As soon as the incantation leaves his mouth, Rune tastes the twisted magic on his tongue and through his bones like fingers digging and pulling his flesh apart from its very seams. The sensation only lasts a moment, body heavy enough that it drops him to his knees on the stone floor of the basement beneath the shop. It's been quiet for hours upstairs except the soft echo of whatever music Ciro's decided to play, and Rune breathes through the discomfort until it settles, grunting quietly as he crawls his way across the room to the steps. The weakness he expects, but that, too, doesn't last long, using the edge of the staircase as leverage to get upright and suddenly craving the tea that he hates.
The tea that Ciro makes.
Ciro —
He'd been on his mind the moment he'd cast, so of course it's all he can think about as he climbs to the main floor and pushes the door aside. It smells earthy there, as it always does, but there's also a hint of cleaning product used on the linoleum. Rune drags a somewhat shaky hand through his hair and exhales, trying to straighten his jacket and shirt before Ciro spots him and the mess he is. He'd known the potential side effects of misspeaking – they're almost always the same depending on the spell – but it's cruel irony that a separation spell is causing him to crave closeness. He squeezes is fingers into a fist so tightly that his knuckles whiten. ]
Ciro. [ Even his voice sounds strained. Perfect. ] Where are you?
[Ciro isn't far, but he can sense that something is off even before Rune makes it up the stairs. He was just outside on a not so important phonecall with a former bootycall. The excuse he makes up comes out in an instant, and he doesn't even stop to consider whether or not it makes sense because Rune needs his help.
He's not sure for what, but his skin felt prickly from the barely noticeable aftershock of magic gone wrong. It felt like sour milk tasted. Ciro rushes inside, spots Rune, and swoops in to the rescue. What he's lacking in muscle mass, he makes up for in enthusiasm and concern. It takes him only a moment to spell the front door locked. They were after hours anyway, no one they knew would use the front door for anything.]
Hey, take it easy. I've got you.
[For someone whose diet consisted largely of tea, cigarettes and wine, Ciro manages to pull one of Rune's arms over his shoulder to help support him on the way to one of the decorative sofas in the shop.]
Give me a second. I'm going to make you something. [Before he goes, he takes one of Rune's hands into his own to try to get a feel for the sort of residual magic might have lingered in his skin. A separation spell. But was it for work or personal use? He'd have to find a way to ask later. Rune was fussy when Ciro did the overly concerned mother thing.]
[ He doesn't like the way he mothers him, but Rune doesn't have much protest in him at the moment. As it is, the contact between them is deliciously soothing, letting Ciro navigate them across the shop to the sofa that he melts into without a word. His protests are minimal, surprisingly, and he knows that Ciro knows that something is wrong. He could just tell him the truth – that it's for work, another customer to fuel their more expensive habits – but it doesn't leave him, lips parting to exhale once more before he reaches out to capture Ciro's hand between his.
It's a vulnerable moment, one he isn't sure how to process. ]
I don't want any tea. [ The disdain is real, but he lets him go gently. ] If you want to do something for me, just sit here.
[ Ciro should understand the consequences of such magic. Even if he's absolutely ridiculous more often than not, he's an incredibly talented witch in his own right, and though Rune is often loathe to admit it aloud, he tries to show it through other means. Right now, he needs to ride out the effects of this spell and figure out how to get it right again so there are no more mistakes. Worse than his sudden neediness is the fact he'd failed at all. It rubs him raw, and he tilts his head to look at him, dark eyes burning at the center with the remnants of bad magic. ]
I think that's what I need right now.
[ As difficult as it is, Rune relies on Ciro for so much more than he usually lets on. ]
[ He stumbles through the front door of the tea shop just after midnight.
It's foolish, he knows, because the front door of their legitimate business is not the kind of place to be hemorrhaging magic, but Rune is so lost in his own head that he can't even think straight. At least he doesn't break the glass, hands shaking as he catches his balance on one of the sofas and smears the top of the leather with blood. It's empty at least, unable to feel Ciro's presence, and vaguely, he wonders if he had told him he was going out. Not that it mattered since Rune had already made plans to meet with someone to see this particular venture to its natural end. And it should have been easy. It should have been an exchange of spells and money, not a fight.
His hip checks the counter, knocking over the neat stack of cups Ciro had arranged and wincing as some of them shattered when they hit the floor. Their nice mugs specifically for in-house guests... Rune doesn't know why he's thinking about that, searching for something to staunch the bleeding in his side; considering it's already bled through his shirt, a towel isn't going to do it. Yet, that's all he finds, and he nearly falls to his knees making it to the sink, heaving into it as he clutches at the edges.
Was it the ID tag? Was it a curse?
He can't seem to get a grip on his aura, and when he vomits into the sink again, there's nothing but red. He needed help. He needed — ]
Ciro! [ Rune grits his teeth, trying to remain standing. Fuck. Would he even hear him? ] Ciro!
