He expects to hear soft huffs as the Darkwalker moves unencumbered by the forest, grunts and sniffs as though it were some sort of beast and not a thing that has the capacity to taunt them. He knows the tuunbaq, a thing that thinks like a human but acts like an animal, a protector of the land through vicious and terrifying means, but the Darkwalker is a devourer, a taker, and nothing else. It torments and destroys and eats, and Crozier can feel hate without purpose, fear for pleasure, anger without reason.
His arms creep around to Raju’s front, hand and what’s left of his left wrist splayed out to cover as much of his heart as possible. The Darkwalker’s footsteps seem to fade instead of growing loud in its approach, but Crozier keeps his hold - if he lets go then it might turn around, stalk its way back towards their little cabin instead of pursue another person. And it’s an awful, selfish thought, to let someone else bear the brunt of this, but he’s desperate not to lose again.
He shudders and holds his breath, waiting for that final shriek when the Darkwalker finally finds its prey. There’s silence, terrible silence, and then the scream comes. Crozier lets out a quiet sob.
The arms over Raju’s chest, the hand over his heart, almost make it worse; Francis trying to care for him still, as well as he can, and Raju can’t even see his face. If he turns to look at Francis now, he doesn’t know whether he’d have the strength to face this thing head on again. His friend is putting the one hand that he has left over Raju’s heart, and the next time Raju sees his face, if he lives to see it at all, it’s going to be slack and still and empty.
The sobbing noises of Raju’s exhales are rougher, should be loud in his ears but seem drowned out by the howling, the moaning that seems to reach out from the deep centre of the world, the footsteps…
…the footsteps that are growing distant now. Or maybe only quieter; he needs to breathe but he still can’t breathe, his chest hurts and the tips of his fingers are tingling, wound so tightly in Francis’ clothes. His head lolls dizzily with every heaving movement of his chest and the edges of the room are going dark, some black film creeping in between his vision and what little sickly light there is.
But he hears an indescribable noise, distant but somehow intense enough that he can almost feel it, and laughter…
Francis sobs behind him. Raju can’t connect the noise to anything; he can’t think why Francis is doing it, and any curiosity about it is distant.Everything is distant but the fear.
A moment later, an eternity later, Raju realises: the certain knowledge that he is about to die — the deep down certainty that it’s going to happen again, Francis’ face slack, body laying still on the floor in front of him — has drifted away while he wasn’t looking at it.
It’s over. The fear is draining away, its current only deep and strong instead of paralysing, and the thing killed someone else.
There isn’t room for anything but dim relief. The vice around his lungs has gone but their rhythm is irregular now, all stuttering stops and starts, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take him to force them into working order.
It’s gone. It’s gone. Fear lingers only like rivulets running through mud after a hard rain, but the light, the sky—
He only knows the fear is gone. The noises are gone. One hand reaches quick and desperate up to Francis’ hand and clutches at it, wraps itself tightly. And they’re alive. Raju looks over to a window, past the darkness at the edges of his view to the green light oozing dimly through it, and tries to breathe, and focuses on the feeling of Francis’ hand.
Crozier chokes back another sob as he listens to the gnashing teeth and wide maw snapping shut, paying witness to the indescribable horror of one of their own being eaten alive. The laughter follows, a mocking, disgusting thing, the fear ebbing, but the horror and slow onset of sorrow remaining.
He waits for the footsteps to return, head lifting to listen for the telltale sounds of the Darkwalker seeking its next victim. One hadn’t been enough the last time, its hunger almost insatiable with the amount of their number it had massacred. He listens for those signs they’re being stalked again, willing his heart to slow, knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip. He can barely breathe for the stillness, but one moment drifts into the next and then again into the next.
It’s moved on. The sky is still green, but the world no longer seems to yield entirely to its influence. The fear is still fresh and raw, but he can feel that in a moment it’ll move back into an afterthought - lingering as much as the gnawing of hunger or thirst or cold might in their minds and bodies.
But oh, someone’s died. Someone’s gone, and it could be absolutely anyone. The Darkwalker had seemed to head towards the lake - Harry and Thomas are out there, the young girl, Ruby, Wynonna, possibly Edward too. He pulls his left arm back to dab at his eyes, working through the catastrophic loss that they now might face. He doesn’t let go of Raju though, needing him right where he is, wanting that reminder that he’s made it through and this isn’t some hallucination.
One arm moves away from him and Raju shifts to follow it, a part of him marvelling dimly at something like this happening without much conscious thought at all, at movement without having to push everything he has into forcing himself out of cowering. He tries to breathe and watches Francis touching his arm to his face, and looks at his face, the first time seeing it living after knowing he was never going to look on it again.
He notices his own tears only when one journeys far enough down through his beard to tickle at the corner of his lips and for an instant the old instinct tries to stir to stop it, find any way to hide it that he can — but the barracks and everything in them seem very long ago, and very far away, and it doesn't matter if he's caught at it now. What matters is Francis' hand, which he's let go of to turn and now clutches at again, and his other hand sets itself over Francis' chest so he can try to follow his friend's breathing. The door is at his back. It doesn't matter that the door is at his back. The deep down knowledge that he's about to die is gone, and he can see Francis' face.
"You're... still alive," he manages around his breathing, and makes a noise that starts life convinced it's going to be a laugh, and then isn't.
Relief and pain tangled up together, that's Raju's not-laugh, agony and fright that had been tamped down like gunpower in his chest suddenly exploding from a lit match. He shares the sentiment, feels it viscerally, though he can't make his tongue and teeth form those exact words. He settles for nodding very slowly; yes, he's still alive, and so is Raju, they've somehow survived again.
But Raju had thrown himself in front of him, faced down the door with the intent of...
Now that control is being returned to them, he lingers on the thought. His intent was to spare him? Save him? Be the first to die? This man, this friend, this dear, dear friend, had been mired in the same terror as him, but he'd still managed to act selflessly. It's remarkable.
Fresh tears threaten to spill onto his cheeks as his hand snakes away from his friend's. It finds the streaks left behind on his cheeks, tracing down from cheekbone to moustache before dropping to pull him into an embrace, chest against chest.
"You..." Ah, there's his voice. It's watery and rough, but at least it's back. He wants very much to tease him for throwing himself into harm's way or make some sort of joke about being horrendously outmatched by the Darkwalker, but sincerity wins out, especially when he feels his chest rise and fall against his. "You're still alive. I was convinced...it felt like the end of things. And you put yourself between me and the door."
