Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Between the two of them, Polyurethane tends to be a bit more honest when expressing his feelings. 

Hold up, don't go, just wait a minute, give him a sec! Polyester’s cooking, he swears. It’s not like he’s making this observation without nuance. Listen to him carefully - his younger brother is merely more honest. He’s not saying his brother knows what his feelings are, much less that he’s capable of verbalizing them aloud. What he is saying is that he’s better at forgoing any obfuscating veneers about things, that’s all. 

Now, Polyester is aware that most people don’t actually know this. They are always together, and they tend to voice similar comments and critiques and thoughts and feelings and whatever else there is - and therefore it’s no surprise that people think they’re interchangeable. However, (and it bears repeating for the folks in the back) the point still stands: his brother truly is, and is most staunchly so, more honest than he. 

So when Polyurethane expresses doubt one day while walking down the halls of Heaven’s Office of Ethics, it gives Polyester pause. 

“We’re fam for real for real, right?” 

Polyester glances over at his twin. Polyurethane keeps his hands folded behind his head, attempting a casual demeanor despite wearing a scowl on his face.

Ahhh. He knows what this is about. A grin breaks over Polyester’s face, and he nudges Polyurethane with an elbow. “Duhhh, obviously. We’re his kids. Dad’s just got, like, a weird way of showing love. Not everyone gets it, but if you know, you know.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “True enough, bro.”

Still, he doesn’t look convinced, and so Polyester takes a minute to choose his next words. “Don’t worry about it, Polyurethane. There’s always a reason behind the grind, you know that. Say, how about I make your favorite for dinner tonight? Spicy hot chicken - it’s been a while since we’ve let loose and ate some junk.”

“Deadass?!” Polyurethane removes his hands from his head to clasp them in front, eyes sparkling. “You serious?! You’ll make it extra spicy, right? Carolina reaper hot?” 

Polyester winces a little inside. Truth be told, he’s not the spice fanatic that his brother is, but what can he do? “Sure thing, bro.”

“Yes! And can we-”

“Polyester.”

Both boys snap to attention, heels clicking together as they stand ramrod straight. Down the hall, His Highness waits by a door. His eyes sweep over them, pausing briefly on Polyurethane’s profile before fixing on Polyester. 

“In my office. Alone.” 

“Yessir!” 

Another stare, and then His Highness enters the room first, letting the door fall shut. 

Both boys inadvertently release a breath. 

“Well, that’s my cue,” says Polyester.

“It’s always you,” Polyurethane complains. He pauses, the frown on his face persisting for a little too long. “Hey, if His Highness is-”

“It’ll be fine. I’m sure he just wants to brief me on our next mission.” He grasps his brother’s hand, gloved fingers tightening around his rough, calloused palm. “Believe me, bro. There’s nothing to stress about. We’re the perfect duo n’ all.”

Polyester doesn’t miss the dark flicker in his brother’s eyes, something that might be approaching skepticism, or, worse than that, disappointment - but the emotion is gone quickly, smoothed over by tranquil and trusting teal. “Yeah. Course we are.”

He brings his other hand up to ruffle pink strands. That does the trick - Polyurethane whines, and Polyester laughs in response before slipping free of their grasp. “You get the groceries, I’ll come back to cook?”

The mention of dinner brings a grin back to his brother’s face. “Bet! See ya later tonight!” 

Such cheer is immediately sobered by entering His Highness’ office. Polyester makes sure that the door closes quietly behind him before approaching and taking a knee, shuddering when he touches the floor. The air here has always been cold, kinda like ice (despite Heaven’s ambient temperatures). Seriously, the frigidness is sooo uncomfortable, and it’s far too similar to the thin atmospheres of Earth, even down to the tiny crystals that percolate into his lungs. 

His Highness’ voice is low, gravely, and so very different from the boisterous and bumbling uncle he presents himself as in public. “Polyurethane is having complaints, I see. Is there something you wish to tell me as well?”

Polyester keeps his eyes anchored to the ground. Of course his brother would have complaints - their birthday had just passed. “No, your Highness. We’re taking care of ourselves just fine.” 

“You may forgo formality for now. Raise your head and look at me, my son. Is there really nothing you’d like to say?”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Forgo formality? Who is he kidding? How could he treat His Highness as casually as he does his brother? However, a command is a command, and he lifts his head with a smile fixed in place. “It’s all good, your Highness. We’ve been chillin’, no prob.”

They regard each other thus for a little while longer - Polyester, still kneeling on the ground, His Highness, still seated in his chair. A beat passes, and then His Highness sighs, fingers pinching the high bridge of his nose. “I turn my back for a second, and he’s entered his rebellious phase. Pierced ears? Black nails? Wearing black at all, when I raised you to carry the dignity of angels. If I’m not more strict on him, I fear he’ll turn out as morally bankrupt as that idiot brother of mine. That man’s charges, too - how many years has it been since they’ve been banished to Earth? With still nothing to show that they’ve reflected on their behavior.” A pause. “Heaven has already become far too disorderly for me to worry about your brother. If only he were more obedient like you.”

“Please rest assur-” He clears his throat to rid himself of his overly formal tone. “It’s nothing to worry about, your Highness. Polyurethane’s just been interested in fashion recently. Highkey, there’s no one more dedicated to your cause than him.”

“Oh?” His Highness arches a brow. “Even more than you?”

Polyester keeps smiling, though he feels a drop of sweat bead on his temple. He’s said what he’s said. Despite Polyurethane’s so-called “rebellious” streak, he knows that his brother is far more dogmatic, far more zealous about their father’s values than himself. “He’s a certified bussin’ enforcer. Eats and leaves no crumbs.” 

His Highness once again gives a prolonged stare, then eventually sighs. “Go and fulfill my bidding, my son.”

“Yes!” 

The door opens, the door shuts. The air of the hall is instantly much warmer. 

Polyester breathes deeply, defrosting the chill in his lungs while resting a hand over his chest. Beneath his palm, he can feel the faint beat of his heart, the nervous fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. Solo meetings with dad are always a bit spooky, but, if he’s being honest…

A small grin worms its way onto his face. They’re spooky, yeah, but he kinda likes getting called out. It’s the only time they ever really get to interact, and, like, that was almost some praise, yeah?! Okay, not exactly, and it was sorta backhanded, but it was implied right? Hahaha, he feels like he can definitely do his best for the rest of the day! 

Hm… dad sure did seem upset by Uncle Liniere and his kids though. Maybe if he and Polyurethane head down to Earth to punish the sisters, that’ll pick up his mood? Yes, that sounds like a good idea. He’ll pitch it to Polyurethane later. 

Polyester sets off with a slight skip in his step, humming cheerily. He got to chat with dad today, and he’s hanging out with Polyurethane for dinner tonight. Yes they have work tomorrow, but the grind’s not even that hard tbh. This life is good. This life is great! All he has to do is lock in to keep the status quo. 

It’s perfect. 

Between the two of them, Polyurethane tends to be a bit more honest when expressing his feelings. 

So when he says something along the lines of, “Like, hand the sisters over, and no cap, we’ll lowkey just let you go” - well, uh! It makes him nervous. 

It’s just weird, y’know, cuz, like, Polyurethane’s more of a “doer” than a “negotiater”, and like, he wasn’t really “negotiating” when he was threatening the Anarchy sisters with the sharp end of his greave, or destroying security cameras, or-

So, like, what gives? What’s changed, exactly? Dad’s plans would’ve doomed that human either way, and Polyurethane’s always been the more enthusiastic executor between the two of them. Why give the human an out? 

( Those sisters have poisoned him, he privately thinks. However, seeing them stand up for their family, even when confined to a cube - it had shaken him, too. )

It’s okay. Polyester doesn’t have to dwell on it. A lot of things have shaken up the status quo recently - the forced vacation with their dad, the way dad’s been softening up a little around them, this sort of weird “on probation” period they’re having after resuming angel duties, but it’s fine, it’s fiiiine. So Polyester’s relationship with dad and work have been changing, but he’s still got dinners with Polyurethane-

Polyester struggles to open the door to their shared home in Heaven, shuffling the grocery bags around to reach the knob. “Yo!” he calls once he manages to get inside, kicking the door behind him. “Your usual blend was sold out. I grabbed a different one!” 

