bakerstreet | the betrayal/redemption meme

You're fired.

[He's just going to stare up at Arthur disbelievingly through the cover of many hunting instruments. Also, he's hunched over from the weight of all the equipment, thanks.]

What? I didn't do anything wrong!

[Yes, well, that's just how it is, isn't it? Arthur has his hands on his hips and is giving Merlin the typical look of disappointment. Not all that uncommon really.]

Oh, you were close. You didn't do anything. While I was chasing that rogue sorcerer around Camelot last week, you decided to slip off to the tavern yet again. Honestly, what did you expect?

[Excuse you. While you were chasing that rogue sorcerer around Camelot, Merlin was preparing the spells needed to counter the magic said sorcerer used on the city. So, it's the other way around, really.]

Who told you I was--[Suddenly, Gaius' face swims into his thoughts, and Merlin is seized by the very strong urge to thunk his head against the nearest wall. Of course.] ...it was Gaius, wasn't it.

[That's funny, because Arthur is pretty sure is the one who stabbed the sorcerer, who went down suspiciously easy. Probably cuz Arthur is just that awesome.]

Of course it was Gaius. He's the only one who ever knows where you are anymore.

[ The dead have many secrets to tell. ]

[ The secret whispers in the dark depths. Conversations about the past and the future, and the men who will live in both. Skittering things in the night, that seem to creep under her skin, they are her companions now. And Morgause, who had been raised by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion, is wracked in her sleep by the knowledge of her hubris, her ambitions for her sister greater than her desire to see the land restored to a whole. ]

[ That it should be a Pendragon to bring magic back to Albion still disgusts her, and she croons habitual hatred to the dark things that rise from bowls of quicksilver and nuzzle at her fingertips, seeking fresh blood. But at night she has nightmares about prophecies spoken in a language no mortal should know. ]

[ She has been so blind. And one eye is still milky white, though her body had come out of that cold, still lake whole and anew. The only dagger in her heart now is the one which lances the whole of Albion. ]

[ Morgause rides so hard to Camelot that she's forced to abandon her horse or see it dead, and walks the rest of the way. Magic, she thinks, will give them too much notice and drain too much power that she may yet need. Her reserves are already greatly depleted, and the ley-lines of the land sicken without a High Priest or Priestess to tend them. She must find the young man called Emrys, and teach him. She cannot approach Pendragon herself, but perhaps, if his nosy little servant leaves the castle... ]

[There's something in the air this night that keeps Merlin awake when he should be long asleep. The tension feels familiar somehow, as if he's tasted the same sort of promise, the same sort of energy that thrums through the night, before.

Something is calling to him.

Unlike the years before, when Kilgharrah had made his intentions known and summoned the young warlock to his dark, dank cave, there is no voice to whisper to him, draw him out of his bed. Yet, he finds himself doing so, slipping out from under the scratchy covers to pace his small room.]

...

[Eliot turned to see the god standing there, framed by the light filtering through the trees. He should have guessed that eventually, Loki will catch up to him.]

You here to exact your revenge?

[ The nearest surrounding trees find themselves set ablaze as the god of Mischief makes his entrance. It doesn't quite begin to properly express his anger, but it's a start.

Loki says nothing as he advances, his footsteps oddly silent and calculated, his hand's grip on his staff tight and white-knuckled. "Revenge," Eliot calls it. If only it were something so simple. ]

[Eliot stood there watching the god of destruction walk towards him. Despite danger, his eyes softened at the sight of the other.

He didn't run, there was no point in running from someone who can burn the whole forest before he can escape.]

I see you look well.

[ "Well?"

He is a mess. His usual meticulous nature regarding his appearance hasn't been a priority lately. His hair is a mess, there are lines from lack of sleep under his eyes, he does not look well. Loki would laugh at the accusation if he had the will to, but right now all he can manage are his slow, surprisingly steady steps forward. ]

Did you think you could run from me?

[Eliot smiled back wryly at the question. Outrun a god? Not in this world. He could keep running, and he did, but no, never outrun.]

I'm surprised it took you this long.

[Which was true enough. He expected to be struck down long before this. A lightning bolt from above, or maybe some of that famous smiting Loki was so fond of.]

[ Surprised. And he is smiling. Loki cannot believe the utter indignation. When he is within range, he lifts his hand to strike Eliot across the face with his staff, enough force behind it to send him backwards. ]

Forgive my lateness. I shall make up for it.

[ In all honesty? The reason it took so long was simply because Loki didn't want to. He didn't want to believe it. But when Eliot did not return ... what else was he to do? ]

[Eliot was a werewolf, but even he wasn't strong enough to stand up to a wrathful god. The strike sent him sprawling to the ground and he had to work his jaw twice to make sure it wasn't broken... yet.]

Of course you will. [Chuckling mirthlessly, he wiped the blood from his split mouth and slowly climbed back to his feet.]

I don't expect anything less.

[ It wasn't nearly satisfying enough. Nothing shattered under his strength, no broken bones or teeth knocked loose. Is he holding back? That certainly wouldn't do. ]

Then you expect the very worst.

[ The sharpened point of his staff is suddenly thrust in front of Eliot's face, just shy of the tip of his chin. It trembles just ever so slightly, his calm demeanor unraveling at the seams. ]

You have one chance. Answer me.

Why?

[Eliot doesn't flinch even as the staff is thrust towards him. If he wanted, he would be able to dodge that, he could easily even counterattack and disarm the weapon from his opponent, but he just waited... and it stopped.

He almost looked surprised when he lifted his eyes from the weapon to the man holding it.]

I was doin' my job... I was...

[He stuttered, his own gaze giving in to the emotional turmoil that he kept out of his expression until now.]

I was hired to retrieve the cube. [Except he didn't expect to fall in love too.]

[ His ... job.

Loki falls silent. The staff hovers and trembles a hair's bredth away from Eliot, and the god is simply unnervingly silent for quite some time after the wolf finishes speaking.

Suddenly, Eliot is thrown further backwards by a heavy blast of Loki's magic, into the trees behind him. ]

Hired?

Then why not simply confront me? Fight me? Why deceive me and tear me to pieces from the inside? Or is such cruelty merely common practice in this realm?

[Not much chance to answer that when he was suddenly blasted backwards in an explosion of power. Eliot flew through the air until he came to a premature stop against the trunk of a tree. A soft groan was uttered as he tried to pick himself up again, but something was broken in him and he barely managed to regain his footing by leaning heavily against the trunk.]

I'm sorry, Loki...

[Red spittle painted his lips, but he tried to ignore all that as he struggled to level a sorrowful gaze on the god.]

I didn't know how else to do it. I can't fight you...

I know you'll never forgive me... so I ran. [The werewolf closed his eyes and breathed in raggedly.] I'm sorry...

You didn't fight me because you knew you couldn't win.

[ The forest surrounding them is quickly spreading that blaze as Loki advances again, losing his control over his temper just as fast as the fire spreads. He doesn't care if he destroys the whole thing. ]

So you decided on a different path. You made me believe your sweet words, your gentle touches, your kindness ... and now- you've made me such a fool, for falling for such an act.

[ He stops in front of Eliot again, staff trembling as heavily as his angered and laboured breathing. A moment later, he begins to laugh, that unhinged upward curl of his lips making itself known again. ]

I should have known ... I should have known it was all a lie.

[Eliot opened his eyes to look at Loki again with a pained gaze. He was sorry that his deception had hurt the trickster so deeply.]

It wasn't a lie... not all of it.

[Believing he was walking the last legs of his life, Eliot didn't want to be bringing pain to others even as he left, especially not the god he grew to care for. He reached out with a hand in an attempt to stroke the trickster's face.]

It wasn't a lie... which was why I had to go. I wasn't supposed to care, but I did. I do. And I knew it'd end like this.

[As blood welled up in his throat, he started coughing and the hand on Loki's face dropped to clutch at his chest. Broken ribs and punctured lungs at least. Yeah, he wasn't going to last long.]

I'm sorry... [He said again when he cleared his breath enough to breathe. Falling forward to his knees, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.] Go on... kill this mongrel who hurt you so badl— [His words dissolved into another fit of bloody coughs.]

[ It really didn't mean anything, if only part of it was a lie. It was still a lie to begin with, and a great one. Loki feels all the more foolish for not being able to see it sooner, cursing himself for allowing the walls to crumble down.