Raju nods, quick and fervent, turning his face against Francis’ hair as the hand that isn’t pressed between them wraps tightly around Francis’ back. He can’t see Francis anymore this way but he can feel the solid reality of his body, his motion and warmth, the movement of his chest with his breath. He can’t tell whether he’s still crying and it’s a strange kind of freedom that he can afford not to care. His friend doesn’t need him to put it away and reassure, or to hold him up any more than Francis is holding Raju, or to be anything right now but alive and here.
“You have… to be close enough,” he manages. “Next time. So I can do it again. I don’t have to just… just watch. I can— I can do something.”
“Oh,” he murmurs, just as stricken to hear him admit it out loud. Only Raju would try to fight down a supernatural being for a friend. Others may try, but he would do.
They would have still died and died together though. Crozier inhales, a sputtering breath from an overworked pair of lungs, and brings his hand to the back of Raju’s neck.
“You’d try.” That’s all that would matter. “I wasn’t ready. I…I wasn’t ready to bid farewell to all of this.”
He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Raju, who still has so much life left in him.
Raju nods again, even though ready isn’t exactly the right word, for him. After a certain point some part of him has always expected everything to end in that way, very suddenly and without any warning at all. Like that night, long ago now, the man — brave, Raju can afford to think it now, noble and brave — and the snake, and sinking down to sit with all the fight already draining out of him.
He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of it now, with his friend warm and real against him, watery voice rough, accent curling earnestly into his ear. The way Raju had felt then couldn’t have been more different. Raju hadn’t been surprised either this time or that one, but he had been ready for it, then.
His mind is quiet for a moment. Francis’ hair brushes against Raju’s cheek and then away from it as he breathes. It’s tickling against his cheek a little more regularly now, almost rhythmically. He feels Francis’ chest moving against Raju’s own with their breath, and the space between his ribs doesn’t hurt so much. A thought quietly filters in.
“You want to stay.” Raju’s voice is rough— his throat isn’t tight the way it was but it hurts a little, still — but it’s strong, happy with realization, proud. He pulls back just far enough to smile into Francis’ face. He isn’t certain how to explain, for a moment. He tries to. “I wanted you to stay, when Hickey— remember? And you aren’t ready to go.”
Ah. That’s right. He’d been so willing to give up and just let the violent end come for him. Raju was so cross with him that night - a sharp contrast to the brilliant smile on his face now.
He wants to live. Yes, he suppose he does. It seems even more than a ‘want’ at this point, but a deep desire to keep this life just as it is, waking up to this very face every single morning.
Crozier pulls back just a little more, hand slipping down to cup Raju’s elbow. “I’m not,” he says again. “There’s still some life in me yet.”
Thanks to him.
Despite the heavy dread still lingering in the ait and the anxiety of not knowing who they’d just lost, he feels some of the warmth slowly begin to return back into his limbs. “…it was in Lakeside, wasn’t it?”
Raju's expression softens, if it can be called softening when there's still that thrill to it, that pleasure. It doesn't seem strange, to feel this way after being as frightened as he's ever been in his life; there's momentum in the pendulum still, and Francis wants to live, and so it's swinging back. It isn't a metaphor that really works, he hurts, he wonders if he's going to spend the next few days sore from nothing again. But he can breathe, and Francis is close and alive and touching him and wants to live. The hand that'd been between them had slid downward when Francis had pulled further back and it straightens its fingers and presses gently against Francis' stomach there, wanting to touch, not interested in very much distance just yet.
Raju's expression fades a little behind a thoughtful, distant look when Francis goes on. He's been out that way once, has a sense of where it sits in relation to where they are now, and he's confident that sense is accurate. It's the memory of that thing's noises that are more difficult to go over. Determination settles over Raju's face as his gaze goes distant. He can remember it however he wants; the thing isn't pumping fear into his mind now.
"I wouldn't be surprised," he decides, and studies Francis' face. That sobbing noise that he'd heard from behind him is making sense now, now that he can look back on it without terror crowding out all the space he needs to actually think. Francis cares. Cares enough to mourn whoever it was, even then, feeling the way they had. "Do you want to go that way? It'll be tricky in this dark, but you won't have to wait so long to find out what's happened."
There's a need and a want at play. He needs to know what happened to the Darkwalker's victim in Lakeside, but he wants to stay in the hunting cabin and not brave the cold just yet. As difficult as it is to weigh pros and cons in this moment, and logic ultimately wins out and he manages a shake of the head.
"No, it wouldn't be wise to leave right now." It's too dark to travel, the world too still.
He knows he won't be able to sleep again though.The Darkwalker's laugh is in his head and the world feels wrong; not quite upside down, but crooked in a way that seems unmendable. Someone's died tonight. Someone could die tomorrow too.
His eyes fall on Raju's hand just idly touching. He's glad he's here, even if he isn't necessarily happy that this delightful person is also fodder for some wretched beast. "If the sun comes up then we'll go," he adds, thumb rubbing the gathered fabric at Raju's elbow. "And if it doesn't, we'll gather what we can and head out together."
Raju nods. Something is pressing on him too heavily just yet to let this out by moving, tapping his fingers, jittering his feet. The weight of what’s happened. He wants to stand and pace and do push ups, pull ups, work all of this out of him until he can sit still without it pushing at him, rest a little. He wants to stay here and keep touching Francis so he remembers his friend is alive.
He stays where he is, takes a slow breath — he can do that now — lets it out, feels his back under the one hand and as he speaks watches Francis’ front under the other. For all it feels easy to assume he’s familiar with all of Francis by now, he doesn’t usually touch him here, in this way, just settled like this. It feels better to think about than what he’s actually saying. But Francis should know. “The last time this happened, I— when it came to the church. That was when I left the Community Hall. Because I had a nightmare about it, and— well. There’s going to be more, I think. A little more often. For a time.”
Raju’s frowning, watching his hand curl, its thumb moving back and forth. The fit of the seal skin is than any other material, and the feel of it is smooth. He tries to keep his focus on it. It’s almost like he can feel Francis’ skin underneath his, this way. Francis hasn’t complained about that fire and panic in the mornings yet, or shown even a hint of impatience or real frustration about the times he’s woken up that way. Somehow, he hasn’t. Raju doesn’t understand it. But he still deserves the warning, particularly if they’re going to be travelling. It might effect where they can sleep, if nothing else.
His head dips down. It seems strange that there was a point in time when Raju wasn't living here with him. He recognizes that isn't the point of what he's trying to say, but it still strikes him all the same, as though it's unnatural for Raju to be anywhere else.
