nodded grimly and she could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed anxiously.
Then he finished unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale chest, and Momo whipped all the way around with her shoulders hunched around her ears and squeaked angrily, “What the fuck is he getting naked for?!”
Goddamn her grandmother, she was smirking as she said, “Well when he transforms, he’s a hell of a lot bigger,” and holyshit why so much emphasis, “Eventually, the Bureau is going to stop funding replacements for his wardrobe, and then we’ll be seeing way more of his pale, freckled ass running around this place.”
“S- Sensei... please! Can- can Miss Ayase at least go away?”
“Keep stripping, kid.”
There was a whine of pure frustration and embarrassment behind her and she was also brick red. He practically whimpered, “Fuck ... okay, here goes absolutely n- nothing...”
And then there was an explosion of noise: creaking and ripping and tearing all combined and a bestial howl that she swore shakes the whole building. Spinning back around to face the white and red monster again, it slammed huge clawed fists into the thick window and floor to ceiling fractures snapped into being on the surface of the security glass.
That... that wasn’t gonna hold for long.
“Okay Momo, reach for your power like you did earlier,” those wild yellow eyes zero in on her and she could see saliva running down from the zipper smile of the werewolf, “Just find that feeling inside you, firm up the muscles in your abdomen and picture your chi shooting out of the top of your head!” Seiko shouted behind her.
Easy for her to fucking say, there wasn’t a feral creature making intense eye contact and smashing their skull into the window right in front of her .
But Momo slammed her eyelids shut on the terrifying visage and did as she was instructed, “Now search for the aura and control it!” She found herself trying to copy what happened earlier outside the cafe, but the flickering fire she could see in her mind’s eye kept blazing out of control and snapping at her hands. So, she changed tact, going for less of a push and more of a grasp, trying to suffocate the flame of the aura itself.
And the noise stopped.
Cracking an eye open to peek out revealed the young man now on his hands and knees before the breaking window, gasping for breath and looking through the fringe of his shaggy black hair up at her. There are these huge turquoise, translucent hands holding him down - extending from her own hands held in front of her.
His espresso-colored eyes were locked on hers and they seemed to flash red for just a moment, before he passed out on the floor. Butt-ass naked again.
Ken never had nice dreams.
He avoided sleep as much as humanly possible (and inhumanly sometimes). But when he’d stayed up for three days straight and was starting to lose it a bit and his hair was turning white, they shot him with tranquilizers before she could jump out of his mental cage.
That’s the worst. He couldn’t jolt awake or hide from his nightmares when it happened. And the old bat was all around him no matter where they ended up in his head and memories, and she wouldn’t stop staring at him with her horrible, revolving yellow eyes or cackling, especially when he relived his first transformation.
When he felt the searing hot gush of sweet blood fill his maw and remembered the drag of a chunk of flesh sliding down his throat. His gut churned and he swore he could retch up his innards with the force that repulsed him, but it tasted delicious and rich and he gobbled more despite his horror.
But the old spirit kept laughing at him, goading him on and rubbing the blood into the stark white fur that covered his broken and aching body. She told him, “They deserved it for what they did to you, filthy pigs,” but it wasn’t reassuring, it was angry and spiteful.
Every time the drugs finally wore down (which was happening faster and easier lately, probably because of Turbo Granny’s influence) Ken jolted awake and immediately rolled out of his bed to upchuck everything still inside of him onto the floor. Sometimes there was blood, and he could only pray that it’s his own. There’s a reason that his lone rug isn’t by his bed, even if the floor is bitterly cold and unforgivingly hard on his knees.
Except this time, his dream is washed in turquoise light. The bloodthirsty demon possessing his battered skeleton is nowhere to be found, instead he was in a dark, but pleasant space, like a cave. There was no metallic blood flowing down his chin made of teeth and no viscera snagging on his fangs; in fact, he had no fangs at all. And he felt like he’d been held by warm hands, as though being cared for when you’re sick and unfocused - but you know you’re safe.
He hadn’t felt that way since he was a toddler.
When he roused, he did so slowly, blearily for the first time in fucking years. His head was resting on his soft pillow and he was encased in his warm, navy blankets- and it’s everything he’d forgotten about comfort.
He knew he was crying; he could feel wetness on his cheeks, but it was just so beautiful for a little while. Before he was back in this locked room alone.
