ANGEL'S ASHES, bungou stray dogs [on hold]

iv. there's no reasoning

     "What exactly are you doing?" Chūya asks in a sing-song voice, trying to give off the impression of amusement, but Angel knows better; she knows the bubbling and boiling rage that's just below the surface of those words. "You wouldn't happen to be hurting this young girl, would you?"

     "N-No, sir," one of them stutters.

     "Really? So you weren't bruising her and breaking her bones right in front of me, then?"

     "Sir, please, let us explain," another tries.

     Before any of them can attempt to explain, they're slammed against the ground, caving it in as Chūya's voice becomes venomous and deadly. "Don't try make excuses when it comes to me, you insect. Especially when my subordinate is involved."

     A spark of something warms in Angel's chest at those words and she tries to push herself upright, only to feel a sharp pain in her chest from almost certainly broken ribs. "Chūya..."

     "It's alright, angel. Just let me deal with these assholes and then we can take care of those nasty wounds, alright?" There's a malicious grin on Chūya's face, and those blue eyes of his are sparkling with a malevolent darkness she's only ever seen him wear when he's released Arahabaki in a fight. "They deserve everything they're going to get for laying a finger on you."

     All Angel can do is watch as Chūya's prey are crushed further into the ground — which is, thankfully, the ground floor with no basement beneath it, so they don't have to worry about explaining why it's destroyed. She'd be lying if she said their screams don't give her some sort of satisfaction and pleasure, but they also bring back memories of that day ten years ago. Despite that, Angel can't bring herself to tear her eyes away from the agonised looks on their faces, or the inhuman way their limbs have been tangled by Chūya's extraordinary gravity manipulating Ability.

     In her opinion, it's one of the more practical Abilities that have come to light, and it has far more uses than something as destructive and blood thirsty as hers.

     There's a spray of blood and then, aside from pained groans and sobbing, there's nothing. Chūya walks over to Angel and picks her up with little hassle before making his way to either the infirmary or one of their rooms. In the end, it turns out to be his room, but that's most likely only because it's the last place any of the lower-ranked members of the Port Mafia would think of looking for her — and the last place they'd want to try to break the door down to because it belongs to an Executive. He gently sits Angel on the bed and then walks over to one of the cupboards against the wall, pulling out bandages and disinfectant before walking back over to her, a pained and angered look in his blue eyes.

     He shrugs off his coat and pulls off his gloves, placing them on the bed before looking at her. "Don't go being all shy now, angel. Show me what they did."

     "I... It's nothing, really. I'm fine, Chūya." Angel winces when he gently presses his fingers against her ribcage, sighing at the disbelieving look on his face. "I've had worse — you know I have. What's scrapes and bruises and a few broken ribs? It's not the end of the world if I get a little banged up..."

     "Don't make me have to hold you down again. Can you, for once, just let me take care of you?"

     "How can I when you don't know what I'm hiding from you?"

     "Fucking hell, angel..." Chūya drags a hand down his face in exasperation. "Just let me do this, alright?"

     "Ask and you shall receive," Angel mutters, huffing and discarding her bloody and torn jacket and shirt. "Don't go crying to fucking Dazai now that you know..."