“Huh?” Polyester can see his brother’s head pop up over the top edge of the couch. “Oopsies. Was it pricey?”

“Not too bad.” He toes his shoes off, then ambles into the living room whilst digging for said blend. “Peep this shit.” 

Polyurethane gasps, spine straightening. “Bro! Lowkey, isn’t that like, the matcha that’s been going viral lately?! No way no way, you’ll whip it up for me right?!”

He chuckles. “Sure, bro, but let’s have dinner first. What’re you feeling? I’m thinking spicy hot chicke-”

“Ah, no dinner for me again tonight.” 

…

What? 

“Lowkey, I’ve got a hangout with the Briefmeister and Chuck. They’re actually pretty valid, can you believe it?” Polyurethane gets up from the couch and stretches his arms above his head, popping his shoulders. The crack of bone is sharp in Polyester’s ears. “Like, I figured with their weird old-fashioned mindset the vibes would be off, but actually they’ve been trying to respect the work-life boundaries! I was like, no way fam, that totally fucks.” Now he rolls his head side to side, another crack, crack. “Anyway, I’ve been running into them during ghost hunts, and after shift once dude outta nowhere’s like, ‘let’s do a screening for Dances with Wolves’, and I was like, go off bro! Betty!”

When Polyurethane turns to him with a smile on his face, Polyester realizes he still hasn’t responded. 

“Uh, wow, no cap bro!” He laughs, though it sounds flat to his own ears (dammit, he fumbled). “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Right? Even I was shook. Me, hanging with them again? Be for real! But… idk man, I thought I’d give it another try.” Polyurethane snickers and shakes his head, already walking past his brother. His hand briefly lands on his shoulder, heavy, weighted. Damning. “Anyway, that’s all from me tonight. I’ma head out now, bye-ah bro!” 

“Right. Bye-”

The door clicks shut. 

Polyester runs into trouble that night, out and alone and lost. 

Normally he wouldn’t pick fights, and certainly not when he’s without his brother, but it’s not his fault! Those two angels were dissing his father loudly, snickering at his so-called foolish ambitions, calling him some kinda wannabe cult leader. They should’ve expected a comment or two if they were going to gossip within hearing distance. 

In his defense, he wasn’t even the first one to throw a punch. 

Not that it matters. Not when he’s standing in front of his father’s desk, and Ramie sighs while reading over the report. 

“Brawling in a public space? I may have expected your brother to cause such problems, but not you.” He flips to the next page. “The other party refuses to tell me the reason. I don’t believe I can expect anything out of you either, can I?”

Polyester stares at the floor, hands gripped tightly behind his back. “I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t say it.”

A pause. Another sigh. Ramie rubs his temple, seemingly delaying his response. Polyester can’t stand it. Prior to everything that had happened, he would’ve been strict with his reprimands, straight to the point. This floundering father, this awkward sidestepping feels so foreign it makes him want to scream. 

This isn’t the affection he’s used to.

Ramie stands from his seat and strides past him. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

His heart stings worse than the bruise on his cheek. “Yes.”

It doesn’t bother him. 

It doesn’t bother him, it doesn’t bother him, it doesn’t bother him! He is not! Bothered! In! The! Slightest! 

Everything is fine. This is just a little hiccup in the status quo, but things will go back to normal soon. He continues on his way, working, chores, leisure, sleep, working, chores, leisure, sleep, working, chores, leisure, sleep-

And it works for about a week before the unthinkable happens. 

No one could’ve seen it coming. He was in perfect form today, he swears - but just as he finishes his dance with his brother and slips the golden thong around his hand-

A sharp crack echoes through the area, and the glow of his gun dims ever so slightly. 

The ghost is defeated no problem, and a shower of Heaven coins rains over them both. However, neither of them are counting their loot, too focused on the faintly fluorescent fragment that’s landed by Polyester’s foot. 

Shaking, a hand comes up to gingerly touch his halo. It continues to float above his head, and it - it still works to an extent. However, the large chip in its ring, making it incomplete, is unmistakable. 

“W-Wait,” Polyester’s voice shakes terribly. “Bro - Polyurethane. It’s chill, I promise! My halo cracking ain’t even that deep! This’s nothing! This, this-”

But Polyurethane only takes a step back, leaning away from him like he’s some contaminated, dirty thing. The expression on his face contorts, twists almost beyond recognition, and Polyester can’t bear to decipher what it means. “Are you being deadass? You - you’re literally falling, just like those bitchy sisters.”

It’s enough. 

“You’re right,” he finds himself saying. He’s not even sure what his own face looks like right now, but each word comes cold, as measured as the stone layered within Heaven’s walls. “I’ll take my leave.” 

Polyester’s not actually certain how he’s ended up here. 

Everything since his halo cracking has been a blur. He thinks maybe he headed home at some point to pack his bags, but he’s got no luggage on him so that can’t be right. Did he even ride in Double Low-Riser after that shift? He can’t remember. He probably didn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing in the streets of Daten City, letting rain pour over him without an umbrella. 

The water soaks into his hair, his clothes, his shoes. It makes everything cling uncomfortably, serves to make himself more miserable. Pathetic. 

Numbly, he feels himself drag one foot in front of the other. Where he’s walking, he doesn’t know. Can’t even see much through the heavy gray downpour. It doesn’t matter. He just needs to go. 

A bird shits on him. A flower pot falls from the top floor and shatters over his head. Then someone else drops a hammer, a water basin, a fifteen kilo dumbbell. To top it all off, lightning strikes, fries him to soot. Heaven must be laughing at him.

One car swerves too close and splashes water over him. Another crashes into him and sends him flying into a garbage dump. He survives, of course. Fallen or not, he’s still an angel. 

A wanton moan escapes through a higher up window, and he tilts his head back to find the silhouette of two people going at it. Casting his eyes off to the left, he sees the numerous neon signs and realizes he’s somehow made his way to the Redlight District. Is there even a Redlight District? It’s Daten City, so maybe the entirety of this town is a Redlight District. 

Giggling a bit deliriously, he picks himself up and out of the trash. Foul. Utterly foul. A city full of sin and debauchery. Perfect for him, isn’t it. 

And just so perfectly, he missteps - slips, trips over some disgusting used condom, and falls headfirst into an open manhole. 

Polyester wakes to high arched ceilings, stained glass windows, and Garterbelt hovering over him.

He screams. 

Chapter Text

Polyester shrieks and kicks at the human, who dodges easily. “Unc?!” He scrambles as far back on the - the bed? No, this is a pew! - as he can go, fisting the blankets around him. 

Garter, to his credit, manages to avoid his next kick as well and simply leans in. Polyester flinches and squeezes his eyes shut, too confused to defend himself - and then he flinches worse when he feels something cold and hard press against his chest. 

His eyes snap open, and he finds the priest carrying a stethoscope in one hand and a monitor in the other. Garter moves the stethoscope around a few different spots on his chest, listening carefully, then retreats and conceals his instruments in his sleeves. 

“Mmm, called it.” The priest meets his baffled gaze. “Saw you had a crack in your halo. Your faith’s been slipping, hasn’t it?”

“Huh?” Polyester shakes his head, as if that might dispel his disorientation. “Wait, slipping? What the, are you trying to ragebait me or something?!”

“I ain’t ragebaiting for shit! And count your twunk blessings I was the one who dragged your sorry ass outta the gutter.”

“Wha?” Horror seizes him, as this is the exact moment that Polyester realizes he’s been stripped naked. Another ungodly sound escapes his throat, and he wraps himself up as tightly as he can with the sheets. “Ew, gross! Boomer got his hands on me?! Can’t even, Polyurethane can you believe thi-”

Realization strikes before he even manages to finish that sentence. 