Not even Turbo Granny was rummaging around in his head or howling for him to kill someone-
“Uhh... hey, are you okay, dude?”
Almost alone. No one besides Seiko Sensei has ever been in his room when he woke up. He opened his eyes, but as he wasn’t wearing his glasses, he couldn't see anything except a vaguely skin colored blob in the armchair near his bed.
Frantically he grabbed at his bare chest, but found no warding slip, and panic threatened to take him over as he clambered for his nightstand and his glasses. Fuck, that wasn’t good.
Slamming his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, he stared wide-eyed at the girl from earlier. Miss Ayase, Seiko Sensei’s granddaughter, was sitting next to his bed (inside his bedroom!) and looking anywhere but at him. One of his conspiracy theory trash magazines was sitting on the table next to her, and she stared hard at it.
Trying to lean away from the girl, Ken ran his hands over his hair and face next, to see if he could feel the roughness of the linen fabric or rough paper that Sensei uses for her talismans. But there was nothing, it wasn’t glued anywhere on his body. Maybe he’d been out long enough for the full moon’s influence to recede?
He roughly brushed away the tears and hid his face in his hands, desperately trying not to look at the woman in his goddamn bedroom, especially as she turned her cherry brown gaze back to him and looked him over. He could feel a flush starting in the skin of his chest, right over his heart (which was beating so goddamn fast he was worried he was gonna faint again.)
“Wha- what are you... doing here? It’s not s- safe without a... without a ward. Where’s Seiko-san?” God, he was a mess.
A rush of air blew past her lips, making a distracting noise, and he couldn’t help but fucking look (he’d never even met a woman his own age) and she said, “Hey, I’m the one holding your curse or whatever in check. Not like I chose to be here. I’m missing class to babysit you.” She was pouting, he thought? He needed to stop looking at her mouth, it was probably getting weird.
“Y- you are? Then why are you... here?” With him. In his fucking bedroom. Not that he’d fixated on that or anything.
“Ugh, hell if I know why! I tried to leave earlier after they tossed you into bed – and some fucking pants, thank god,” he could feel his blush deepening and spreading across his entire body at the reminder of his frequent state of undress, “But then you started... uh, shifting again? That looks freaky as hell, by the way, doesn’t that hurt? ”
Shaking his head, Ken whispered at his bedspread, “N- not... not anymore. They uh... they told me my body just... re-breaks where it always does, and I guess... I guess I just got used to it.” He shrugged weakly and pulled the blanket back up to his chin to hide his naked chest from the girl, running his fingers nervously over the soft comforter.
Momo (right?) huffed and looked at him again, trying to meet his eyes, “Hey,” she started in a gentler tone than he was expecting from her, “Look I’m... I’m sorry I said that crap earlier. My grandma explained that it wasn’t... you attacking me, but the yokai, I guess? I was... pissed off and had a lot of shit thrown at me in one day.”
Finally looking up, he was surprised to see that she was still looking at him, a small frown on her lips but no fear or nervous twitching.
“H- how are you... umm. How are you stopping Turbo Granny?” The question came out meek and pathetic, desperate to change the subject before he apologized for the old demon making psychotic decisions while inhabiting his psyche again.
She sighed and leaned her head on the back of the chair she’s sitting in, “First it was my... psychic hands? I dunno what to call ‘em, I just got them today,” so, it was still the full moon, but then why- “Then after you de-transformed and passed out, we figured I just had to be nearby, or something? If I concentrate, I can see your aura, believe it or not, and when you start getting twitchy and Turbo Granny’s red aura tries to smash your blue one... I just kinda keep her off of you.”
It was unbelievable, but not for the reasons she thought. Ken could barely remember a time when he wasn’t constantly struggling with his emotions and reactions; trying to avoid giving the yokai a way to gain control over him.
And he was scared as hell right then, and so fucking exhausted, but there was no bloodlust or cackling in his head before he was jerked into the back seat. His brain was nearly silent, besides the usual thrum of anxiety and fear that he’d learned to just fucking live with. And it hadn’t been silent in so goddamn long.
He must have been quiet for an awkward length of time because she cleared her throat and said, “So... umm, were you a werewolf before she got ahold of you, or...?”