[For once he's actually not out visiting friends, just on the roof. It's late at night, and the moon is beautiful, so he's spending time with his garden, collecting different herbs for the shop, and some for personal use when suddenly his stomach twists and he's overwhelmed with nausea. He even doubles over as he senses how much magic is being spilled nearby.
Rune.
He drops whatever he's doing, and rushes down the stairs, past their bedrooms, past the store level where he slows at the sight of shattered ceramics and the strong scent of blood and magic, trying not to look at Rune as he goes into the basement to grab some things.
Ciro is back as fast as he can be, right at Rune's side as he coaxes him to sit. There was so much blood, the smell of it alone was overwhelming and making his eyes water and heart race as he's picking up on some of Rune's emotions. He tries to calm himself, drawing up Rune's shirt to assess the damage and immediately try to stop the bleeding.
He pulls away the towel and puts his hands right over where he's bleeding from whispering words he hasn't had to say for a long time. Words so old, they'd been taught to him by his mother and passed down from her mother before her. It would be painful. Meshing torn skin back together was never comfortable for the person, but he doesn't think there's time to worry about pain management when he has to stop Rune from losing too much blood. It's not like they could just go to a hospital.]
Stay with me, alright? I've got you.
[He lifts his hands away and the wound is sealed, but there's also the issue of how much blood he's lost already, possible internal bleeding, and a physical wound not being the only of his injuries. At least the other's weren't as urgently pressing, so he could move him in a bit.]
I need you to drink this. All of it. [He's pouring a few things out into a small mug in a ratio he's mostly just eyeballing]
[ it's been three days since he was thrown into one of the cells in the deep basement of the dahlia. three days since he returned mijat's errant jaguar and earned a mouthful of obscenities in response. three days since his little tiff with rune.
the guard is kind enough to keep his phone alive, though lynx doesn't spend much time using it. he sits cross-legged with his back against the stone wall, perfectly still, his eyes closed as he rewinds memories and plays them back through his head. walking through the woods with mika on his shoulders, teaching her the names of flowers. chasing sofija across the beach after she showed him how to build a sandcastle. family dinners, back when he and mijat actually got along. he plays through them until his heart begins to ache, and only then does he stop, keeping his mind carefully blank as he waits.
sometimes it's just a few hours. sometimes it goes past a week. sometimes his punishment is cut short because even mijat knows he keeps the dahlia in excellent working order and deals with petty crises with grace. the guard tells him something goes wrong every time he's gone, and lynx takes a great deal of personal satisfaction in knowing that mijat knows he's fucking his own business every time he gets angry and throws him in the basement.
his hand takes its time healing. he downplayed the severity of his injury to rune, not that it fucking matters because rune doesn't fucking care, but the jaguar broke three bones in his hand and fractured his wrist. the guard offers him human painkillers, which lynx accepts just to crush into the concrete floor to pass the time. he's not ingesting poison. he'd rather have tea.
three days, and not a peep from rune. the nerve. the fucking nerve of him, thinking he can swoop in and restore his wings and save him from his miserable existence. the sheer arrogance of a witch who can barely tap into his own magic. he knows nothing. nothing of love and family and atonement. lynx yields to it all so mika can be safe. sitting in a cell is nothing. the stupid cat nearly taking his hand is nothing. none of it is anything. rune has no idea the depths lynx would go to for her, because rune has never cared about anyone.
on the third night, after spending hours half-asleep counting the same stones over and over and over, he finally decides he can accept the shame of being the first to break. ]
as if a faerie would know just what he'd been through in his life, of the pains he'd suffered and the loss he'd lived through. he hadn't let it crush him the way lynx's own grief does; he'd used it, rose up to consume it before it consumed him. and rune's aware that it doesn't always make him the most agreeable person, especially when it comes to normal things, but he didn't get to the place he is by rolling over and taking it. oddly enough, it's the lapse of time that he notices more than the silence. he could apologize – laughable since he doesn't apologize to anyone – or he could go to the club and demand to see lynx regardless of whatever punishment he might have been dealt.
he could do a lot of things, but instead, all rune does is work.
there's research first, of course. and he has to reach out to some old contacts to find out what they know about faeries and their particular kind of magic. witches and fae have never gotten along, but there's always something somewhere. a pair that fell in love, or close friends. someone had information, and rune is patient enough to wait the day and a half it takes for an address to appear in his phone one night while he's working on a basic healing spell. it's exactly what he wants, but it's also a day away from the tea shop. which means he has to leave as soon as he tells ciro that he's going.
he's checking into a tiny b&b nearly twenty hours later when lynx texts him. there's no reply for at least ten minutes. ]
oh in that case i know a few of your servers and we like to update each other on people we need to look out for. your gropper is just the latest one, but after being thrown through a partition, i would hope he's learned his lesson.
