i met evil
when i was only a child

waves of it course through him, the pain worse than when he had fallen in the first place. then there had been the high of battle to soothe him, a heavy dose of adrenaline to seal off the pain receptors in his brain. unconsciousness had been a gift for the battered body of the God and when he had woken so many hours later it had been shock that kept the fiery pain at bay.

clambering back up the cliff had nearly done him in but even that had not compared to the feel of his bone settling back in to place, the fracture securely aligned as it was meant to be. it was sharp and dull at the same time; knife-hot and throbbing-chill both.

"fuck," he hissed as she continued to work, to lay cooling poultice across the wound; he wonders, distantly, if it will suck the weeping rot right from the leg. it is a detached thought, strange and obscure, but it rolls around in his mind in an almost obsessive way. protection, perhaps, allowing him to completely detach from the sting of her touch to his shoulder.

only when she is in front of him, only when her gaze falls to his face, does he pull himself from the dream-like state that had begun to consume him. it lingers, for when his eyes lift there is a strange smile on his lips. "goddess," he purrs, for she is his saviour, his angel, his reckoning.

and he is clearly high on the pain (that lights those pleasure centers in equal measure) that she has gifted him.

postscript by aurora

you died in his sleep last night
death dreams you don't forget

he is quiet, but not silent; something about that brings her peace. better for him to find his tongue now than lash out — some cats did not handle pain well, and would seek to inflict it back. @Draven is, apparently, not the sort; she does not know if she is disappointed by that or not. the guttural word hangs in the air between them, lulled by the dull roar of the falls behind them.

she steps in front of him though and it all seems to change. his gaze meets hers — his eyes look a little unfocused, but that’s to be expected. it’ll be worse without painkillers but she will not give him anything just yet. he smiles and the sight is… not warm. @Draven never is. still, something twists in her chest to see it — has she ever seen him smile before? not a simper, and not tinged with his typical cruelty. this is different, and so too is the word he says —

goddess.

oh. her head tilts to hear it, trying to suss out what he means. bjorn had no counterpart, no sister or wife. surely he did not think of her as an equal? certainly not apart of his splintered soul, a lost piece of their puzzle. the word rings in her ears, though, and warms her skin beneath her plush coat. goddess.

she takes this as permission to continue, though. moving back towards the falls to collect a palmful of water, she seeks to wipe out the cut upon his face. she’s careful not to waste the water, nor press too hard — just enough the water runs clear instead of tinged with red. the last of the poultice is used here, but she does not bother to wrap it — it would only get in his way, and fall off besides. and if her fingers linger upon his face? and if her hand is kitten-soft upon his cheek? surely he will not notice, surely he is too awash in pain to notice.

and then — she is finished.

taking a step back, both hands now stained with blood, she looks to him. glancing over her handiwork, and all the smaller cuts she did not bother with. now?

postscript by aurora & lyrics by frightened rabbit

look in to my eyes
it's where my demons hide

tomorrow he might regret it. tomorrow, when the pain-haze clears, he might revisit his choice of words.

more than likely he will forget them entirely.

she is exceedingly gentle. almost too much so, for the pain and pleasure dim together, fading to a distant hum in the background. he watches her, still, lured in by her focus, bewitched by her skill. the scent of her -- snow and herbs and a spice he cannot name -- is intoxicating.

he breathes in, slow and steady, and exhales. butterfly-touch on his chest is met with a sudden movement, the lift of uninjured limb, the press of paw to the back of paw. he pushes against her touch, firm, as if he wants her to sink her claws in to his face and tear him open again.

slippery little wolf is gone in the next blink, leaving him grasping at air, his palm dropping away from his cheek.

"good," he gruffs in that ever-low pitch as he stares at the blood on her paws. his blood -- he cannot stop the pleased rumble that vibrates in his chest.

mine he wants to say, but the words snag on his teeth and he licks them instead. "beautiful," he says, instead, with a heavy dose of that dream-like tone poured over the word.

postscript by aurora

you died in his sleep last night
death dreams you don't forget

quietly she works, unable to keep her eyes off of his for long. his staring has never bothered her but here, it calls to her. a moth to a flame. he is hard to look away from; no wonder he is the eye. only when he shifts does she look at more than just where she is working and his gaze, pausing as his arm lifts. immediately an annoyed little noise thrums in her throat, a warning — a wolf, about to bare its teeth. she thinks he will disturb her hard work, but he does not.

instead, his paw touches hers once more. this time, with more intent. she is busy, too busy to indulge him — unaware, of course, how close she comes to harm here. she takes his words with a certain amount of salt — his eyes have gone hazy once more, and the birds above seem more unsettled now than they had before. worried that she’s hurt their master? maybe. she doesn’t have the words to ask, though, and only looks back to him when he calls her beautiful. his gaze is not upon her face but upon her hands, worn red from his own wounds.

home, she says, another demand. rest would do him good, but he can rest in the frostsong. assuming, of course, he listens to her.

postscript by aurora & lyrics by frightened rabbit

i met evil
when i was only a child

home she directs, but now he resists.

the ground is soft, the air is warm, and he grows tired. "too far," he argues, because he cannot think of managing the trek. the climb to the freeze, so far above them, looms as an impossible thing.

but he knows there is a place; he looks to it, now, tucked away behind the waterfall. "there." still with that pain-haze in place will she think him gone mad with it? looking without knowing would reveal no more than the falls themselves, but he can see the path that lingers just out of sight.

suddenly there is an appeal in the hidden haven, calling to the softer parts of him that yearn for moss and fern to rest his battered body on.

gritting his teeth he struggles to stand, his bandaged leg awkward and clumsy. he nearly falls, and hisses through the clench of his jaw. "come," single words seem all he is capable of, now, as his vision swims and his body sags. "please."

see, then, what you do to him.

postscript by aurora

you died in his sleep last night
death dreams you don't forget

even as she says it, she knows it’s a far-off dream.

even the word itself is wrong. home. the caverns are not her home — they would never be anyone’s home, as long as she could help it. brows furrow as @Draven digs his heels in, but she does not bristle against his immediate rejection; already, she knew it was not happening today. his alternative, though…

she follows his gaze with a terse look, only seeing the waterfall. did he mean to drown himself? after she’d wasted all those supplies—? that was cruel, crueler than even he usually was. she would argue more but the bastard man moves to stand, struggling to put weight upon his injured leg. of course.

with a huff, a sharp exhale straight through her nose, she seeks to move to his side — standing upon his injured side, she presses her much daintier shoulder into his. she could not carry his weight, but she could assist him. as long as his waterfall-fueled dream is not far off, at least. quietly grunting under his weight, their pace is slow as they go — together.

terribly, together.

exit

postscript by aurora & lyrics by frightened rabbit

of course she is there -- a support, silent and steady.

yet he is almost surprised by it, looking to her, seeking the fiery hatred he had known so well. for months they had lived together and yet it was as if he saw her for the first time, beyond the mask of anger and disgust and to something... more.

"trust me," he says as he sees her doubt, her confusion. there is a quiet anticipation blooming in his chest, keen to show her this place. to give her this gift. it was a true sanctuary, far from the reach of bjorn (though draven would argue he was everywhere, and he knew she would be the one to appreciate it. she more than most.

so they go, together, and he is silent all the way.

-exit-