[Mousen]

They were in a pinch, to put it mildly. Juanita, her hair flowing down her shoulders, pressed up against the brick wall. She turned to look at her boss, the collar of his trench coat pulled up against his face, worn hat low on his head. She could only make out the glimmer of his one remaining eye. She couldn't even guess at his expression. "What's the play?" she asked him, her voice low.

Drake Hargate, private eye and regular thorn-in-the-side of the city's criminal underworld shrugged. "How many gunmen?" Juanita began to move, he steadied her with a hand. "Careful now. How many?"

She tilted her head, her long eyelashes illuminated by the street light. "Four. I think. One on the roof, two in the alley, and one behind the car."

Drake pushed back the thought of their deaths, gristly and untimely. His hands were just about steady, and without thinking he traced the scar along his temple in thought. How had it come to this? He'd been approached by one of the detectives at the city police station, pulled into their office. It wasn't often that law enforcement actually sought him out, unless they were trying to pin something on him. This had been different, though.

The detective was young, an upstart from the same area he'd grew up in. He could hear it in her accent, he could almost see a cloud of ash coming up from her lungs as she cleared her throat, hear the clockwork ticking in her joints. Perhaps he should have been looking for the ruse, but seeing her, well, it was like stepping back into his youth. She reminded him of every girl-next-door he'd ever grown up with. A plain face, and honest eyes staring their green way right through him. God damn green eyes, like watching light filter through leaves, and freckles too. How could he refuse? Drake had always been a sucker for a pretty face, and this one seemed to have more problems than most.

Even worse, he knew her family. The Campbells. Good people, really good people. So, when she said she was in over her head, that she was getting pressure from people so far above her she didn't even know how she was supposed to address them, when she said she was frightened. Well, he just had to hero it up, didn't he? Slipped the file right off her desk, and then out into the afternoon sunshine. One quick call to Juanita later and they were on their way.

The girl was thorough. He'd give her that. There was a reason she was springing through the ranks faster than a jack rabbit with its tail on fire. Her thoroughness was also going to bring her trouble. She'd seen something she didn't like in the face of a local politician, a hunch that turned out good, and she'd traced his money right to where it shouldn't belong.

Drake couldn't help but wonder if her cleverness was going to get them killed. "Do what you have to. If you can keep one of them alive enough for me to question, then aces. If not." He shrugged. "Careful. There's something fishy about this whole damn mess."

"Fishier than four guns pointed at our heads?" Her handgun was drawn, the safety off.

"I'll say." He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, it felt like it was fixing to break something.

Juanita was perfectly steady as she looked at him. She gestured, her plan: first the two in the alleyway, then the car, then the roof. She'd have to be quick, but Juanita Santana never missed.

She stepped out from behind the wall in one fluid movement, two shots ringing out as she did so. She turned on the spot and fired again and there was a yelp as she hit her mark. Then, the roof and before she could manage to fire again a flurry of shots rang out. She fired on instinct, and then again, and again.

She looked down at herself to assess the damage, expecting to find blood somewhere she didn't feel it yet. Nothing. She looked for where the bullets must have hit the wall behind her and froze.

Drake curled over in a ball, blood spreading out beneath him. She made a noise that might have been his name, or a shriek of horror, or fury or denial. "Boss!" She reached him in an instant, carefully flipping him over. "Drake. Talk to me. Please."

It was bad. Oh gods above it was bad. Chest wound. She could only hope it hadn't reached one of his lungs. His breathing was laboured. She pressed her hand over it, trying to stem the bleeding. In her panic it seemed as if she could feel him slipping away, in the warmth under her palms. "Help!" she called. "Anyone! Please! Call an ambulance!"

This was her fault. She'd been hired to protect him. This was her fault.

[ToxicShadow]

The violent yank on his instincts was still an unfamiliar sensation. The strange sense of knowing that someone was injured came before he picked up the scent of blood in the not-so-far-off distance. He could practically feel the life slipping away with each and every single drop of blood that seeped from the body. The life was not gravely in danger. Yet. But loss of blood had that result, if it were not remedied.

He thought to ignore it. He did. Unlike the others, he could not say for certain if he could do it. Sense deaths, yes, but he was not even capable of seeing the death clocks of other living creatures. At most, he could sense if something was living or not alive, and even that was complicated, depending on what he was looking at.