[ he's glad rune isn't here to see this. to see him, bloodied and bruised, pathetically dragging himself across the floor to his bedroom because standing disorients him to the point that he'll end up in the same position anyway if he tried.
rune would have a mouthful to say about this. no, he wouldn't — he'd simply find a way to spirit himself to faerie and cause even more damage than this is worth. he doesn't understand tact or fragility or balance. rune is as stubborn and bull-headed as they come, his anger a heavy, dangerous hand, and lynx doesn't have the patience for it right now. all he wants is for the disgusting potion he's been force-fed to wear off so his mind can be clear again instead of plagued with nightmarish scenarios involving his family. they're magically-induced and extremely vivid lies. nothing more. but he's having a hard time reminding himself of it when he keeps having visions of sofija being torn limb for limb for the sport of the unseelie court.
he shakes his head and immediately regrets it. the bed feels like it's miles away, but eventually his hand closes around soft sheets, slumping against the side of the mattress and getting blood on the covers. he's already replaced them so many times because of rune and his questionable condition.
rune is on his mind far too often lately, but he embraces it in this moment because it's something different from the horrors replaying through his head. thinking of his sour face offers him the smallest reprieve. thank the gods he isn't here. lynx closes his eyes, trying to keep rune at the forefront of his mind as he slowly slumps to the floor, his breathing slow and shallow. ]
[ ciro chastises him after nearly strangling him in a hug and then crying.
he's been reckless, he knows, but it's no excuse for his absence in ciro's life. some part of him feels guilty about it. not enough though, not when he asks him to tend to his ear and inquires about something to help stabilize his magic. it's a familiar affair, relaxing almost, until he begins talking about lynx and the agreement he's made to help teach his daughter. (does that part come as a surprise to ciro? he can't tell, not with the way he looks at him, but he suspects it might.) and though he should give lynx his space, rune doesn't like the idea of being gone too long. no matter what they argue about, there's always something dragging him back.
ciro says love is a good look on him.
rune doesn't even reply. he leaves.
it's much too late when he arrives back at lynx's little cottage, taking a moment to look around before stepping in through the door. the silence bothers him, which is strange considering how used to it he's gotten the hours lynx is away working. perhaps he's asleep, no cause for worry, and rune's thinking about crawling into bed with him when he sees the blood. the adrenaline spikes hard, following after it without hesitation, and upon finding lynx half out of it draped over the bed, he's back in gris' prison outside his own body.
rune blinks, and he's already on his knees, arm curling around lynx to ease him back so he's not breathing in the dirty sheets. ]
Lynx. [ his voice is steady despite a mixture of feelings. disappointment, annoyance, anger. so much anger. ] Look at me. What happened?
[ It's not terribly late when Rune shows up at Ciro's house, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon. They'd made plans for this over a month ago, and he does his best to be polite to Ciro's parents before slipping away to the other boy's room without a sound. He knocks on the door once and lets himself in, not bothering to wait for an answer. If he's doing something important, it'll have to wait.
They apparently need to get a few things together before heading out to the field.
When he spots Ciro, Rune helps himself to a seat on the corner of his bed and fiddles with the edge of the blanket as he looks at him. It might seem strange, but he's rather excited about this, their first real attempt at a ritual without any supervision. He knows it'll go well. Yet, convincing Ciro to trust him had been a little difficult for some reason. Leaning back, he stares at him. ]
Are you ready? I thought you were going to meet me out by the old barn.
[Ciro felt Rune coming early enough that he could have told his parents to not open the door and turn off all the lights if he wouldn't have had to explain why to them. So instead of doing anything he just covers himself in his covers and pretends to be asleep. It's a lame plan, but it's all he can manage so suddenly.
Sure, they planned it, but Ciro didn't think Rune would really REALLY want to go through with it. His parents loved him because so far he was the only one able to get Ciro out of his shell, and the only friend he really had.]
Maybe we shouldn't?
[He's dressed underneath the blanket like he really tried to go to meet him, but was overcome by cold feet.]
rune would like to blame it on his own work, that he's busy putting together spells for incompetent people or ridding them of problems that they could have easily done themselves, but he can't. not really. he's all but stopped taking requests since his last conversation with 704, focused instead on how to aid him in the obvious (or, perhaps, not-so-obvious): loosening the rope around his neck. freeing him from his role as a reaper is out of the question, naturally. yet, there never seems to be any in-between to what he does, and part of that, he thinks, has to do with the constant rate at which mortals die. it's an interesting thing, obsessing over it as he chains himself to his work bench in the basement until he believes he's created something worth trying.