An anguished cry echoes off the church’s walls as he hunches over, head in his hands. “It’s so joever. Straight up gonna kill myself. He hates me. He thinks I’m a slut like those busted angel bitches! On God, this has gotta be the fattest L ever, negative aura points to infinity!” 

And for a minute he is allowed to wail and caterwaul, fistfuls of hair nearly being torn out in his meltdown. He doesn’t care if he sounds and looks stupid - he can’t help it! Recent events are finally starting to dawn on him, the realization of what it means to be excommunicated from Heaven, separated from his brother, cast down to this dump of a city with no money, no connections, no nothing-!!! And it all hits worse than that car did yesterday.  

Garter’s voice interrupts him. 

“You need a crash spot?” 

That certainly shuts him up, and he coughs out a strangled choke. God, how many new noises can he make in a day? “What?! Why would I-”

Garter grins deviously at his phone, then tucks it away. He’s evidently checked something while Polyester was losing his marbles, which would set off alarm bells if he weren’t already discombobulated by everything else. “I don’t know why you ain’t with your brother, but I’d feel much better being able to keep an eye on you. Whatever, just shack up here.”

Polyester blanches. “No way would I-”

He is once more interrupted, not by the priest but by a highpitched, piercing laugh (accompanied by ominous organ music). He’d recognize that laugh anywhere even if he didn’t want to - there weren’t many demons who went around parading like high-class nobles, after all.

Garter is unfazed, because of course he is. “Good morning, Scanty.”

“Ohohoho, do my ears deceive me? At the very least, I know my nose certainly isn’t.” The one with green hair - Scanty, apparently - flips her mane over her shoulder, the curve of her lips accented by her little snaggle fang. “That musky irregularity in the air - of course, it’s always the angels with such unique choices in perfume.” 

“Good morning, Kneesocks.” 

The other one - Kneesocks - adjusts the frame of her glasses and smirks. “It’s exactly as you say, Dear Sister. We’ve always known that angels are quick to swallow their pride when it comes to crawling around in the gutters, so it’s rather optimistic to expect any angel to adhere to even the fundamentals of hygiene.”

Scanty’s laughter pitches even higher. “Oh, that’s too true!” 

Polyester feels an eye twitch. “Demons-”

“Setting that aside, I hear you’re shacking up with us?” Scanty thrusts her face towards his, her fingers on her chin as she scans him up and down. Seemingly satisfied by whatever she sees, she nods briskly and straightens back up, then turns to her sister. “Truly, this is an opportunity we can’t let slip, Miss Kneesocks. We’ll be able to elevate ourselves from high-class house maidens back to high-class demons!” Then, to Garter, “This may be the best idea I’ve heard you postulate yet, Father.” 

Polyester slams his fist on the pew, already feeling the incoming hints of a second temper tantrum. “Wait, wait, wait! That’s not fair, don’t I get a say in-”

Scanty holds a hand up to him, effectively aborting his fist flailing and feet stomping. “Do be mindful of your behavior. We are your superiors here, and any insolence will be swiftly corrected.” She snaps her fingers. “Miss Kneesocks, darling, please educate our guest on proper house etiquette.”

“Of course, Dear Sister.” Kneesocks slides away from his line of sight, then returns and dumps an outrageous number of things on the floor in front of him. Dirty shirts, dirty skirts, dirty socks, dirty - is that a vibrator?! - and to top it all off, she drops a bucket, a rag, a mop, and a suspiciously in-his-size maid outfit. “Freeloaders such as yourself shall manage all domestic duties - cleaning, laundering, scrubbing, the works. The supply closet is on the second floor, and any additional necessities may be found in the bathroom or kitchen.” 

Polyester grimaces, gingerly picking up the maid outfit with two fingers. Could this possibly be a trial from Heaven? This has gotta be the worst trial if it is. He feels sufficiently screwed over regardless of whether he stays or leaves. Besides, has any angel ever even managed to salvage their halo? He’s not sure. However, he’s definitely not sure of how he’d take care of himself alone - at least, not until he’s able to regain some of his bearings.

... Not... Not that he’s got a place in mind to escape to. Maybe this is where he belongs, disgraced and demeaned, ground beneath the heel of the unholy as some twisted, eternal form of punishment for the sin of daring to question-

“I almost don’t want to know - what happened to my drip?”

Garter scoffs. “You didn’t think I’d put our pristine blankets over your filthy clothes? Fuck outta here with that, those sheets are fresh! No, your clothes are gone.”

Scanty laughs again, another annoying, ear-piercing sound. She flounces off together with her sister, chest pushed out, chin held high. “Not a single speck spared, little boy!” 

Polyester hesitates, then readjusts his hold on the maid outfit. The rub of cheap fabric is itchy against his palm. His chin wrinkles fiercely. His eyes narrow bitterly. 

Great. Just, perfect. 

Thus, Polyester finds himself working in earnest as a butler in the church of his enemies. 

It’s an absolutely terrible experience. 

Panty and Stocking had a complete ball with it, his first day on the job. Once they had risen from bed (later than the demons, he’d snidely taken note), their screeching laughter had ruptured whatever was left of his eardrums. The shutter of their phone cameras had gone off for a solid five minutes as he stood shaking with rage, one hand gripping the hem of his maidskirt and the other clenching so hard around the broom it’d nearly snapped the tool in half. He’d wound up raising the broom as a threat, only to get soundly clapped over the head by Panty as she reminded him “of his place” and to “watch his attitude” otherwise she’d upload his photos in 4K. 

“Upload them!” he’d snapped. “There’s literally no deeper of a ditch I can dig!” 

Strangely enough, that got her to back off. Something about it not being fun when he’s on board.

Anyways, it’s an absolutely terrible experience. Being their live in cleaning service guy, that is. 

Panty’s room is the worst of all. How in the world does she sleep like this? How does she live like this?! He will do his best to pick up all the trash strewn around (while carefully avoiding that crazy sex machine of hers), tossing out multiple garbage bags at the dumpster each day, and yet he will find that the color of her floors is once again indistinguishable by the next morning (what in the negative continuity?!). Not to mention the stench - God, the stench. That malodorous stench that escapes each time he opens her door - the ick it gives him is so bad it shakes his spine and automatically activates his gag reflex. The smell must be serving as an explanation for her stupidity, he swears. Something is floating around that air of sex and sweat and cum that’s doing real damage to whatever brain cells she has left (and assuming she has any is an already generous estimate) - because what else could be the reason for her utter lack of propriety?

Stocking? Stocking’s room is not too bad, in comparison. He recalls his brother complaining about the insane tool of gluttony she has in there, but he’s honestly never seen it used. At worst he’s constantly having to clear out plates from her room (okay, it’s a lot of plates. Like an atrocious number of plates. What the hell, cuz), and at best he just has to make sure her cabinet is stocked with enough sweets to make Candyland issue a copyright strike. 

And the demons? 

Their room is clean. Always. 

It’s hell. It serves as psychological damage. 

Unbelievably, what he has mentioned thus far is not the summation of his newly appointed responsibilities, no. In fact, when he’s not cleaning their rooms, he spends the remainder of his time doing odds and ends for the rest of the church - washing windows, making repairs to furniture, or, and most importantly, assisting Garter with cooking and meal prep. Dinners for six mouths are a loud and chaotic affair, he’d quickly come to learn, full of yelling and profanity and plates that are yanked around dangerously. All of it is so very different from the few quiet meals he’s shared with his father, and different too from the casual arrangements he's had with his brother. It's much more lively, much more warm - enough to disturb something in him. He shoves it down in favor of staking his claim before all the prime cuts of meat are stolen away (daaamn does Garter know how to handle his meat). 

( The post-meal mess is, as anticipated, his to clean up. All this work with no time off - were this Heaven, he’d definitely have taken this issue up with the Union. )

“Hey, Garter,” he overhears Stocking say one day. “It’s been a whole damn week since Poly Plastic over there crash-landed here. Isn’t it sus that he hasn’t stirred up shit? And where’s his brother?” 

