Donghae is never going drinking with Minwoo again. He may be the mutant he grew up idolising, gorgeous and stronger than the entire army of soldiers Konoha tried to defeat him with, but he’s a terrible drinking buddy.

Gambling away most of his money and accepting Donghae’s offer to pay for his drinks, okay, he can manage that. Being dragged into a drinking competition and doing well until he out, alright, that one lays a little of the blame on his for accepting despite Minwoo’s infamous alcohol tolerance. Waking up in a small room with no windows and a faint smell of rot that makes nausea join the throbbing headache; that one he’s blaming entirely on Minwoo.

Groaning, he covers his eyes with a hand and reaches out with his other senses since his vision is screaming at him to please cease and desist. There’s a chill to the room that only comes with the dead, tempered with rage and a mixture of grudges both days old and ancient. His mouth twisting into a grimace, he turns his attention to the ghosts lingering beside him. “Haimaru brothers,” he whispers after he’s sure there’s nobody living inside the room. “Fetch an ally.”

One of the dogs gives a soft snort and he feels it part from the other two. The two twins hesitate and argue between themselves. Donghae leaves them to it, trying to quell his headache by willpower alone.

It isn’t very successful.

Another of the brothers leaves and the remaining ghost takes up post by his head, clearly intent on watching over him. Donghae extends a hand and taps him on the paw, giving the ghost a burst of energy so he can take physical form to protect him, if need be.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when he wakes again, but the headache is gone and he can keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds without wanting to shatter the artificial lights glaring above him so he considers it a win.

His nose has adjusted to the smell but he can still detect the lingering iron of blood. Rubbing a hand over his nose, he takes in the room – small enough to be a bedroom and not much else, devoid of any furniture but for a bucket in the corner. Two of the Haimaru brothers are sitting beside him with the patience of the dead, frozen yet alert.

His bladder twinges at him and Donghae curses himself for not matching the shots with water and food. When he first joined Minwoo’s rebel group, he craved his creature comforts and put dignity on par with survival. Since then he’s been kidnapped twice, trapped once and imprisoned another two times.

He uses the bucket. The ghosts keep sentry and he trusts them to sense any changes before he will. “Did you find anyone?” he asks when he’s finished. There’s no toilet paper, of course, but he’s not surprised. This is hardly the first time he’s come across those who see mutants as less than human.

The dog who’d left assesses him with dull golden eyes. He maintains the gaze and lets him project his memories into his mind, showing him several rooms like hers with mutants inside. Some of the rooms are empty but for pools of blood, which makes him grimly determined to figure out what to do faster. The memories end and Donghae takes stock of the intel – five floors of an abandoned building, almost half with mutants inside. The other rooms are either empty, filled with equipment or with humans. Some of them are wearing an emblem he doesn’t recognise, possibly one of the new organised hate groups Heechul had warned them about. The humans are all too far for him to possess though, and he glowers at the door.

“On a scale of one to this, how bad of an idea is summoning a demon?” he asks them. The brothers exchange a glance and if they could raise their eyebrows, they would. “Figures,” he mutters, closing his eyes and expanding his senses. He pulses his energy and detects the answering spikes of nearby ghosts, though none move towards him. He lets his energy shine like a beacon for a few seconds and then dims it to a simmer, content to let them answer him in their own time.

The door is locked. Donghae had expected it but still, it was better than not testing it at all. “Plan B, boys?”

One of the brothers shakes his head. Donghae rolls his eyes but accepts it; Plan B, blending their energies to form one corporeal demon dog, was his least favourite tactic when it was used to break down walls. “Where’s your brother?” he asks. He’d tried to give them individual names, when he’d met them as a child, but they never seemed to understand him when he did.

The dogs turn as one to face a corner of the room but don’t offer any answers. Assuming the third is somewhere in that direction, he heads to one wall where he can sense someone living. He raps hard on the wall with his knuckl