The god flinches at the touch, meaning to turn away from it entirely. But he has longed for Eliot's touch for so long, no matter how badly he wants to tell himself to get away, his body does not obey. Curse it.

But he does step back when Eliot collapses against him. Idly, he wonders why he hasn't just obliterated Eliot to tiny pieces already, but perhaps he wanted him to suffer more. Suffer just as Loki is, hurting as much as Loki is.

But ...

Loki is suddenly screaming at him, backhanding Eliot across the face and kicking him until he's flat on the ground. He steps over him, crouching down on the ground beside him and grasping the wolf's shirt collar. The god's expression is nothing short of vengeful-- or it would, if not for the tears welling in his eyes. ]

How dare you do this to me, Eliot Spencer! You persist with your lies even now, as I'm about to kill you for breaking my heart, for what? Pity? Do you dare try to convince me once more of your lies as you bleed to death beneath me?

You deceived me, mongrel. I have been deceived for well over a thousand years from those who claimed to love me, and I had been so foolish to believe you were different when you are just as cruel to me as they were. I will never forgive you.

[ Something very strange to say even as his hands are already casting healing spells. ]

[Yeah, he deserved that. Even as he fell back from the hard blow to his face, Eliot only had the words 'I'm sorry' murmuring over and over again on his lips. He was sorry for having brought this pain to the god. It was a cruel thing for him to have done and only brought to light that no matter what he did, he was a bad man.

He deserved everything Loki was throwing at him now, bad karma followed bad people after all.

It wasn't done on purpose, but years of survival instincts had him curl protectively over his broken ribs into a fetal ball while those kicks rained down upon him. They broke him further, but what did it matter? Nothing hurt as much as the tears he saw streaming from the trickster's eyes. Or the words that fell angrily on him from the vengeful god. He brought a great god to this... He was so sorry.

And then those last words fell and Eliot actually flinched from the hatred carried within them. He knew that would be the case, never had a moment of doubt that it would be so, but to hear Loki spitting them at him in his dying moment...

It broke him.

His vision blurred in a way that had nothing to do with pain and when he closed his eyes, tears fell into the creases in the corner of them. He had no more breath in his collapsed lungs, but he had to say this. To tell to the god the one thing that was true without lies to pollute it.

It was a miracle that his lungs felt strong enough give it breath, unbeknownst to him the reason.]

I love you.

[ He stops, suddenly. His breathing is ragged and unsteady, his grip on Eliot's shirt collar ultimately failing and letting go entirely. Those words ...

Loki doesn't know anymore. He no longer believes any word that leaves Eliot's lips. But even now they sound so honest and true, and yet he must refuse to believe them. Eliot had hurt him, wounded him so deeply, more than anyone on any realm ever had before. The wolf is nothing more than a great liar. And wasn't that ironic? ]

I hate you.

[ His words are said with such anger and spite, he's not sure if he believes them himself.

He stands, rising unsteadily to his feet. After a deep breath, he summons the very object Eliot had been after, the small cube of power in it's protective covering. With a snarl he casts it to the side, taking out a few trees in the process before it sinks into the ground. ]

There, retrievalist. Take it.

[ Then he turns, and begins to walk away, unable to hold back the stream of tears. ]

Clearly it means more to you than I ever did.

[The clear opposite of his words made Eliot flinch again, which was when he realized that he was no longer dying. Loki had... it made no sense, but the god had healed him.

Despite the pain Eliot caused, despite how he betrayed the god's trust and broke his immortal heart, the trickster had chosen to heal him and give him what he wanted instead of finish him off. How did one pay a debt owed that deeply?

Especially if no matter what he said or did now will ever be believed again? Hesitantly Eliot pushed himself back up onto his knees, still feeling too week to gain his feet. He glanced over his shoulder to where the cube glowed in the distance, then back in the direction where Loki was walking.

One was the job, the other, the man he just told he fell in love with.

He knew which direction his choice went, except... was there a point when Loki obviously and rightfully hated him?]

Loki.... I'm... I'm sorry. [Believing it was for the best, he got to his feet and went after the cube. He made the decision, he will just have to live with the consequences.]

[ And even now, he still goes after the cube. Loki supposes it was better to expect that. Better to be reminded once again that he wasn't worth fighting for.

He's not sure what he would have done if Eliot had, if the wolf had followed him and called for him to come back, if he had begged for forgiveness. But this ... this is easier. Eliot is nothing more than a liar, and now he can have his precious cube and complete his objective and be done with him forever.

Forever isn't as long to a mortal as it is to a god.

Loki says nothing as he walks away. He doesn't run, doesn't cower, doesn't curl in on himself and crawl away pitifully so Eliot could mock him (because surely, he would.) No, the god holds his head high, back straight, and save for the tears and sobs he cannot control he carries on forward. He will carry on. He'll turn back into that great and terrifying villain he had been before Eliot, and he'll go destroy the next city he comes across, and Eliot can have that on his shoulders as well.

He just ... really wishes he had known better in the first place. It wouldn't hurt as much if he had known better than to get so intimately involved with another.

At least, now, he never will again. ]

[Loki hadn't hitched the cube far from where they were at all, and the unnatural blue glow stood such stark contrast against the burning orange of the forest that Eliot could easily pick the item out.

Standing there looking down at it, the cube looked so small there by his feet. He was once warned to not touch it while it was activated, whatever that meant. It did not look 'activated' now and when he picked it up, he could easily wrap his fingers around it. The item was small in the paw of his hand and weighted strangely light yet with a nice sturdy mass at the same time.

And it suddenly felt immensely heavy when he saw that this, this was the reason things reached such a point between Loki and him. This heavy glowing cube.

He couldn't stand letting it end like this.

Reaching a decision, Eliot arced his arm back and heaved the cube in a perfect pitch across the space of the burning forest. It sailed through the air to land with a solid thump not more than a few feet in front of the god of mischief. Good thing Loki had decided to walk after all, even being a werewolf, he could hurl the thing only so far.]

That isn't what I want!!!

[He strode after Loki then, his hurried steps still slower than normal because while Loki was generous to heal him from death, the hurt trickster hadn't been that generous. And it didn't matter as long as it still allowed him to catch up, catch the trickster by the shoulders and turn him around.]

Damnit, Loki. That... that's just a job. One that I forfeited when I fuckin' left. You are the one I want... the one thing I can't have because I started our relationship off on lies.

But the things I said to ya... those nights we're together... They weren't lies. I couldn't... I...

[He deflated and his hands dropped from Loki's shoulders, letting the trickster go as he stared down at the ground.]

I know you're hatin' my guts now, don't even know why I'm still standin'....

I just—... I wanted—... I had to tell you that.

[ He nearly flinches as the cube suddenly thuds into the ground a few steps away. Loki is confused; wasn't that what Eliot wanted from him all this time? So why was he throwing it away?

Surely he wasn't giving it back to him. He just happened to throw it in his direction.

He stops just for a moment, hesitating in confusion, but before he can take another step Eliot is shouting behind him. It ... wasn't what he wanted? Then why-- and then he is grabbed, turned around, and it's all Loki can do to shut his eyes tight and turn his head away, refusing to look into the eyes of the man who had hurt him so deeply.

He doesn't want to listen to him ... but his words sound so convincing. But were they truths? ]

Eliot ...

No, you-- you went into this to hurt me, you didn't care about me at all. It doesn't matter if you changed your mind now, you still ... you made me feel like nothing more than a casualty in your little treasure hunt.

[ Then he finally does look up, tears steadily falling. ]

How do I know I can trust you now?

[Eliot was ashamed like he never was before. Because it was true, he had started off with the intention that Loki's feelings would be no more than casualty for the purpose of getting near the god for his job. But then his own feelings got involved and things changed.

If he hadn't been though, if his own emotions hadn't overruled his lack of morality... Eliot's self-loathing rose up to choke him like bile in the back of his throat.]

You... You can't. [He answered truthfully even as he raised his arms up to embrace the man he hurt. He held onto the god for as long as the other would let him, one hand raising to comb through those messy strands and press Loki's head to his shoulder.]

I've done nothing to earn your trust... I know that. [His voice, emotional logged, whispered by Loki's ear.] But I want to. I know I don't deserve it... but I want to prove myself again if you'll let me.

[He bowed his head and touched its side lightly against Loki's. His whole body was tensed as if waiting for another much deserved blow.] I'm sorry.