the vial he stashes in his coat pocket consists of 704's blood and other rarities that give the potion inside a rather peculiar color. it's pale but somehow dark depending on the angle of the lighting, and the general thickness of it probably won't be pleasant to swallow—if he takes it at all. but it exists, and the magic that comes from it is strong enough to potentially do something. rune isn't exact on what it would do, though the effects would only be temporary. (maybe it'll allow 704 the opportunity to sleep and not look so dead.) worst case, it does nothing. anything else —
perhaps it would cut the strings of fate and free 704 from the ravel.
if rune believed in that sort of thing anyway.
and it's late when he shows up at 704's doorstep, not bothering to text or call and only knocking on his door as if expecting him to be home. his schedule is hardly consistent, that much he knows, and so, he waits without really caring how long he has to be there. he'll either let him in or show up at some point. rune's stubborn enough not to go until he sees him because he's stubborn enough to have done this in the first place. it was slightly less complicated than trying to barter for a reaper's freedom—if even a slight possibility. it's still a thought that crosses his mind as he knocks again and frowns down the hallway. ]
[ of all the things 704 might expect coming back to his apartment, rune's waiting figure is not one of them. he'd run out to grab food (this nonsense about reapers needing more sleep and food than even normal mortal humans never anything but an annoyance) only to find nothing to his liking and leave empty-handed. beggars, apparently, can be choosers. not that 704 considers himself either; 704 doesn't too much consider himself, period. those are grounds for uselessness.
the handful of times he's met with rune in person whether a side-street rescue or a questionable blood donation, 704 was either still working or planning on continuing to do so. tonight not so much, indicated by the dark blue hoodie and gray shorts that cut just above his pale knees. he has his phone in one hand and what probably looks like another phone in the other -- this one cased in red -- as he walks up, but he slides the latter in the massive singular pocket of the hoodie before he's at the door. ]
What are you doing here?
[ on the tip of his tongue: i thought you were going to have nothing to do with me?
of course, really, 704's life -- if one can call it that -- is riddled with people of various sorts that say one thing and do another. if he was a more joking type he might say he attracts them; he is not a joking type. and as it is, whenever people behave counterintuitive to what 704 expects, he's almost gotten so used to it that it's joined the ranks of other things he takes in stride that perhaps other recipients would not. for all his brusqueness or what-have-you, maybe one can't call 704 patient but the cliche glutton for punishment might come to mind if one was a fly on the wall. ]
not the first time or the last, but he can't breathe. he can't pinpoint where he is or what he'd been doing at the time, and when he rolls over, rune sucks in a mouthful of dusty air that vaguely tells him he'd fallen unconscious in the basement. a spell perhaps? he blinks and tries to sit up, feels incredibly sluggish when he does manage to become upright. the candles he'd lit at his table have gone out, the darkness cool and comforting in a way the nightmare that clings to the back of his mind is not. he can't really think either, so he stumbles to his feet and up the steps.
it's later than he thought. the tea shop is closed, and he can feel ciro in his bed this time. not out, not gone. it's a partial respite, weary as he ascends another flight of stairs and makes a beeline right to ciro's room. rune feels sick, like being lost in a vision and only able to swim through pieces of it. he feels trapped, which sparks anger and confusion.
he doesn't make it into ciro's bed, on his knees at the side of it instead. when he reaches out, he touches him, and his entire body sags with some kind of relief. ]
You're real, [ he says into the dark, to ciro who must be awake by now. ] It's not a dream.
[Ciro once took pride in himself for being able to sleep through Rune staying up late to work on spells, obsess about things he considers productive, or whatever else he does in the basement. Lately the smallest things have been waking him, so his eyes open the moment he hears Rune kneeling at his bedside.
Before he can ask what Rune is doing, the other witch's words reveal what's happened and explains why he reads as unsettled up until they make contact. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to know more.]
I'm right here. [Ciro settles his hand on top of Rune's, and after a lazy breath, takes it to rest against his chest. His own heartbeat is calm and steady at the moment, and it's not often he can offer that to Rune, but he hopes that can be a little bit grounding for now.] Would you like to talk about it?
[He suspects the answer will be no, which is fine, but is already shifting to make space for Rune to join him. On that matter he isn't willing to compromise, even reaches to draw him closer by a handful of shirt.]
[Ciro parted ways with Sage under the impression that he would have a talk with Rune and slowly open him up to the idea that he wasn't alone in the world. That he had family, and in fact, hadn't lost them all. He would tell Rune that it was a miracle, a blessing, all those words that humans used to expressed immensely good fortune. He'd lay out the groundwork, tell Rune about Sage, and then--
Well. Deep down he knows that Rune will be apprehensive about it all. Even for Ciro parts of it seem too good to be true, but on the other hand it's impossible for him to ignore the very obvious similarities between his partner and his half brother. Blindly, Ciro holds out hope that there would be a good chance that Rune might respond in a positive way.