Garter had merely shrugged. “Hell if I know what’s going on. Dude’s unemployed. Basically a useless sack of feathers, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

Setting aside the fact they’re being rude within earshot - a week, huh? Polyester pauses in mopping the floor and turns his view to the window, staring up at bright blue skies clear of any clouds. 

“Weather slaps today,” he murmurs to himself. Similar to the skies, his eyes are serene. Calm, and tranquil. 

A week and no one has come looking for him. Not a single pursuer from Heaven. Not someone from the Office of Ethics, not his father, and certainly not Polyurethane.

...

Not that he’d expected his brother to come knocking on the church’s door, but it does sort of miff him that he hasn’t. 

A pang hits him, but he finds that the ache in his chest is not as sharp as it once was. It settles more like a dull bruise instead, mellow enough that it doesn’t make him tense when prodded at. Rubbing at the spot over his heart, he wonders if Polyurethane hurts at all in a similar manner. Then, he wonders if Polyurethane is doing fine by his lonesome. They were practically conjoined at the hip growing up, so this was a first - their first time being separated, and their first falling out, too...

Alright, that’s not true. They’ve probably fought before in the past, but Father had always been quick to stamp those disagreements out - something about attempting to keep them from turning out like all the other angels that were unfortunate enough to be born twins. 

Polyester can’t recall what they could’ve (theoretically) fought about anyway. Truth be told, Polyurethane used to be a bit of a crybaby, tears springing into his eyes every time he couldn’t get his wings coordinated enough to fly. Polyester would scrub at his cheeks and pat his head, then promise that he’d take care of them as they grew older. Such a sweet little kid, and the most adorable baby brother to boot. Polyester had always quietly been proud to be the older one, absolutely gratified whenever the opportunity to take care of him had arose. 

Rather abruptly, his brother’s unhinged bouts of ecstasy during some of their more, uh, violent missions flashes across his mind, and he concludes that he’s likely not needed anymore. 

A bird flies by, shedding a few feathers as it flaps to soar higher. In contast, his own wings have been unused for a week now. There’s a twinge in his back, an uneasiness and unrest. The urge to shake them free of his clothing is strong (at least let him comb through them!), but it’s not like he has any reason to go flying when he can’t go back to Heaven-

Oh, that’s right. He still has some unfinished business.

Scanty finds him alone in the kitchen later that day. He’s scribbling on some paper, to which she arches a brow. 

“Writing a letter?” 

Polyester blinks. He still hasn’t quite figured out how to handle the demons so casually addressing him. It’d initially really put him off, activating old reflexes to be on guard and ready with a smart quip, and he’d thought he’d needed to prepare himself for a verbal knife fight at every encounter. They're tricksters, or so he was taught - creatures that know how to hurt with a well placed word. Yet, it turns out that nothing would ever come of their interactions. They might say something snippy, he’d say something snippy back, and that would be the end of that. The Anarchy sisters were much more prone to wreaking havoc on the house in comparison. 

TLDR, fending off the demons had wound up becoming second-priority. Even their incipient spite had faded over time, their conversations including less genuine snark and more of this weird bit that they’ve decided to keep up. Sure, he doesn’t like them as a species (and he doesn’t doubt that his dislike will be enduring), but he’s not aggressive about it the way Polyurethane is. Add on the fact that he’s lost his old job, that he’s not quite an elite amongst angels anymore, and, uh…

Well, the demons have made way more tolerable company than those ingrown toenails that are his cousins, that’s for sure. 

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, Scanty gives him a subtle push. “Oh my? Angels truly are an illbred breed if one cannot even uphold some small talk.” 

He blinks again. Alright, he can work with that. 

“Right, because demons are naturally the most familiar with what being illbred looks like. I’ll have you know that I’m doing important work,” he answers, turning his nose up. “It has to do with stocks.”

“Tsk.” The chair across from him scrapes noisily as she pulls it out and settles down. She rests her chin in her palm, her face angled towards the afternoon sun. Light slants across her high cheekbones and jaw, the rays sharpening the lines of her profile. “I wasn’t aware your ilk had the smarts to handle anything beyond an elementary education. And?” she asks, pushing on before he can return with his own clever riposte. “That appears to be a statement regarding certain investments. Whatever for?” 

Polyester gives a one shouldered shrug, then refocuses on writing, his blunt cut bangs falling over his eye. “It’s for an account I made back when I was younger. It’s got some pocket change I need to manage. Like, two mil or so?”

Scanty gasps. “Two million? My word! Surely that would’ve been enough for multiple back and forth passages between Heaven and Earth. You truly were born into privilege.” 

“That’s not it. This account was actually made in secret. I never told anyone about it - not even Dad, or Polyurethane.” 

Her face stills. “Well, that’s a surprise,” she says eventually. “You’ve never struck me as the type of young man to do things in secret.”

Polyester scoffs. “Because I’m not. I was a good kid. Grew into a modest angel. Always did exactly what Dad wanted. This was just the one thing I had that I worked on alone.” He shuffles the papers in hand, looking for the form he needs. “But now that I’m not in Heaven, can’t exactly keep track of the trends, amiright? Can’t use those Heaven coins for jack either. Gotta shut this whole gig down.” 

“So then what will you do with it?”

“Transfer the money to our conjoined bank account, I guess. Well, Polyurethane’s now. I don’t think he’ll be happy to see my name on the papers, but I gotta tie everything up neatly.”

“Nonsense, you can’t assume that. Younger siblings can be more attached than you imagine.” 

Another scoff. “As if you know anything about us, demon.”

A gentle silence hangs over the two of them, filled only by faint pen scratching. He can tell that she’s scrutinizing him, though he’s not certain what it is she thinks. This amicability of theirs persists for a while, and then it is suddenly broken by the clap of her hands. 

Her zipper dog comes racing up, and before Polyester can so much as raise a brow, Scanty swipes his paperwork and tosses it to her pet. 

“Hey!” He lunges across the table for it, but the dog is already scampering away. “What’s your problem, bro?!”

She titters behind a hand. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and set that aside? My throat is horribly parched, and I could certainly use a cup of freshly brewed mandrake tea.” 

“What? Why do I have-”

Scanty fixes him with a pointed look. He returns it with a scornful stink eye, then stands from his chair and heads over to the kitchen cabinets. 

Polyester feels her eyes on him again as he putters around, measuring out leaves and setting the kettle to the stove. The sound of boiling water soon fills the air, and he deftly makes arrangements for a proper steep.

“So you know how to do even this,” she comments idly. 

“Duh, obviously.” Pack the leaves in, which teacup-? This set has a beautiful luster, so it must belong to the demons. “I picked up a lot of skills looking after my brother and myself.”

“It must’ve been hard work.”

“Not really. The older one looks after the younger one. That’s like, as basic as it gets.” 

Dishware selected, tea brewed, he pours out a steaming cup and sets it before her. She doesn’t drink it right away, first admiring the drink’s color with a pleased expression, her nose twitching from its earthy fragrance. Then, she elegantly picks up the saucer, extends her pinky finger, and takes a delicate sip.

Her posture’s a little extra, but like, no lies told? “At least you know how to drink tea.” He glowers, thinking again of the ingrates in his family tree. “It’s unbelievable that a demon has better table manners than those so-called angelic cousins of mine.” 

Scanty giggles, setting her cup down with a clack. “At last you recognize my refinement. Furthermore, I must wholeheartedly agree! Those parasites have no respect for formalities or rrrrrules, always managing to utterly wreck everything in their paths. Biohazardous waste, truly!” She shudders. “Six masks, six aprons, and six pairs of rubber gloves were barely enough to keep myself from gagging every time I entered their rooms. The blonde one especially.” 

“Exactly!” he cries, elated that someone can relate to his suffering. “They’re supposed to be angels for crying outloud, but they’re the most disgusting creatures in creation! Like, what kinda angel doesn’t have standards?! That can’t be real, can it?! Hello?!” 

