Chapter 3
Previously: Obsidian: Ash and Moonbeams – Chapter 2
“We’ll figure it out!” Arthur promises Quincy.
John wishes he had Arthur’s confidence there, but then, Arthur isn’t as cynical as he is. He’s been called the household grump for a reason more than once. Still, not going to contradict Arthur’s nice gesture out loud.
“What did Llew say?” Arthur continues. “Something about a contract?” He looks at John. “You said something about politics? What did you get out of him?”
Starting to pick up his guns, John nods.
The fucking hinges on the fucking door are pristine again. So much for making any progress whatsoever.
“Yeah, he was trying to weasel out of saying anything. Fae diplomacy and not telling on others’ contracts.”
For a second, he rubs his finger, suddenly very uncomfortably aware of his own contract
But that discomfort clearly isn’t anywhere near what his bro is going through. Fuck, Quincy’s a crying mess, he can see the way he’s digging his fingers into Arthur’s clothes, and maybe he needs to disentangle him before that’s claws, not fingernails. Not that Quincy’s words don’t make him tense, because maybe Quincy is so upset because he gets what the fae are on about? He would, wouldn’t he? His mother is fae, that makes him the closest to having a chance to understand what the fuck is going on in Llew’s head.
“Llew doesn’t grant us any right to Darcy. To fae only contracts count and Eluned has one with Darcy, not me…”
~
“Shows what fae know,” Arthur scoffs. Darcy’s his dear friend, and more than that to John and Quincy. You’d think a species who was so eager to buy emotions would understand their value better! “Can’t even think outside their own box! We don’t care what rights Llew thinks we have or don’t have, do we? If he won’t help, we’ll find another way!”
Arthur has no idea what that way might be, yet, but… but they’ve been through so much together already! He’s not going to let himself believe anything but that it’s going to work out alright this time, too!
“We have to! We have to…” Words turning whimper, Quincy looks between him and John. “Cycy’s gone one day and I nearly hurt you two and feel like I’m turning into Radu!”
Using one of the guns, John smacks Quincy over the head.
Arthur suppresses a wince, but then, he really doesn’t like how upset Quincy is, either, so he also kind of approves. As he does of John’s words: “Get a hold of yourself, Molly. Culver’s going to have my hide if I let you tick out like that.”
“You just pushed us a bit, don’t exaggerate- you’ll need lots more practise with that power!” Arthur agrees, tries to put it into perspective. “And you’re a far way from turning into Radu, I’m pretty sure you haven’t staked anyone recently.”
Brutal murder really is a long way from some shoving by way of fae powers, surely even Quincy when upset has to see that?
~
Sometimes you have to take one for the team. John suspects Arthur is going to give him at minimum an affronted look, worst case go green, but that’s nothing compared to the way Quincy is looking and John knows that drac’s humor. Kind of shares that drac’s humor. That they are doing all those crass jokes is one of the ways he felt they are bonding as men. Even though he wishes Darcy was here to squeak and giggle about it, still, here goes nothing. He has to pull Quincy out of his mood if he can, so he puts on his worst raunchy grin and elbows him.
“Not for lack of wood for Darcy.”
~
Did his darling just…?
“No, you wouldn’t… not in front of…” Now he’s glancing at Arthur and tries hard not to snicker, but he feels terrible and it’s a horrible joke, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop crying.
And John did it for him, his darling is protecting him, even emotionally now, he knows how much that means from the dear brute. He knows how special he is that John would do things like that for him. Yes, he has John, even if they don’t have Darcy, and it hurts, it bloody hurts, but John is never ever going to stop fighting for her… for him.
It sounds hysterical, but yes, Quincy allows himself to laugh.
~
Arthur blushes, grimaces, at both of them. “Gross!!”
“Yupp!” John agrees with a bellow of a laugh himself, and hey, one blush and grimace, that’s better than he feared. He smacks Quincy over the head once more for good measure, tries to concentrate on having managed to make his Molly stop crying instead of feeling ready to cry himself, and that with his girl being nowhere near where he could let himself, so instead he goes back to grabbing the guns, fat lot of good they were.
~
Hysterical the laughter might be, but it’s still the best Quincy can manage right now with the feeling of being ripped apart inside, with opposite impulses pulling him in every direction, with part of his mind howling and another cooly whispering. It hasn’t been that bad ever before and he’s scared of how much worse it will get without Darcy here to help.
What if insanity runs in his family? What if he’s really just another sudden power outburst away from being like Radu? Does Radu have those whispers? That howling? That dreadful howling that makes him want to howl along in fear and pain…
Instead, he buries his face in Arthur’s hair and laughs until he feels he might not sob anymore.
~
“Very gross,” Arthur informs them, definitely not over that comment, but… it made Quincy laugh, and that’s more important than the prickling discomfort- as is finding Darcy.
“…Maybe we should get out for a bit. Take the horses, go for a ride, clear our heads.”
And talk away from the fae, he hopes his tone and look implies strongly. He doesn’t know how much they know what’s going on in the house, but he feels the need for some privacy. Even if that’s outside-the-wards privacy where vampires might lurk. But it’s daylight, so more likely, vampire minions. Who haven’t attacked them for weeks, so…
John gives a grunt of agreement and hands him the sword so he can carry the guns, while Quincy takes it upon himself to bring the poker and axe away again, although he is giving the poker one long look before he picks it up.