His brow furrows and he wets his lips, pondering their predicament. He isn't aware of Raju's touch; at least no more than usual at this point. "We'll prepare," he decides. "Our cabin as well as where we choose to sleep." If nightmares after an attack are a pattern, as is loss of control, then they can mitigate the damage done.
A fleeting image flashes through his mind: comforting a distraught Raju, holding him through the night to calm the nightmares, but as quickly as it'd come it disappears. He'll be charred to a crisp if he attempted that.
Hell, he'd be charred to a crisp if he attempted any other form of comfort, he's damn well sure of that.
Raju nods. If Raju's lack of control has to be a burden on them that way at least the person with him is Francis, who he can trust to bear the weight. If his friend is anything, he's prepared, and this is no different. He shouldn't have to be, not for this, but Raju's still a better choice to go with him for this particular journey than most anyone else would be. And he wants it to be him who sees Francis to Lakeside safely.
He sighs, then looks up from his hands at a window. "How many hours, do you think? Until the sun should rise?" No matter how much practice he's had being stuck inside, he never likes it. He'll start pacing soon, or do his best to train, find some excuse to move. They've been stuck inside here through blizzards before, he knows that Francis knows that's why he asks. It might help to know how long he's got. He should make a fire, too, as soon as it stops feeling so important to keep Francis where he knows he's here. Now that the terror and everything behind it is draining away, he's starting to notice how cold it is. His shoulders hunch and he slumps a little, leaning in toward Francis and his body heat. Odd to realise he'd forgotten the one thing he never can in this place, but only after the fact.
It's hard to tell with that sickly green miasma still hanging in the air. Crozier squints and reluctantly pulls himself away from Raju to tentatively looking out the window, hoping to see the moons or stars or something beyond the clouds. There really isn't much to see, and he can't help but scowl, slightly vexed but mostly anxious. There's so much outside of their control right now.
"I'd say four or five." It's a guess; he can't tell by his usual methods. But he knows Raju, and that's far too long to expect him to putter around and wait for action. "We'll wait for three."
And in the meantime he can keep Raju busy. They'll build the fire and cook a little, gather their supplies for the journey, eat and drink and bathe and then dress to head out into the cold air.
So they build up the fire, they prepare. The hours pass, and the sky stays its dim, foreboding green. In as many layers as he can still move in, with his bow slung at his side and arrows alongside the blanket and food slung across his back, Raju starts the walk up to the mines. They’ve made the walk together to Lakeside and back once before, and Raju remembers how often Francis tends to need to take breaks, though there’s a little more urgency now. The way through the mines goes well; down there it’s expected that it’s going to be dark, and the little fires inside makeshift torches reflect off the smaller space, off the ceiling and the walls, and light their way.
It’s just as well the torches stay in the mine where they’re useful, Raju thinks, looking down into the ravine he knows is below him. They wouldn’t do any good here.
He looks over the bridge. He knows the railway is there, but mostly because he’s been this way recently enough to remember what it looks like.
He looks back at Francis. “Someone fell here the first time they tried to cross,” he says. “And that was in the daylight. I think. But if the sun hasn’t come up by now, it isn’t going to.”
Ah. Fantastic. He remembers how treacherous this ravine was the first and second time around, and that was without the green haze that’s now continuously hovering above them.
Crozier pauses to set down his pack. He’s traveling lighter now, just in the inner seal tunic and trousers, the parka too warm now even if the thaw hasn’t yet come. His boots feel too heavy still though, the tunic a bit too much. Come summer proper he’ll likely be wanting his shirtsleeves again.
He sighs. They’ve been keeping a good pace, though he knows Raju’s slowing himself up for his sake. He wants to keep going while he still has the stamina; he’s ready, willing, and able.
“What’s our plan?” he ponders aloud, looking about as though another path might materialize.
For a moment Raju doesn't answer, frowning out at everything that he can't see. There are sturdy ways to cross that bridge, when they can be seen. And the ravine is very deep.
It was hours ago now when whoever it was had died but he remembers Francis behind him, the noises he'd made. He knows at least one of Francis' men is down in Lakeside, the men he keeps himself so isolated from, the men he worries over, the men whose deaths he carries such terrible guilt for, the responsibility of it heavy enough over his shoulders that Francis isn't always sure he's strong enough to keep his feet under the weight. The men who need him.
Raju's fingers curl into fists. The mittens keep his fingernails from cutting into his palms the way that he needs them to. He pushes a heavy breath out of his nose. He realises, dimly, that his jaw is tense, his teeth are clenched together. He holds himself that way, and he is still.
Francis needs light. He's going to need a lot of light.
"We should have something like a torch." He says it without looking around. His voice is solid and businesslike, a voice more used to giving orders than chatting, or laughing, or thinking very much beyond the things that it needs to. "Something that can carry a flame without burning up. A... bucket? Something metal? Wood won't do."
Should have. They have matches, kindling. There are branches they could fasten into something useable. They're more than able to cobble together something workable. If Raju was wanting something like a lantern though -
"We have some cans for melt water. Will that do?"
A torch would give off a fair amount of light, enough to at least see their feet. It wouldn't be the safest method, but there's not enough they can do otherwise. They have to get across the ravine. He needs to know, he just needs to know.
Cans. Not nearly large enough. Not for what he's thinking. And no handle, he'll have to either burn his hand holding it, if it burns as hot as he means it to, or risk damaging one of the mittens that he's been so careful to keep in good condition all this time.
It's his own fault. He should have anticipated needing to do this. But he hadn't wanted to. Hasn't wanted to practice it at all. And so he hadn't thought he'd need to. Hadn't thought Francis would need him to. He hadn't wanted to think it.
"It'll have to," he says in a flat voice, then turns and looks around for Francis' pack, moves with quick, efficient movements to find a can inside it and straightens up. He looks down into it. In the sick green light, the hollow inside looks as deep and dark as everything else. He wants to tap his fingers, his feet. He sets the can down and takes the mittens off him instead, puts them in the pockets of the blanket, takes that off and the parka beneath it. He holds the parka out to Francis, frowning and impatient and unwilling to get the precious thing dirty by putting it onto the ground.