Her surprised expression makes him catch himself, and he quickly backpeddles. “Don’t get it twisted, I’m not bonding with you over mutual hate. You’re just more chill than I thought, despite whatever’s the standard for raising demons in Hell. We’re not alike in the slightest.” 

That must’ve hit a nerve, for she knits her brows. “But of course we are not the same. My decorum is a product of my own hard work, a self imposition of my own rrrrrules.” A sniff, and she picks up her teacup again. “Erstwhile, you have lived your life doing nothing but following the rrrrrules of other people like some obedient whelp. You’ve made it easy for yourself, being a greyhound that’s only ever known the limits of its racetrack.”

Gah. 

When he doesn’t respond, she glances at him over the teacup’s rim, questioning. However, he doesn’t meet her gaze, too busy frowning at some dirt spot on the floor. 

“What’s so wrong with running a set track?” he mutters. 

Scanty blinks. She sets her cup down. “Is it fun, running a ‘set’ track?”

“What?” Polyester turns to her with confusion. “It’s not about fun, it’s just what’s tradition. Like, the basics of how every angel should behave.”

“And have you ever been rewarded for following tradition?”

“Of course I-”

Haven’t. 

Of course he hasn’t. 

Because his father has never praised him or Polyurethane for anything that they have done. A lifetime of measuring himself against His Highness, of trying to be the responsible, perfect child, unrecompensed. It was an impossible task to begin with. He was bound to screw up one day. Life goes on, uncaring. 

The kitchen clock ticks. He still doesn’t respond. 

Scanty’s eyes flit away from his face and back to the drink that she cradles. She looks thoughtful, then raises it to her lips, tips her head back, and polishes the rest of it off in one go. “Delicious,” she declares once she’s finished. “Pour me another.”

Polyester thinks about protesting, but truthfully he’s not in the mood to argue anymore. So, he sets off to do as she asks, but it seems she’s not yet done with whatever it is she has to say. 

“Truly, what a delectable drink!” she exclaims dramatically. “Fortunate that I am indeed, to have the cunning eye to select it. Ever since Miss Kneesocks introduced me to the brand, I knew that dabbling in their other blends was an absolute must. Naturally, I was correct! My greatness surely deserves endless accolades.” 

How does that even make sense? “I’m the one who made the tea though,” he points out as he measures a new serving.

“And yet were it not for my sister and I, such tea wouldn’t be sitting on our kitchen shelves. Where is my gratitude?”

Is she being deadass? On God? Blustering out a defeated breath, he turns and sets the fresh cup in front of her. “What kind of sussy deal are you trying-”

“Oh, non, non, non! Nonsense!” She waves him off. “I simply crave praise. Speak it aloud!” 

“What?”

“You have excellent taste, good job. That sort of thing.”

Polyester blinks. Praise? Him? To a demon? 

Well, if he’s already in the process of falling, he supposes it doesn’t matter much anymore. 

“... You have excellent taste,” he mutters through clenched teeth. God, choke him. “Good job.”

Scanty doesn’t seem to care that he was a very unwilling participant in all of this. “Splendid!” 

“Bruh, not fair!” he cries. “Again, I’m the one who made the tea!”

“Oh?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and - fuck, he realizes he’s messed up. “So you’re asking me to praise you back?”

“What?” Polyester shakes his head furiously. “No, I would never-”

“What words shall I employ?”

He stops dead in his tracks. 

She’s offering? Genuinely? To him? This has to be a trick. Demons lie. Demons cheat. Demons can’t be trusted. However, Scanty stares up at him, waiting patiently, and the curve of her mouth forces him to confront the reality of things - that Scanty, at the very least, wouldn’t seemingly take advantage of him like Panty. 

No wonder devils are known as tempters. They know how to brew the precise poison that any lesser child of Heaven would tip his head back for, to drink down willingly. Even if it burned. 

His mouth is moving before he can control himself. “... G-Good job. You did well. Some… Something like that.” God, he’s so cringe!!! He’s literally going to kill himself after this!! 

However Scanty only says, with complete sincerity in her voice, “Good job. You did well.” 

The words hang in the air, then settle into his bones. His eyes are wide, his expression muted yet definitely surprised, and he quickly turns away to hide his ever so slight preening. 

Then he explodes himself in his brain with ten thousand heavenly missiles. 

“You adapt rather quickly to things, don’t you?” She praises him more, laughing like she’s been endeared by a child whilst he suffers from the knowledge that he felt grateful towards a demon - even for the barest of seconds. “Far superior to those trashy, ill-mannered sisters. And yes, you might think that you’ve been adhering tightly to traditions, but if you ask me-” her eyes take on a mischievous glint “-I must say you’re more the rebellious sort than your brother.” 

AUGH! THIS IS THE WORST! KILL HIM NOW, KILL HIM NOW, KILL HIM NOW-

He feels a pounding in the foundations of the church’s walls. Footsteps rapidly descend the stairs with heavy thump, thump, thumps, and Panty skids into view of the kitchen, clad in a tiny little top and her underwear. 

“Hey, sluts! Guess who’s here to wreck your peace!” she shouts, the spray of her spittle arcing in the air. She shoves her phone towards them, close enough that he goes crosseyed trying to read what’s on the screen.

Scanty squints at the text over his shoulder. “Oh my, Lingerie Run? I see they’re hosting it again this year. I’ve heard that they’ve been trying to add more… gimmicks to attract media presence.” She blinks. “What’s this? It says there’ll be a prize as well.”

A prize? Polyester feels the corner of his lip twitch at the mere thought. That’s a riot. What kind of prize could humans in this trash dump of a city possibly offer up? Not likely to be worth any-

“HEY!” he screams, snatching the phone from Panty. “What the helly?! That’s MY underwear?!” 

Panty’s reduced to shriek-laughing while Scanty cracks an amused smile. Polyester trembles in place, in utter disbelief at what he sees - and then he bolts, his feet taking him to the congregation hall as fast as they possibly can. 

Garter stands at the window, admiring the view outside. His face is at ease, and his eyes are lifted. He serves the perfect example of a man seeking God, deep in his prayers, but unfortunately it’s an angel that greets him by seizing him at the collar.

“You stupid idiot priest!” Polyester shoves the phone in his face. “Don’t tell me this is your doing! I thought you threw my fit away!” 

Garter holds his hands up in surrender, still somehow infuriatingly at peace. “I said they were gone, not that I threw them away. I sniffed a business op, alright? Sick fucks will pay through the nose for random thongs, and the church has been needing repairs.”

“You clown! Have you no shame?! That’s a literal holy garment!” 

Garter smiles, for why would he not? He, in fact, has no shame. 

Polyester releases his grip on the priest and runs his hands through his hair, mussing its perfectly combed strands. “Arrrgh, fine! Whatever! We’re participating in Lingerie Run tonight - and I! Am getting! My underwear back!!!” 

Chapter Text

See Through crashes through several trees, a barbed wire fence, and at least seven people when arriving at the Lingerie Run. 

Polyester cannot bring himself to care at the moment. 

A red carpet rolls out, the Anarchy Sisters step out ahead of him, and all three strike poses as the crowd cheers and lights flash. Naturally, they’re all dressed in their finest ensembles - which is to say they’re stripped down to their underwear (as is appropriate for the event). 

Panty tips her sunglasses down and shows off for the cameras, then thrusts her middle finger up. “Oi, dickwads! You didn’t think you were partying without us, didya?” 

There’s another cheer from the audience in response. 

This past week has just been one humiliation after another, or so Polyester privately commiserates as he smiles at some random human woman (she screeches so hard she passes out). What an incredibly depraved sport, though it fits with the rest of this shithole city. No matter, he’s only got one mission today: make it to the end of the marathon first and grab his underwear. Thank God he’d been able to find some spares while living at the church, but nothing can replace the smooth feel of his tried and true, you know? If he squints, he thinks he can see its golden glimmer on display at the finish line - all the way at the other end of town. 