He tells him about the late night fire scrying, them meeting up to talk, and catches Rune up to speed on everything that happened that night so they were on the same page, but even several seconds after Ciro had finished speaking he was still standing there waiting for Rune to give him something, anything. Even his emotions felt convoluted, tangled, and difficult for Ciro to make sense of.]
[ Something had woken him in the middle of the night. Rare, yes, but not improbable considering the odd hours he usually keeps, and when he'd found Ciro gone, he'd remained awake and vigilant. And annoyed.
There had been no note or any indication as to where he had gone. As much as Rune did trust Ciro, there were some things that he preferred to be kept apprised of. So, when he finally returns to the shop, Rune is waiting for him with crossed arms and a frown—which deepens considerably as he's told where he had gone and who he had met. Was such a thing possible? He hadn't come across anything in his studies or the histories that implied others had survived, though the likelihood of him being the only survivor seemed odd. But the hope that there were others out there from his coven had long since died, and this news Ciro brings him isn't something he wants to think about right now. ]
I'm going back to bed, [ he says in response, turning away from Ciro to navigate his way to the staircase. ] If you plan to go out again, lock the door behind you this time.
[ His skepticism is sharp, but more than anything, he's angry that Ciro had put himself in a dangerous position without telling him. ]
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As soon as the incantation leaves his mouth, Rune tastes the twisted magic on his tongue and through his bones like fingers digging and pulling his flesh apart from its very seams. The sensation only lasts a moment, body heavy enough that it drops him to his knees on the stone floor of the basement beneath the shop. It's been quiet for hours upstairs except the soft echo of whatever music Ciro's decided to play, and Rune breathes through the discomfort until it settles, grunting quietly as he crawls his way across the room to the steps. The weakness he expects, but that, too, doesn't last long, using the edge of the staircase as leverage to get upright and suddenly craving the tea that he hates.
The tea that Ciro makes.
Ciro —
He'd been on his mind the moment he'd cast, so of course it's all he can think about as he climbs to the main floor and pushes the door aside. It smells earthy there, as it always does, but there's also a hint of cleaning product used on the linoleum. Rune drags a somewhat shaky hand through his hair and exhales, trying to straighten his jacket and shirt before Ciro spots him and the mess he is. He'd known the potential side effects of misspeaking – they're almost always the same depending on the spell – but it's cruel irony that a separation spell is causing him to crave closeness. He squeezes is fingers into a fist so tightly that his knuckles whiten. ]
Ciro. [ Even his voice sounds strained. Perfect. ] Where are you?
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He's not sure for what, but his skin felt prickly from the barely noticeable aftershock of magic gone wrong. It felt like sour milk tasted. Ciro rushes inside, spots Rune, and swoops in to the rescue. What he's lacking in muscle mass, he makes up for in enthusiasm and concern. It takes him only a moment to spell the front door locked. They were after hours anyway, no one they knew would use the front door for anything.]
Hey, take it easy. I've got you.
[For someone whose diet consisted largely of tea, cigarettes and wine, Ciro manages to pull one of Rune's arms over his shoulder to help support him on the way to one of the decorative sofas in the shop.]
Give me a second. I'm going to make you something. [Before he goes, he takes one of Rune's hands into his own to try to get a feel for the sort of residual magic might have lingered in his skin. A separation spell. But was it for work or personal use? He'd have to find a way to ask later. Rune was fussy when Ciro did the overly concerned mother thing.]
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It's a vulnerable moment, one he isn't sure how to process. ]
I don't want any tea. [ The disdain is real, but he lets him go gently. ] If you want to do something for me, just sit here.
[ Ciro should understand the consequences of such magic. Even if he's absolutely ridiculous more often than not, he's an incredibly talented witch in his own right, and though Rune is often loathe to admit it aloud, he tries to show it through other means. Right now, he needs to ride out the effects of this spell and figure out how to get it right again so there are no more mistakes. Worse than his sudden neediness is the fact he'd failed at all. It rubs him raw, and he tilts his head to look at him, dark eyes burning at the center with the remnants of bad magic. ]
I think that's what I need right now.
[ As difficult as it is, Rune relies on Ciro for so much more than he usually lets on. ]
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It's foolish, he knows, because the front door of their legitimate business is not the kind of place to be hemorrhaging magic, but Rune is so lost in his own head that he can't even think straight. At least he doesn't break the glass, hands shaking as he catches his balance on one of the sofas and smears the top of the leather with blood. It's empty at least, unable to feel Ciro's presence, and vaguely, he wonders if he had told him he was going out. Not that it mattered since Rune had already made plans to meet with someone to see this particular venture to its natural end. And it should have been easy. It should have been an exchange of spells and money, not a fight.
His hip checks the counter, knocking over the neat stack of cups Ciro had arranged and wincing as some of them shattered when they hit the floor. Their nice mugs specifically for in-house guests... Rune doesn't know why he's thinking about that, searching for something to staunch the bleeding in his side; considering it's already bled through his shirt, a towel isn't going to do it. Yet, that's all he finds, and he nearly falls to his knees making it to the sink, heaving into it as he clutches at the edges.