"You'll have to stay back," he says, already starting to shiver. It isn't dangerous to be cold right now, he thinks, or Francis wouldn't have offered this to Raju instead of wearing it himself. It only feels terrible. And it'll be easier this way than it would warm and comfortable, the way he can very nearly be with what he's forced to call warmer temperatures and Francis' fine, odd coat on top of that as one of all of Raju's layers. He won't take something so valuable of Francis' only to risk burning it by keeping it on crossing that bridge. And it would be harder to do what he needs to, feeling like that. "But it'll burn bright enough to keep you safe. I have to make sure it... stays in the right place."
Crozier takes the parka with barely-concealed confusion painted on his face. Surely Raju isn't going to attempt when he thinks he's going to attempt. Surely he's not going to try to call on the flames that he works so diligently to keep in check. Surely he's not going to try to manipulate something he actively fears?
But of course he is. Raju knows how desperately he wants to get to Lakeside, how quickly he'd moved overland compared to his usual sort of careful plodding. Raju has been supportive the moment he'd said he was going; like hell is a treacherous crossing going to stop them.
But even still - "You don't have to do this."
He frowns, shifting the heavy parka over his shoulder. "We can make a couple of torches and move slowly. You don't have to attempt this."
Raju frowns at him, troubled. And tempted. That in itself makes it easier to shake his head. This needs to be done; that's what matters, and that's all. That should be all. "That won't be bright enough. Not here. You shouldn't have to take more risks just because I'm afraid."
Raju realises what he's said the moment it finishes coming out of his mouth. For a moment he doesn't move, eyes on Francis, businesslike expression cracking just long enough for surprise and shame to try showing through. Then he turns, the movements of his hands wrapping the blanket back around him and slinging his things around his back a little less efficient, less graceful and moving more quickly. He picks the can up. He puts the can down and takes out the fingerless gloves he's sewn out from a spare shirt and tugs them on. He reaches out for the can again, then stops and wraps the blanket around his face. Francis will only be able to see his eyes. That's better than nothing.
He tries not to give himself another moment of hesitation, picks the can up quickly, walks with long, fast strides over to where he thinks the right part of the bridge begins. But when he gets there...
For a long, strange moment, Raju is still. His fingers are cold. He realises he's breathing hard. Where's the blank, empty thing that used to make anything like this easy? He's been trying for it, but he realises now it hasn't come. Considering what he's wanting to do, that's probably for the best. His fingers tighten on the can, then loosen, then tighten again. He closes his eyes.
It's always here, isn't it? That's why he dreams of it so much. It must be here. Somewhere.
He frowns. He finds himself shying away from the memories, feeling around their edges in that easier, more familiar way, and not sure how to venture in it any further.
Alright. Something more recent, then. Kneeling in the snow. The cold that he feels in his fingers now but in his feet, painful at first, then numb. He remembers what he'd felt then, what he hasn't allowed himself to think on except that night, when he'd been forced to. All the time he's wasted here. How easy it was, once it'd happened, to welcome it, to let everything drain out of the punctures in his arm and away from him, and end up here after. But fingers large around his, slicking his hand with blood. The people waiting for him, even now, hoping and needing and waiting while he hasn't sent word for years, while he's here, while he let himself end up here, while he wants to stay here and happy and doing nothing while the desperate people who gave everything for him wait and wait, and wait forever. I'm sorry, baba.
He opens his eyes with a sharp breath, shaking his free hand. In the instant when his mind is too far away to expect it not to, the fire drips away from his hand's movement like water, spilling into the open can with the rest of itself. The light chases the dark back and forth as the can trembles in his unsteady grip, the movement that should be too small to see magnified by the size of the long moving shadows.
But it fits very neatly into the can. He'd intended it to be bigger. He doesn't know if— it's hard to think.
"Francis." His reach for a businesslike tone stretches tightly around what wants to be a shake in his voice. "Is this enough? It should be... bigger. Brighter. I-I think."
Selfish. He's selfish, being here, asking instead of doing, wanting to hear a yes so he can stop at only this instead of making it bigger and brighter and better than it is. He takes an unsteady breath and thinks it and narrows his eyes at the metal in his hand, and the flame in it grows. A little. His fingers are starting to feel the heat.
He understands. He hates it, hates seeing the look cross Raju’s face like he wants the earth to swallow him whole, hates that he’s doing this only to make the crossing safer for him, but he understands.
He must be tired too of always being a little bit afraid.
Raju starts and stops, then starts and stops, and God, Crozier wishes there was some other way. The flames come from distress, at least they do for him; what must possibly be going through his mind? And for his sake, some old man who couldn’t wait a day to find out something he can’t even change. Would a day have made any real difference? Dead is dead, urgency won’t undo what’s just been done.
Raju is insistent. Crozier won’t ask again to stop, even if he wants to.
In the dark he can just barely make out his form, but the way he holds himself, stiff shoulders now a little rounded as though cringing or wincing, still like a statue as he concentrates on whatever terrible thing he has to conjure to call forth the fire. He holds himself back and waits, breath catching in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly until the shadows begin to flicker and dance. He’s done it.
He’s done it!
What started as a concerned frown quickly softens, then brightens as he starts to smile. That nervous little breath expels with a soft laugh, making room for the pride that swells in his chest.
“My god, look at that,” he says, for a moment forgetting to answer him. He’s too pleased, too happy for Raju and his accomplishment. His joy is soft and measured though; he doesn’t leap forward to grab his shoulder or raise his voice beyond his very quiet astonishment. Raju is still frightened, he needs to remember that. “That’s incredible. A marvel. You just poured fire into a tin from nothing.”
Crozier laughs again, awed. But then again, he shouldn’t be so surprised at the success; Raju is a capable man with a well of strength and self-discipline. It was only a matter of time before he mastered this whole ‘fire conjuring’ business.
“Does it need to be more than that? How far can you see ahead of you now?”
Raju raises his eyes and looks over, surprised, at Francis’ laugh, his admiration. It’s the perfect opposite to what Raju’s feeling. Francis sounds proud.
When he looks back at his hand the fire is dimmer, and he grimaces. Damn it. Francis is too… too kind, too soothing. He’s too used to the way it feels looking at him, and that feeling is only going to help. Which isn’t what they need right now.
He tilts the can, aiming the light more toward the ground. Alright, but not enough. It would be enough, wouldn’t it, if he had practiced, but he’s grown lazy here, forgotten how to push himself and Francis isn’t the only person who’s going to suffer for it and Raju knows that, he knows that. He needs to do better. The feeling sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach reaches up and squeezes at the base of his throat, and—
There. Better, anyway, if not quite as bright as it was. But he can’t let himself think that way for too long or he’s going to relax. His mind doesn’t want to hold onto any of these thoughts, and forcing them from slipping away into their usual place closer to the back of his mind is going to take constant attention.