Glancing to the left, he sees that the Demon Sisters and that corrupt priest are sitting on the sidelines, binoculars in hand as they observe during their evening teatime. He scoffs and turns away. Bastards.

A round of squeals pierces his eardrums, but the direction of it isn’t from the Anarchy Sisters. Instead, a large crowd has gathered around a - wait, he recognizes those beams of light anywhere. Not to mention, that’s Double Low-Riser! 

Sure enough, the crowd parts as the offending party approaches them, strutting his stuff like it’s no one’s business. Once he’s within throwing range, he postures obnoxiously - a hand casually behind his head, the other subtly stroking the curve of his abs. His golden thong glints in the light, as do his earrings when he tilts his head. 

“Yo losers, like, wassup?” greets Polyurethane amidst the approving roar. 

Panty rolls her eyes. “Ugh, it’s the Poly prude!” She glances at Polyester. “The other one.”

“And what annoying tricks are you plotting this time?” accuses Stocking. 

“Nada,” he singsongs. “I’m off duty. I’ve got zero beef with you tonight, though…” Raising a manicured finger, he points right past the sisters, gaze turning sharp. “I do have business with that one in the back.”

The sisters part, no longer blocking Polyester’s line of sight. His frown deepens, partly from distaste, partly from confusion. What would bring his brother here? This isn’t exactly the hopping venue for elite angels to party at. Does he even know what the prize is? 

Well, he can practice some basic courtesy at least. “Polyurethane.”

A click of the tongue, and then he drops his finger. “Like seriously, what the heck’s wrong with you? An angel chillin’ with this dumpster fire crew? You’re making your-” he glances at the others “-situation worse.”

Polyester bristles. So Polyurethane wants to press all his wrong buttons, does he? He should’ve known his brother would try to antagonize him. “I happen to have my own business with them.”

“Ooo, sounds like dramaaa.” Stocking peers at the two of them, giggling behind her plush. “What’s this? Are you guys actually fighting?”

“It’s just a difference in opinion.”

“Like a band breakup?”

Both brothers ignore her, and Polyurethane jeers. “If I can be real, no lies told? Seeing your face here kinda gets me itching for a showdown.”

Polyester curls his lip. “That makes two. Why don’t you step up to the starting line, then? Loser stops bothering the winner and has to leave this city!” 

“Hah! To think we’d ever be in agreement again!” His voice drops to dangerous octaves. “Alright, bet. I can’t wait to teach you a lesson, or more like several.”

The starting line has enough tension that one could cut through it. 

Both brothers are in a ready stance, hands planted, asses up. They remain shoulder to shoulder, expressions testy and wary. Polyester’s face is dark, the glimpse of his red eye beneath his bangs practically glowing, whilst Polyurethane has his lips pulled back in a sneer, the flash of a fang visible in his mouth. 

The referee steps forward. She blows her whistle once, twice, then brings her hand down for the third one-

The ground beneath their feet promptly explodes, sending them both flying through the air.

Polyester yells as the forces of wind and gravity cause him to tumble, pulling at the skin of his face in the most unflattering of ways. He lands at a distant spot, cursing as he rights his footing before breaking into a mad dash. Trust this city to have some sort of trap or gimmick from the start, of course! 

And there sure are a lot of traps or gimmicks. Stairs that turn smooth, a path that loops like a Sonic level, logs that come swinging at them out of nowhere - but naturally he clears them all with no problem. The buzz of a helicoptor swerves by, a manic-looking man in white chattering away excitedly as he emcees. Polyester throws in a knowing smirk at the camera (there you go, more EZ fanservice) before surging ahead and effortlessly vaulting over another obstacle. Even on foot, his physique is far superior to that of a human’s. He’s got this race in the bag! Ain’t no one’s able to keep pace with him-

Well. No one barring one. 

His brother’s gratified laugh reaches his ears, and he spots him running on the other side of the street. “Like, this will be a total breeze, no cap!” A smirk. “And is it just me, or did you get slower?”

Polyester grits his teeth. “Ugh, quit with the drama already! You’re being so cringe, for real!”

What he gets in response is the most offended gasp he’s ever heard him make. “Um, excuse me?! You’re the one wildin’ out here with this losercore behavior!”

“Whatever, brat!”

“Screw you, gorilla jerk!”

While Polyurethane is busy participating in the very mature practice of namecalling, Polyester sees it: a far off explosion, a billboard snapping off its hinges. It careens towards his brother, and by all means he knows Polyurethane’s got it - however, he can’t suppress instinct. 

In a flash, he strips (someone shrieks) and shoots a round right past Polyurethane’s ear, destroying the sign with dynamight force. 

Polyurethane’s pupils shake as he whirls upon him. “Did you just shoot at me?!” 

He has a split second decision to make - explain, or don’t explain. “Oh, whoops. My bad. Gun slipped.”

“Gawd! You heartless nitwit!” 

That’s - wait, that’s not what he meant to say, but just as Polyester attempts to untangle his tongue, he spies a flash of light in the corner of his eye (and hears another shriek).

A sharp gust blasts right in front of his nose, lifting his bangs up and away from his face. An oncoming car, thrown from its previous parking spot, gets sliced perfectly in half. Its individual parts crash and burn around him. 

“Whoops,” Polyurethane remarks sarcastically, his running now slightly hindered by the uneven heights of his greave and shoe. He offers an unpleasant smile. “Like, my foot slipped too.” 

Polyester feels a blood vessel burst. 

“I call cap!” he yells, crashing their shoulders together. They shove each other back and forth, growling like feral dogs. “Why are you even here?! Why go out of your way to pick a fight with me?! I thought we were done!” 

“Are you being deadass?! This is all your fault!” 

“How in the world is this my fault?!”

“Cuz I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t chasing after your sorry behind!” 

Polyester’s breath hitches, and Polyurethane slaps a hand over his mouth. 

His brother faces forward, grumbling what sounds like a “whatever, I’m outie” beneath his breath as he picks up the pace. Polyester continues to gape, still processing the accidental admission. Chase? Who? Him? His brother came all the way down to this shitthole to chase after him? That can’t be right. However, he spies the flush that colors his ears, a ruddiness that travels down the nape of his neck, and he can’t help but feel a trill in his chest.

“Polyurethane!” he calls, increasing his speed as well. “Wait!”

“Can it! I don’t want to hear it!”

They cross this hill, and in the distance - the finish line! With his underwear on display! No, no, no - if this race ends now, he gets a feeling that he won’t be able to talk to his brother again for a long, long time. Please, if there’s any way to extend this, just a minute more, even a second-!

Something blitzes past them both, divides their path right down the middle. A mild gust, then a torrent - it howls fiercely, picks them up, and blasts them to the sides as they yell. 

Polyester slams into the window of some boutique, landing upside down while glass showers around him. Groaning, he picks himself up and shakes his head, eyes taking a minute to focus on whatever it was that had just run past them. 

A - a ghost? Tall, thin, shaped like an olympic athlete, the lines of its muscles accentuated by the red glow of its veins. In its hands it holds his underwear, stroking the shine of the fabric while a long, wet tongue licks its lips. 

“Oohlalala!” it cheers, tipping its head back before swallowing his underwear whole (GROSS!). A light shines from all of its orifices, making it look like a beacon - and then it grows twice in size, strikes a pose, and darts off, faster than before. 

“Nothing hits like a sweet skivvy snack! Delicious, baby!” are the ghost’s parting words, echoing in the distance. 

…

Holy shit. 

No way. 

Things cannot keep getting worse like this. 

“Get back here! Dammit!” 

Polyester turns his head and sees Polyurethane shouting insults whilst picking his way out of a pile of rubble. His light blue eyes are feral and agitated, filled with an absolute fury as he stomps on jagged stone. 

A beep pulls his attention away from his brother, and Polyester frowns down at his wristwatch. Tapping the incoming notification, he startles when Garter’s holographic face is summoned.

