a corner of an elaborate "fairy tale" au, that i do not have room to explain all of. some worldbuilding notes that may become relevant in the future:

- azrael is the "prince of dreams." his task is to maintain the "peace," essentially. he wards off nightmares for those who need it most. he cannot leave the world of dreams, though can travel to and between different dreams at will. (there exists a plane in it that is not in any one dream in particular. he and helena both reside here.)

- fiona (dream messenger) helps him in the above regard, as her task is traveling between the two worlds and being a median between them. she and azrael are very good friends, aside from this "business" relationship.

- helena (eversleeping girl) is cursed to never wake up. azrael took pity upon her and decided to keep her company at first in her eternal stay in the dream world, and now hes essentially adopted her. they are also very good friends.

- in Another corner of this au, hastur (nepenthes) and bane (forest hunter) watch over the forest together. azrael and nepenthes are friends, but its more like nepenthes is the youngers ancient grandpa who is very entertained by his surprisingly human woes, since theyre completely foreign to him.

im publishing this in chapters and if this means i never finish another chapter of this then you can sue me

Something is not right, here.

"Oh, dear." slips out of Azrael's mouth. He knows his appearance changes, sometimes, in dreams. If he's visited someone's dreams before, and they were scared, he can appear warped, more frightening than he was last. It's likely the thing he hates most about this.

But this, somehow, is even worse. He doesn't fit in here. Pristine, glittering, covered in blood. The shining light of his footsteps contrasts the rotting smell he's surrounded by. He's done nothing to warrant the cooling blood soaking his clothes. Something is not right.

A nightmare, surely.

He decides to tackle this the practical way. It's easy to feel dreamers, especially inside their own dreams. And the terror of a nightmare is never far off.

He is not scared by the blood filling his footsteps. The things that scare humans don't scare the prince of dreams. Nothing they could dream up would ever come close. Which is certainly a good thing, he thinks, as it allows him to do his 'job' fairly easily.

Or at least, without being disturbed. While remaining calm and composed, like dreamers need in these times.

Speaking of… He feels he's close to his destination. This nightmare… he feels belongs to someone older, and his suspicions are soon confirmed as he spots this dream's primary resident. Usually, the nightmares of children tended to lend themselves to the more abstract; vaguer concepts that struck fear as opposed to outright monsters. When his trail leads him to tall men in dark, neat clothes and holding long knives, he doesn't especially think this is something a small child imagined.

In that same vein, he gets a feeling from the blood tarnishing his clothes and skin that this is not something that can be so peacefully settled as singing a lullaby. Well, that would be fine, if it were the likely case. He is practiced in swordplay for a reason.

As he makes his way into the middle of it, he starts to feel like this is a lived experience. Warped, of course, but the seed this corrupted fruit had burst from was real. Something deep from the heart, something that was so terrifying for that very fact…

The men surrounding him are not the true task at hand, it seems.

His sword finds its time to make itself useful, comfortable and familiar in his grip as the hand of an old friend. They notice him, now, and so does the young man crumpled on the ground beneath them. He seems surprised. Azrael slips him a serene smile, knowing in that moment, it would bring him even the slightest bit of comfort.

It's in the following motion, impossibly fluid, that the sword glides along with him, through the middles of the men, a swirling of dark leaves and whisps of smoke trailing behind the blade, something a bit more akin to what Azrael himself creates. A kind of whirlwind, of their bodies, of the harm they represent. All torn to shreds before him, and calm restored to the night.

This was his role, after all.

It's never that simple, though, and he knows this better than anyone. The monster is gone, but the fear remains.

He crouches down next to the young man, this moment's dreamer, blade gone. His demeanor is gentle; friendly and nonthreatening, like a friend coming to join you in a field. This was the important part of his role, the real part.

(for this dream, at least.)