Sighing tiredly, he looked around his room for a shirt to put on (to try and preserve even a shred of his and Miss Ayase’s dignity), “I wasn’t a werewolf. I’m not even sure I am one now,” he wrapped the dark blanket around himself like a cloak when he stood up, fully aware of how silly he probably looked, “Seiko-san says that Turbo Granny may have been... a wolf-type yokai, and since she’s stuck in my body... I guess I sort of am, too?”
Ken scooped a (mostly) clean black t-shirt off the floor – it was really baggy on him, but most clothes are simply because he has such a slim frame. The shirt had the BPRD logo on the front, because apparently, they were total shit at the secrecy part of being a secret government agency.
Turning away from Momo, he dropped the blanket and tried to wrestle on the shirt as quickly as possible without losing his glasses, clutching the hem when he was finally dressed and feeling just a little less vulnerable.
She’d been watching him sleep, though. Was it really that weird for her to see him shirtless? Was that really the bar for weirdness? After all, her blood had been in his mouth and it had tasted divine-
He focused determinedly on the feel of the worn-in cotton blend on his skin and in his fingers... It was nice.
“Hey, what’s a ‘handler’, anyway?” The question seemed innocent enough, but Ken was startled anyway and nearly fell over as he twisted around to face her.
“Uhhh... like someone who... who keeps an eye on the more... umm, dangerous things in here when they’re out in the field. W- why?” He didn’t elaborate on himself being one of the most dangerous things he was talking about, but he was pretty sure her cocked eyebrow meant that she got the gist of it.
“Son of a-” Momo groaned and covered her face with both hands, and Ken was suddenly very concerned, “That blonde lady and my grandma said that I have to be your handler until they figure out how to get rid of Turbo Bitch for good.”
Oh. Well, that... that’s just great.
That won’t be awkward at all.
“This is fucking stupid,” Ken murmured mutinously. They both had been collected by Agent Morrigan and escorted to the training lab shortly after he’d awoken. He liked Kate Morrigan, she was one of the few other humans that didn’t look at him like he was a bomb waiting to go off.
A white sheet was wrapped around his shoulders and clutched tight to his body like the weakest shield in existence (or the world’s shittiest ghost). He wasn't even naked yet; just standing there in boxers and the thin sheet, with a pile of his socks, pants, and a shirt waiting nearby. But they all knew it was coming and the embarrassment burned through his bloodstream.
“You both need to exercise control in high-stress situations,” Seiko was saying in a deadpan and bored tone, “Momo needs to be prepared to assist and catch you if you go berserk again, which happens if the talisman slips or you lose that control. And you need to focus on keeping your emotions and actions in check. Don’t let that yokai cunt influence your decisions in the heat of battle or you’re gonna smash face-first into a building. Again.”
His Sensei stepped toward the middle of the room, drawing a thick circle around herself with a giant fucking charcoal stick hiding in her weapon of choice. Ken hated that awful, goddamned bat. It was one of the few mortal weapons that fucking hurt him - for some reason that Seiko Sensei wouldn’t tell him, no matter how often he’d asked. She had agents fire off round after round directly into his chest while he was transformed and it didn’t do shit, but that bat could break his bones like papier mâché. Probably some of that 'Santa Dodoria bullshit' that Turbo Granny was always griping about.
It had been handy when the old shitass riding around in his body wrested the helm away from him, but it took longer to heal than other wounds he sustained. The difference may only be a few hours compared to a handful of seconds, but it sucked, damn it! And Ken had gotten kind of used to not really comprehending pain in the last six or so years that he’d been possessed before Seiko Sensei came along.
“Okay Momo, let him transform,” she ordered, and the younger woman standing near him gestured with her arms in his general direction. Suddenly it felt like he’d been submerged in cold water, the tingling warmth that had been buzzing over his skin since he woke up next to her sadly slipping away, and he could feel the change itching to explode under his jolting muscles. It always happened at night, but at least it was still him and not Turbo Granny’s white monstrosity – that's only when he lost control or during the full moon. He carefully set his glasses down on the floor behind him, and the sheet fell away as he transformed.
The bones rebroke and fused in ways that had started to feel smooth and natural (in the vilest of feelings), and the silky black fur began to erupt from his every pore while his face stretched and elongated. Then his spine twisted and he suddenly had a fluffy, spasming tail, and his ears stretched toward the top of his head, hairless until the fur shuddered out of the sensitive skin. It was a disgusting, crunching, ripping cacophony of stomach-turning jerking motions.