Showcasing and selling antiques, gathering intel on the local demonic population, it was for these reasons that Iyashi had ventured to this city. Those reasons, and nothing more. Just business.

With a little know-how and digging in all the right places, it was all too evident to that fae demon that other demons had cleverly wormed their way into the local mob scene. Likely clawed their way to the top and orchestrated their matters behind the scenes, using and abusing the humans like their playthings. They probably found it amusing.

He would have left it at that; with that knowledge. It wasn't his business to act on his own. But as he thought to walk away, the fairy-demon hybrid heard the voice that called out for help. That, he found, he was unable to ignore.

As the bodies of the gunman had been shot slumped to the ground, dissipating into clouds of black smoke, Iyashi came walking up to the survivors of the shoot out not long after the call for help was made, his roughly just longer than shoulder length, silvery blue hair pulled back into a high ponytail. His amber eyes, one of which was mostly hidden by his side swept bangs, seemed to betray that he wasn't quite human.

He didn't even realize that it was abnormal that he was walking. The person wasn't actually dying yet, they weren't someone he knew, personally, so he didn't have to run. He didn't feel that sense of urgency, and was entirely unaware that such a thing would likely change.

He didn't even need to access the situation; but he knew he couldn't just easily barge in. "Someone has been hurt? I can help," he announced himself in such a way, stating the fact with all certainty, while attempting to pull a smile. He wasn't sure if it actually looked awkward or not, though. Maybe it did. Regardless, he continued his approach, intending to move in beside the wounded man, if his companion did not move to stop him, the stranger.

Never would he admit that he hadn't put such powers to use before; but he felt like he could do it. He could definitely do it. Right?

[Mousen]

Her hands were slippery with blood, enough to make her dizzy with it any other circumstance. She'd seen people die before. Hell, she'd come out of enough gunfights the winner to make her a killer by almost any measure you cared to choose. Juanita didn't shoot to kill, but when someone was fixing to give you a new set of breathing holes and the split-second decision came down to them or you, well, she knew who she'd choose every time. "Drake, please," she said.

"F-Fuck's sake," he coughed, words catching in his throat. He managed to grab her arm, his fingers curling loosely round her wrist. He was slipping.

"Stay with me. C'mon." She knew it in some part of her she didn't want to admit to, a gut instinct operating below her panic and fear and blind hope that he might just make it through this. He was loosing too much blood. No. No.

"Help!" she shouted again. "Anyone!"

Drake could feel the pain searing through him, the pressure of Juanita's hands. Her voice was muffled, as if she was speaking from another room. He'd done all this before, somewhere. A place he'd sworn he'd never go back to. Hadn't he said that he wasn't going to die like this? He could feel a heavy weight at the back of him, pulling him further and further away from himself, a feeling like falling. He was aware of the need to say something to Juanita, but couldn't quite get a hold of it. It hurt, circling around and around in his chest like a nest of bees. Something... Fuck. He couldn't get away from it, to move or speak. All the while he could hear a voice from another life. Not again, not again, not again.

"Someone has been hurt? I can help,"

Juanita turned to look over her shoulder at the sound of the voice, the surprise of it running like electricity up and down her spine. She was dumbstruck for a moment, one part of her brain her usual chatter, about to reprimand the figure for being so calm in an emergency, another trying to communicate the enormity of the situation.

"He's been shot. He needs an ambulance! Please.  He's-- he's--" She couldn't say it. Not when he still might be conscious enough to hear it.

[ToxicShadow]

There was hardly any time to question or doubt himself.

But Iyashi's gaze upon the two was almost like that of morbid curiosity, although he was behaving in a calm and clinical sort of way. He'd never seen someone, a mortal, dying before. This kind of wound was one he and his family members would survive, even without the interference of another. Their natural healing abilities were nothing short of miraculous, but all too commonplace for them. Historically, they had been shot, maimed, impaled, and so on, although their lives weren't often in such dire straits anymore, they were prepared for such things.

"He'll be fine," he assured the woman whom only seemed to be growing more and more frantic. Part of him found this behavior silly, since it was of no benefit to any of them, but then, he also found seeing her like that made him feel a pang of urgency. He could not remain entirely indifferent.