"Hello. I don't think I've yet met you." He starts, testing the waters to see if he was in any way that permitted conversation. He quickly realizes his answer is 'no', because the man's only response is to remain cowering before him, as if Azrael would hurt him, too. (though he thinks, if the feeling he's getting is at all accurate, that it's not azrael he's scared of. he's not even entirely sure he notices azrael's presence, really.)

He falls back to sit on his heels. He would stay with him, then. A simple handkerchief (not his own, azrael has never seen it before. it was simply here and needed no explanation, and he assumes it must be the most comforting thing for the man in front of him that fits azrael's needs) presses to his hands, leisurely cleaning them of any blood. He goes through these motions until he's completely rid the man's figure of any corruption.

If nothing else, he doesn't seem to be injured anymore. More likely than not, he's alright now simply because he feels safe now. Which was lovely. Exactly what Azrael wanted. He smiles softly at the man sitting next to him. Holding his hand delicately in his own, he asks, "What's your name?"

The voice that comes is softer than Azrael expected. "...Fan Wujiu." Quieter than he expected.

"Thank you very much for trusting me, Fan Wujiu." He allows himself a sigh of relief. it would pass well enough as perhaps a laugh when accompanying his smile.

"...You're welcome…?" Perhaps in any other situation, he would ask, 'where did they go? what did you do to them?' But in the world of dreams, it was simply understood. "Are you alright?"

That question catches Azrael off guard. It's a silly question, one that doesn't need answering, but he obliges. "Hm? Yes, of course. No need to worry. Are you?"

Fan Wujiu blinks, then looks away from him curtly. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" He rubs at his face. "I don't know why you're even asking."

"Because I care about you," answers Azrael, not missing a beat. Wujiu sputters.

"Bullshit. You're not him."

Azrael does not know who the 'he' in question is. He won't ask. Whoever he is, he's not here. (he can't help but wonder. he is very curious.)

"Think what you like. I can't say you haven't hurt my feelings even just a little bit, though." Azrael says, putting on an only somewhat feigned pouty face. "We're friends, after all." This would be established fact, since it was a dream.

"...Hmph." Wujiu runs a hand over his face, through his hair. After a pause, "Thanks."

"Hm?" Azrael hums. The phrase carries a softness unbefitting of the man's tone thus far.

"For helping me. You must be a good person. ...For wanting to help someone like me, I mean." Azrael notes Wujiu is pointedly not looking him in the eyes.

"Ahaha, I wouldn't say that. Perhaps I am a good person for helping, but it wouldn't be because you're a bad one." He smiles. "I will not be taking arguments on this."

Wujiu looks to him, away again, rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You sure sound like him."

Azrael simply cannot contain his curiosity any longer. (the fact he'd barely contained it at all was irrelevant to him.) "Who are you referring to?"

"Huh? Ah, uh… My brother. He's a real worrywart. He's the only other person who's ever really told me that kinda thing." He stares off at nothing, which Azrael notices is now a street alleyway, a far-off lantern shedding dim, cool light on them, somehow. The air feels as if it rained not long ago. The moon is nowhere in sight. Hmm…

"I see... "

Azrael has only a moment to ponder the implications of this before Wujiu cuts him off. "Wait, why do you care? Even more, why am I telling you?"

Azrael's eyes are wide and innocent, filled with genuine surprise. He looks a bit like a small cat like this. "You do not have to tell me anything. In fact, I'll forget everything you've said tonight if you so wish!" This is accompanied by a small flourish of the hands, with the hopeful effect of adding emphasis to how very truly genuinely he meant it.

Wujiu is less than impressed, but listening. "...Mhm. Well, whatever. I guess it won't hurt for you to know that."

Azrael cocks his head, watching Wujiu intently. What a curious human.

"Tell me, if you like, did you know those men?"

Wujiu winces. Azrael realizes this is probably a subject best left untouched. He gets an answer anyway, however. "Yeah. Er, rather, they probably knew me. Not the other way around." He sighs, rubs the back of his neck. "Wouldn't be surprised. Feels like I have more enemies than friends."