“I’ll see farther if you stop being so damn kind to me,” he mutters, voice pitched low with irritation that doesn’t belong where he’s putting it, that feels wrong to aim that way but he can see the way that wrong feeling is helping and that’s the only part that matters, and the rest is a problem for later.
Cruel to be kind, is that it? He can't say anything positive, or Raju would lose the thing that fuels the flame. God only knows what that means exactly, what memories or dire thoughts he's subjected himself to.
It'd be wrong to let him languish for his sake, morally - and for a more selfish part of himself - emotionally. He's fond of this man, he doesn't want him to have to suffer for goddamned fire, but he said he wouldn't try to talk him out of it again.
He tries on an apologetic smile and nods. "I'll be quiet and let you morb then."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-06-03 11:50 pm (UTC)He expects to hear soft huffs as the Darkwalker moves unencumbered by the forest, grunts and sniffs as though it were some sort of beast and not a thing that has the capacity to taunt them. He knows the tuunbaq, a thing that thinks like a human but acts like an animal, a protector of the land through vicious and terrifying means, but the Darkwalker is a devourer, a taker, and nothing else. It torments and destroys and eats, and Crozier can feel hate without purpose, fear for pleasure, anger without reason.
His arms creep around to Raju’s front, hand and what’s left of his left wrist splayed out to cover as much of his heart as possible. The Darkwalker’s footsteps seem to fade instead of growing loud in its approach, but Crozier keeps his hold - if he lets go then it might turn around, stalk its way back towards their little cabin instead of pursue another person. And it’s an awful, selfish thought, to let someone else bear the brunt of this, but he’s desperate not to lose again.
He shudders and holds his breath, waiting for that final shriek when the Darkwalker finally finds its prey. There’s silence, terrible silence, and then the scream comes. Crozier lets out a quiet sob.
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Date: 2024-06-04 02:19 am (UTC)The sobbing noises of Raju’s exhales are rougher, should be loud in his ears but seem drowned out by the howling, the moaning that seems to reach out from the deep centre of the world, the footsteps…
…the footsteps that are growing distant now. Or maybe only quieter; he needs to breathe but he still can’t breathe, his chest hurts and the tips of his fingers are tingling, wound so tightly in Francis’ clothes. His head lolls dizzily with every heaving movement of his chest and the edges of the room are going dark, some black film creeping in between his vision and what little sickly light there is.
But he hears an indescribable noise, distant but somehow intense enough that he can almost feel it, and laughter…
Francis sobs behind him. Raju can’t connect the noise to anything; he can’t think why Francis is doing it, and any curiosity about it is distant.Everything is distant but the fear.
A moment later, an eternity later, Raju realises: the certain knowledge that he is about to die — the deep down certainty that it’s going to happen again, Francis’ face slack, body laying still on the floor in front of him — has drifted away while he wasn’t looking at it.
It’s over. The fear is draining away, its current only deep and strong instead of paralysing, and the thing killed someone else.
There isn’t room for anything but dim relief. The vice around his lungs has gone but their rhythm is irregular now, all stuttering stops and starts, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take him to force them into working order.
It’s gone. It’s gone. Fear lingers only like rivulets running through mud after a hard rain, but the light, the sky—
He only knows the fear is gone. The noises are gone. One hand reaches quick and desperate up to Francis’ hand and clutches at it, wraps itself tightly. And they’re alive. Raju looks over to a window, past the darkness at the edges of his view to the green light oozing dimly through it, and tries to breathe, and focuses on the feeling of Francis’ hand.
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Date: 2024-06-04 03:00 am (UTC)Crozier chokes back another sob as he listens to the gnashing teeth and wide maw snapping shut, paying witness to the indescribable horror of one of their own being eaten alive. The laughter follows, a mocking, disgusting thing, the fear ebbing, but the horror and slow onset of sorrow remaining.
He waits for the footsteps to return, head lifting to listen for the telltale sounds of the Darkwalker seeking its next victim. One hadn’t been enough the last time, its hunger almost insatiable with the amount of their number it had massacred. He listens for those signs they’re being stalked again, willing his heart to slow, knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip. He can barely breathe for the stillness, but one moment drifts into the next and then again into the next.
It’s moved on. The sky is still green, but the world no longer seems to yield entirely to its influence. The fear is still fresh and raw, but he can feel that in a moment it’ll move back into an afterthought - lingering as much as the gnawing of hunger or thirst or cold might in their minds and bodies.
But oh, someone’s died. Someone’s gone, and it could be absolutely anyone. The Darkwalker had seemed to head towards the lake - Harry and Thomas are out there, the young girl, Ruby, Wynonna, possibly Edward too. He pulls his left arm back to dab at his eyes, working through the catastrophic loss that they now might face. He doesn’t let go of Raju though, needing him right where he is, wanting that reminder that he’s made it through and this isn’t some hallucination.
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Date: 2024-06-04 12:37 pm (UTC)He notices his own tears only when one journeys far enough down through his beard to tickle at the corner of his lips and for an instant the old instinct tries to stir to stop it, find any way to hide it that he can — but the barracks and everything in them seem very long ago, and very far away, and it doesn't matter if he's caught at it now. What matters is Francis' hand, which he's let go of to turn and now clutches at again, and his other hand sets itself over Francis' chest so he can try to follow his friend's breathing. The door is at his back. It doesn't matter that the door is at his back. The deep down knowledge that he's about to die is gone, and he can see Francis' face.
"You're... still alive," he manages around his breathing, and makes a noise that starts life convinced it's going to be a laugh, and then isn't.
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Date: 2024-06-04 04:34 pm (UTC)Relief and pain tangled up together, that's Raju's not-laugh, agony and fright that had been tamped down like gunpower in his chest suddenly exploding from a lit match. He shares the sentiment, feels it viscerally, though he can't make his tongue and teeth form those exact words. He settles for nodding very slowly; yes, he's still alive, and so is Raju, they've somehow survived again.
But Raju had thrown himself in front of him, faced down the door with the intent of...
Now that control is being returned to them, he lingers on the thought. His intent was to spare him? Save him? Be the first to die? This man, this friend, this dear, dear friend, had been mired in the same terror as him, but he'd still managed to act selflessly. It's remarkable.
