Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

100. Retribution

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CONTENT WARNING:

This chapter contains mild gore and themes of sexual trauma that may be disturbing or troubling for some readers. Please proceed with caution.

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Striker sat in silence on the edge of the bed, staring softly at his lover while she lay in a fitful slumber. He gently pushed a strand of hair out of her face and stroked his knuckles against her warm cheek — even after almost four hours, her face was still flushed from her weeping.

The sight made Striker's heart wrench, and the feeling was only intensified by the realization that he could do nothing to ease her pain.

Except there was one thing he could do. . .

With a feather's touch, he moved her hair out of the way and leaned down, whispering in her ear, "I love you. I'll be back soon."

He stood from the bed, careful not to wake her, and left the room. In hindsight, he was grateful he had decided to clean his weaponry recently, and he quickly inspected and loaded his pair of blessing-tipped revolvers before slipping them back in their holsters. After ensuring he had everything he needed, he walked outside and quietly locked the door behind him.

"I know what you're planning."

Striker jumped slightly at the staticky voice, and he looked down to see a familiar face emerge from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you now?" he remarked cynically.

"Oh, yes," Alastor replied matter-of-factly. "And I know just where to find him, too."

Striker straightened to his full height, the sinner now having his full attention.

"I had only my suspicions before," he continued, "but it's been made quite evident what he did as of late. He's unfortunately still running free — the angels decided to spare him during this last Extermination. And I currently do not have a blessed weapon in my possession." Alastor's smile widened eerily as his eyes travelled down to one of the holsters on Striker's belt. "But you do."

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"He stays not far from here. This way."

Striker quickly gathered himself after Alastor had brought them from Imp City to the Pentagram in a puff of red smoke. He followed the sinner down the sidewalk, frowning at the trash and filth littering the ground. As they walked, his brain reeled with thoughts and memories of the past week. Eventually, what (Y/N)'s friend had told him resurfaced in his mind — and he couldn't help but wonder just how true his statement had been.

"Y'all's friend with the wings told me about what happened. And how she changed after — all that. . ."

Alastor's smile shrunk, his eyes partly downcast. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, she did."

Striker scowled, then said slowly, "She's still not the same as she was before, is she?"

Alastor sighed softly through his nose, briefly closing his scarlet eyes in apparent thought before finally answering, "No. She's not." He held his cane in both hands, his smile growing sad for a moment. "Her hugs are much shorter now."

Striker stiffened, and his chest tightened until it hurt.

"She used to be a very affectionate person," Alastor continued. "Husker was correct in saying what he did. We could all deduce what had happened simply by her drastic change in behavior. She refused to be touched by anyone at all for several months afterward. As time went on, she began to open up again, but only at a fraction of how she was before. Even now, after nearly two years, she is still not quite the same."