Azrael is positively intrigued. Oh, he does try not to pry where it isn't needed, he really really doesー

"What's it to you, anyway?"

His smile never falters. "Oh, nothing bad. I simply thought that if they were ever to bother you again, I would come to protect you. I would be happy to, in fact."

Wujiu stares at him, now. In a way a bit like he just grew another set of horns. My, he's taken rather oddly to every bit of Azrael's kindness. Perhaps he should have expected thisーit seems right away that this is not a person who has been treated especially kindly by most around himーbut it always takes Azrael a bit by surprise when he discovers this about someone.

Needless to say, the solution was always simply to usher in more love to them to compensate. If Azrael had to do it all himself, then he didn't mind.

"You mean that?" Wujiu is still looking him in the eyes.

The thought to break his gaze doesn't dare flit past Azrael's mind. With a stone-firm determination, he says, "Yes, of course. I have never told a lie, and I don't intend to start."

Wujiu blinks, a bit dumbfounded, then shakes his head. "That's a mistake if I've ever seen one, but…" He sighs. "I can't stop you, and I won't try to. Just… don't get yourself hurt."

Azrael nods, entirely genuine in a way that seems to fluster Wujiu. "Of course. I simply couldn't bear to worry you."

Wujiu looks back to him, and he thinks, for a moment, that he sees him smile. Oh, that would be perfect! He truly hopes it was, but he has no way of knowing. He feels the familiar pull back home on himself, and the tugging away of the dream he's within. He's beginning to wake up? How sudden! But this was not unusual, and couldn't be helped, either way. Ahh, what a shame… He wants to stay longer, but has no choice in the matter.

He gives his best effort at a gentle smile and a wave before he feels everything slip away entirely. Perhaps he would see it? If he awoke feeling warm and safe, then Azrael would be happy. Maybe he would even get to visit him in another dream. He lets out a soft sigh before stretching, and making his way to Helena's resting place. (oh, wait, fiona said not to call it that! that meant something else in human terms, but it was just such a lovely set of words… her bed, let's call it that. though that wasn't the right term at all.) He does enjoy telling her of the events of various dreams… Though maybe he should leave out a few details, this time. For her sake.

Fan Wujiu is awake, and more frantic than he's been in a long while.

He's never found himself wishing he were an artist like he does now. He desperately wants to record what he saw. He doesn't want to forget. Would he ever see him again? He opts to try to somehow write it down, describe what (who) he saw that way, instead. The words that come out feel too clumsy, unpracticed. Unbefitting of the sight before him that night.

Perhaps it had been glorified into the breathtaking scene he remembers by the manner of dreams, but… The grace with which he composed himself, the ethereal elegance and air of nobility about him, the careful, composed power he commandedー

He was beautiful. He's never seen anything like it.

Wasn't that the nature of dreams, though? Why did this stand out so much? Was it his words? It's not like it was the first time his mind had conjured up a kind face to find comfort in. It already feels like it's slipping away. Every last detail he can scrounge up, frantically piled onto pages in an attempt to make it whole. Something about him haunts Wujiu. It isn't an entirely pleasant feeling; unnerving in a way though not upsetting.

Ugh, this is entirely unlike him. This sensationーof being so completely taken by something that absolutely doesn't seem to warrant such an emotionーit only adds to the feeling that something is unusual about the person he met in his dream. He decides to push it out of his mind for his own sanity, though. At least for now.

He wakes up the next morning feeling rested for the first time in a long while, and with the visual of a glittering braid and ethereal smile still trapped in his head.

i think of and write azrael as a good bit different from normal joseph, which is why this probably reads as ooc if you think of him as the same ww.. he's kind of "clueless" due to being unfamiliar with human traditions and feelings and such, very curious about Everything, just a little bit naive (especially regarding emotions), and more... floaty? prone to staring and watching someone like a cat, but one you've never met before. i am very bad at explaining things.