Was it the ID tag? Was it a curse?
He can't seem to get a grip on his aura, and when he vomits into the sink again, there's nothing but red. He needed help. He needed — ]
Ciro! [ Rune grits his teeth, trying to remain standing. Fuck. Would he even hear him? ] Ciro!
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Rune.
He drops whatever he's doing, and rushes down the stairs, past their bedrooms, past the store level where he slows at the sight of shattered ceramics and the strong scent of blood and magic, trying not to look at Rune as he goes into the basement to grab some things.
Ciro is back as fast as he can be, right at Rune's side as he coaxes him to sit. There was so much blood, the smell of it alone was overwhelming and making his eyes water and heart race as he's picking up on some of Rune's emotions. He tries to calm himself, drawing up Rune's shirt to assess the damage and immediately try to stop the bleeding.
He pulls away the towel and puts his hands right over where he's bleeding from whispering words he hasn't had to say for a long time. Words so old, they'd been taught to him by his mother and passed down from her mother before her. It would be painful. Meshing torn skin back together was never comfortable for the person, but he doesn't think there's time to worry about pain management when he has to stop Rune from losing too much blood. It's not like they could just go to a hospital.]
Stay with me, alright? I've got you.
[He lifts his hands away and the wound is sealed, but there's also the issue of how much blood he's lost already, possible internal bleeding, and a physical wound not being the only of his injuries. At least the other's weren't as urgently pressing, so he could move him in a bit.]
I need you to drink this. All of it. [He's pouring a few things out into a small mug in a ratio he's mostly just eyeballing]
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the guard is kind enough to keep his phone alive, though lynx doesn't spend much time using it. he sits cross-legged with his back against the stone wall, perfectly still, his eyes closed as he rewinds memories and plays them back through his head. walking through the woods with mika on his shoulders, teaching her the names of flowers. chasing sofija across the beach after she showed him how to build a sandcastle. family dinners, back when he and mijat actually got along. he plays through them until his heart begins to ache, and only then does he stop, keeping his mind carefully blank as he waits.
sometimes it's just a few hours. sometimes it goes past a week. sometimes his punishment is cut short because even mijat knows he keeps the dahlia in excellent working order and deals with petty crises with grace. the guard tells him something goes wrong every time he's gone, and lynx takes a great deal of personal satisfaction in knowing that mijat knows he's fucking his own business every time he gets angry and throws him in the basement.
his hand takes its time healing. he downplayed the severity of his injury to rune, not that it fucking matters because rune doesn't fucking care, but the jaguar broke three bones in his hand and fractured his wrist. the guard offers him human painkillers, which lynx accepts just to crush into the concrete floor to pass the time. he's not ingesting poison. he'd rather have tea.
three days, and not a peep from rune. the nerve. the fucking nerve of him, thinking he can swoop in and restore his wings and save him from his miserable existence. the sheer arrogance of a witch who can barely tap into his own magic. he knows nothing. nothing of love and family and atonement. lynx yields to it all so mika can be safe. sitting in a cell is nothing. the stupid cat nearly taking his hand is nothing. none of it is anything. rune has no idea the depths lynx would go to for her, because rune has never cared about anyone.
on the third night, after spending hours half-asleep counting the same stones over and over and over, he finally decides he can accept the shame of being the first to break. ]
will you behave if we speak?
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he's furious.
as if a faerie would know just what he'd been through in his life, of the pains he'd suffered and the loss he'd lived through. he hadn't let it crush him the way lynx's own grief does; he'd used it, rose up to consume it before it consumed him. and rune's aware that it doesn't always make him the most agreeable person, especially when it comes to normal things, but he didn't get to the place he is by rolling over and taking it. oddly enough, it's the lapse of time that he notices more than the silence. he could apologize – laughable since he doesn't apologize to anyone – or he could go to the club and demand to see lynx regardless of whatever punishment he might have been dealt.
he could do a lot of things, but instead, all rune does is work.
there's research first, of course. and he has to reach out to some old contacts to find out what they know about faeries and their particular kind of magic. witches and fae have never gotten along, but there's always something somewhere. a pair that fell in love, or close friends. someone had information, and rune is patient enough to wait the day and a half it takes for an address to appear in his phone one night while he's working on a basic healing spell. it's exactly what he wants, but it's also a day away from the tea shop. which means he has to leave as soon as he tells ciro that he's going.
he's checking into a tiny b&b nearly twenty hours later when lynx texts him. there's no reply for at least ten minutes. ]
What do you want to talk about?
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[ he might as well ask. ]
in your ridiculous fantasy in which you restore my wings, how would you know the right colors?