[ It's true. He can't trust Eliot. He did, he trusted him with everything, despite everyone he'd ever trusted an inch turning on him just the same way Eliot had. It was a foolish mistake he was never going to make again, though it was one he never should have made to begin with.

If he can't trust Eliot, why is he still here? Why doesn't he just leave, forget about him and move on to greater goals?

Loki stands frozen still, as Eliot's arms move around him. He does allow his head to be guided to the other's shoulder, because even though he knows he has no reason to be here anymore, he cannot deny that he longs for Eliot's touch again. The fabric of the wolf's shirt sleeve dampens with the god's tears, as he takes his time in considering everything.

Is Eliot truly sorry? Should he allow him this chance?

...

It's with great reluctance that Loki lifts his head, finally. He says nothing yet, silent as he reaches to gently pry Eliot's hands from him, and then pushing away at his chest so that he may step back. ]

I need time.

[ His voice is quiet, still shaken with soft sobs. ]

Give me time to think. When I make my decision ... if I choose to give you another chance, then I will find you. Do not search for me.

[With similar reluctance, Eliot let the god pull away from his arms. He understood the need though and while he would rather be given an answer now, he knew this wasn't about him.

Slowly, he took a step back as if this was the first step to giving the god his space.]

Alright. [Although he wouldn't know where to look for the god anyway. In their relationship, it had always been the god finding him, never the other way round.]

I guess this is good bye. [Although the gaze he looked at Loki with added the words he didn't dare to voice: For now.]

[ It isn't what it looks like. Yes, that's Jake lying there lying there dead and yeah, Roxy's covered in his blood, but there's an easy explanation for all this! It was English, you know, the Lord sort not Jake and that fucking ~ath code and an infinite loop with infinite dead and yeah, Roxy's covered in his blood, but there's an easy doomed universes and it was UU! That bitch did this to Jake, made him into a potential host and for what?? That fucked up green monster was gone, into another host when Roxy saw red at the revelation of their deception. He wasn't Jake until that last second when the life left his eyes.

.... Okay, maybe 'easy' is the right word, but trust me. This wasn't how Roxy planned on meeting any of her friends. She scrubs bloody palms over her eyes, ruining already smeared eyemakeup, only then realizing Dirk's arrival when she pulls her hands away. ]

o fuck

[He's not really...sure. Of anything. He'd gotten them in the game, gotten it all started because he knew this was important and that it'd lead them all on the road to their final goal. Everything was doomed anyway, but at least this way, getting everyone connected and running, he'd be with them. His friends, his family. Jake.

But what he hadn't expected to see was Roxy, covered in blood, and Jake. Dead. Roxy covered in his blood. This was eight hundred different kinds of fucked up, but he couldn't...stop. Looking.

Jake was dead.]

Jesus fuck Roxy, what happened.

[ There's an explanation for this. A long one, but it's there. Hadn't they been worried about Jake, wasn't there something weird going on, didn't she KNOW this game was the worst fucking idea they'd ever had?? Riflekind lies between her and Dirk, from where she'd dropped it and approached what a second ago was that monster, that universe cancer that was just messing with them, playing them for a bunch of chumps. Yep, on the chump list Roxy kept, her position had just rocketed to the top with a graceful arc and a resounding pchoooooo.

Roxy stands shakily, hands slipping in the pool of blood around the body, around Jake. Her mouth keeps moving like there's an explanation, some kind of excuse that will make this horrific feeling of YOU KILLED HIM from crushing her chest, but no words come out. ]

it wasnt
he

[ nope nope nope, no way to explain this without the words choking her. It wasn't Jake! He was Lord English! He's loose, we don't have time- Roxy runs a hand through her hair, absently leaving bloody streaks through it. ]

[He could, if pressed, probably rationalize all this out. He's known Roxy for long enough to trust her, he does trust her, so he knows she probably had every reason to do what she did. There has to be a reason for what she did, because Roxy wouldn't do something like this if there wasn't a reason. She knew how he felt about Jake, thanks to his AR and knowing basically everything else about the Strider, so she must have known what this meant, what this was doing to him.

But at the moment, at that exact moment, he didn't really care how she felt. He'll look back on this and feel guilty, once they've moved on down this road, but for that precise moment...there aren't words for what he's feeling. Or maybe there are. Maybe it's betrayed.

With his eyes conpletely glued to Jake's body, lying limp in a pool of his own blood, the Strider slowly made his way over. He doesn't really know how, he can't cognitively control his muscle movements at the moment, so he must be on auto pilot.]

What.
The.
Fuck.
Happened.

[ As previously mentioned, this wasn't how she fucking wanted to meet any of the other kids! These were basically her only friends in the entire world- one of which she just shot to death- so meeting them in person albeit within the game construct was a pretty big deal to Roxy. She was especially excited to meet Strider because even if they didn't have the same feelings, she knew he would be hot. Gay or not, he'd be like a totally smoking fine bro with big muscles and okay only half of that was true and suddenly, blindingly, that earlier excitement at meeting Dirk had faded into fear.

She trusts Dirk too. But you really only need one friend to try to kill you before you start getting paranoid of everyone.

Roxy quickly stumbles back away from Dirk's approach. ]

hes dead okay jsut
stay the fukc over there for a sec whiel
while i fiugre this out

[He can see his AR's chat log blinking in the corner of his glasses, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to hear what sort of back-handed shit a separate version of himself wants to spew out at him over what he's seeing, what they're both seeing, because that would mean this was real.

Which of course it is, but he doesn't need the reassurance.

So instead he's dropping to his knees next to Jake's body, staring for a moment in silence before leaning down and checking his pulse. He knows where Roxy is, can sense her off to the side like he trained himself to do, and he keeps that in mind as he presses his fingers into the side of Jake's neck, looking for something, anything, and finding a great big wad of nothing.

He takes another moment before leaning back, not even bothering to turn and look at her, his voice much calmer than before but laced with something else. Something unlike him.]

What did you do.

[ What did she do?? That should be pretty fucking obvious, right? I mean, he's kneeling at the body, he's checking him and for half of second Roxy almost hopes there will be good news. you shot him. In the chest Multiple times. You don't have to be a budding rocket scientist to know what that would do to a person, even if he wasn't a person then. He had been that thing.

Unfortunately, there's no way to explain this with the complete lack of energy Roxy's feeling, the way Dirk's voice- that tone- rips through her. The way Jake had looked so fucking confused when he died. It was like betraying somebody twice over, dealing with all this now.

When she speaks up at last, her voice is a lot quieter than usual, much less sure of herself. Maybe it sounds like a lie, or an excuse. ]

i was tryign to make him stop
i fucked it up

[The sound of her voice makes it worse. It really...does. Maybe it's because it's so quiet, so...terrified. She's terrified. But she had ever right to be. Dirk felt a wave of emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time, and while he was doing his best to control it...rage could only be held back for so long. But also, maybe it's because he knows she had a perfectly good reason. Maybe it's because he knows, deep down, that something was wrong, something was going to get fucked up. But why did it have to be him? It wasn't fair. It wasn't. He didn't even get to meet him...

And there it goes again, that moment of anger, of rage, and he turns sharply. He's still kneeling, but it would only take less than half a second for him to be up and lethal and...oh god. He needs to stop because he's actually thinking about killing her when he knows that is the worst fucking idea he's had in his entire life (and he's had some bad ones). But he's not there not, not completely. He voice is a little clipped, now. A little more frantic.]

Make him stop?
Roxy, why the Jesus fuck did you kill him?
Why is he dead?

[ Shrinks back when Dirk turns to her. Yeah, she's scared, but she's still pretty pissed too. Sorry Strider, you didn't get to meet your boyfriend. Sorry she's ruined what could've been a perfect confession with her almost getting murdered by a fucking MONSTER. Sorry you're gay little fantasy life was disrupted by me killing one of our friends, I know that must be sooo inconvenient for you.

This is the least logical way to react to a terrible, tragic situation. But even if this session finds the kids a little older than our last, they're still kids. And that's still a dead body in the space between them. ]

because it wasnt him genius
i mean its him NOW btu
we dont haev time for this

[ Emotional breakdowns later, logic now. They need to find Jane. She'd be the next susceptible one, right? Her connection to the Batterbitch makes it plausible for.. something, what had he been saying? It was hard to listen properly when you were getting the life squeezed out of you.

