did you kill my best friend and leave him in the woods for me to find like he was nothing
[ why is everybody trying to make this about the wolves (he knows why, now that silco and armand are both intervening in their way; they stick together.) ]
yelena and bucky have body counts int the hundreds, easily, but there’s that word knowingly — twisting the narrative. ]
how’d you pick who you killed, i mean
[ the way some wolves picked in the game. the way val’s team picked him for project sentry. the silent calculations saber did about sarah, knowing no one would fight when she was gone. people who wouldn’t be missed. ]
Outside of this place, I do as my Maker once taught me. I look for those who cause harm to the world. Murderers, rapists, those who exploit the less fortunate. Brash young men who use their money like knives. Executives who commit war crimes in inconsequential countries that do not make the news. Petty bullies who spit small-minded slurs at me in crowded bars, believing their strength matches mine.
But they are someone's friend. Someone's son, or brother. It is a fragile disguise for a monstrous act. A cruel irony, as I repeat the words spoken by the evildoers I hunt, and tell myself it's necessary.
I'm more restricted, but there are still a few who meet my requirements. Bunny Balfour has some particularly nasty friends. One of them calls me "Osama" whenever he sees me. I've drained him three times, I think.
okay fuck that guy but i don’t know why you want to apologise to me for all that or why you want me to ask you for it
i’m just a guy who isn’t cut out for this place or fucking life because i can’t stop caring about this stuff.
and that makes me a downer and crazy and a problem, since nobody else minds unless blood gets on our fake boss’ suit but i can’t turn it off i can’t turn any of it off
[ whatever part of his brain that manages compartmentalisation, rather than outright repression, broke a long time ago. ]
[ There are ways that he could help turn it off. Not just for a short time, the length of an orgasm or a chemical high, but for a long time. The years it would take for memories to recover, and even then they would be pale and stunted things, buried under the scar tissue. A surgical removal, almost merciful. He's done it before.
But he thinks about the words they'd said to each other, upset and discordant as they'd been, but trying to mean it. Trying to be better. All of you. Which means the good parts as well as the bad, the painful and the easy, the dark and the light. The monster, the hero.
Ultimately, it boils down to a simple thing. ]
I love those parts of you, Bobby. The strength of your convictions. The good heart that persists despite everything that threatens it. I care about what you think of me.
[ A vampire who can't get on with other vampires. Who isn't cut out for the coven, or able to be alone. Too much for everyone. A downer, and crazy, and a problem. ]
[ it’s not the answer he expects, when so few have cared about him before — when fewer have cared for what he thinks or how he feels, as an extension of that.
he thumbs over, i love those parts of you. ]
i think who saber is, deep down, bled into the way he killed jake. and that’s how he killed adrian and sarah, too, because he thought it would be fun, and ani made him feel small, when she nailed him.
[ a spiteful, cruel creature, of a piece with his father. ]
and who you are affected the way you killed koby. you didn’t want him to suffer.
[ the voice, the blindfold — ]
i wish we caught you sooner so the shepherd couldn’t use you to hurt more people, and so people would have less reason to hate you, too. i dont want anybody to hate you guys for what happened.
i think i killed a lot of people before they put me down at the facility. i tell everybody i don’t remember, but i kind of do, and i think it was really bad.
[ or, put another way, i think we’re more similar than we are different, too. ]
You said that I called to you with my fear and my pain. You wanted to take it, to make it right. To bring me into the darkness, an easeful death. I offered myself willingly.
[ Done with the restrictions of the little phone screen. Reaching out instead; a press of his forehead against Bob's temple, a quiet voice. ]
There are others. When I can't find the evildoers. They call to me, to the darkness, asking for the pain to end. For the gentle embrace of the void. I take the choice from them and grant them what they desire.
[ Ancient remorse, calcified, a stalactite of guilt and grief. Acceptance as a survival tactic, as a last resort. Recognition.
And love, welling up from between the cracks in the floorboards. ]
[ the same way bob found him here, as the shadow. there's despair in that admission, always. a tired kind of anguish, when he knows the sentry and void won't let him die any longer. any chance he had at peace was lost, when he signed his life and body and mind away to oxe.
and yet — there's more, too. warmth, suffusing his skin like sunlight. born of the idea that armand understands him a little more, a little better. that he likes bob, anyway. (he's never known the stronger word.) ]
[ Echoes between them like always, a mirror reflecting itself. It's easy to imagine it: Bob, pulled out of some dive bar. Curled in his arms like so many broken boys before him, a warm weight in his lap and against his chest, blood fizzing with chemical release. Death on his tongue, a sweetness in his mind.
