Dei knew perfectly well that he was a pathetic creature of habit, but what the hell. If being an obsessive compulsive freak kept him from going postal, so be it. And if that obsessive compulsiveness included scheduled trips to 7-11 for a slurpee, a donut, and a Reader's Digest at one in the morning every Thursday, so be it.

At least this trip had some sort of a purpose to it; he was investing time and money in finding new and petty ways to annoy his brother. The surprise board meeting tomorrow morning would be a perfect place to assault Tyler with one of his lesser but more offensive vices: cigarettes.

He kind of needed a nicotine fix now, anyway; normally he went through maybe a pack every two weeks, if that, but lately he'd been getting surprise visits from Len and Opal. They would come by with lunch and appropriately concerned expressions and ask if he was feeling all right, or if he needed anything else. It was aggravating, and when he told them politely to fuck off, they started sending Teia and Juhee in with snacks and vitamin supplements. All the women in my life just want to be my mother. No wonder I'm not getting laid. That thought was particularly depressing, but it was best not to dwell on it. And, since he wasn't allowed to drink during the week without getting the third degree from someone- Because I'm not pushing sixty (and don't look a day over thirty, still), I'm actually still living in my dead parents' basement and need constant fucking supervision...- he found himself needing a cigarette more and more often.

And everything that went on at the office was Tyler's fault, because the kid had grown into his role of anal retentive, micro-managing, control freak over the years. Thankfully, his little brother could not stand the smell of cigarette smoke, and thus he was initiating Phase One of Operation Piss Tyler the Fuck Off.

He nodded to the cashier, who knew him on sight by now, and scanned the rows of cigarettes. Why the fuck were the tobacco companies offering so many choices? Normally he just smoked cloves, or some bizarre import of Jubal's (which meant that they probably came from another planet and were likely to turn his lungs purple, nevermind black).

"Can I help you make a decision, Mr. Wexford, or would you just like the usual?" The neat, clipped British accent stirred Dei out of his reverie.

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Thanks, Omar. The usual, and something unfiltered or-"

The bell above the door jingled as a boy walked into the store. Dei felt warning bells going off in the back of his head like a St. Agatha's celebration. The kid couldn't have been more than seventeen, but the hood on his sweatshirt was pulled up and over his face, and he walked like someone carrying a gun.

The air tasted metallic and sharp, suddenly: fear. He was someone carrying a gun. Dei repressed the urge to sigh dramatically. Kids. They started so young, these days- he'd waited until he was out of college before building up a rap sheet, even if that hadn't really been his fault. Not that he didn't want to break Tyler's ribs now, of course...

The kid was shouting now, and had pulled out his gun. This time Dei really did sigh. He hated guns. Swords were so much more elegant, and it was so much easier to hit your intended target with them. He knew Omar had a shotgun for dealing with stupid kids. He also knew that this particular stupid kid was desperate- it was a noble sort of desperation, though. The air was charged with intent; this money was for someone else.

And am I a sucker for a noble cause? You bet. If nothing else, it might get him out of tomorrow's board meeting. He began making soothing noises at the kid, and reached into his jacket for his wallet. Get him to put the gun down, give him some money, send him on his way. Don't spend it all in one place, kid.

At least, that was the way it should have gone, but some people had itchy trigger fingers. He wasn't really even paying attention when he stepped between the two guns, which was probably why it hurt more than he expected it to. Dumbass. Next time, try catching the bullets. Or melting them. Or maybe just stopping time so you've got a minute to think? Crazy super powers, yeah, fuck that, some super heroe, this is what got you into the last mess, dumbass. Maybe we should just fucking learn to dodge. Tyler is going to be furious...

Omar was shouting his name, and he couldn't find his arm, which was a bit frightening. Pushing sixty, allegedly immortal, and he'd never had to worry about his limbs before. Internal organs, sure, but limbs? They never went for the limbs, that was too easy. And once they were gone, they couldn't hurt you anymore, not really. He already had the scars to prove that. But there was his arm, and it wasn't really attached, and there was the kid, just staring at him.

Move it, kid. Grab the wallet and go, now isn't the time to be altruistic. Dei almost cheered when the boy finally ran. He wondered if they'd let him have a cigarette when he got to the hospital.

Somehow, he doubted it.
---------------

Tristan has him pegged- he is a dork. A huge, screaming, yuppie dork. This is sort of the beginning of the end; it's technically Tristan's story, but it's also Dei's story, since I couldn't just have him tossing angst like a hairball every January. Sort of a sequel, sort of just a series of "what happens next?" things.

I'm still not sure about the timeline or the ages, but they're all much older than they were in the beginning. Tyler and Opal are happily married and not making babies; Tyler runs his dad's company, Opal started a record label using Tyler's money, mostly. She's a world famous cellist, and she has an excellent board of directors to keep Fire Star Records successful. Dei spent a lot of time bar hopping until he met Lyra, who he immediately fell in love with, proposed marriage to, and was subseqently abandoned by two weeks after meeting her. What few friends he had at that point all ended up dead one way or another, and he checked himself into a mental hospital for a few years.

Lyra went on to become the biggest thing in the music industry since the Beatles and Nirvana combined. Twenty years later, her band, Ekphrasis, has changed the face of music, and Dei is still in love with her. Hasn't spoken to her in twenty years, though. Tyler finally couldn't deal with the angst and put him in proper rehab, and gave him a job heading one of Opal's pet projects. Melisma Sounds is a non-profit record label for new artists and charity fund raising. Since all of these businesses have demons behind the scenes, they all just run themselves, really; Dei is actually in charge of policing the traffic of otherworldly beings into and out of this reality. But he still has to make public appearances for Firestar and Melisma; officially, Deodat Karolus is dead of heroin overdose, so now he goes by Dee Wexford and expends a great deal of energy convincing people that he has no familial connection to Opal or Tyler, no matter what he looked like with long hair.

He's still not exactly stable, and Tyler is more demon-like than human these days, which just makes him annoying. Opal is more of an angel now, too, which just means that computers tend to explode on her. Jance gave in to his inner metrosexual and became a fashion designer/personal tailor for the Karolus family, Toby ended up as a vampire and Dei still blames himself, and Jubal and Len occasionally do productive things, but mostly just fool around.