Lost in this thought, Roxy- still drenched in Jake's blood- actually starts to leave. ]

[You see Roxy, that's not exactly how this gets to work. You don't get to walk in to this game you didn't even want to play and kill the one person Dirk Strider has been pining after for three fucking years and then just turn around to walk off without much more than a very shaky explanation that involved no logic whatsoever. Or at least, none that Dirk could make sense of, and he was basically the king of logic. When compared to the rest of his compadres, at least.

Especially, apparently, Roxy.]

We have fucking time for this.
Because as far as I can tell the body that is currently dead,
The one that used to house the fucking blood on your hands,
Is Jake.
Fucking explain this shit to me Rox I'm not fucking kidding around here.

[He stands quickly, facing her completely now, and has all the mind in the world to ninja-move right in front of her and grab her by the shoulders and...something. He wants to, no, needs to do something, but he doesn't know what. Whatever it is, it involves stopping Roxy from leaving, because they are not about to leave Jake's body lying there. Jake, who has no dream self to turn to, no extra lives. Jake, who is dead, who Roxy killed, and Jesus Fucking Christ she is still walking away.

But then he's moving, walking to catch up with her, grabbing her arm maybe a little too tightly and stopping her in her tracks.]

Fucking stop and explain this.

[ Short cry when Dirk grabs her arm, not just because it hurts but do not try that on someone who just nearly was killed by a different friend, okay! To say Roxy is jumpy would be an understatement at the very least. Thanks to that, Dirk finds himself receiving a sharp fistkind to the jaw.

As quickly as she strikes him, Roxy wrenches her arm back and puts distance between the two of them. Sorry Dirk, you are dealing with a still dizzy, frightened animal. To her it's very clear what happened- the trauma from the fighting aching in her joints, the screaming and the way he turned into that thing with the sound of bones crunching and skin stretching, all that crammed into her ears and her brainbulge, the colors and the honking oh god the HONKS. Clearly this girl's not in much of a state to repeat all the graphic details to you, bro, you'll just have to trust her.

You know, after she slugs you and keeps trying to run away from the mutual friend she murdered. ]

i just DID ok
he wasnt jake tho now he is and if you sooo need more details
i shot him cuz he was gona kill ME and YOU
youre WELCOEM by the fuckin way

[Alright, well, the punch was unexpected. And while at first it definitely brought about an entirely new wave of angry emotions that she might have been able to see if she was in such a state to read context clues, but then it was gone. All of it. All the anger and the hurting and the (okay no that's a joke, it's all still there, just covered)... But Dirk isn't quite sure how to deal with humans. He can see it, he can read it, he can understand subtext through a drunken state of late-night conversations, but he doesn't know how to deal. Robots? Yeah. Smuppets? Sure. People? Naw man, that's an entirely new breed.

But he can put two and two together. Yeah, Roxy's got one hell of a right hook, but she's also shaking and freaking out and wow Dirk, way to be a Dick. This calls for a new plan of action, one that doesn't fall apart because he forgot Rule Number One of the Strider Family: poker-face. So he pulls it back together and calms the fuck down. She should be able to hear it in his voice, seeing as she's having issues with facing him and all.]

Look, okay, I freaked out. I'm sorry.
Just...calm down, okay?

[He's walking back in her direction, closing the distance between them again, but this time not with the intention to...well, whatever his intention was last time. No, this time he keeps some distance between the two of them, like he's dealing with one of his feathery assholes that got itself into the wrong part of the house, or a haywired robot.]

He attacked you?

[ Lalondes are supposed to be masters of holding their emotions in check as well, or at least holding them out of the reach of the other party. Roxy lost any hope of that a while ago, clearly. She tenses as Dirk starts his approahc, still apprehensive about anybody getting close again, but not going to go at him kicking and screaming. She has to admit, the sound Dirk's voice is a little calming. Maybe just because it's been a while since she heard anybody's voice, short of Jake's when they met up, and then his voice.

Small, furtive glance back to Dirk before her eyes sweep the terrain around them again, as if the offending green party could return. ]

no the other thign
jake turned into it ad i tried to outrun him but i cuoldnt
hes already here

[ Raises her voice, turning her back on Dirk and the body to get her riflekind, scrub the blood off it and get back to what's important ]

bulets wont work so we
we ahev to come up wit some other way to kill him

[Well at least she's talking to him, which was one possibility that Dirk had played around with in the few seconds before she replied. But she did, she spoke, and that was better than nothing, even if he had no fucking idea what she was talking about. But baby steps here, Strider. A minute and a half ago you wanted to slide your katana right through her stomach in a fit of rage, so if you can calm down, maybe she can to. Or maybe you should stop trying to force the answers out of her and move on. There's always that.]

Jesus fucking Christ, Rox.
What do you mean he's here?
You already killed him.
It.

[Ouch, just saying that hurt more than he thought. He takes a moment to bring himself back, watching as Roxy picks up her riflekind. She seems calmer, at least. But he can't take any chances.]

You mean they didn't pierce him,
Or he wasn't harmed by them,
Or what?

[ Turns back to Dirk fast when he questions her, gun raised and pointed directly at his chest. ]

NO not jake
ENGLISH

[ If the gun pointed at your vitals wasn't enough of a sign, Roxy is clearly expecting you to understand this statement. Continues on, pushing a hand through her hair and balancing the gun against her shoulder, as if threatening Dirk with it a moment ago had been no thing. ]

he got jake okay
he was IN jake
and wehn i shot him it only hur t
him
jake

[ Deep gulping breath, resolutely not looking at the body between them. Okay, saying Roxy was calming down might have been a premature prediction. The hands holding the riflekind shake as the girl wracks her brain for a solution, only half acknowledging Dirk's questions at this point. She's not her daughter, she can't fall back on the Horrorterrors to deal with this grief and anger. Things would be so much easier if she could go grimdark. Or even grimdrunk. ]

not bulets
sometihng else
that BITCH
shw told me ocne
she sadi if we had a hero of tiem
soemthing about time cuold kill english

[Fuck.

The gun was not expected, to say the least. And he can't control his heart rate when she suddenly turns on him like that, so much that he almost misses her explanation. But as she continues it slowly pieces itself together and Dirk calms back down. Slowly.]

That's fucked up in so many ways...

[And that's when the guilt sets in, because there was no point in denying that Roxy looked terrible. She's shaking so bad that he half wonders just how she can still hold the rifle but then he's moving back closer to her again, this time trying to reach out to her to calm her down, maybe to make sure she doesn't accidentally drop the gun and shoot him in the leg - the last thing he needs is a stereotypical cowboy limp. Those fuckers are more annoying than badass.

Or at least, he's on his way over to her. He hasn't exactly closed that distance between them yet.]

Hero of Time?
We don't have a one of those in our session.
Did she tell you where or when we'd find one?

no there wwer oens but they brought HIM here
tehy doomed us btu
dont konw
i dotn CARE i just
want to fidn jane i want to

[ There's no lashing out at Dirk's approach this time, and Roxy doesnt bother trying to run away. The fight was exhausting, killing Jake was as emotionally draining as the word gets. so even if she wants to fight and cry and scream, but she's just so tired.

Fucked up was putting it lightly. Roxy's gaze finally drifts to the blood covering her, the pool that surrounds Jake, the body itself. weak, choked noise from the back of her throat.

]

i fucked up
im sorry

Hey, hey, Rox. Come on.

[That's when he takes the last few steps and reaches out to grab her wrists - lightly, so as not to scare her again. He's not trying to stop her movements, he just wants to calm her down, let her know she's safe, if only for now.]

We'll go find Jane.
Christ, we can leave right now to go find her.
And then we'll find this fucker who doomed our session and send that fucking thing back to wherever the hell it came from, okay?]

[He moves to meet her eyes, trying to let her know that yeah, this is fucked up. And yeah, he was (is) angry. But not at her, not anymore. It's not her fault. Well, not completely.]

We all fuck up, Lalonde.
We're not perfect, and we were never supposed to be.
This ain't a perfect world, or a perfect session, but we'll make do.
What happened...it isn't your fault.

[ Despite her panic and jumpiness, Roxy lets Dirk take her wrists without another attack. Having him closer it both helpful and painful- of course she wants someone nearby to comfort her, but it's not necessarily been the Lalonde way, offering physical affection for.. well, anything. But having someone else close by, not trying to strangle you or stab you.. it isn't so bad. She had been looking forward to meeting Dirk as much as any of the others. Those feelings help to settle the race of her mind, the jumble of words and thoughts. She hesitantly loosens the hold on her riflekind, letting it fall beside her lightly- don't worry, you won't get shot in the leg. Well, not yet, anyway. Her eyes are lowered, noting that the blood on her hands is starting to dry.