“Ain’t this a bitch,” says the priest. “A ghost with a fetish for stolen undies - the most pervy bastard in the afterlife. Incidentally, it’s already gorged itself on our heavenly hoes and hellborn hussies, so we ain’t got no weapons against it! Now I know this ain’t your job no more, but for fuck’s sake at least avoid getting eaten this time, dipshit!” 

The message ends there. Polyester is wholly unimpressed. When did the priest get his contact info? He’d rather not think too hard about it, and he blocks him right then and there. 

Getting to his feet, Polyester brushes the dirt off his knees, de-transforms his weapon, and sets off running anew. Yeah bruh, it may not be his job, but he’s not explicitly employed anyway. Ain’t no work-life balance to distinguish. That ghost’s got his underwear, he wants his underwear back. Seems like a pretty straightforward arrangement, if you were to ask him. 

What he doesn’t expect is for Polyurethane to fall into pace with him, his weapon also de-transformed. 

He blinks at him in surprise, but again Polyurethane stares straight forward, his forehead wrinkled, his lips with a fierce downturn. The air between them feels awkward in the ensuing silence, punctuated by their pounding feet and faint breaths. 

Polyester refocuses on the way ahead. The scenery smears past them, so different from how things look when he’s flying above. Light peeks out between the buildings, the edge of the sky turning a faint, pale blue. He blinks against the glare of sunrise, noting the destruction that’s beginning to become apparent. Concrete turned to dust, foundation cracked and uneven - if there really is a place beneath the notice of the Gods, then surely it’d be Daten City. Home of all things chaotic, disorder reigning supreme - and so, to think once again that his brother had chased him all the way here… 

Why?

Polyester’s attention shifts back to his brother. They’ve spent the majority of their lives together, so the question that surfaces is one he’s never had to entertain: Truly, what does his brother think of him?

“I thought you were off duty,” he comments. 

“I am!” Polyurethane growls. “Like, that’s why this makes me so mad! You owe me unbelievably for this!”

Ugh. Does he have to turn that tone on him? “You can still call it quits, you know. No need to go breaking the creed,” he spits petulantly. “It’s not like you have any personal investment in this.”

“Wha - are you crazy?!” His head snaps towards him. “Of course I have a personal investment in this! That’s your underwear on the line!”

“Uh - wuh?”

Polyurethane’s teeth gnash, and he looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to deck him or cry. “Seriously, are you crazy?! Are you crazy?!?! Are you crazy?!?!?!?” 

Polyester plugs his closest ear with a finger. “I heard you the first time-”

“You disappear for a week with no messages, then I come down here and find your lingerie is up for public grabs!! You might be falling, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a - a slut like those bitchy angels!! Don’t just start selling your body!” 

Hit him with a car again from how badly he gets whiplash. “Whoa, hold on?! Selling my body?! That’s not what happened!”

“What else could possibly serve as an explanation for why your underwear is on market?! Gawd, no one else has ever pissed me off as badly as you have!” 

Polyester gawks. Oh, those are definitely tears in his brother’s eyes. He fumbles his words, caught off guard while trying to clarify: “It’s just that, you see, blah blah blah, yada yada yada…” 

One explanation later, Polyurethane’s face has gone pale. “Oh my God.”

Polyester holds back a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah. So… yeah.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“This is so cringe.” Polyurethane’s head tips back as he screams. “I hate this! This is actually the worst way to spend a Friday night ever!” 

“Tell me about it.” He hesitates, then admits shyly, “But still, I didn’t think you were actually keeping tabs on me or anything.” 

“Obviously I would! You’re my brother!”

An earth shaking roar, the ground trembling beneath them, and then a giant, ghostly foot comes down from up high. The buildings above crumble, debris raining upon their heads - and yet, sure enough, done so automatically as to be second nature, they seize each other’s wrists and dive out of the way. 

Dust explodes, rock shatters. Overhead, the same ghost as before (now large enough to be a kaiju) ambles away.

Polyester sits back on his haunches and coughs, attempting to wave away the dust in the air. Looking around, he sees a number of naked humans strewn about the streets like used tissues. That ghost must have gorged on all the underwear it could find to get that big. 

“Yo, Polyurethane?”

He hears a muffled groan, the man in question face down on the ground. “Yeah, Polyester?” 

“You still consider us brothers?” 

Polyurethane sits up, brushing gravel off his hair. “Be so for real right now. Like, so I reacted bad, whatever! My bad. But we’re better than those stupid cousins of ours, right? And better than Dad and Uncle’s relationship, for real for real. We can make it work. We’ll definitely make it work,” he claims, though his voice begins to break. “It’s not joever for us yet. We’re just not... We’re not done for. We... can’t be.”

Polyester is silent. Troubled, even. Uncertain of how to respond. Falling has always been inconceivable to the two of them, the mere concept too difficult to wrap their minds around as children. Follow the rules, listen to Father, do everything right and you’ll be fine, or so they believed. Centuries later, and the concept of falling still remains too surreal despite the reality of it already taking place. Quite literally it tears them apart, renders their blood connection a tenuous thing. Half his soul sits across from him and trembles (no matter how hard he tries to hide it, Polyester sees. He's always been able to see) - in doubt, in despair, in rage. And, without luck on their side, half a soul will be all that remains in Heaven. 

Polyurethane excuses a discrete sniffle as just some dirt in his eyes, turning away. There is a brief moment of silence as he rubs at his face, which is followed by a quiet mumble. “It's my bad. Come home.” Then, quieter than before: “It's hard to do things without you.”

The line of Polyester’s mouth grows thinner. 

He turns his head to the sky despite knowing he can’t see Heaven from here. Home, huh? Can he still make it home? Is there a place for him? Another sniff from his brother, and his expression twists more. No, isn’t there a better question for him to ask? Falling? Who cares about falling? If his brother wants him home, then that’s all the reason he needs to stay in Heaven.

He’ll make it work. He’ll continue on the path set before him as an angel, because that’s what he’s always done, and that’s all he knows. Maybe he’s a fool for it, and maybe it’s just the easy way out, but more important than that, more important than the worry that he’ll be letting someone dictate the rest of his immortal life without question, he knows that he’ll be right alongside his brother until the very end. Come hellfire or otherwise, whatever lies at the end of a preset course that’s run with all his might - as long as he’s running it with Polyurethane. 

A chime sounds in his brain, clear, melodic, and pure. It causes a gust to swirl through his body, a breeze to sweep right through his heart, and the gasp that’s forced out of his lungs somehow tastes as sweet as ambrosia when he pitches forward. Suddenly, the air feels clean and crisp, the morning light brighter and more beautiful than any day in Heaven. Everything shimmers, feels hallucinogenic - he’s so light in his bones, so divine in his blood, it’s as if he has inexplicably ascended higher than any Human, God, or Angel could hope to ever reach. 

A thump makes the ground tremble, jostles them where they sit. He almost doesn’t feel it.

The chime fades, the shimmer recedes. Polyester catches his breath. Another heavy tremor from the distant ghost, more rattling of the concrete. The remote echoes of an explosion manage to reach them, and with it the vague screams of - that's the guy who was emceeing, right? He shakes his head, then runs a hand through his hair, smoothing down unkempt ends as he makes an effort to clear the remains of whatever buzz that was. Right. He’s still got something he needs to do. 

Polyester reaches out and tugs Polyurethane closer to him. His fingers swipe away a few stray tears. “C’mon, don’t cry,” he says. “Aren’t you acting too spoiled? You’re killing me here, shouldn’t you be able to live by yourself now?” 

Polyurethane bares his teeth, and Polyester winces. 

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry too, for taking off.” 

A harrumph. “You better be. There’s only so many reasons I can make up about why your angel flu has lasted this long.”

He inhales sharply. “What? You… You lied to Dad for me?”