Fresh tears threaten to spill onto his cheeks as his hand snakes away from his friend's. It finds the streaks left behind on his cheeks, tracing down from cheekbone to moustache before dropping to pull him into an embrace, chest against chest.
"You..." Ah, there's his voice. It's watery and rough, but at least it's back. He wants very much to tease him for throwing himself into harm's way or make some sort of joke about being horrendously outmatched by the Darkwalker, but sincerity wins out, especially when he feels his chest rise and fall against his. "You're still alive. I was convinced...it felt like the end of things. And you put yourself between me and the door."
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Date: 2024-06-04 06:16 pm (UTC)“You have… to be close enough,” he manages. “Next time. So I can do it again. I don’t have to just… just watch. I can— I can do something.”
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Date: 2024-06-04 08:47 pm (UTC)“Oh,” he murmurs, just as stricken to hear him admit it out loud. Only Raju would try to fight down a supernatural being for a friend. Others may try, but he would do.
They would have still died and died together though. Crozier inhales, a sputtering breath from an overworked pair of lungs, and brings his hand to the back of Raju’s neck.
“You’d try.” That’s all that would matter. “I wasn’t ready. I…I wasn’t ready to bid farewell to all of this.”
He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Raju, who still has so much life left in him.
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Date: 2024-06-04 10:39 pm (UTC)He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of it now, with his friend warm and real against him, watery voice rough, accent curling earnestly into his ear. The way Raju had felt then couldn’t have been more different. Raju hadn’t been surprised either this time or that one, but he had been ready for it, then.
His mind is quiet for a moment. Francis’ hair brushes against Raju’s cheek and then away from it as he breathes. It’s tickling against his cheek a little more regularly now, almost rhythmically. He feels Francis’ chest moving against Raju’s own with their breath, and the space between his ribs doesn’t hurt so much. A thought quietly filters in.
“You want to stay.” Raju’s voice is rough— his throat isn’t tight the way it was but it hurts a little, still — but it’s strong, happy with realization, proud. He pulls back just far enough to smile into Francis’ face. He isn’t certain how to explain, for a moment. He tries to. “I wanted you to stay, when Hickey— remember? And you aren’t ready to go.”
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Date: 2024-06-05 01:17 am (UTC)That’s what he said, he wants to stay —
Ah. That’s right. He’d been so willing to give up and just let the violent end come for him. Raju was so cross with him that night - a sharp contrast to the brilliant smile on his face now.
He wants to live. Yes, he suppose he does. It seems even more than a ‘want’ at this point, but a deep desire to keep this life just as it is, waking up to this very face every single morning.
Crozier pulls back just a little more, hand slipping down to cup Raju’s elbow. “I’m not,” he says again. “There’s still some life in me yet.”
Thanks to him.
Despite the heavy dread still lingering in the ait and the anxiety of not knowing who they’d just lost, he feels some of the warmth slowly begin to return back into his limbs. “…it was in Lakeside, wasn’t it?”
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Date: 2024-06-05 02:41 am (UTC)Raju's expression softens, if it can be called softening when there's still that thrill to it, that pleasure. It doesn't seem strange, to feel this way after being as frightened as he's ever been in his life; there's momentum in the pendulum still, and Francis wants to live, and so it's swinging back. It isn't a metaphor that really works, he hurts, he wonders if he's going to spend the next few days sore from nothing again. But he can breathe, and Francis is close and alive and touching him and wants to live. The hand that'd been between them had slid downward when Francis had pulled further back and it straightens its fingers and presses gently against Francis' stomach there, wanting to touch, not interested in very much distance just yet.
Raju's expression fades a little behind a thoughtful, distant look when Francis goes on. He's been out that way once, has a sense of where it sits in relation to where they are now, and he's confident that sense is accurate. It's the memory of that thing's noises that are more difficult to go over. Determination settles over Raju's face as his gaze goes distant. He can remember it however he wants; the thing isn't pumping fear into his mind now.
"I wouldn't be surprised," he decides, and studies Francis' face. That sobbing noise that he'd heard from behind him is making sense now, now that he can look back on it without terror crowding out all the space he needs to actually think. Francis cares. Cares enough to mourn whoever it was, even then, feeling the way they had. "Do you want to go that way? It'll be tricky in this dark, but you won't have to wait so long to find out what's happened."
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Date: 2024-06-05 01:16 pm (UTC)There's a need and a want at play. He needs to know what happened to the Darkwalker's victim in Lakeside, but he wants to stay in the hunting cabin and not brave the cold just yet. As difficult as it is to weigh pros and cons in this moment, and logic ultimately wins out and he manages a shake of the head.
"No, it wouldn't be wise to leave right now." It's too dark to travel, the world too still.
He knows he won't be able to sleep again though.The Darkwalker's laugh is in his head and the world feels wrong; not quite upside down, but crooked in a way that seems unmendable. Someone's died tonight. Someone could die tomorrow too.
His eyes fall on Raju's hand just idly touching. He's glad he's here, even if he isn't necessarily happy that this delightful person is also fodder for some wretched beast. "If the sun comes up then we'll go," he adds, thumb rubbing the gathered fabric at Raju's elbow. "And if it doesn't, we'll gather what we can and head out together."
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Date: 2024-06-05 11:11 pm (UTC)He wants to stand and pace and do push ups, pull ups, work all of this out of him until he can sit still without it pushing at him, rest a little. He wants to stay here and keep touching Francis so he remembers his friend is alive.
He stays where he is, takes a slow breath — he can do that now — lets it out, feels his back under the one hand and as he speaks watches Francis’ front under the other. For all it feels easy to assume he’s familiar with all of Francis by now, he doesn’t usually touch him here, in this way, just settled like this. It feels better to think about than what he’s actually saying. But Francis should know. “The last time this happened, I— when it came to the church. That was when I left the Community Hall. Because I had a nightmare about it, and— well. There’s going to be more, I think. A little more often. For a time.”
Raju’s frowning, watching his hand curl, its thumb moving back and forth. The fit of the seal skin is than any other material, and the feel of it is smooth. He tries to keep his focus on it. It’s almost like he can feel Francis’ skin underneath his, this way. Francis hasn’t complained about that fire and panic in the mornings yet, or shown even a hint of impatience or real frustration about the times he’s woken up that way. Somehow, he hasn’t. Raju doesn’t understand it. But he still deserves the warning, particularly if they’re going to be travelling. It might effect where they can sleep, if nothing else.