She hasn't cried since the Batterwitch killed her mother, and she isn't sure she wants to break that trend for her own screw up. there were a lot of things she should've done better when Jake-As-English came at her, not the least of which is letting herself get wasted. But for however much longer this session is going to suffer on, they'll have to live with what she did.

Maybe it was easier when Dirk was mad at her. When she speaks, she sounds as tired as she looks, and finally a little more sad than scared or mad. In some way, she knows she needs to channel what her mother would do in this situation if she wants to accomplish anything. ]

thanks fr the peptalk strider
btu perfect doesnt realy cover
"not fucking murdermoding your friends" so

[ Looking back at Jake, for as long as she can without feeling like she's going to throw up. Mutters, dropping her head to try and reach down for the gun, to get free of Dirk's grasp. ]

u can bury him frist but i cant stik aroudn

[He can only imagine what's she's going through. For as long as they've known each other, and for as much as Dirk likes to think he can manage his own when it comes to the Lalonde psyche, he can't read her. Not with what she's feeling, not like this. Maybe it's the whole fact he can't really put himself in her shoes, not yet. Maybe not ever. But he can comfort her, just like all those nights, staying up and talking about their parents, about things neither Jane nor Jake really understood.

If she can't hold herself together after what she did, he'll have to. And even if he doesn't know if he's up for the challenge, he can damn well try.]

Don't give me that load of garbage,
You didn't murder your friend.
You killed English. Jake was just an... [Oh god it kills him to say it...] unfortunate bystander to it all.
Besides, this whole self-loathing image is putting a damper on how much ass we're going to kick.
Everyone knows revenge is sweet.

[He does his best to joke, and it comes off just as dry and nonchalant as if he was actually feeling it. But he's not, not really. There's a part of him that isn't into it, and he doesn't know if it'll every come back. But he's got to remain constant. Normal.

And he definitely doesn't let her get away from him. Not that easily. He holds his grip but not too tight. He just doesn't let her turn away.]

If there's one thing that's going to happen here,
It's that you are not getting out of my fucking sight, ya hear?
If English is here, somewhere, he can show back up at any moment.
We've got to stick together, horror-movie style.

[ She gets what Dirk is trying to do. The crappy thing is it's kind of working. She doesn't want to look like a self-loathing person, even if it is kinda true at this point. She hates what she did and how it happened, and how Jake is never going to say some mess of ole-timey gibberish that everyone has to pretend they understand- Chomps down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying or crying out, not sure which at this point. Only that she can feel like garbage on her own time. Jane is in trouble. They're not going to have two dead friends tonight.

Stares down at Dirk's maintained grip on her hands, his promise to keep her nearby. If she wasn't covered in blood, it'd be kinda sweet.

Weak grin, which is the hardest thing she's done since pulling the trigger. ]

doesnt the gay guy aslways die in horor movies?

[ Little nod, though, he's right. When she speaks again, this sentence is a little harder to ge tout. ]

do u wanna
take him wih us

[If it's working, it's not crappy. It means it's working and that's the point Dirk is trying to get at. If they're going to win this, especially now...without Jake, he's going to need to be able to keep Roxy and Jane together. He doesn't know how Jane's going to react, but he's got to get Roxy back together before he deals with that. One step at a time. The grin gives him some hope, and he feels a bit better. He squeezes her wrists gently before letting them go as he shrugs.]

So does the party girl, which means we'll have to do some major editing to this movie script,
Especially if we want it to even reach decent-flick status.

[He nods back at her, definitely feeling better by this point. They can make progress if they keep...oh. Right. He turns back to glance at the body - he'd almost forgotten about how he was still lying there...but it doesn't matter. They have to move on.]

I have...space. In my sylladex.
I can keep him there until we figure out what to do with the body.

[And with that he stores him. Jake. Jake is in his sylladex because Jake is dead and if he had the time to really think about how fucked up this all is, he might actually care. But he's got to keep it together. He will keep it together.]

Let's get this show on the road.

[ Did he really just- yep. Stored Jake in the sylladex. The situation is apparently more fucked up than words can convey, so Roxy decides not to draw any additional attention tot his jackassery. Keeping an eye on Dirk form the corner of her vision, feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This guy could've culled you on sight for killing Jake. you might've shot him if you'd walked in on this shit show. But Dirk listened, even if the situation still doesn't make complete sense, and is working hard to keep you calm.

On top of having just lost one, Roxy is painfully aware what good friends she has.

Okay, they don't have all the time in the world, but Roxy takes the little bit of time to throw her arms around Dirks shoulders and just hug him, just for a little bit. Now you're got an armful of Roxy Lalonde and this shirt is nice and covered in Jake's blood now too. Totally not crying! ]

thanks

[This entire situation was fucked up, and maybe if Dirk allowed himself a second to really think about what he's doing, maybe he'll realized he's becoming just as fucked up. But he can't, not right now. So he stores Jake in his sylladex and does his best to forget about it. He doesn't need his conscience popping up now, that's for sure. And if it'll help Roxy, then it's worth it.

What he doesn't expect is the sudden physical contact. It's not that he dislikes hugs, more so he just...doesn't know what's going on. But it's better than getting shot at, that's for sure. And even if she seems to be crying...no. This is good. He takes a moment, just kind of letting himself understand what's going on, but then he's got his arms back around her and he's hugging her back and wow. It does make things better.]

Not a problem, Rox. It's what I'm here for.

betrayer!!!!!!!!

[So Seifer seems to be feeling... that word. When you did something... that. Wasn't necessarily wrong. Okay. But. Might have had some unintended side effects... or... hurt feelings or... WELL. Maybe things got a little out of hand there. A tiny. Insignificant bit. And Squall did save him from himself in the end there... ... ...

I don't believe he's ever apologized in his life, these are foreign concepts here. But he's hunting around looking for Squall and he's not being quiet about it. Ayup.]

[ Rumor has it Seifer is looking for Squall. Joy, that's exactly what he needed to hear upon waking up. Nothing better than your nemesis stalking you to brighten your day.

Squall learnt a lot of thing throughout his journey. He learnt to be a bit more social, he learnt to appreciate the company of his 'friends', and he even learnt to love. But one thing he never learnt was to forgive. That wouldn't be so bad if Seifer hadn't tortured him. And tried to destroy the faculty they grew up in. Or if he hadn't tried to offer Rinoa to Adel. The list could probably go on, whatever.

At this point, there are two possibilities. Either he does his best to avoid Seifer, either he lets Seifer find him. Knowing Seifer, the first option would prove to be bothersome, so he decides to go with the second. He's heading to the library, and he takes his time. If Seifer spots him on the way, good for him. If he doesn't, his loss. ]

...

[ Don't expect a smile. Or even any sign to acknowledge your presence when you will show up. He's got no idea why Seifer would want to see him, he's probably not stupid enough to want to fight him again. Whatever, it'll be over soon. ]

[He'll contain his expectations to himself /shot. But consider this an interruption to your day Squall as Seifer comes over and obnoxiously shuts whatever book you're reading.

This is going to turn out rainbows and kittens.]

The Commander has time for reading? Call me shocked.

[Definitely.]

[ Canon point is mid season 3, when he's still relatively stable. :x ]

(Alright, so making herself his partner might not have been the best idea given all that he's capable of. All that she knows. But good little Company girls -and make no mistake, she will always be a company girl- aren't afraid of anything. Besides, he's changed. Hasn't he?

But she can't just out and tell him the truth. Even if she did, he'd never accept it. But she can stop him from going after Noah. Or at least, she can try) This is a stupid idea, you know that, don't you? Noah's got worth it. Besides, he can't guard the cheerleader 24-7. What's the rush?

[ Gabriel has his back to her, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it. He flexes his hand, feeling the vast array of powers he's accumulated flowing inside of him. He's strong enough to do whatever he wants. The world is his oyster, and no one has done him more wrong than Noah Bennet. He's strong enough, special enough to do anything, be anything.

...but. He supposes that also means he's strong enough to stop. To have mercy. To give and to get forgiveness. He frowns, then sighs, then turns to give Elle a faint smile and shake of his head. ]

I thought you were a professional, Elle. I'm surprised.