Quickly moving to kneel beside the fallen man, he reached out for the woman's hand that been applying pressure to the wound, grabbing her gently by the wrist and moving it aside. "Let me," he instructed. And, once the wound was exposed, the bleeding continued on, unhindered, until his hand replaced hers. Though, he did not apply nearly as much pressure as the woman had been; he wasn't trying to hinder the flow of blood, like she had been. That wasn't his purpose. No, he could feel it. He could sense it. He didn't even really need to touch him for this to work, but he did, for the show of it, to make it more believable for the onlookers.

His hand, now covered in the other man's blood, rose slowly from the wound after only a brief moment, his fingers extended out. With the gesture, the bullet rose up, expelled from the wound, and seemingly vanished before their eyes, as though it had never existed in the first place.

This was working! Iyashi found the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin at this realization and he was actually growing excited by the success.

Within a moment, the damage that had been done to the man's body had been undone. Not mended, but completely reversed, as if he'd never been wounded in the first place. No damage, no pain, no loss of blood. All that remained as proof of the incident was the blood. The blood that had flowed outside of his body was still there, a warm and sticky mess, but everything inside had been fully replenished, good as new.

[Mousen]

Juanita was able to look at the strange man now, without craning her neck at an impossible angle. Something about him set her already fraying nerves on edge. That hair, those eyes... She couldn't reach a conclusion through the cloud of panic consuming her, but she felt like there was something wrong, something beyond the obvious. She wished she could just think, as if that would somehow make this mess clearer.

She wanted to snap at him, the man. Even faced with the two of them, her with Drake's blood up to her elbows and Drake on the floor and he was fine. It struck her that maybe he was a doctor, and maybe Drake was saved after all.

She went to protest as he moved her hands, replacing them with his own. She was starting to shake, a trembling starting from her chest and working its way into her shoulders and down to the tips of her fingers. She went to say something to to man, offer to run to the nearest phone booth but she found herself unable to speak.

Juanita watched the bullet rise out of the detective's chest, as if propelled by some magic force. She couldn't believe it. It was impossible. Impossible. "Oh my gods," she said faintly. If she hadn't been able to feel Drake's blood on her hands, starting to dry and sticky to the touch, she would have assumed it was a dream. Things like this did not happen. Could not happen.

She watched as Drake opened his eyes, only a foot or two away from her. He coughed, reaching out in surprise to grab his saviour by the arm, and then backing further into the wall.

Juanita reached for him, and he pulled her into a hug. They were both shaking. Juanita made a strangled sound, her face pressed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry."

Drake squeezed her shoulder, still trying to process what the hell had gone on. He was in no pain, and there was blood everywhere. He felt faintly ill, like the shock of it all was just waiting until he was done being confused.

He reached out for the stranger in front of him again, catching the front of his jacket. "What did you do?"

[ToxicShadow]

Don't react.
That was the lesson that Iyashi had been taught. His mother was more lenient about that fact than his father was, as she acted on her own whims, but he'd seen her in action. Outside of her laughter, she was the same as Kurohi. It was considered a necessary trait among them, not to show how they felt, not to express it, in times such as these. With one another, and when not handling such matters, sure, but this required a detached approach. And he tried to keep to that.

But he'd healed him. The first of the brothers to do such a thing. And watching the two in front of him, as the man pulled the woman into the embrace, their bodies shaking, he found his mind wandering. What if he wasn't the outsider here? What if this was someone that he cared about, not just another body on the street?

He'd lifted one of his hands, as if he was examining the blood of the man it was now covered in. It was a fact that mortals died, so feeling more about it than detached wasn't the wisest thing, but... He realized, thinking of it that way, if this had been one of his sisters, or someone else important to him, his heart began to ache. Just a little; as much as he would allow it.

Before he decided what was best, the other man grabbed him by the front of his coat, and he leaned into it, not resisting a whole lot. Iyashi found that, as he looked at him, a smile slipped onto his face. He was alive, all right. "What does it look like?" he answered the question with a question, initially, before giving the actual answer. "I've healed you. To be more precise, you've been reconstructed to the point it's as if you were never harmed in the first place."