Through their connection, he offers Bob that reassurance; he would have done it, if he'd asked. That he would have given him a gentle end, a peaceful end. ]
[ like their being here has greater meaning, like they were supposed to find each other in this world or another more like their own.
there’s a strange comfort in that. in the promise of release armand offers him in that other world, that other time and place. one he doubts many people here would understand, but it isn’t for them — it’s for bob and armand alone, in the privacy of their minds. bob holds onto that imagined memory, borrowing from real recollections to fill it in: his arms loose around armand’s shoulders. his broad palms gentle at armand’s throat, dark curls tickling the backs of his hands. a perfect place to kiss him. a perfect place to rest. ]
I’m glad I found you.
[ bob said that before, early in this. he reckons he’ll keep saying it. ]
[ The concept of fate falls apart when you're staring down eternity; far easier to believe in coincidence on a finite timeline, when you don't have all the time in the world to arrange things to your liking. Still, there are too many similarities, places where they fit together all too easily. It doesn't take much for Armand to let go of doubt for a little while, leaning into the somewhere that isn't anywhere. Hands on his neck, the warmth of blood under the skin, soft voice murmuring soothing nonsense, the old script.
-- like sinking into a bath, like honey on your tongue --
Hesitating only because he wants to draw the moment out, to pin it against a cardboard backing and enjoy it.
Over that, to the Bob that's real, somewhere in the house: ]
I think so. I feel as though I was meant to find you. If nothing else, this house has given me that. For all it's corrupted and changed us. Used us in some ineffable game. I'm grateful.
[ it’s all bob has ever wanted — to be something good, something more, just once. a person whose presence makes things easier, not harder. who doesn’t always need to be carried or stomached. not the glass in hand but the healing balm. ]
Me too. [ immediate agreement, even though he’s never believed in much of anything. it feels true. ] There are a lot of awful things and people here, but you aren’t one of them, okay?
[ armand cares too much for that, despite the centuries and horrors that should make him numb. ]
[ Positions reversed, he's the one who needs the soft words, the gentle words. Bob's hands on him, making it easy. He curves towards it like a child seeking comfort, unaccustomed to the feeling, afraid it will be gone too soon. Wanting -- like the boy in the apartment, the boy in the attic -- to believe it's true. That he's not broken, or bad. ]
[ Whatever you need to stay. Important words between them, every time they're spoken. Armand's presence warms with affection and sun-chased memories of waking up together early in the morning or deep into the evening, shrugging off the schedule of the house to spend more time in quiet laughter and kisses over the curve of a jaw, swapping travel stories about Egypt and Cambodia and New York while they drag torn up bits of napkin over the bed to watch Babou chase them.
Without hesitation, in the knowledge that he'll certainly overprepare but still arrive hesitant, with very little, not wanting to impose: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ why is everybody trying to make this about the wolves (he knows why, now that silco and armand are both intervening in their way; they stick together.) ]
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i don’t believe that month made you anything you weren’t already
and i don’t wanna be what you are ]
I've killed others. Far more than Saber could ever account for. Knowing, all along, what I was doing. Justifying their deaths to myself.
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yelena and bucky have body counts int the hundreds, easily, but there’s that word knowingly — twisting the narrative. ]
how’d you pick
who you killed, i mean
[ the way some wolves picked in the game. the way val’s team picked him for project sentry. the silent calculations saber did about sarah, knowing no one would fight when she was gone. people who wouldn’t be missed. ]
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But they are someone's friend. Someone's son, or brother. It is a fragile disguise for a monstrous act. A cruel irony, as I repeat the words spoken by the evildoers I hunt, and tell myself it's necessary.
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and inside?
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cw vague suicidal ideation
fuck that guy
but i don’t know why you want to apologise to me for all that
or why you want me to ask you for it
i’m just a guy who isn’t cut out for this place or fucking life because i can’t stop caring about this stuff.
and that makes me a downer and crazy and a problem, since nobody else minds unless blood gets on our fake boss’ suit
but i can’t turn it off
i can’t turn any of it off
[ whatever part of his brain that manages compartmentalisation, rather than outright repression, broke a long time ago. ]
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But he thinks about the words they'd said to each other, upset and discordant as they'd been, but trying to mean it. Trying to be better. All of you. Which means the good parts as well as the bad, the painful and the easy, the dark and the light. The monster, the hero.