(Even now, with Sylar supposedly locked up tight and Gabriel back in control, his every slight movement puts Elle on edge and just the flexing of his fingers has her very aware of the charge moving beneath her skin. Ready to be brought forth at a moment's notice.

She supposes this says something about her own ability to forgive. He kept her alive when he didn't have to, saved her life with a simple touch, and yet she was fully prepared to send everything she had at him if she needed to. That didn't stop her from returning his smile, her own just a bit wider. She had years of practice in pretending to be happy. Or at least content)

I am a professional, and Noah's going to get what's coming to him, I promise. But he's going to be waiting for us now. Why not let him sweat it out a little bit?

Noah gets away with far more than his meager existence should allow for. [ Noah, who was born without their genetic advantage, who is not particularly physically fit or intelligent, just resourceful. It's almost a joke that he should be the one to elude Gabriel all these years. ]

It's... unsightly, really.

[ Then he sighs and steps a little closer, reaching out to brush back her bangs. ]

But I suppose you have a point. What do you propose we do instead? Arthur won't exactly be pleased at our lack of progress.

He's not entirely sure how long he's been away. He was never very conscious of the date as an angel- time moved differently in heaven than it did on earth. Not more than a few months, though, he suspects. Difficult, difficult months. Waking up in a hospital with no name, no clue how he got there, no money.

He said Castiel, angel of the lord, and they thought he had brain damage. He insisted, and they proved him wrong. Human, now, just like his father said.

It took... an uncomfortably long time to find Dean. Shelters were not a pleasant place, and resources were hard to come by. Finally, though, thanks to a little tip and the close observation of the growing power of the Leviathans, he was able to track them to a small motel- naturally- just outside of Wichita Falls. The Impala tugged at human emotions he didn't bother to identify. He had enough of them going on, at the moment, standing outside that motel room.

He hadn't considered the amount of bravery humans required for everyday life. Simply knocking on the door was proving to be a challenge, so for about fifteen minutes he just... awkwardly stood there with his fist raised, never actually knocking.

[The sounds inside motel room sound like obviously Sam and Dean - some yelling, some keyboard clicking, and so on, and so forth. That is, until Dean says that he is going to get more beer (they're out), and then he opens the door and literally walks right into the man standing in his current doorframe. It doesn't surprise him enough to knock him on his ass, but he takes a few startled steps back and mutters watch it before he actually looks up. For a while, all he can do is stare.]

It's a familiar sound that really tugs tight at his chest. He's familiar with this emotion. It isn't really all that pleasant, considering the large possibility that he's just going to get punched in the face and sent back out on his rear. Hence the fear.

And then he's chest-to-chest with Dean, and isn't made of stone like he used to be. He gets knocked back a foot or so, eyes wide and surprised like a deer caught in the headlights. His mouth opens- probably to offer some excuse or something, but nothing actually comes out. He does this for a second, mouth opening and closing with that vulnerable, startled look, like they're back in the brothel and Dean's ordering him a hooker.

"...Hello, Dean."

Dean stares for a little while longer before his brain is capable of transferring signals all the way to his mouth. He steps out of the motel, closing the door behind him. Then, he takes Castiel's face in his hands and gives him a critical inspection.

"Don't see any purgatory lizards melting out of you," he says, by way of welcome. He lets his hands drop and crosses them across his chest. "And not being asked to prostrate myself. So, what's the Cas reincarnation of the week?"

He's not really sure what to make of the hands on his face, it just causes his brows to knit further and his hands to twitch at his sides, like he's not sure what to do with them. Because he isn't.

And then Dean steps away and he blinks. "I do not wish for you to... prostrate yourself."

What a weird way to phrase it. Also, the shame. He lowers his eyes. There's that chest pain again, the one that won't let him sleep at night. The one that makes him sad, always. Being a human... is very difficult. "I have held this form longer than a week. It is... permanent. I'm human. Forever."

"Hmm." Dean stares at the ground, in the patently form of great Winchester conversationalists. He swallows back whatever he was going to say at first, and then looks up at him. There's a lot going on in his eyes - but disappointment tinged with a little anger seems to be the main course.

"Release horrible purgatory teeth across the planet and you get rewarded with food and sex and being able to be drunk. Well. Your dad sure has a screwed up system. I mean, not like we didn't already know that."

"I do not understand His wisdom, either," he admitted, dropping his eyes a bit lower. He was never terribly good at reading human expression, but Dean's says a lot, and it... oh, it's painful. Painful knowing he deserves it, too. That he fully deserves to be left behind, and most likely will be. That... is very... breaking.

"Raphael's punishment was... equally as confusing, seeing as he received the greater one, though I brought on the worse transgression." He shakes his head a little. That look of consternation is back, and he flicks his eyes up to Dean again for a second, before they're back on the ground. Troubling, considering his usual tendency for laser eye-contact. "Dean... I cannot... there is no apology good enough for my actions. No excuse good enough to justify it to you."

"I think we're fucking done with calling it wisdom, at this point. Let's call it 'does whatever he fucking wants, and fuck all us ants wandering around on the planet.' That sounds better to me."

It's easy to be angry, just a low build in his stomach growing and growing. Every second in Cas' presence just makes him a teeny bit more irritated about everything: Sam, and Bobby, and all of this shit.

"Yeah, yeah, you can apologize all you want. MIght also want to pick up some borax and a book and figure out how to clean up your own goddamn messes. God makes a mess and us insignificant humans are left cleaning it. That doesn't really seem fair to me, personally, but what do I know? I'm just a hairless ape. Oh wait." He pauses, and his lip curls. "So are you. Helpful."

He wants to protest- he's developed a new appreciation for his father after actually meeting him, speaking with him, a new Wisdom and a slight understanding of His plan. Dad gave him a pat on the back, and now he's Number One Dad again.

Dean's steamrolling him, though, and Cas curls in on himself as he listens. An unconscious thing that makes him look smaller, especially without the trench coat and suit padding. Involuntary human reactions were... dicks. The wince that accompanies his speech is completely accidental as well, and he can't quite wipe the look away, hard as he tries. "I was wrong. Humanity is... so much more. I have only been one for months, and it is... a greater challenge than anything I experienced as an angel. My chest... aches. Constantly. I feel things that... I can't even explain, except that they hurt, and I...

His eyes flick back up to Dean's, wide and sincere and as easy to read as a book. "I will do anything to fix this. Anything you ask of me. Anything you require, name it."

Dean is ready, in case Castiel has any defenses for his dear old dad. But he doesn't, so, well, that's nice.

He does look so small like this, though, no stormclouds or wings or growling voice. Just a regular old human being, in regular old clothes. It makes Dean irrationally angry.

"Listen to me, Cas," Dean says, and he presses a finger into the man's chest. "You and your fucking brothers and your bum father and everyone downstairs fucked up every which way. You all picked me up and threw me around until I was good and tender, and I bet you're all getting a great kick out of watching me cook myself. So don't you fucking come to me about how hard it is that you have to shit and shower once in a while. And don't you dare start with this 'guilt' bullshit. Your chest aches? That's called dooming humanity. Get used to it."

He gapes, and half of him just wants to slug the man. "You want to do anything? Get your daddy on the phone and tell him to fix this shit his kid made. That's what dads do. They clean up after their kids."

And there it is, that part of him washing over. One fist curls up and plants itself squarely in Castiel's stomach. "And while we're at it, that's called pain. Get the fuck used to it."

Angels are wrathful beings. They tune into violence and vanity more than any other emotion. Were he still metaphysical, were he still an angel, Dean's speech would probably fill him with a kind of rage. Make him square his jaw and shove the man against the wall, ground out something alien about deserving respect. As a human, not a single of these things apply.

Rather than being filled with anger, he is only filled with shame. Hurt. Humiliation. He should have never come back here. He knew, it was all but to be expected, and yet he'd come anyway, with the absurd hope that- what- Dean would be as forgiving to him as he was to Sam? Sam may have done a whole lot of shit, but Sam was Dean's brother. He was not. That was made abundantly clear.

The blow to the gut comes as- well, exactly that. A blow. It sucks his breath away, sends a pain rushing to his kidneys, and his arms curl around himself as he staggers back, dropping to one knee with a cough. This body is thin, not muscled like the hunters', not providing very much cushion for defense. He takes it like a girl, by comparison, and heaves out another cough before he can focus.

"Dean-" He works to unlock his throat. "You are the only family that I..."

