bakerstreet | YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

COVERED IN BLOOD MEME

So you're a bit of a mess. Or you're stumbling upon a mess. What happened? There's blood everywhere, what the hell? Is it your blood, animal blood, the blood of someone you murdered? Hell, maybe you ran out of tampons. Anyway, no matter how it got there, you're (or someone you know is) covered in blood. Can it be explained away? If not, is someone going to prison? The hospital? Going to die of blood loss? Get in trouble for playing catch with the blood bags? Man, we don't know. The point is you have a mess to clean up. Or roll around in gleefully, you nasty fucks.

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"That," he said, waving the gun about again like he was waggling a finger at Richard. "Is never going to happen. Ever." Because as far as Seth was concerned he was never going to become one of them, and he knows Richie knows it. Yet he couldn't help but fall for the needling, to respond to it because having the last word mattered, didn't it?

Though the comment about the blood, bristling at the glasses, it's all taking things out on the one person that would take it. Even if it ended up on the bad side of their moods.

"Oh?! Oh, so this is my fault now? I try and line us up a job and that's my fault?" He started to turn around and then turned back, slapping the gun down on the table with a metallic sharp sound. "Did you ever think that maybe one of your little friends sent him here to clear me out of the way?"

Okay so maybe that was paranoia, but the adrenaline was still pumping hard.

"Fine. Whatever. Doesn't matter who sent him. What matters is some asshole in Abilene needs to give me an explanation, and you owe me a new shirt."

"So you keep telling me. Over and over. I know."

By all means, Seth. Keep reminding him that he's immortal and you're not, that you'd rather die and leave him behind than become what he already is. He's got that loud and clear, thanks.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Seth, but a lot of them are not really my friends."

The words come out deadpan and unhappy. Next he'll start spitting out some 'you people's' and 'things' and it'll really turn into a party.

"Fine. How about in the meantime we go get that explanation instead of worrying about your stupid ass, piece-of-shit button-down. You're acting like you've never seen blood before or something."

Someone had to remain the voice of the non-healable and vaguely humane, thank you very little. Also, while eternity with his brother might not be so horrible... most days... it came with a lot of baggage that would mean no peace. Ever.

"Hard to notice when there's snake making out sessions and all." Because of course that was what he had to focus on in that moment. "I mean, when you've seen your brother doing that Aliens thing, it's hard to remember who his friends are but fine. They're not your friends, and I'm sure as fuck not calling them your family."

Which was reserved for him, no matter how big of a dick he was being.

"I'll have you know this is linen, and if I'm not getting paid, it's hard to buy more," he said, even as he picked up his gun, shoving it back into the holster. "Come on. Let's go."

Because he totally doesn't have to be in charge or anything.

They had enough crap to worry about in the immediate future without dwelling on that, anyway. One thing at a time.

"Of course, not. Who needs more family when I've got you, right?"

As condescending as it comes out, it's also the truth, and it says as much in his posture and expression. They don't have much, but they have each other, and bickering or no, that wasn't gonna change. Not again, no matter how pissed off they got.

"We'll find a way to get paid, brother. We always do."

The 'when you don't go off and try to do it yourself' remains unspoken, lucky for everyone involved. He's even silent as his lips purse and he unhappily follows after his brother, a hand reaching for the grip of his gun in case any more jackoffs think they're gonna get lucky today.

Edited 2017-02-21 03:21 (UTC)

They weren't on a beach. There were no beautiful women directly around. Obviously then Seth's mortality was nothing he was thinking about right now because it was not imminent.

Seth paused as he was nearly to the door, turning to look at Richie. All the fighting and bickering and snarling comments, and he had one thing to say about that.

"Damn right I'm all the family you need, and don't forget that." Which he didn't think after all they had been through either of them would forget.

"Now get into the goddamn car," he said as if he hadn't been the one to stop. "And maybe we'll figure out something so you don't end up starving and ruining my shit." It was without the guilt he nearly felt. He had to remember that and not leave his brother on that edge that could lead to a dancefloor full of body parts. Damn but that was a thought he didn't need.