He glanced over at the woman, motioning toward her with a nod of his head. "If you don't believe me, why don't you ask her?"

[Mousen]

Drake looked at the man opposite him, as if taking him in for the first time. His silver hair, his amber eyes and something unnaturally flawless about him, like looking at the still surface of a lake. He didn't seem real, the only thing making him was the blood on his hands, Drake's blood. This was... a joke. A dream. A piece of absurdist theatre or a bad drug trip. The memory of the pain was still wracking its way through him, clammy and shaking, Juanita still clinging to him like she was scared he was going to vanish.

"I... I don't know," he said finally. Even his voice felt wrong. Like it wasn't sitting in his throat right. "I don't understand. Reconstructed? This," he reached for where the wound has been, letting go of the other man's coat. "There's not even a scar. How..? I was dying wasn't I? We were outnumbered and the one on the roof—"

Juanita coughed, going to wipe her tears on the back of her hand and then thinking better of it. "I-it was my fault. I wasn't quick enough. I g-got the first three and then the fourth one wasn't even aiming for me and you, you were hit and I was trying to s-stop the bleeding but. I was so scared that you were going to die and-and then he showed up! From nowhere and I thought he was maybe a doctor because he said he could help and then he did this thing with his hands and the bullet just... came out of you? It went upwards and vanished and you weren't dying and—"

"—It's not possible," he said quietly.

Juanita tried to steady herself, taking a couple of deep breaths. "What are you? And why did you help us?"

[ToxicShadow]

That was the trouble with typical people. Even when they were presented with reality right in front of them,  if that reality was outside of their scope for what they believed was possible, they couldn't believe it. They denied it. "Yes, you were dying," Iyashi confirmed without even the slightest bit of hesitation or consideration. It was a fact. "I dare say, you would be dead, had I not interfered."

But the woman explained what had happened, and those words still came out of the man's mouth. It was still not a possibility to him, even though he was the living proof. He sighed, before his eyes shifting toward the woman, specifically. "You called for help; I answered that call." He did not need more of a reason than that. "Besides, when you people get tangled up with demons, it's only fair if another one comes to your aid, isn't it?" This wasn't something they would normally have to deal with, and that was his logical answer. Not that he had considered that a reason before now, but 'just because,' may not have been enough to satisfy them. "Though, I'm not entirely a demon, myself, either. You could call me a fairy-demon hybrid, or a fae demon, I suppose." Half respawn fairy, half demon was a mouthful.

"My fairy half, we're most known for our extraordinary healing and ability to revive the dead. Even if the body doesn't remain." Before they could continue to doubt and question him, Iyashi explained what he was with perfect honesty. Never mind that he wasn't actually certain about his ability to heal others before now, due to a lack of test subjects.

Deciding he'd probably have to prove it before they believed him, Iyashi wiped both of his bloodied hands on his coat to clean them up as much as he could; thank goodness it was a black, so staining would not be obvious later. Then, he lifted his right hand, and a small knife seemingly materialized out of thin air within his grasp, though it had an uncanny resemblance to ice rather than metal, including the icy mist wafting off of it.

Before the pair could be too alarmed by the appearance of the weapon, he lifted his other hand and, gritting his teeth, he recklessly stabbed himself, shoving the blade straight through until it made a complete hole through his hand. The uncomfortable grunt he made as he did this and the obvious grimace on his face made it all too evident that it was painful to do this, even if he was good at bearing it.

Yanking the knife out, it vanished, just as it had appeared, and he held his injured hand out for the two of them to see. "You see?" His blood was the same color as theirs, red, but, within moments, the bleeding stopped, and his wound began to close up in front of their eyes.

[Mousen]

Drake could feel himself reeling, confused. He could accept the obvious. That right now, he should have been dead or close to dying, and now he wasn't. That much had to be true from the amount of blood underneath him and the memories of the last few minutes. If that much was true, he had to accept that the only thing that could possibly have saved him was something outside of his usual frame of reference.

The man in front of him had saved him. Drake was sure of that. As for how it'd been done, and why, and how much he could trust this stranger, he had no idea. But fairies and demons? "Tangled up with demons?" he managed. "What on earth do you mean?"