This change normally only took about four noisy seconds when it was just the 'lesser yokai' form, but he could do it in half the time if he chose to embrace the shift and let the curse take him; whereas with the demon in charge, it was nigh instantaneous and just as quickly deadly for anyone nearby.
The grave strips of fangs that grew out of his neck and the sides of his face clack together ominously last, and he could see Momo-chan staring at his hideous teeth- he really wanted to curl up and just die already. How utterly fucking depressing. She should just crush him with those glow-y hands of hers, he could hear the rush of her blood as her heart pumped faster - afraid, she was afraid. Of him.
“Wonder dog, come at me,” Sensei taunted, and he felt his dark ears and tail droop in dejection. This was gonna fucking blow. And he hated that nickname.
But he charged anyway, a blur faster than sight can really catch.
He smashed his claws and snapped his fangs through the barrier that Seiko had prepared, feeling the burning spread down his arms and catching on his tender ears – it fucking sucked, yo.
“Now!” Sensei shouted, and the teal hands that Momo-chan had at the ready swooped in to smother the flame and his curse back into his wimpy, rail-thin body. He dropped down into a crouch and covered his junk.
Goddamnit. He hadn’t thought it was going to happen that fast.
“Good. Now we know that Momo can shield you from spiritual energy, as well as control the curse. Krypto,” he groaned at yet another dog reference, fuckinghell, “I saw you getting sucked into your own head again. That downer side effect is making you not think about what you’re doing and you’re just throwing your face into shit again. Momo is a big girl; she’s not going to care about seeing your willy.” Ken growled under his breath, unintelligibly.
“Speak for yourself, hag!” Miss Ayase shouted at her, still holding her physical hands out in his direction, but with only one eye open and decidedly not looking at him (‘thank god’ ). The warm shudder over his skin was back, and he flushed as he realized that it’s only because she was... what, holding him with her ability? He studiously ignored the tingles from the crush of her magic hands.
“Momo, let him go again. This time, try to do something a little less predictable, okay wonder mutt?” And the good feelings were gone and he was covered in fur again, but at least his dick wasn’t out for everyone to fucking see.
“What a fucking drag...” he grumbled out in a rusty baritone as he sniffed at the air to have a think. Momo-chan gasped from where she was standing and his ears and blood red eyes flicked in her direction to find her looking at him just then, too. He could hear her heartbeat from there.
“You can talk like that?!” Her tone is pitchy with surprise, but also distractingly pleasant. His tail flicked and he considered going over to see what she smelled like, when she added on, “Wait... your eyes were yellow when-”
Flattening his ears to his skull he whined, “That was Turbo Granny, Momo-chan. I wouldn’t attack you like that.”
Both women stared at him and he felt his tail tuck down in sorrow. Shit. He said something stupid again, didn’t he? How pathetic.
Might as well see if Sensei would shatter his skull with her bat to end this torment early.
Ken sprung to the side, cutting around Seiko’s circle and narrowly avoiding her swing on instinct alone, and he idly noted the placement of her feet as she prepared another attack. He wouldn’t be able to trick her into stepping out of the barrier, it’d never worked before.
But with Momo-chan ready to “assist” him...
The beast flashed to just behind the young woman and leaned over her shoulder to rumble at her, the force of his breath so strong that her hair parted wildly and he could see the soft, flushed skin of her neck. He could almost taste the blood under her skin and he was a monster and he should get the fuck away from her even if she smells so fucking good-
“Momo-chan,” she squeaked and he could feel the saliva in his mouth as something about it activated his buried prey drive, shit, “You gonna put me out?”
“Wha-” but he was gone, because otherwise he’d stand there smelling her hair all day and that would probably be super uncool.
She was the crisp pages of a magazine, and the hint of something floral and distinctly yellow and pretty, and the sharp salt of the sea wind that he hadn’t felt in ten years.
Then he was diving through Sensei’s barrier again - his fur was on fire and it was eating into his skin and making him want to bite something. He carefully clamped his massive jaws down hard on nothing and his teeth ground as though they were tombstones scraping together in his mouth. And then Sensei’s jacket was in his burning clutches and he leapt out of the circle, tearing her along behind him.