That's all well and good, except for his brother was now a hell of a lot more breakable than he was, which wasn't a thought he'd really ever let both him when they were both like that.

"I'm not planning on it." Forgetting was not a thing that was ever going to happen, just like Seth was never going to be like him willingly. They'd been through too much shit and come out the other side for that to ever change. They'd tried working apart and they'd both fucked up in more ways than they could count.

Richie had resisted that truth, but these days he knew better.

"It was one time, man. Give me a fucking break." He gets into the car, though, pulling the door shut once he's tucked his long legs inside the frame. "I have it under control."

Seth knew one day Richie was going to bury his corpse. Or burn it. Burning was a good idea. Except that wouldn't do much to protect his corpse in the afterlife either. Not with the things he'd seen. Damn but he was going to have to put thought into that. His luck was his brother would turn him at the last minute and he'd be fucked over on that too.

Slamming the door as he settled in, giving the key a turn. "Course you have it under control," he said, as if he hadn't just been giving him hell about making a mess. "If you didn't, trapped in a car half the time, I'd be lucky not to be a snack." Not that he even had a single thought his brother would try. Not unless he offered, and they'd been down that road before.

"Wait." The car was running but they weren't going anywhere. "That isn't some way for you to say I'm not tasty. I'll have you know, I'm tasty. Damn tasty."

He wasn't even sure where this had come from but fucking hell he'd gone down that road now.

He'd have to cross that bridge when he got to it, but no one would be shocked if he went that route. Seth would forgive him. He always did.

Richie wonders if Seth saw his nose crinkle up out of the corner of his eye. He's bit his brother before, and what he said then still stands.

"Blood is the conduit of the soul, brother. You want me to tell you that your soul is tasty?"

It's also a little fucking weird, though he'd do it in a pinch. Better that than the potential alternative. Besides, he's taken enough bullets for the team. It's the least he could do to make it up to him, though he knows his brother would disagree.

"Now are you gonna drive or are we just gonna sit here and chat about what your blood tastes like?"

That bite to Seth was buried in the back of his mind. Under the ink, and hidden behind a lot of seemingly years spent on that trail that had come from a needle. A lot he needed to forget about because in the end, Richie was here, and they weren't doing this alone again, and that was all that mattered.

Except for making Richie make that face.

"Do you have any fucking idea how good it feels knowing you're going to spend the next hour thinking about me asking that and what my soul tastes like?"

He laughed, a short sound but he was amused even as he put the car in gear. "We don't got to talk about it at all, but you'll be thinking about it. You're welcome."

"Oh fuck off."

He scowls from the passenger's seat, arms crossed over his chest petulantly as he waits for Seth to start fucking driving so he can have some damn silence for even two seconds.

Actually, no. He's gonna keep talking because being Richie he's not about to let this go. Getting laughed at like he's the dumb child is probably his least favorite thing in the entire world.

"I don't need to think about it because I already know. Maybe the next time I fucking take a bullet for you, you can pony up and I'll get to find out if you've actually aged at all or if you still taste like fucking motor oil and rubbing alcohol."

An extreme exaggeration, but he's annoyed and it's not like Seth is gonna know if that description is legit or not.

Seth chuckled, steering the car easily from the parking lot onto the road despite the sand that could have caught their tires and sent them sliding. Instead he watched the road, smirking as he watched Richie pouting from the corner of his eye.

"I haven't seen that look on your face since you were ten," he pointed out. Which probably wasn't true but it was a bit of an attempt at salt in the wounds. Because if he couldn't give his brother's shit, what was the point of living?

Seth's head turned, eyes narrowing. Looking at his brother, then to the road and then back to Richie. "Wait wait. Was that about the fact that I gave it up to the queen?" He couldn't help but ask that, given he'd turned his brother down that day. "Oh come on. This isn't about that, is it?"

Not bothered by the idea of motor oil and running alcohol. He knew his soul wasn't clean, after all, but he had one and he was okay with that. Which made him wonder about his brother and the others, and despite his needling comments, he damn well wasn't going to suddenly wonder out loud just what remained of Richie's soul. What mattered was he was back with Seth, despite all the bitching and whining between them.