Polyurethane’s scowl deepens. “I did! You have no idea how hard it was to wrack my brain for excuses! I thought you would come back, but then you didn’t, and then I didn’t know whether to look for you because what if you wanted to be left alone, and, and, and boundaries, you know about those, and-” He cuts himself off with a ragged breath. 

That sensation comes again, a trill, a stirring of his gut. Tentatively, Polyester allows it to stay. ”And what?”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation. “I just don’t get it. Why were you the one to leave Heaven, when during Dad’s plans I was the one who - I screwed up - I wanted to…” Polyurethane trails off, then shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. It’s just, whenever I misstep, you’re always the one covering for me. Is it really that surprising if I do the same for you?”

He has no answer to that. It’s caught him off guard, the sudden lump in his throat and the warmth squeezing his heart. His mouth hangs slightly open, useless to form any response - and in the end, it takes almost all his effort to expel a soft laugh. “You knew?” 

His brother grimaces, teeth gnashing together. One last tear slips free from his thick lower lashes, and Polyester goes to remove it, a reflex action - however, his hand is caught midway. 

Polyurethane clutches him, nails digging harshly into skin. He meets him dead in the eye, the teal ring of his iris more pure than any heavenly mandate. “Come back already. We’ve still got a vibe together, don’t we? Aren’t we the perfect duo?”

Polyester grins and returns his hold, their grip on each other strong enough to crush bone and barriers and doubt. He feels deliriously joyful, even as his vision blurs. “Duh, course we are. After all, we’ve been highkey synced since day one.”

His halo shines brighter than before during their new dance. Brilliant, illuminous. Complete. 

Scanty, who was originally watching through her binoculars, sets the tool down lest her eyes be burned. “Did you expect this to happen, Priest?”

Garter merely picks up a stray coin that falls from the sky, polishing it with a handkerchief. “Wanting a life with meaning is the same for everyone, humans and otherwise. Even if your nose is stuck to the grind, having someone you care about right beside you… Well, you get what I’m saying.”

“Hmph.” Scanty picks up her teacup. “I’ll admit, it’s a remarkable bond. One might even envy it, were Miss Kneesocks and I not eternally superior.”

“It’s exactly as you say, Dear Sister.” 

Garter cusses when he sees the contract he’s been presented with. “Ain’t no way that’s normal! Dude’s gotta be the most overpriced butler alive!” 

“This is like, the most basic of basics,” Polyurethane haughtily scoffs, a hand on his hip. 

Polyester peeks at the virtual paper - a written notice detailing the money he’s owed for working as live-in housekeeping. Honestly, the printed salary’s pretty mid for what he had to deal with, though he supposes he can compromise due to how banging the food was. But to be honest, even if they doubled his salary in order to keep him, well…

His eyes slide to Polyurethane, who argues with an arched brow and sharp tongue. He huffs, amused. 

It’s not about the money in the end. 

“Bold of you to try stealing my brother right in front of me.” Polyurethane loops their arms together, clinging tightly. “Like, you got any thoughts on that bro?”

“Listen to me Polyester, you bastard!” Garter beseeches him. “We lived together. We broke bread with you. Does that count for nothing? Remember all the times we spent together!” 

Polyester chuckles, almost affectionately. “Unc.” He remembers alright - the mess, the stench, the swearing, the unholiness of it all. Leaning towards his brother, he smirks. “You know, the vibe wasn’t too bad, chilling at this busted church.”

“So then!”

“Not a chance.”

Garter swears in the background, despaired over having lost a very capable set of hands. Polyester feels not an ounce of sympathy. He had nearly vibrated out of his own skin from excitement, once he’d changed out of that ridiculous maid uniform. 

Though he had to admit, packing had felt strange and dreamlike. Walking out of the church, too. He had taken his time with it, lingering at the pew he had woken up on, just so he could observe the fall of pale, multicolored light through the high, arched windows. A week might be but a blink in time for an angel, but it had been a week nonetheless - a week since his halo had broken, a week since the foundations of his world had shaken. He had thought his departure from Heaven would be a permanent affair, but alas, most things in eternity are temporary. 

Well. Except for his brother. 

Scanty and Kneesocks approach the two of them, curtly nodding hello. Polyester feels Polyurethane tighten his hold around his arm, and he briefly rests a hand atop his brother’s to reassure him. 

“Demons,” he greets. “Needing to get one last word in?”

“Something like that.” Scanty removes an envelope from her coat - one he recognizes as being related to his investment account. “I thought you might want this back.”

He stares at it for a moment, then smiles. “It’s fine. You can burn it.”

Her eyes glint, pleased. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

After a full second of unimpressed glowering, Polyurethane begrudgingly separates himself. “Like, I’ll go bring the car around.”

“Huh? You sure? I can drive us.”

“No, it’s fine. Let me do it this time.”

As his brother exits out of earshot, Polyester inclines his head towards Scanty. “Remember our chat the other day? Lowkey, it’s not like running a preset course is the easiest thing, you know. So, frankly, I gotta say I’m highkey the GOAT for sticking with it.” His gaze falls on the white car approaching in the distance. “I think I did good.”

Mild puzzlement overtakes her features. However, she follows his line of sight and sees exactly who it is that he watches so carefully, and her expression morphs back into that of good humor. 

Polyester hops into the car once Polyurethane pulls up, buckling in. “You know this won’t change the way I act while on the job, right? Boundaries and stuff, you get it. If you know, you know, Scanty, Kneesocks!” 

“Yes, yes, you and your insufferable fanaticism with separating your work and personal life. May we never have the displeasure of encountering each other again, ever,” Scanty declares. Her sister nods in agreement behind her.  

Panty and Stocking lean on the door, snickering. “By the way,” Panty begins, “if you ever get a chance to-”

“Okay, that’s a wrap for today,” Polyester announces loudly. 

“Time to bounce,” Polyurethane concurs, and they peel off, leaving the Anarchy sisters shouting expletives at their backs. 

They drive in silence for some time, simply enjoying the currents carding through their hair. Polyester takes a slow breath, deeply through his nose as he savors this feeling of freedom, then lets it out. It's comfortable. There’s sunshine overhead, birds chirping merrily, and weather that absolutely slaps. It’s the height of spring if he’s ever seen it, and he can’t wait for the approaching warmth and fair skies. 

“What do you want for dinner? Spicy hot chicken?”

Polyurethane shakes his head. “You can’t handle spice.” 

“Mm. Huh? You knew?”

“There you go again! Like, obviously I’d know! How many centuries have we lived together? We should have something you want for a change - like, uh, that one pasta dish or whatever.” Polyurethane pinkens slightly from embarrassment as Polyester laughs. “And what about for the rest of the day? What do you wanna do?”

Polyester ponders this. They have the whole weekend ahead of them. They can swim at the beach, play at the casino, or spend all day gaming together. The choice is almost overwhelming, but not in a bad way. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Just lemme know. Bee-tee-dubs, when did you get so chummy with demons?” 

“Uh… Well, this and that happened.”

“Ugh, unbelievable. I don’t know how you don’t start tearing your hair out around them. They’re so annoying! The one with the glasses is always going, ‘Dear Sister!’ this and ‘Dear Sister!’ that. Makes me wanna gag.”

“I don’t know, it’s not that bad.”

“Seriously?” 

“How about you try calling me Big Brother again? Like when we were kids.”

“Um, what kind of harassment is this?” 

“Chill, bro. I’m just remembering how cute you were, like when you kept insisting on staying up to wait for Dad but falling asleep first anyway, or the time you broke Dad’s mug and came to me all snot-faced.”

“It’s too cringey, so no.”

“Shame.”

“What was in that letter the demon was offering you?”

“That? Well… Everyone’s entitled to one or two secrets, right?”

“... Big Brother, you’re keeping secrets from me?”

“CRAAAZY, whipping it out when you want something?! That’s devious play, bro…”

Polyester chuckles again. Polyurethane merely listens to his amusement at first, but it isn’t long before he joins in. Two voices filled with delight, two brothers reunited. Their mirth, as innocent as cherubs, frolics among the winds.