As soon as he’d cleared the barrier, Momo-chan's reassuring turquoise hands stroked softly along his fur, smoothing over the singed parts and leaving him electrified and nearly completely unharmed. The burns were already shifting into fresh pink skin and then sprouting more fur to replace the lost patches within half a moment. It was soothing and warm, and entirely distracting.
Gently setting his Sensei back onto her feet, he released her clothing and stepped back with a wicked long, lolling tongue slipping out of his gaping maw. “Tag, you’re it,” he mumbled lazily.
His vermillion eyes roved over toward Momo, she'd moved but he found her almost instantly, their eyes locked. And as he was thinking about how easy it would be to scoop her up (she’s just so much smaller than him when he’s like this-), the bat caught him in the side of the knee and he went down like a backpack full of stones.
Ken howled and whined, grabbing his bashed in stifle as Sensei moved around him again, the bat held aloft once more, “Neat trick, but you should have moved away immediately after chucking me across the line - not let yourself get distracted by a pretty girl.” He snarled at her lowly, and then looked away with his ears flat again, thoroughly scolded.
Then he was naked and human again, still clutching his knee as the broken bones jostled around inside during the transformation like a sock full of Legos and Miss Ayase ran over to him. Curling over his indignity, he gasped out, “Fucking hell, was that... really necessary, Sensei?”
The older woman lit a cigarette (there was no smoking in the facility, not that it ever stopped Red with his stogies, either) and blew it in his face because she could be a fucking bitch sometimes, even if he respected the hell out of her. She jerked her head at Momo and said, “He can’t heal these kinds of hits as quickly. See what you can figure out.”
They were both beet-red and his skin felt hot and sticky suddenly when she knelt down next to him. Ken looked away because, fuck, he was still naked. And he only jerked his entire goddamn body in startlement when she tentatively reached a too-warm hand to rest on his shattered joint. He looked longingly across the room at his pile of clothes, or hell, even the sheet would be a relief right then.
But then the ache faded a little as his kneecap was surrounded by her warm glow and he could feel the bones grinding back together in reverse (and it was fucking horrifying, like building a sand castle out of broken glass). He finally looked up when he could safely move again, and she was so fucking close to his face.
Momo’s brown eyes were dusted with a rose pink. And even as a human, even in a lingering amount of pain, Ken could still smell honeysuckle and the Sea of Japan.
And blood.
Her grandmother had let them both go after the reveal of Momo’s... healing magic? Her fingers still buzzed with the remembered sensation of Ken’s skin, and how the bones were crackling and shifting back into place within it. She had decided to be polite and bring him his pile of clothing and the sheet to change under, turning around until he cleared his throat meekly for her to turn back.
Granny made her walk him back to his bedroom, though, “See how well the spiritual energy worked, maybe do some light jogging down the halls, four eyes.” And, of fucking course, she was also expected to babysit him for the rest of the night to “hone her abilities” or some crap.
Watching him lope down the corridors had been entertaining for a minute or two; he didn’t have great form for it or any stamina at all, and he started limping a few minutes in. They didn’t talk as he led the way back to his rooms, but it was clear that he knew his way around the place – she still couldn’t figure out if there were any markers or hidden signs.
‘Guess if you lived here since you were ten, you’d probably know your way around, too... she thought to herself a little sadly.
When they got there, she noticed that the window was completely repaired in the hour that they'd been gone. Placing his hand on the lockpad on the doorjamb, Ken ('urgh') waited for her to shuffle in ahead of him before he entered his room. Momo found herself looking around curiously. When she’d been trapped in here earlier, it felt a little too awkward to snoop around while he was unconscious, so she had idly flipped through an occult magazine that he’d clearly left out. But he was very awake now.
Be nice if he’d look at her occasionally, though, so she didn’t feel like a creep about it. He was just staring at the space-themed rug in front of the window next to them.
“Sooo... uh... you’re Ken, right?” Momo forced out in a cheerful tone, wandering over to the bookshelves that covered an entire wall. It looked like he liked the Hellboy comics, too. And scientific journals.
“Umm.. Yeah. That- that's my name.” God, he was so quiet and awkward.
“You got a last name there, Ken?”
