Work Header

A Traitor's Musings (Short DBD fics)

Chapter Text

Deep within the burial vault of the foggy London churchyard, an undisturbed coffin lay dormant as the cooling fog rolled in from the outside through a few cracks in the walls, and barred window slits, the bars rusted and worn with age, and the brick cracking under a layer of ivy and mould.
The sheltering within the silent casket was sound asleep.
No trials were occurring just yet on the churchyard grounds, which gave Angel Marksley, better known as The Traitor to the killers and survivors, just enough time to relax and get some sleep, not that she needed much, but it was nice to have a few hours -if not minutes- to herself, only faintly aware of what was going on outside thanks to the closed lid and bolted doors.

No more than a few more minutes into The Traitor's slumber, heavy yet quiet footsteps could be heard thumping quietly towards the tomb's entrance, followed by the bolts and chains rattling, and one of the weathered doors opening.
Shuffles, a thud and a click followed, giving way to the sound of steady footsteps again. Someone wearing work boots was descending the cold, stone steps.
The smell of fresh blood coming off this individual's clothes was intoxicating, both the strong scent and the footsteps were coming closer to the closed coffin.
Angel's eyelids flickered open, briefly turning her head towards the scent and sound.

As she was about to push the lid of the coffin open, the intruder swung the lid open for her.
Traitor was wearing her usual dark clothes and black boots, her blue bandanna tied around her neck. It was speckled with old blood and dirt, but she didn't care.
Looking up, she saw a familiar face; the man's blank expression was not changing at all, dark sockets staring back into Angel's crimson eyes.
Unbeknownst to her, a small smile crept onto her face upon seeing the visible, the smile being reflected slightly, though it was hidden safely under the mask.

"Evening, Michael" Angel spoke softly, moving her legs as she sat up a little more, her arm resting on the edge of the open casket.
Michael, of course, didn't reply back. His only reply was kneeling by the coffin.
Angel could see the fresh bloodstains on his dark blue jumpsuit. He must have come straight from a trial.
That would explain the scent that made her thirst rise again, though she tried to suppress it, just for now.
With a tired smile, Angel wrapped an arm around his shoulders, or tried to, at least, gently rubbing his upper arm.
The shape was tense. He always was after a trial, but more so after an unsuccessful one.
Though he didn't -and couldn't, to his knowledge- say out loud, Angel knew, all too well.
The voice of the Entity, critical and sinister as always, rattled in their heads like rocks in an untied shoe, and was just as irritating at times.
But, Angel reasoned, they did still owe it something. It was the thing that brought her back to life, after all.
She just wished that it wouldn't hurt her or her allies as much as it liked to do.

Looking over, she saw Michael looking down at his butcher knife, staring at the blood still dribbling down the silver blade, the smell of it making Angel's thirst increase again.
She gave his upper arm a gentle but firm squeeze, his head raising to look at her.
"Long trial?" she asked, the mute killer nodding slightly in response, which made the vampire let out a small "hmm" of mutual understanding.

"Thought so. It was getting lonely out here, I must admit. The Entity's not summoned me for a trial for hours" she sighed, slumping her shoulders, The Shape glancing over at her when he felt her arm drop.
"At least I could get some sleep" she added, though her tone was a little more solemn than before.
Michael shifted closer, leaning his back against the sturdy coffin, Angel's arms finding its way around his broad shoulders again.
Though he didn't want to admit it, he felt a lot calmer around the traitor.
She seemed to know just what to do to calm him when he was agitated or tense, even border-lining bloodlust.

She was looking at him, this he knew, The Shape trying to repress a small smile under his mask again.
She gave him a tiny smile in return, eyeing the other killer in comfortable silence.
"You can stay here for a bit, if you want to" Angel suggested, Michael lifting his head from her shoulder, tilting his head soon after at her proposal.
Angel gave him a fanged grin; unlike the conniving smirk she'd give to survivors, this seemed less forced. More genuine, making her look a little more friendly.
"If you'd like to" she continued, "I think it would be nice to have some company for a bit. Plus if any more damn survivors try something to either of us, we can back each other up, yeah?"
Michael glanced down for a second or two, thinking this over, before looking back up to Angel with single nod of confirmation.
Angel chuckled softly with an "alright", letting Michael rest his head on her shoulder again.

Winding her cold arms around him, she let out a content sigh, glad to finally relax again, not having to worry about the survivors getting the two of them for the time being.
Michael wasn't daft, he had bolted the doors before coming down the stairs to her sleeping place, so at least they had some protection from the outside world and elements.
All was silent in the tomb, but this time it was less deafening and more soothing, amidst the two huddled killers.

All they could do for now, just until either or both were summoned for trials, was enjoy the soothing tranquillity, neither of them moving or wanting to move.
Sleep would soon come for them, and the two were ok with that.
After all, better together than on their own.