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Date: 2024-06-06 01:33 am (UTC)His head dips down. It seems strange that there was a point in time when Raju wasn't living here with him. He recognizes that isn't the point of what he's trying to say, but it still strikes him all the same, as though it's unnatural for Raju to be anywhere else.
His brow furrows and he wets his lips, pondering their predicament. He isn't aware of Raju's touch; at least no more than usual at this point. "We'll prepare," he decides. "Our cabin as well as where we choose to sleep." If nightmares after an attack are a pattern, as is loss of control, then they can mitigate the damage done.
A fleeting image flashes through his mind: comforting a distraught Raju, holding him through the night to calm the nightmares, but as quickly as it'd come it disappears. He'll be charred to a crisp if he attempted that.
Hell, he'd be charred to a crisp if he attempted any other form of comfort, he's damn well sure of that.
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Date: 2024-06-06 12:02 pm (UTC)He sighs, then looks up from his hands at a window. "How many hours, do you think? Until the sun should rise?" No matter how much practice he's had being stuck inside, he never likes it. He'll start pacing soon, or do his best to train, find some excuse to move. They've been stuck inside here through blizzards before, he knows that Francis knows that's why he asks. It might help to know how long he's got. He should make a fire, too, as soon as it stops feeling so important to keep Francis where he knows he's here. Now that the terror and everything behind it is draining away, he's starting to notice how cold it is. His shoulders hunch and he slumps a little, leaning in toward Francis and his body heat. Odd to realise he'd forgotten the one thing he never can in this place, but only after the fact.
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Date: 2024-06-06 02:02 pm (UTC)It's hard to tell with that sickly green miasma still hanging in the air. Crozier squints and reluctantly pulls himself away from Raju to tentatively looking out the window, hoping to see the moons or stars or something beyond the clouds. There really isn't much to see, and he can't help but scowl, slightly vexed but mostly anxious. There's so much outside of their control right now.
"I'd say four or five." It's a guess; he can't tell by his usual methods. But he knows Raju, and that's far too long to expect him to putter around and wait for action. "We'll wait for three."
And in the meantime he can keep Raju busy. They'll build the fire and cook a little, gather their supplies for the journey, eat and drink and bathe and then dress to head out into the cold air.
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Date: 2024-06-06 07:08 pm (UTC)It’s just as well the torches stay in the mine where they’re useful, Raju thinks, looking down into the ravine he knows is below him. They wouldn’t do any good here.
He looks over the bridge. He knows the railway is there, but mostly because he’s been this way recently enough to remember what it looks like.
He looks back at Francis. “Someone fell here the first time they tried to cross,” he says. “And that was in the daylight. I think. But if the sun hasn’t come up by now, it isn’t going to.”
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:05 am (UTC)Ah. Fantastic. He remembers how treacherous this ravine was the first and second time around, and that was without the green haze that’s now continuously hovering above them.
Crozier pauses to set down his pack. He’s traveling lighter now, just in the inner seal tunic and trousers, the parka too warm now even if the thaw hasn’t yet come. His boots feel too heavy still though, the tunic a bit too much. Come summer proper he’ll likely be wanting his shirtsleeves again.
He sighs. They’ve been keeping a good pace, though he knows Raju’s slowing himself up for his sake. He wants to keep going while he still has the stamina; he’s ready, willing, and able.
“What’s our plan?” he ponders aloud, looking about as though another path might materialize.
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Date: 2024-06-07 03:13 am (UTC)It was hours ago now when whoever it was had died but he remembers Francis behind him, the noises he'd made. He knows at least one of Francis' men is down in Lakeside, the men he keeps himself so isolated from, the men he worries over, the men whose deaths he carries such terrible guilt for, the responsibility of it heavy enough over his shoulders that Francis isn't always sure he's strong enough to keep his feet under the weight. The men who need him.
Raju's fingers curl into fists. The mittens keep his fingernails from cutting into his palms the way that he needs them to. He pushes a heavy breath out of his nose. He realises, dimly, that his jaw is tense, his teeth are clenched together. He holds himself that way, and he is still.
Francis needs light. He's going to need a lot of light.
"We should have something like a torch." He says it without looking around. His voice is solid and businesslike, a voice more used to giving orders than chatting, or laughing, or thinking very much beyond the things that it needs to. "Something that can carry a flame without burning up. A... bucket? Something metal? Wood won't do."
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:00 pm (UTC)Should have. They have matches, kindling. There are branches they could fasten into something useable. They're more than able to cobble together something workable. If Raju was wanting something like a lantern though -
"We have some cans for melt water. Will that do?"
A torch would give off a fair amount of light, enough to at least see their feet. It wouldn't be the safest method, but there's not enough they can do otherwise. They have to get across the ravine. He needs to know, he just needs to know.
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:53 pm (UTC)It's his own fault. He should have anticipated needing to do this. But he hadn't wanted to. Hasn't wanted to practice it at all. And so he hadn't thought he'd need to. Hadn't thought Francis would need him to. He hadn't wanted to think it.
"It'll have to," he says in a flat voice, then turns and looks around for Francis' pack, moves with quick, efficient movements to find a can inside it and straightens up. He looks down into it. In the sick green light, the hollow inside looks as deep and dark as everything else. He wants to tap his fingers, his feet. He sets the can down and takes the mittens off him instead, puts them in the pockets of the blanket, takes that off and the parka beneath it. He holds the parka out to Francis, frowning and impatient and unwilling to get the precious thing dirty by putting it onto the ground.
"You'll have to stay back," he says, already starting to shiver. It isn't dangerous to be cold right now, he thinks, or Francis wouldn't have offered this to Raju instead of wearing it himself. It only feels terrible. And it'll be easier this way than it would warm and comfortable, the way he can very nearly be with what he's forced to call warmer temperatures and Francis' fine, odd coat on top of that as one of all of Raju's layers. He won't take something so valuable of Francis' only to risk burning it by keeping it on crossing that bridge. And it would be harder to do what he needs to, feeling like that. "But it'll burn bright enough to keep you safe. I have to make sure it... stays in the right place."
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Date: 2024-06-07 02:13 pm (UTC)Crozier takes the parka with barely-concealed confusion painted on his face. Surely Raju isn't going to attempt when he thinks he's going to attempt. Surely he's not going to try to call on the flames that he works so diligently to keep in check. Surely he's not going to try to manipulate something he actively fears?
But of course he is. Raju knows how desperately he wants to get to Lakeside, how quickly he'd moved overland compared to his usual sort of careful plodding. Raju has been supportive the moment he'd said he was going; like hell is a treacherous crossing going to stop them.