His lips purse at the mention of him being fucking ten, but if Seth thought that was going to be what rubbed salt in the wound, bringing up that of all things was a million times worse.

Richie's history with Santanico was about as complicated as anything could be. While he wasn't jealous, per say, there was a lot of baggage that came with literally everything involving her, and shoving it in his face doesn't help matters.

"No it's not fucking about that." And it wasn't, really. Mostly, anyway. He just didn't want to think about it. "Just seems kind of hypocritical of you, alright?"

Neither of them were pure anymore. In Richie's case, he's not sure he ever was, but it didn't really bother him, either. They'd both done the best they could under the circumstances, and they did what they had to do with what they were given. They lived without regrets as best they could, and they looked out for each other when it actually mattered.

All the rest of it fell to the side. The needling of his brother, pushing buttons, letting past bitterness and guilt come to the surface, all of it was forgotten in that moment. Because in the end, that was not what it had fucking been, and he thought that Richie knew that.

"For fuck's sake, Richard. Seriously?"

His gaze is darting fast from the road to his brother and back, a constant movement that was starting to give him a damn headache and making him dizzy. So instead he went with the only answer he had. Slamming on the break and jerking the wheel to the side, steering them with a swerve of tires on sand to the side of the road.

"Richard, do you not even fucking get it? It wasn't being a fucking hypocrite. It was knowing you and knowing that you weren't fucking going down. No matter what. I knew that no matter what you lost, what hit you took, you would keep going. She on the other hand was going down and quick and I didn't trust her to push on like I knew you would. And we needed everyone. So I had two choices. Lose someone we needed, or fucking let her take a taste of what she's never going to fucking have again."

Despite the hard edge of his words, the sharpness of his voice, Seth was being bluntly honest.

"So I told you fuck you because you could handle it and keep going." And he didn't have to think about the last time, or the heroin, or fucking detoxing from that shit. All of it that went with his brother's fangs on him.

Richie's quiet for a long time, head leaning back against the headrest, staring straight ahead onto a road that's no longer running under their wheels. He's agitated, partly because he let some of his bullshit slip out through his words, and partly because Seth was tugging at things he didn't want tugged at.

He liked to live in a word of logic because emotions could be fucking hard sometimes and it was easier to deal when he thought things through with his head. In his head, it didn't make any fucking sense to him that Seth would bitch and moan about Culebras, hate what Richie had become because of that so-called queen, and then offer up his arm the second she needed it to heal.

It was a smart move, he'd said as much back then. He knew that, but it was also irritating to constantly hear about how everything Richie was now was some kind of liability or curse that his brother had to deal with and never wanted to acknowledge. It was just something Richie was supposed to 'deal' with all the time, even if it was because Seth knew he could.

"Yeah, well just because you hate that I've got all this going on doesn't mean that I do."

Power was something he'd always wanted, and having an edge over humans gave him that without him needing to be some sort of big shot anymore. In some ways, it's what had given Richie the ability to force others to see him as Seth's equal instead of the lesser half of their duo. He knew they were better together, especially now, but he wanted other people to see him as something other than the sidekick.

The pounding in his ears was louder than the engine of the car to Seth. Staring at his brother's profile, knowing that these fights weren't going to stop. Not any time soon. There was too much they had been through, that they hadn't put to rest, that they would constantly be tugging and pushing until they worked it all out amongst themselves. Which given the two of them, might be never.

Logic, in Seth's mind, was fucking bullshit. Not when it meant things like Richie taking off with Santanico, and the ideas and concepts that had led them down the primrose path that had nearly gotten them both turned into corpses one way or another.

"Nobody fucking said you had to." Except Seth had and was. Constantly. All the fucking time telling his brother what was wrong with the culebra and all they stood for. "But Jesus fuck, Richie. All of it nearly took you from me. Santanico and her mind games with you in Texas. All we've fucking been through. You going off with her. Why the fuck am I supposed to like your little club when they did all that shit to us, to Kate, all of it."

Not that he hadn't been the one that got them in on the job, and he could bet any minute Richie was going to remind him of that too. He had gotten them into bed with Carlos and it had all gone to shit from there.

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YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

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