He found a thread of stubbornness to cling onto. Generally Drake prided himself on going where the evidence was leading him, but in this case he scrabbled to keep his old life and all of its certainties in tact. "I'm sorry, but this can't be. Demons? Fairies? You must be... This can't be."

Drake watched, wide-eyed as Iyashi materialised a knife from nowhere. He was less surprised than he might have been otherwise, as if some part of him was becoming accustomed to the impossible already despite all of his protesting. Then Iyashi stabbed himself.

Juanita flinched. Drake froze, watching him. He removed the knife, and the wound healed.

"Ah," Drake said softly. "That's what I was afraid of."

Juanita turned to look behind them, at one of the bodies of the gunmen. It was disintegrating, slowly lifting itself away into a thick, black vapour. "He's right, Drake. This was a set-up."

He followed Juanita's gaze, and felt a weight slink into his stomach. It was worse somehow, being to watch something strange happen slowly. It proved that the strangeness wasn't just limited to Iyashi, that the whole world was wrapped up with it. "Someone really wanted us dead."

She shook her head. "Wanted you dead."

He could feel his panic sliding into exhaustion. More than anything, he suddenly wanted to go home. To take a moment to process all of this and work out what he was going to do next.

"Help me up. I need to drive you home."

Juanita looked at him. "What."

"I'm driving you home."

"Drake, you can't possibly drive. You almost died, you're covered in blood. Gods, last time a bullet just grazed you you were shaking like a leaf, eyes all glazed over and I just-"

"Juanita."

"I just-"

He looked at her. "I can't do this tonight. Please. I just need to know you're somewhere safe."

"You stubborn pig," she said, but there was no real malice in it.

Drake got to his feet, Juanita offered her arm to steady him.

It was then that they both seemed to remember that there was a third party involved in all of this. Drake was aware that he needed to thank the man in front of him, that he'd been offered a gift he could never truly repay him for, that they didn't even know each other's names. There was also the detective in him, needing answers, realising that the case couldn't be solved without him, if there was even still a case after this mess. He was also not at his best, too shaken up to manage anything more eloquent than "Um... Are you— What— Do you have a name?"

[ToxicShadow]

It seemed as though he had made his point. His reckless gesture succeeded. With that, and the two of them witnessing what had become of the gunman, they no longer seemed to be in denial. They accepted what had happened as a new reality.

Perhaps, at a later time, they would find themselves in denial once more but, for now, they seemed convinced. Which was good. If they were being targeted by demons for one reason or another, they needed to know and accept that fact if they wanted to make it out of harm's way. That was what he figured, anyway. Although... It was doubtful they could manage on their own, given the results of this incident. Certainly, his interference complicated things.

These were the sorts of thoughts swirling around the fae demon's mind as he finally returned to his full height. He watched the scene before him unfold, wordlessly, as the pair kept exchanging words and fussing at one another, until they were both standing, as well. He seemed vaguely amused by their exchange. And it was then that he wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, what their relationship actually was. But that was none of his business, nor did it matter, so he did not voice his curiosity.

"Iyashi," he answered Drake's question with all confidence. "Son of Kurohi and Lolita. Traditionally, neither side of my family use more than given names, so that's it. Just Iyashi." He thought to offer his hand out, but seeing as he was covered in a mixture of not only the other man's blood, but his own as well, he thought better of it and, instead, put his hands casually into his coat pockets.

After making such an introduction, the man decided he'd get to the point, "Drake, Juanita. Those are your names, yes?" He'd just heard them call each other such, and his eyes flicked to each of them as he spoke their names. "I'll get to the point. I don't know if you're out of harm's way yet. I highly doubt it, actually. But it's definitely better to get out of here rather than waiting for someone else to show up."

"Why don't I drive?" He knew he was imposing on them. It was intentional. Did they have much of a choice but to take him along, if that is what he wanted? "If nothing else, I should see to it that you safely make it out of here, after I went through the trouble of stepping in and saving you, hm? And we probably have more to talk about."

[Mousen]

Drake nodded as the man (although perhaps it was more accurate to say fae-demon) introduced himself. "It's good to know you, Iyashi," he said, and it was true. He had just saved Drake's life, after all. Drake paused for a moment to pick up his hat off the floor, it had been knocked when he'd been shot and was miraculously blood-free. "Yes. Drake Hargate and Juanita Santana, that's us."