But even still - "You don't have to do this."
He frowns, shifting the heavy parka over his shoulder. "We can make a couple of torches and move slowly. You don't have to attempt this."
cw vague vague mention of suicide ideation
Date: 2024-06-07 03:29 pm (UTC)Raju realises what he's said the moment it finishes coming out of his mouth. For a moment he doesn't move, eyes on Francis, businesslike expression cracking just long enough for surprise and shame to try showing through. Then he turns, the movements of his hands wrapping the blanket back around him and slinging his things around his back a little less efficient, less graceful and moving more quickly. He picks the can up. He puts the can down and takes out the fingerless gloves he's sewn out from a spare shirt and tugs them on. He reaches out for the can again, then stops and wraps the blanket around his face. Francis will only be able to see his eyes. That's better than nothing.
He tries not to give himself another moment of hesitation, picks the can up quickly, walks with long, fast strides over to where he thinks the right part of the bridge begins. But when he gets there...
For a long, strange moment, Raju is still. His fingers are cold. He realises he's breathing hard. Where's the blank, empty thing that used to make anything like this easy? He's been trying for it, but he realises now it hasn't come. Considering what he's wanting to do, that's probably for the best. His fingers tighten on the can, then loosen, then tighten again. He closes his eyes.
It's always here, isn't it? That's why he dreams of it so much. It must be here. Somewhere.
He frowns. He finds himself shying away from the memories, feeling around their edges in that easier, more familiar way, and not sure how to venture in it any further.
Alright. Something more recent, then. Kneeling in the snow. The cold that he feels in his fingers now but in his feet, painful at first, then numb. He remembers what he'd felt then, what he hasn't allowed himself to think on except that night, when he'd been forced to. All the time he's wasted here. How easy it was, once it'd happened, to welcome it, to let everything drain out of the punctures in his arm and away from him, and end up here after. But fingers large around his, slicking his hand with blood. The people waiting for him, even now, hoping and needing and waiting while he hasn't sent word for years, while he's here, while he let himself end up here, while he wants to stay here and happy and doing nothing while the desperate people who gave everything for him wait and wait, and wait forever. I'm sorry, baba.
He opens his eyes with a sharp breath, shaking his free hand. In the instant when his mind is too far away to expect it not to, the fire drips away from his hand's movement like water, spilling into the open can with the rest of itself. The light chases the dark back and forth as the can trembles in his unsteady grip, the movement that should be too small to see magnified by the size of the long moving shadows.
But it fits very neatly into the can. He'd intended it to be bigger. He doesn't know if— it's hard to think.
"Francis." His reach for a businesslike tone stretches tightly around what wants to be a shake in his voice. "Is this enough? It should be... bigger. Brighter. I-I think."
Selfish. He's selfish, being here, asking instead of doing, wanting to hear a yes so he can stop at only this instead of making it bigger and brighter and better than it is. He takes an unsteady breath and thinks it and narrows his eyes at the metal in his hand, and the flame in it grows. A little. His fingers are starting to feel the heat.
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Date: 2024-06-07 03:57 pm (UTC)He understands. He hates it, hates seeing the look cross Raju’s face like he wants the earth to swallow him whole, hates that he’s doing this only to make the crossing safer for him, but he understands.
He must be tired too of always being a little bit afraid.
Raju starts and stops, then starts and stops, and God, Crozier wishes there was some other way. The flames come from distress, at least they do for him; what must possibly be going through his mind? And for his sake, some old man who couldn’t wait a day to find out something he can’t even change. Would a day have made any real difference? Dead is dead, urgency won’t undo what’s just been done.
Raju is insistent. Crozier won’t ask again to stop, even if he wants to.
In the dark he can just barely make out his form, but the way he holds himself, stiff shoulders now a little rounded as though cringing or wincing, still like a statue as he concentrates on whatever terrible thing he has to conjure to call forth the fire. He holds himself back and waits, breath catching in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly until the shadows begin to flicker and dance. He’s done it.
He’s done it!
What started as a concerned frown quickly softens, then brightens as he starts to smile. That nervous little breath expels with a soft laugh, making room for the pride that swells in his chest.
“My god, look at that,” he says, for a moment forgetting to answer him. He’s too pleased, too happy for Raju and his accomplishment. His joy is soft and measured though; he doesn’t leap forward to grab his shoulder or raise his voice beyond his very quiet astonishment. Raju is still frightened, he needs to remember that. “That’s incredible. A marvel. You just poured fire into a tin from nothing.”
Crozier laughs again, awed. But then again, he shouldn’t be so surprised at the success; Raju is a capable man with a well of strength and self-discipline. It was only a matter of time before he mastered this whole ‘fire conjuring’ business.
“Does it need to be more than that? How far can you see ahead of you now?”
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Date: 2024-06-07 07:08 pm (UTC)When he looks back at his hand the fire is dimmer, and he grimaces. Damn it. Francis is too… too kind, too soothing. He’s too used to the way it feels looking at him, and that feeling is only going to help. Which isn’t what they need right now.
He tilts the can, aiming the light more toward the ground. Alright, but not enough. It would be enough, wouldn’t it, if he had practiced, but he’s grown lazy here, forgotten how to push himself and Francis isn’t the only person who’s going to suffer for it and Raju knows that, he knows that. He needs to do better. The feeling sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach reaches up and squeezes at the base of his throat, and—
There. Better, anyway, if not quite as bright as it was. But he can’t let himself think that way for too long or he’s going to relax. His mind doesn’t want to hold onto any of these thoughts, and forcing them from slipping away into their usual place closer to the back of his mind is going to take constant attention.
“I’ll see farther if you stop being so damn kind to me,” he mutters, voice pitched low with irritation that doesn’t belong where he’s putting it, that feels wrong to aim that way but he can see the way that wrong feeling is helping and that’s the only part that matters, and the rest is a problem for later.
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Date: 2024-06-07 08:11 pm (UTC)Cruel to be kind, is that it? He can't say anything positive, or Raju would lose the thing that fuels the flame. God only knows what that means exactly, what memories or dire thoughts he's subjected himself to.
It'd be wrong to let him languish for his sake, morally - and for a more selfish part of himself - emotionally. He's fond of this man, he doesn't want him to have to suffer for goddamned fire, but he said he wouldn't try to talk him out of it again.
He tries on an apologetic smile and nods. "I'll be quiet and let you morb then."
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From:Time Skip - a week or so after the Darkwalker attack
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