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tfln / adumbrated.
My opinion of you isn't low at all.
I'm only asking to satisfy my curiosity.
Besides, you can't help who you know.
[ Sometimes. He's giving him the benefit of the doubt. ]
Is that the only reason you texted me?
\o/
lol would you be disappointed if it was?
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I'm just not sure I'd believe you.
What else have they told you?
[ Because that's really what this is about now. ]
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rune would have a mouthful to say about this. no, he wouldn't — he'd simply find a way to spirit himself to faerie and cause even more damage than this is worth. he doesn't understand tact or fragility or balance. rune is as stubborn and bull-headed as they come, his anger a heavy, dangerous hand, and lynx doesn't have the patience for it right now. all he wants is for the disgusting potion he's been force-fed to wear off so his mind can be clear again instead of plagued with nightmarish scenarios involving his family. they're magically-induced and extremely vivid lies. nothing more. but he's having a hard time reminding himself of it when he keeps having visions of sofija being torn limb for limb for the sport of the unseelie court.
he shakes his head and immediately regrets it. the bed feels like it's miles away, but eventually his hand closes around soft sheets, slumping against the side of the mattress and getting blood on the covers. he's already replaced them so many times because of rune and his questionable condition.
rune is on his mind far too often lately, but he embraces it in this moment because it's something different from the horrors replaying through his head. thinking of his sour face offers him the smallest reprieve. thank the gods he isn't here. lynx closes his eyes, trying to keep rune at the forefront of his mind as he slowly slumps to the floor, his breathing slow and shallow. ]
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he's been reckless, he knows, but it's no excuse for his absence in ciro's life. some part of him feels guilty about it. not enough though, not when he asks him to tend to his ear and inquires about something to help stabilize his magic. it's a familiar affair, relaxing almost, until he begins talking about lynx and the agreement he's made to help teach his daughter. (does that part come as a surprise to ciro? he can't tell, not with the way he looks at him, but he suspects it might.) and though he should give lynx his space, rune doesn't like the idea of being gone too long. no matter what they argue about, there's always something dragging him back.
ciro says love is a good look on him.
rune doesn't even reply. he leaves.
it's much too late when he arrives back at lynx's little cottage, taking a moment to look around before stepping in through the door. the silence bothers him, which is strange considering how used to it he's gotten the hours lynx is away working. perhaps he's asleep, no cause for worry, and rune's thinking about crawling into bed with him when he sees the blood. the adrenaline spikes hard, following after it without hesitation, and upon finding lynx half out of it draped over the bed, he's back in gris' prison outside his own body.
rune blinks, and he's already on his knees, arm curling around lynx to ease him back so he's not breathing in the dirty sheets. ]
Lynx. [ his voice is steady despite a mixture of feelings. disappointment, annoyance, anger. so much anger. ] Look at me. What happened?
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They apparently need to get a few things together before heading out to the field.
When he spots Ciro, Rune helps himself to a seat on the corner of his bed and fiddles with the edge of the blanket as he looks at him. It might seem strange, but he's rather excited about this, their first real attempt at a ritual without any supervision. He knows it'll go well. Yet, convincing Ciro to trust him had been a little difficult for some reason. Leaning back, he stares at him. ]
Are you ready? I thought you were going to meet me out by the old barn.
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Sure, they planned it, but Ciro didn't think Rune would really REALLY want to go through with it. His parents loved him because so far he was the only one able to get Ciro out of his shell, and the only friend he really had.]
Maybe we shouldn't?
[He's dressed underneath the blanket like he really tried to go to meet him, but was overcome by cold feet.]
What if something bad happens?
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704.
rune would like to blame it on his own work, that he's busy putting together spells for incompetent people or ridding them of problems that they could have easily done themselves, but he can't. not really. he's all but stopped taking requests since his last conversation with 704, focused instead on how to aid him in the obvious (or, perhaps, not-so-obvious): loosening the rope around his neck. freeing him from his role as a reaper is out of the question, naturally. yet, there never seems to be any in-between to what he does, and part of that, he thinks, has to do with the constant rate at which mortals die. it's an interesting thing, obsessing over it as he chains himself to his work bench in the basement until he believes he's created something worth trying.
the vial he stashes in his coat pocket consists of 704's blood and other rarities that give the potion inside a rather peculiar color. it's pale but somehow dark depending on the angle of the lighting, and the general thickness of it probably won't be pleasant to swallow—if he takes it at all. but it exists, and the magic that comes from it is strong enough to potentially do something. rune isn't exact on what it would do, though the effects would only be temporary. (maybe it'll allow 704 the opportunity to sleep and not look so dead.) worst case, it does nothing. anything else —
perhaps it would cut the strings of fate and free 704 from the ravel.
if rune believed in that sort of thing anyway.