He finally looked up at her, adjusting his huge, round glasses and shrugging tiredly, “Takakura.”
Next thing she was aware of, she’d shoved him into his bookshelves with her spirit hands and he was angrily yelling at her while she pushed his face into the spines of some crazy large books.
“What the hell is your problem?!” Ken was trying to struggle against the oppressive teal grasp, but he could barely even wriggle. His voice was high-pitched with confusion and he groaned as she pushed him a little harder into the shelves.
“You liar! No way is that your name! Did my grandmother tell you to say that?!” she hissed at him as she crept up to his squashed form, eyes narrowed.
“Why the fuck would I lie about that?! That’s my fucking name, Ken Takakura!”
Momo was close enough to see his eyes flash a glowing crimson, and then his skin started to shift and his hair began to elongate. “Nope! Not again, Fido,” she growled at him as she imagined crumpling his aura up in a little ball, soothing the wrinkles and reversing the surprise transformation before it started.
Ken Takakura ('No way in hell am I calling him that!’) slouched against the books, forcing himself to relax his muscles, and huffed out an aggravated sigh, “I’m not! I- I've got it... now let go!”
“Oh nooo, not until we figure out something else.”
“Something else for what?! ”
“Your name. Say it again and I swear I’ll pick you up and shove your stupid head in the toilet with my spirit hands.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I don’t have any other na- urff!” She pushed him more solidly into the books because she thought he was getting a little too uppity.
Eyes scouring the room for any ideas, because he clearly didn’t like the dog-themed nicknames either, she looked at the varied titles of the books again. Lots of occult shit – like a lot, a lot. She slowly released the pressure holding him in place and he rubbed at his jaw – the red mark from the shelf was already fading.
“You’re a guy that likes the occult, right?” Kennnnnnnope, Momo couldn’t do it - the boy shrugged a bit too aggressively, “Okay, then your new name is Okarun. Occult-kun... Okarun. Got it?”
The newly dubbed “Okarun” blushed and looked away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. Pouting like a baby.
It’d be fucking hilarious if her heart wasn’t running at breakneck speed and her ears weren’t ringing.
“Fine... whatever.” Okarun was still obviously peeved, but the flush of his skin only intensified as she looked down her nose at him. She was a little taller than him when he was just himself.
“Good,” she mumbled, all the nerve leaving her as she realized how close they were still standing to each other. She could practically feel his body heat. Turning away in another huff, she tried to casually stroll into the rest of the room, saying, “Looks like I’m stuck here for a while. What do you do for fun, anyway?”
Momo heard him stumble around behind her and inch a little closer, “Umm... I like to read, as, uh, I’m s- sure you’ve noticed...” When she turned to face him, he adjusted his stupid large glasses again and ran the other hand through his hair. It was the same silky, pitch-black shade of his other (Yokai? Werewolf?) form, swallowing all light that skittered across it. It looked soft - his fur had been soft, too.
Shaking her head vigorously (for no reason) and not in the mood to read after the night she'd had, she looked around again. Tons of books, some models on the higher shelves, a couple science-fiction posters... Okarun was a total dweeb, for sure. And if he was a dweeb, that meant he probably had...
“Is that an N64?! Oh man, do you have Super Smash Bros? I’m gonna totally beat your ass," and she practically skip[ped over to the medium size television and the game consoles set up on top of it. He didn’t only have the old Nintendo system, but it was her favorite, so she was a little excited at the idea.
“What? Uhhh... I mean... yeah. Umm I play Samus, m- most of the time.” Okarun approached her slowly, unsurely dragging two beanbag chairs that had been against the wall over to where she was crouched.
“Dope, dude! I main Kirby! Thanks,” she blissfully settled into the smushy beanbag.
“Of fucking course you do...” he grumbled, and then flushed brighter and looked up at her in shock, flinching a little.
But she just laughed at him because this was probably the first time she’d heard him speak without a stutter while he was himself, and his eyes lit up when she responded, “Yeah, and this little pink bastard is gonna make you wish you’d never been born. Sit down, dork!”
Momo grabbed the hem of his worn, soft shirt and dragged him down into the other beanbag next to her, giving him the second player controller because she was always first player, damn it. He scowled a little, but she could see the beginnings of a surprised grin lift the corner of his mouth.
“We’ll s- see about that, Miss Ayase.”