"I agree. Let's get out of here," Juanita affirmed as Iyashi spoke. She wasn't keen on leaving Drake alone just yet, but like Iyashi she didn't see the point in staying put and seeing who came along to try and kill them next.

At the suggestion of Iyashi driving, Drake nodded, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and gently tossing them over to him. It was quite possible Iyashi had his own car somewhere, but Drake figured he owed the man enough without getting blood on the upholstery. "Thank you," he said, his single grey eye meeting Iyashi's. There was a certain force in his voice that suggested that he wasn't just thanking him for the lift. "The car's parked round the corner."

As they got to the car, Drake stepped ahead and opened the back seat passenger door for Juanita. Drake got in the front. "I can direct you to Juanita's first, if that's all right with you, Iyashi?"

"Do you really think I'm going to just go home? I'm not-"

Drake cut her off. "I don't need a nursemaid. Besides, your family already think, well, you know. Vanishing overnight is not going to help."

"But--but that's not the point. Drake, you're not... well."

Drake sighed, turning away from her to settle into the passenger seat. "I'm not arguing with you. I'll give you a call first thing."

Juanita looked like she wanted to say something, either to Drake or Iyashi, but instead she made a soft noise of agreement. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and like Drake she was too tired to push the point.

"Iyashi, I don't want to take up too much of your time, but... If you could stay and answer some questions? My apartment isn't far from Juanita's."

[ToxicShadow]

Admittedly, Iyashi had not expected either of them to accept his offer so easily, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he effortlessly caught the keys Drake tossed at him.

His only response to Drake's thank you was, "Of course." He'd only done what he was capable of, because he'd heard a cry for help. In his opinion, although it was, it was not incredibly miraculous. Theoretically, he'd done what any decent person would do, which was anything he could to help. It meant more than that, obviously, even to Iyashi, but he didn't even need to be thanked for it. He was happy to have saved someone.

Wordlessly, Iyashi opened the driver's side door and slid into place within the unfamiliar car. Though, he had to adjust the seat back to more comfortably accommodate his longer legs, after giving a glance back to Juanita, insuring he would not be inconveniencing the woman by doing so. As he inserted the key and turned it over, he answered, "Sure."

Following Drake's directions, he sped down the streets with considerable ease, seeming comfortable as the driver, in spite of the lack of familiarity with the vehicle. It was evident that he was a good driver, even though he rarely had the need or opportunity to put the skill to use. He had wings, after all, even if not now. And his life outside of his city ventures rarely required more than that. He was one of the few in his family with the talent.

Only after Juanita had stepped out of the car, safely arriving home, and leaving the two men alone, did the half fairy, half demon turn to Drake and venture ask, "So, what sort of questions?" His words did not hint that he wanted to keep something from him, he was merely curious. "I'm in no particular hurry."

[Mousen]

They fell quiet after Iyashi started driving, Drake slumped low in the passenger seat, Juanita looking out of the window. She was dropped round the back of her house, a small terrace where she and her family lived. The lights where off, it seemed they were all asleep. She let herself out of the back of the car. In the half-light, it was impossible to see the bloodstains on her dark clothes. "Thank you, Iyashi," she said. "Drake, I'll call you tomorrow."

He nodded. "Be safe," he said.

Drake sighed to himself as they pulled away from her house. He felt oddly lost without her there, it had certainly been easier to bicker than start to think about the events of the evening. It had kept him grounded. "Oh, its a left here," he said, gesturing to an upcoming turn. He pulled off the eye patch to rub at the skin there, puckered into an ugly scar. He seemed to have given up keeping up appearances for Iyashi, perhaps he saw little point to it when they were both covered in his blood, or else he didn't have the energy to.

"If you're in no hurry, would you like to stay and get cleaned up first?" he asked, aware he was sounding more put together than he actually felt. "I want information for the case. I don't think I'm going to take it in right now." As much as he wanted to be left alone, Iyashi was his only real chance at solving this case.