Ultimately, it boils down to a simple thing. ]
I love those parts of you, Bobby. The strength of your convictions. The good heart that persists despite everything that threatens it. I care about what you think of me.
[ A vampire who can't get on with other vampires. Who isn't cut out for the coven, or able to be alone. Too much for everyone. A downer, and crazy, and a problem. ]
1/2
he thumbs over, i love those parts of you. ]
i think who saber is, deep down, bled into the way he killed jake.
and that’s how he killed adrian and sarah, too, because he thought it would be fun, and ani made him feel small, when she nailed him.
[ a spiteful, cruel creature, of a piece with his father. ]
and who you are affected the way you killed koby.
you didn’t want him to suffer.
[ the voice, the blindfold — ]
i wish we caught you sooner so the shepherd couldn’t use you to hurt more people, and so people would have less reason to hate you, too.
i dont want anybody to hate you guys for what happened.
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[ or, put another way, i think we’re more similar than we are different, too. ]
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Why did you kill them?
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[ sent a second apart from — ]
i was scared
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[ The shadow, the void. ]
You said that I called to you with my fear and my pain. You wanted to take it, to make it right. To bring me into the darkness, an easeful death. I offered myself willingly.
Perhaps the people you killed felt the same way.
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maybe
or maybe i made the choice for them
that’s what i tried to do in new york, before bucky and yelena and ava stopped me
or the void did
[ it’s all the same thing, isn’t it. ]
cw: suicidal ideation
There are others. When I can't find the evildoers. They call to me, to the darkness, asking for the pain to end. For the gentle embrace of the void. I take the choice from them and grant them what they desire.
[ Ancient remorse, calcified, a stalactite of guilt and grief. Acceptance as a survival tactic, as a last resort. Recognition.
And love, welling up from between the cracks in the floorboards. ]
cw: suicidal ideation all the way down
[ the same way bob found him here, as the shadow. there's despair in that admission, always. a tired kind of anguish, when he knows the sentry and void won't let him die any longer. any chance he had at peace was lost, when he signed his life and body and mind away to oxe.
and yet — there's more, too. warmth, suffusing his skin like sunlight. born of the idea that armand understands him a little more, a little better. that he likes bob, anyway. (he's never known the stronger word.) ]
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[ Echoes between them like always, a mirror reflecting itself. It's easy to imagine it: Bob, pulled out of some dive bar. Curled in his arms like so many broken boys before him, a warm weight in his lap and against his chest, blood fizzing with chemical release. Death on his tongue, a sweetness in his mind.
Through their connection, he offers Bob that reassurance; he would have done it, if he'd asked. That he would have given him a gentle end, a peaceful end. ]
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[ like their being here has greater meaning, like they were supposed to find each other in this world or another more like their own.
there’s a strange comfort in that. in the promise of release armand offers him in that other world, that other time and place. one he doubts many people here would understand, but it isn’t for them — it’s for bob and armand alone, in the privacy of their minds. bob holds onto that imagined memory, borrowing from real recollections to fill it in: his arms loose around armand’s shoulders. his broad palms gentle at armand’s throat, dark curls tickling the backs of his hands. a perfect place to kiss him. a perfect place to rest. ]
I’m glad I found you.
[ bob said that before, early in this. he reckons he’ll keep saying it. ]
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-- like sinking into a bath, like honey on your tongue --
Hesitating only because he wants to draw the moment out, to pin it against a cardboard backing and enjoy it.
Over that, to the Bob that's real, somewhere in the house: ]
I think so. I feel as though I was meant to find you. If nothing else, this house has given me that. For all it's corrupted and changed us. Used us in some ineffable game. I'm grateful.
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Me too. [ immediate agreement, even though he’s never believed in much of anything. it feels true. ] There are a lot of awful things and people here, but you aren’t one of them, okay?
[ armand cares too much for that, despite the centuries and horrors that should make him numb. ]
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Thank you.
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Come over tonight?
[ perhaps a slight deviation from the norm, in that he visits armand’s room more often. ]
I want to show you something. Give you something.
[ evidence of affection and trust. ]
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Of course. Shall I bring anything?
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Only whatever you need to stay.
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Without hesitation, in the knowledge that he'll certainly overprepare but still arrive hesitant, with very little, not wanting to impose: ]
Tonight, then.