A soft epilogue for two hard men.

Word Count: 2292

Content Warnings: Scars.  No, seriously, I think that's it.

The fresh snow crunched under his boots and he turned up the wool collar of his black pea coat against the cold. Large, fluffy flakes fell gently and dusted the quiet streets. It was Christmas Eve. Through windows as he passed, he could see families celebrating with warm smiles and joyful laughter. There were colorful lights and tacky plastic displays. The world felt new, like his body, and his skin was wildly sensitive to the brush of the cold snow that slipped between his black, leather gloves and his coat, just caressing his wrist. He'd parked a short distance down the street just in case he was wrong, but he didn't think he was.  He checked the small box in his pocket to make sure he hadn't forgotten it in the car.

There were colorful lights around the front facing windows, a wreath on the door. It all looked so... traditional. For a moment, he thought maybe Balakai had gone after all. Nearly six months was a long time to expect him to wait when the demon didn't really do boredom. There were no promises between them but a few. 

Griffin walked up the short flight of stairs and traced a pattern over the front door, unlocking his wards. They were still there, a good sign. He turned the doorknob and entered, unwinding his bright red scarf and draping it on the hook by the door, shrugging out of his jacket and adding it. He claimed the brightly wrapped box from his pocket and walked the few feet from the wide entry to the living room.
"Merry Christmas," he said very quietly. His voice wasn't quite back and he was still in bad shape, but enough to drive and walk a little. Enough to come back to retrieve what was his.

Inside, the townhouse was lit only by a short, real Christmas tree wreathed in lights. The air was perfumed with the smell of pine and spice, but beneath it all the scent of sulfur had permeated the townhouse, the subtle perfume of it deep in the carpet and the furniture from the months of the demon living there. Six months. The Sinclaires had stopped paying the rent and Balakai'd had to figure it out on his own. He wanted to stay. So Griffin would know where to find him.

The demon himself was curled up on the floor near the Christmas tree in an oversized sweater. Not one of Griffin's, since all of his clothes had been for summer. It was the door opening that made him lift his head, hair mussed and gold eyes reflecting the lights from the tree, still drowsy with sleep. His hair was no longer blonde but instead striped green and red, clearly recently done. It was shorter too, shaved to the skin on the sides and only a few inches of mohawk left.

He caught Griffin's scent before he truly realized that Griffin was standing there, nostrils flaring as he drew in the scent of herbs and dust and dirt that was always the undertone of Griffin, even drenched in blood and the ozone of magic. He crawled to the couch and up onto it, hands braced on the back and head turned up to Griffin. 

"Kiss me?"

The witch gave him a quiet smile, moving a little carefully because he was still working to make his body obey him. He slid the box in his pocket and framed the demon's cheeks in hands still gloved. He hadn't bothered to even take them off yet. Instead, blue and green met gold and he sank into a lingering kiss. He drank the demon’s breath and the warmth of his skin through the gloves, stepped closer so that he could feel the presence of Balakai against him.

For him it had only been a space of timeless nothing. And then a few weeks of Millie fussing over him after he'd crawled out of his grave beside those of his mother and brothers and gran back home. As he always did when his body had been too damaged to heal. He was only just on his feet, but it was enough. Besides, he'd wanted to make sure that the little demon didn't spend the holiday alone. That they'd missed Halloween was depressing enough. Now he just lingered in the taste and feel of him, sighing gently as he drew back and rested his brow on the hellhound’s. 

"I wasn't sure you'd still be here."

Balakai sighed and didn't close his eyes. Just watched Griffin's. When they parted, he slid off the couch and offered Griffin his hand, drawing him slowly, gently around the couch and into the living room proper. 

"Saves me the trouble of having to track you down if you know where to find me." He flashed a grin. His hands slid up to Griffin’s shoulders, pushing him down onto the couch.  There was a quiet intent to his movements, but not wild. Not hungry. "Tried to go back to your place but the wards wouldn't let me in. I'm going to maul your cat next time though. She stood on the inside of the wards and teased me."

Griffin chuckled and it turned into something of a wheezing cough, but he was happy to let himself be led around. He pulled the demon into his lap as he sat, giving a long sigh. 

"She enjoyed that. Said you deserved it." He smiled and took note of the changes. Hair style and color. Balakai looked almost innocent in the gigantic sweater and little else. He couldn't help but run a caressing finger along his cheek, just studying his face.

"Bitch." Balakai growled, though there wasn't actually much heat in it.

"I got you something," Griffin said after a long moment, reaching in to free the little box. It was red foil with a beautiful green ribbon. He handed it to Balakai and kissed his cheek.

Balakai tilted his cheek into Griffin's touch, plucking at his shirt to try and tug it from his waistband. But he was distracted by the box and his brows snapped together in a little furrow as he took at, at first not sure what it was. Then he went quiet, turning it over in his hands a little, chin tucked down towards his chest. After a moment he sort of shook off the paralysis and nudged Griffin so that he could sink onto the couch next to him.

The demon tucked his feet up underneath the hem of the oversized sweater, not doing anything to stop the way it sagged wide off one shoulder. "Should I open it?"