His mouth closes again, his jaw works, and he wiggles his head a little, shifting his gaze from one place on the ground to another, bringing along with it an acceptance. He should not have come. He should leave now. With a grunt, he pushes himself to his feet and turns away. He should stand and face this before ducking out, but... well, he really doesn't want to get hit again, much as he deserves another few hay-makers to the face.

"You are not my family." He says, and every word is pushed out behind gritted teeth. "And I'm pretty sure you strongly agreed with that after you called me and Sam and Bobby your pets," he practically spits the word. The urge to beat up on the ex-angel rises in him again, but he quashes it down. No real reason in leaving him bloody in a motel hallway, after all, as good as it might feel.

"And speaking of my family," he says, suddenly, thoughts surging through him. "Real bang-up job you did with Sammy, back there. Now he's got Satan as his imaginary friend and half the time he doesn't even know if I'm real or not. Maybe that's where that twisting in your gut is coming from. Pretty sure family doesn't do that to one another. Family listens to each other. Family asks for help, when the alternative is working with Crowley."

He pauses, trying to get over that feeling of stitches on an old wound ripped open and salt rubbed into it. Then, he works his jaw, looking at the door behind him, down the hall, and at the man formerly known as his friend. "We done here? You can talk to Sam, if you want. Knowing him, he might actually forgive you for totally wrecking his brain."

Nothing has ever been more painful to him than that sentence. Not falling, not dying, not rebelling from heaven. Nothing is more painful than you are not my family. Nothing. It's a new and different sort of pain, stripping everything from him and leaving him hollow. The world almost feels false, he almost feels dizzied by it. Oh.

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows so well. He knew Dean would never forgive him- he did the one most unforgivable thing in the universe. He hurt Sam. Really, truly handicapped him. That... is just... there is no coming back from that. He may as well be Lucifer, or Zachariah, or Lilith. That's who he is to them, now. One of the leaders of a long list of people they considered mortal enemies. That they consider evil. That they hate. They hate him.

Dean hates him. You are not my family. Yes. They were done here. No, he wasn't going to talk to Sam. He knows he should apologize, but he can't stay here anymore. He wants to see Sam so very badly, but he can't... he can't stay here anymore. Not after that. He might break in and cave, might shatter and surrender to the feeling in his chest, and then what? He's not sure he wants to know, and he definitely doesn't want to do it in front of Dean.

So, rather than saying anything, he just... ducks his head and walks away. His face is wet. That is troubling. He should get that checked out, as soon as he gets far, far away from here.

Dean watches him leave his head bowed. He doesn't feel as good as he'd hoped, as he does when he imagined this scene, over and over. Usually he felt redeemed, like this had made things better - like somehow tearing Castiel down to shreds and teaching him a little fucking lesson in being a giant douchebag fixed everything. Cured the Leviathans, left Sam on his own, put everyone back the way they were.

Apparently, that isn't how the real world works. Because watching Cas practically stagger away just makes him hurt all over, makes him tired and sore like a bad hunt, makes his stomach hurt and his chest feel like someone took all his guts out. It enrages him, mostly, that Castiel's slouched back makes him hurt his much. He didn't do this to Sam, didn't do this to the world. He should be scot free.

No, instead he practically wants to break down into sobs, and there's Cas, all perfect human being. He lets his anger consume, lets his feet walk the three steps down the hall. He lets his hand yank on Castiel's shoulder, and lets his fist crack against the man's face.

Cas was more than happy to walk away with his tail between his legs and never see the hunter again. Well, not happy, so much as... indefinitely and horrendously resigned. Dean won. Twice. He'd died, for one. And then he came back, had the audacity to show his face, and Dean ripped him so low, tore him so thoroughly, he'd likely be supporting some serious emotional problems for the rest of his meaningless, short human existence because of it. Dean won.

So naturally, the hand on his shoulder caught him by surprise. Not nearly as surprised, though, by the punch to the jaw. And god damn it hurt without any angel mojo to make him all Edward Cullen. Oh his dad in heaven, Jesus and Mary and all things holy, did that hurt. He stumbled back again, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Before he could think, before he could put a leash on his righteous temperament, he surged forward, locking his hands on Dean's wrists. They weren't angelic anymore, but the grip was surprisingly strong for such a slender dude. His eyes bore into Dean's, wide and serious. "Enough."

He kept his hands locked there, leveling the challenging stare. He was done. He was finished. No amount of hitting would make him feel any lower, because there was no worse feeling than the one he had now. His eyes said as much, and he repeated again, "enough."

Castiel's face feels surprisingly soft under his fist, perhaps subconsciously expecting all that angel strength to flood back into him. It doesn't, though, and he goes for another haymaker only to have those hands wrap around his wrists. Castiel's body is surprisingly strong without the angel mojo, but Dean knows how to fight, and now he's running on purely adrenaline. He surges his weight forward, pushing Castiel off balance and down the hallway. "Let go of me, you fuck," he snarls, eyes hard. "Unless you're gonna give me Michael as an imaginary friend, let go of me, of I fucking swear, I will put you in the goddamn hospital."

"You're going to put me in the goddamn hospital anyway!" The statement is much more human than it would have been before, he doesn't stumble over the minor blasphemy of saying his father's name in vain. It comes out determined and desperate, but he does stumble back, and lets go of Dean's wrists.

It's true. If Dean keeps it up, he hasn't really got any way to stop it. He can't fight. Most of his fighting skill came from the Host, with the combination of angelic strength and the ability to disappear and reappear, he'd been a worthy adversary. As a human, he's not particularly strong, not particularly agile. Not particularly sturdy. His lip is already swelling and bleeding, and a lovely bruise is spreading across his jaw. The same is likely true for that gut-punch from a second ago.

"You will kill me."

Then again... he probably should have taken that possibility into consideration. His eyes flick to the ground and back up again as the thought rolls through him- Dean may actually kill him, and be completely justified in his actions. He's not... afraid of death, he just didn't think he could be filled with any more sadness than he already is. Apparently he was wrong.

"If you chose that course of action, I only request that you do it with a gun rather than your fists."

"Think I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Cas?"

Apparently, this is funny. Funny in a desperate, pathetic, half-laugh kind of way. Funny the way things are when you literally want to beat the man who used to be maybe your closest unrelated friend until he's unconscious. Funny the way things are when you are completely and totally out of steam and pride is keeping you on your feet.

A raw laugh escapes Dean's lips, a little twisted.

"Fuck no, what a fucking copout. You're gonna be fucking human. Gonna get mugged and be homeless and sleep in the goddamn rain. Feel worse than dirt. Get hangovers. Feel shame and guilt and disgust. Be hungry. Get constipated." He manages another bitter laugh. "That's a thousand times worse than going straight to heaven. Real classic trick, though. I almost fell for it."

"I don't want- damn it, Dean, I don't want to die," He snapped. This is just... the sadness is giving way to anger and annoyance. The same he always gets during extended periods of exposure to Dean. Dean is always so... fucking annoying and impossible. He hadn't realized just exactly how grating until now. "I just assumed it was your next logical course of action for retribution- very likely, considering you continue to hit me."

He brought a hand up, flexed his jaw. Not dislocated, just really really painful.

Dean was right, though, he probably was going to get mugged, be homeless, and sleep in the rain. He did feel shame and guilt and disgust, and he was starving. No money for food. No way to get a job without a name, a birth certificate, or any quantifiable human skill or trade.

He'd be more angry about the blow, but the initial anger is fading away again, and he just wants to leave. Just let him leave, Dean. He held up a hand, a gesture of submission, and took a step back. Then another, then another. If Dean was going to punch him again, he'd at least like to be expecting it. "I do not blame you- for hitting me or hating me. There is nothing I can do about the second, I'd at least like to avoid the first."

Because he feels a need to justify why he isn't just taking the beating. His fingertips skim the wall as he backs away, nearing the corner leading to the stairs.

"Get out of my fucking sight," he spits, because the adrenaline is turning into more emptiness, and the anger is sucking out of him like a vacuum, and he's a little worried that he won't be able to stand without those two things. And, yeah, he really does not want to collapse in front of Cas. So Cas running works out fine. Running to nothing, just like Dean wants him to. He'll sleep in the cold outside, miserable, and Dean should feel good about this but everything just feels like tiny pins stabbed into his chest.

The motel room door is only a few steps behind him but it's suddenly a million miles away. Sam is going to ask questions - what happened to you, where's the beer, back so soon - and Dean has to prepare himself for that, too. He can't have one fucking ex-friend. No, he has to have the nosy brother too, to make it all goddamn worse. "Don't come back here," he hisses, finally finding the doorknob, thank fucking god.