and it's late when he shows up at 704's doorstep, not bothering to text or call and only knocking on his door as if expecting him to be home. his schedule is hardly consistent, that much he knows, and so, he waits without really caring how long he has to be there. he'll either let him in or show up at some point. rune's stubborn enough not to go until he sees him because he's stubborn enough to have done this in the first place. it was slightly less complicated than trying to barter for a reaper's freedom—if even a slight possibility. it's still a thought that crosses his mind as he knocks again and frowns down the hallway. ]
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the handful of times he's met with rune in person whether a side-street rescue or a questionable blood donation, 704 was either still working or planning on continuing to do so. tonight not so much, indicated by the dark blue hoodie and gray shorts that cut just above his pale knees. he has his phone in one hand and what probably looks like another phone in the other -- this one cased in red -- as he walks up, but he slides the latter in the massive singular pocket of the hoodie before he's at the door. ]
What are you doing here?
[ on the tip of his tongue: i thought you were going to have nothing to do with me?
of course, really, 704's life -- if one can call it that -- is riddled with people of various sorts that say one thing and do another. if he was a more joking type he might say he attracts them; he is not a joking type. and as it is, whenever people behave counterintuitive to what 704 expects, he's almost gotten so used to it that it's joined the ranks of other things he takes in stride that perhaps other recipients would not. for all his brusqueness or what-have-you, maybe one can't call 704 patient but the cliche glutton for punishment might come to mind if one was a fly on the wall. ]
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tfln / veile.
Are you being vague on purpose?
If I leave you alone to deal with a curse, you could die and blame me for it anyway.
I'm not letting you do that.
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but you just told me to die.
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not the first time or the last, but he can't breathe. he can't pinpoint where he is or what he'd been doing at the time, and when he rolls over, rune sucks in a mouthful of dusty air that vaguely tells him he'd fallen unconscious in the basement. a spell perhaps? he blinks and tries to sit up, feels incredibly sluggish when he does manage to become upright. the candles he'd lit at his table have gone out, the darkness cool and comforting in a way the nightmare that clings to the back of his mind is not. he can't really think either, so he stumbles to his feet and up the steps.
it's later than he thought. the tea shop is closed, and he can feel ciro in his bed this time. not out, not gone. it's a partial respite, weary as he ascends another flight of stairs and makes a beeline right to ciro's room. rune feels sick, like being lost in a vision and only able to swim through pieces of it. he feels trapped, which sparks anger and confusion.
he doesn't make it into ciro's bed, on his knees at the side of it instead. when he reaches out, he touches him, and his entire body sags with some kind of relief. ]
You're real, [ he says into the dark, to ciro who must be awake by now. ] It's not a dream.
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Before he can ask what Rune is doing, the other witch's words reveal what's happened and explains why he reads as unsettled up until they make contact. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to know more.]
I'm right here. [Ciro settles his hand on top of Rune's, and after a lazy breath, takes it to rest against his chest. His own heartbeat is calm and steady at the moment, and it's not often he can offer that to Rune, but he hopes that can be a little bit grounding for now.] Would you like to talk about it?
[He suspects the answer will be no, which is fine, but is already shifting to make space for Rune to join him. On that matter he isn't willing to compromise, even reaches to draw him closer by a handful of shirt.]
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A Conversation
Well. Deep down he knows that Rune will be apprehensive about it all. Even for Ciro parts of it seem too good to be true, but on the other hand it's impossible for him to ignore the very obvious similarities between his partner and his half brother. Blindly, Ciro holds out hope that there would be a good chance that Rune might respond in a positive way.
He tells him about the late night fire scrying, them meeting up to talk, and catches Rune up to speed on everything that happened that night so they were on the same page, but even several seconds after Ciro had finished speaking he was still standing there waiting for Rune to give him something, anything. Even his emotions felt convoluted, tangled, and difficult for Ciro to make sense of.]
Isn't this great news? Rune?
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There had been no note or any indication as to where he had gone. As much as Rune did trust Ciro, there were some things that he preferred to be kept apprised of. So, when he finally returns to the shop, Rune is waiting for him with crossed arms and a frown—which deepens considerably as he's told where he had gone and who he had met. Was such a thing possible? He hadn't come across anything in his studies or the histories that implied others had survived, though the likelihood of him being the only survivor seemed odd. But the hope that there were others out there from his coven had long since died, and this news Ciro brings him isn't something he wants to think about right now. ]
I'm going back to bed, [ he says in response, turning away from Ciro to navigate his way to the staircase. ] If you plan to go out again, lock the door behind you this time.
[ His skepticism is sharp, but more than anything, he's angry that Ciro had put himself in a dangerous position without telling him. ]
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sry i'm thirsty 4 texts
whats the green stuff in the vial in the basement????
sorry for being mia forever 🥹
[ aka what did you do, cat. ]
i'll wait an eternity and a half for u 🥲🥲🥲