"Right here," he said. "It's the--Yeah. That one." Iyashi parked up and Drake got out of the car. He took the keys back of Iyashi and tried to open up the main door. He hadn't realised, but he was starting to shake, his hands making the key slip out of the lock. He swore softly under his breath and finally managed, pushing the door open.

They silently ascended a few flights of stairs, the elevator, as usual was out of order. When they got to his apartment, Drake handed his door key to the other man. "Sorry," he said.

[ToxicShadow]

Only offering a single sideways glance at the man in the passenger seat, he nodded his head. "Sure. I'll take you up on the offer." He meant it. Iyashi was in no hurry, and hardly had a plan. He was content with the silence that fell over them while driving, sans the directions that were spoken as needed.

Standing outside of the main doorway, he frowned, watching as Drake's hands began to shake and he fumbled a bit with the keys, but he didn't say anything. Up until now, it seemed that he had been holding himself together pretty well, all things considered, but it seemed that his composure was slowly beginning to crumble. But... that was to be expected, wasn't it? Once the reality set in, once he had time to think about the implications of what happened, that he should be dead, that someone wanted him dead, so much so to kill him, and that he managed to survive it, it was probably too much to really hold it entirely together.

He momentarily considered reaching out, to put his hand on the other man's arm, or even take his hand, in attempt to try to soothe him but, as they were still strangers, he thought better of it. This wasn't the same scenario as if he was offering comfort to someone actually close to him, and while  his frame of reference on dealing with strangers wasn't the best, he figured it was probably not his place. Was it?

Wordlessly, he took the key offered to him, outside of the apartment door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. The fae demon waited for Drake to enter first and flick on the light, before entering and closing the door behind them.

Making a quick survey of the room, it was clear that it was safe. At least, there seemed to be no one suspicious having come to sneak up on them. Right now, those that tried to kill him were probably not yet entirely aware that Drake was actually still alive, even though they would be well aware that those sent to kill him had already been destroyed. He also did not know if they actually knew where Drake lived, but it was a real possibility that he had to consider.

What actually surprised Iyashi, though, was how neat the inside of the apartment was. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but Drake's taste seemed to be mostly simple and efficient. He had what he needed and served a purpose, but he didn't seem to have an abundance of frivolous things. At least, not out in the open.

[Mousen]

The apartment was very plain. It favoured dark colours over light ones, but otherwise was lacking in personal touches. There was a dead houseplant on the windowsill, a few papers spread across the kitchen table, and a large bookcase. On the bookcase was the only photo in the house: a photo of several young men and women in some sort of office. The style of the uniforms suggested something related to the military. A handsome, smiling, and clean-shaven Drake looked out from the left of the photo.

Drake stepped through into the kitchen area, gesturing vaguely for Iyashi to sit if he wanted to. He took off his hat and coat. The blood had tried the fabric together and it crackled unpleasantly. The sound wasn't unfamiliar to him, and he winced. He got a wet cloth, aiming to take off the blood on his hands at least. He tried to think about anything else. Not the way his blood soaked through the cloth, dispersing into the water. Not how red everything was. Or how it had been just an hour ago that he'd been bleeding out on the floor. Just a flash of pain and heat and that slippery feeling of loosing a lot of blood very, very quickly and how it was all so close to a time that seemed not so long ago when he'd felt like he'd live forever, even with a gun pointed at his head he'd never really believed they were going to do it, that there was a situation he couldn't think his way out of. Before, the moment where he realised he was going to die had occupied so much space, or time, or both. This time, it had seemed like nothing at all. He kept expecting the pain to come back, like he hadn't really escaped it.

Drake just about made it to a kitchen chair before his knees gave out. Everything felt red. He could feel the blood drying on his back and chest the slight metallic smell to it. The kitchen light's slight fluorescence was suddenly too much like the hospital, or the morgue. He was supposed to be dead. It had all happened so fast. His throat was closing in on him. All of this blood, again. All of it his. His shoulders shook.

He'd been so close to just slipping away.

"Let's not do anything hasty now, Preston. I'm sure an agreement can be made, we're not unreasonable."

"I know you, Preston. It's just business. It always has been. There's no reason-- Preston. Please.Please."

There was too much blood and he couldn't breathe and fuck this was not the time for this or maybe it was but he needed to fucking breathe.