"Yep." Griffin’s queer eyes held mirth as he watched him open the box. The demon opened the whole thing with a very delicate sort of care, as if it might break. Carefully untying the bow and setting the ribbon aside, undoing the tape and folding the paper before he opened the box properly.

Inside was a pair of pet collar tags. One said 'MINE' and the other 'If lost, please return to' with an address in Salem on it. And beneath them, a key.  He held up the tags and key, still a little confused until Griffin clarified.

"A place of your own, not too far from me. It was for sale, conveniently. Can't let anyone on the property when... It's not safe. But now you'll always have a place you can stay if you want until I'm back. So you don't have to wonder and neither do I. That feels like way less work."

Balakai nodded, closing the key in one hand, then held up the tags with the other.

"These for me or you?" The corner of his mouth quirked up with an edge of playfulness.

"Same difference," the witch replied with a little shrug. Griffin wrapped an arm around the demon and pulled him back into his lap.  He wanted to feel the weight of him there. He was desperately tired after so short a time out of bed, but had been far too impatient to remain gone any longer. He tucked Balakai under his chin and just rested there. He was back, and Balakai was here. It was enough. He would heal and soon they would be back up to no good.

Balakai only rested against Griffin's chest for a moment before he wiggled impatiently off the witch's lap. He disappeared up the stairs, footsteps quiet even as he took them two at a time. He was gone for several minutes, rooting around in his things and in Griffin's until he found what he was looking for. He came back down with what looked like it had probably been a wallet chain at some point. He threaded the rings of the tags onto it and clipped it around his neck, then vaulted neatly over the back of the couch to settle next to Griffin on hand and knees. 

Griffin smiled warmly and reached out to touch the chain.  "Looks good on you."

Balakai tilted his chin up as if to show off the chain when Griffin touched it, lips curling in a pleased little smile before he reached for the hem of Griffin's shirt and tugged, eyes the brilliant of burnished gold.

"Let me see it."

In answer, Griffin tilted his head and looked at him a little obliquely for a heartbeat, almost teasing by pretending he might not understand, but quickly relented and pulled his wine colored sweater over his head, moving slowly.  His skin was very translucent, the soft white of new growth.  His veins were dark under his skin and very visible just under the surface.  All of his scars remained and he shifted to turn so that Balakai could see his back.  His shoulder was still deep purple where he'd first mauled him, and standing out dark red and only just healed was the glyph that he had carved into his back so deeply it had bled him to death. That Balakai had consumed his body as he died hadn't changed that it was the damage to his back that had killed him.

Balakai didn't help Griffin as he peeled the sweater over his head, just watched.  Hands resting on the couch cushion in front of him, settled back on his knees, head tilted just a little to the side.  Waiting.  When the witch turned his back to them he gave a soft, admiring sigh.

Balakai’s fingers were gentle as he reached out to touch, first the healing shoulder, and then lower to the rune. He didn't trace the shape of it, just pressed his palm over it.  He shifted a little closer and brushed his lips over Griffin's spine.  

"Have you seen it?"

"No.  I kind of thought you might like to see it first."  

It was, perhaps, a very tender consideration and not one that very many people would have expected of Griffin.  There was an intimacy between him and Balakai that wouldn't make sense to anyone else.  The violence and death and blood and burning desire.  It would have been horrific with anyone else, but for them... it just worked.  And he accepted that.  He didn't second guess or worry too much anymore.  That felt like a lot of work and this was much nicer.

"Did you miss me?"  He looked over his shoulder a little, blue eye studying the look on the demon's face as he admired his handiwork.

Balakai lowered his head and moved his palm from the mark, brushing his lips across the line of it instead.  Lathed his tongue over it, feeling the raised scar tissue and remembering the taste of him.  

"Mhm," he murmured the soft affirmation, then slowly drew back.  He reached for his phone on the side table and snapped a picture, then offered it to Griffin, giving him space to turn back around.

Griffin accepted the phone and studied the picture.  He didn't usually fuss over the mess that was his back.  Any of his scars, really.  His neck and wrists were just as damaged from decades of abuse.  This was different, though.  A kind of deliberate that he had invited.  There was a madness in having given the demon leave to simply do as he liked.  To erase what Julian had done and make whatever claim he wanted.  Griffin of all people was well aware that he could have enslaved him.  But, just as he himself never closed off the exits for Balakai, he didn't feel any fear about the deep glyph that now marked his back.

He didn't even bother to ask what it meant.  It didn't matter.  It was there now.  Just like the set of tags that hung around Balakai's neck by his own will.

"Next year, we'll make a big fuss for Christmas.  This year you'll have to be content with one half broken witch."  He handed him back the phone and settled against the end of the couch with his arms out for Balakai to come join him.  He was uncomfortable, but it was worth it.

This time, Balakai didn't fuss.  He willingly crawled into Griffin's arms, settling the weight of him against the witch.  The sweater he wore was soft and thick, and warmed by the demon's body heat.  He wrapped his arms around Griffin's neck and tucked his head in against his shoulder.  He pressed his lips against Griffin's jaw and when he spoke it was with his words muffled against his skin.

"I'd like that."

Warmed by the demon atop him, Griffin let his eyes slide closed.  He breathed in the scent of pine and the hint of sulfur and under the soft colors of the Christmas lights, falling into a deep and contented sleep.