With physical pain, at least, after a certain point, the pain becomes so great, there is only a feeling of total body numbness. The body releases a chemical to make you giddy, and you go into shock, and for a while, everything is floaty and okay. It is not the same with emotional pain, he's quick to find out. The spitting, hissing, biting words just cut again and again, slicing through an intangible part of him. He's not sure if it's his mind or his heart or his soul, maybe all three, but wherever the injuries are being inflicted, they hurt so much.

He doesn't intend to come back. He doesn't intend to ever come back. He doesn't intend to ever see Dean again, for the rest of his human life. As soon as he's granted permission, he turns to leave, skirting around the corner and taking the steps at almost a jog, fleeing, haste, trying to get away. No. He's never coming back here. Never again.

His feet take him down the sidewalk, down the street, down the block, before he realizes he doesn't actually have anywhere to go. His legs go soft beneath him, and he sinks down, and numbly realizes he's sitting on a bench.

He... he hadn't expected... he wasn't prepared for... he didn't know being a human gave you the capacity to feel... to feel this.

Something is leaking from his eyes. Something is streaking down his face. He's seen Dean cry, but he never considered the possibility that he could cry. His eyes are wide with the realization, and he doesn't... exactly know what to do about it. Lips part in surprise, and just... stay that way, and he stares, lost, out into the empty street.

It starts to rain.

It doesn't matter.

What now? Why would his father send him back, if-- oh. This, he realizes, is his punishment. Maybe he secretly is in hell? Does it matter? This is Earth. If he was in hell, it would still be this. This exact same scene, so he's not entirely sure where he is at the moment. Just... that it hurts.

And so he sits, with no where to go, no direction, no purpose, no point. Suffering, alone, and entirely deserving.

Undoubtedly, for the rest of his life.

[ Because why roll when canon provides you with the perfect set of circumstances?

You guys have been friends for a while, Night. Euphemia might not understand exactly where you came from or exactly what you do, but she's decided you're a good person. Earnest, sweet, maybe kind of gruff and awkward.

But she likes you.

Now if only she could remember that, but she's--

Well, there's a faint red glow to her eyes, and her skirts are torn and soaked through with blood. There's a machine gun slung across her shoulder. ]

Excuse me-- Are you Japanese? Please don't lie to me.

[Night was slow to trust but Euphemia had found her way into his heart. Though he lacked the etiquette to express that he enjoyed being around her, it wasn't hard to see the smile behind his maroon eyes. ]

... [At her question and drastic appearance change though, that smile instantly leaves Night. This was not anything like the girl he knew. He tenses instantly, assuming the worst has happened to her. Possession was entirely possible, every heart held a weakness, all it took was the right words to break the barriers.

Night held his place, frowning heavily. It was his fault, he should have been there to protect her. All that time training, and he couldn't protect one girl?]

Didn't you listen?? I told you never to listen to a demon's flattery...!

Demon? I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.

[ Her smile remains pleasant as she tilts her head to the side in confusion. She takes a half step forward before the red ring in her eyes flickers, and for a moment Euphemia seems like herself. ]

...Night? Is that you? How did you get all the way here? I--

[ She glances down at herself, and for a split second she looks stunned at the sight of her clothes. But then the red ring returns, and she trains her gaze back on Night's face. The Geass can't quite decide if he falls under the category of 'Japanese' or not. ]

I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your answer. Are you... Are you Japanese, Night? Please, it's important.

Euphie...[Clenching a fist and mentally kicking himself again.]

I'm garbage. [He snaps back, reaching for the rosary strung on his belt. He didn't have any holy water to use as a buffer and there was no time to make any. Until he knew exactly what possessed her though he couldn't use any Aria skill, and there was no way he'd draw his sword against her.]

But so is the creature controlling you-now-[Taking the blessed beads in hand Night reached out to the royal heir's blood covered arm. He wouldn't think about the lives of those who had fallen right now, now when he had to focus on saving hers.]

Why don't you show your ugly face, demon??

[ Euphie allows Night to seize her by the arm without much protest, not seeing anything wrong with being touched by a rosary on account of being Geassed rather than possessed. She only manages a slightly vacant, puzzled look in Night's direction, still trying to decide whether or not to shoot. ]

Night, what on earth are you carrying on about? Please answer me. Are you Japanese?

Tch...[There wasn't any hesitation after she didn't react to the beads. Night whipped his arm around and snatched the gun Euphemia had strapped to her shoulder. He was far stronger than her, so even if there was a struggle, he was sure to win.]

I don't know what's making you act like this but if I have to play along to get an answer then I will. [It didn't take Night more than thirty seconds to dismantle the gun and drop the pieces onto the ground. He doubted a high class girl like Euphemia knew how to reassemble a weapon like that.]

I'm not Japanese. I'm not human. My body, his body, is.

...oh. Is that so?

[ Euphemia falters, staring quite blankly down at the dismantled gun. She's not quite sure what to do here, in Night's case. She is supposed to kill all the Japanese, but-- ]

Oh that's right! I've been so silly. Your body is already dead, isn't it? I think that's okay. Sorry for the trouble, Night.

[ She gives him an eerily happy smile, then turns to go find a new weapon and the rest of the still-living Japanese. ]

[...she can't hold on anymore.

Sayaka's really tried. The hopeful words she used to spout readily when she'd first become a Puella Magi seem so far away and hollow now, with her soul gem turned into a dark murk and her mindset about the same. What Kyoko said to her at that broken church seems a lot more truthful - despair and happiness have to equal out.

In her clouded thoughts, Sayaka decides it would be a good idea to speak to Hitomi.]

...Hey, Hitomi. You'll make him happy, right?

I don't think I'll be able to.

[Hitomi looks at Sayaka and though she sees the despair, she assumes it's the result of giving up on a long-held love. She has no idea what had really happened.]

I'll do my best to love Kamijou-san, of course. But are you really going to give up on him so quickly, Sayaka-san? I had thought your feelings were stronger than that.

the betrayal/redemption meme

Merlin | Merlin (BBC) || OTA

idk

wow way to follow instructions :|

but reading is hard

this is a srs meme, stop trolling :V

make me!!

5 - 6

alkjdfk omg Morgause *A*

Helen Magnus | Sanctuary | Betrayer or Betrayed -- your choice

Jack Sparrow | Pirates of the Caribbean | OTA

Sebastian Moran | Shikkoku no Sharnoth

loki; movieverse | ota

2-6 Were!Verse, but AU. You can choose B or R.

au away!

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Edward E. Nigma (formerly the Riddler) || DC Comics

Dirk Strider | Homestuck | your choice!

DESPERATELY WANT TO TAG YOU JUST TRYING TO THINK OF SOMETHING

unable to think of something different fjkds - r1 + 2

doesn't even matter omg... <3

oops typo

pfft no problem with the typos. also, so sorry about late reply oh my god I'm a horrible person. D:

aww don't worry about it :D youre here now!! thats what counts

you're too nice to me. D:

oh please. i'll play this as long as you'll have me!!

you're never getting rid of me, then. C:<

kyaaa im holding you to that

/terrible person

just shy of ten days later, will i even remember how this thread went (who am i kidding. yes)

i'm sorry. :c

dont worry your little head about it dude

<3

so much love i will reply to you between classes

I feel so freaking loved you don't even know.

heaps the love all over you

so much love. <3

these poor bbs

I know. So many feels right now. :c

jake wake up :(((

pleeaaaassssseeeeeeeeeee. :c

OH WAIT JAKES OKAY IT WAS ALL A BAD DREAM

OH THAT'S GONNA BE AWKS SINCE HE'S IN DIRK'S SYLLADEX

Arthur | Inception | either or

Vriska Serket, Homestuck

tyler lockwood | the vampire diaries | ota

Squall Leonhart || Final Fantasy VIII

r5+1 WELL... this is gonna go about as well as a cat in a wet paper bag

Hum... This can't go well indeed xD Who knows

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Gabriel Gray | Heroes | OTA

r4+2

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Eliot Spencer | Leverage | OTA - Moreau's Hitter AU

Human!Castiel | Spn | Open. He's got a lot to redeem.

i do not know how you want this to go i just want angry dean

We can start from scratch, if you like? Or not, let me know and I'll change it!

perfect!

alkjdfk omg Morgause A