Arthur weighs the sword in his hand, surprised by how… hefty yet light it feels. At Quincy’s look at the poker, he gives him a questioning look in turn- then realizes that maybe as a part-fae, Quincy would have an issue with iron and looks at his hand for any sign of a bad reaction. And then he realizes that Quincy was touching the thing before, so…
“Um… touching it isn’t an issue for you, right?” he asks, just in case it was actually hurting Quincy and he just wasn’t saying anything.
With a sigh Quincy, shakes his head and lifts the poker up, no sign of distress visible. “I still don’t like weapons, let alone one I was holding when I… ticked out as John put it.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” Arthur agrees, gets going out of the cellar.
Laden down with his stack of guns, John chuckles. “Suit yourself, you two.”
Arthur looks at the sword in his hands and blushes a little. “I mean… swords are kind of cool. But I don’t think I want to actually stick one into anyone… except maybe Llew.” He scowls.
“I can think of another person,” John grunts before veering towards the weapons room.
Arthur follows after- he knows who John is talking about, of course, and… and he doesn’t know what he feels about that. If it’s really not Gregory, but a demon, and it was a demon all this time, and it hurt Darcy, and Quincy, too… It hurts to think, and he’s feeling too many things between that discovery and now Darcy missing, but… but he’s just so angry, and scared, too.
A sword’s probably not going to do it anyway, he tells himself. He’ll have to… Soon, he’ll have to make a real decision on this. And then… and then maybe find a real way to… to… He makes himself think it, name it: To kill Gregory.
The thought makes nausea and misery twist in his stomach. He… He just wanted his friend back…
“I would be relieved if you… we did, and that’s scary to admit,” comes Quincy’s whispered admission right next to his ear.
Arthur looks at him in surprise, blushes a little at having these thoughts caught, then nods.
“…It is pretty scary, isn’t it?” he whispers back.
Shaking himself slightly, Quincy nods. “It feels so not like me. I’m no good with violence. You know me. But you also now know what Gregory did and … ever since this morning, since I really allowed myself to believe that my wife is missing the… whispers at the back of my mind have turned into this howling and it’s so hard to ignore. So hard to not want to just deal with those who hurt her, hurt me.”
“Um… whispers?” Arthur asks, not sure what Quincy means.
“Yes, the drac whispers, or maybe some of them are fae with me, I can’t tell, and mine never were this loud. Cycy talks to her drac directly. I didn’t feel like I could even hear mine clearly enough to try. But now,” Quincy puts the poker down on the weapon’s room fireplace, “now it’s howling with so much emotion.”
“Oh, so it’s like… a wolf howling for its pack? Is it lonely?” Arthur looks at Quincy, feels a surge of sympathy. “Now I want to give your drac a hug…” He blushes. “Which is maybe silly, I mean, it’s not actually a separate entity… is it?”
“Hell if I know, but Darcy kind of talked about it that way. It didn’t feel like that before, but,” reaching to take Arthur’s hand again, Quincy chuckles, “lonely wolf feels fitting. Howling to help Cycy find her way home, back to me.”
“Keep howling, molly. Culver loves her night friends. If you make yourself one, she’ll love you double. Nothing stands between her and somebody she loves,” John says, encouraging and sounding downright gentle to Arthur while he places the guns back in their spots.
Arthur nods his agreement. “Yes, that would mean it’s howling to say that it’s still here and waiting for her, right? And we are! And in the meantime, well, I mean, it’s not the same, but we’re friends, right?” He gives Quincy and John an unsure look. “We’re not totally alone.”
~
If John wasn’t just as surprised about the fact that he actually has friends, he’d snort at Arthur making that a question. Does Arthur think he’d pat shoulders and build huge dreamscape gifts just for anybody? But then, the kid is shy to a fucking fault. Guess he has to do more here.
Walking over, he punches Quincy’s arm and then Arthur’s shoulder. “Somehow, the Molly tricked me into it but, hey, been around you for even longer, despite you always giving me looks as if I was scowling at you nonstop.”
Quincy huffs but obviously jumps right on, John knew he would back him up. “Manly man brain at work! You do scowl at everybody, that’s just how that mug of yours is stuck! Not Arthur’s fault that he can’t read that.”
~
“Um…” Ah yes, Arthur’s favourite sound, not that the shy looking back and forth is any less typical, or the hilariously unnecessary sigh at his admittance. “You can be just a little scowly and intimidating. But I guess I’m also just not very good at making friends… or other people-related things.”
Now, intimidating is really not what Quincy would ever have called John, right from the start. But that’s not the important part right now. That would be gently poking at Arthur’s insecurity… but then, wait, John’s taking a breath and he’d rather John and Arthur learn to talk to each other without Quincy constantly having to poke both directions.
“Who was supposed to teach you? Your fuckwit father or your fuckwit best friend?”
Arthur blinks. “…I, uh… Teach? You mean that’s not something that some people just… know how to do?”
And that, Quincy can’t resist: “Okay, there’s no way he’ll ever say that out loud, so I’ll be a bitch and tell on him, because my darling manly man here just had a mental grunt of: ‘The same way as some people just know how to be a real man?’ Fuck no.”
Even while he says it, Quincy takes a half-step to get behind Arthur, out of reach of John grabbing him and shutting him up. He knows that John wouldn’t actually get angry at him, that famous temper of his is pretty demon-influence-shaped really, or rather, bloody protection-first-shaped, but that doesn’t mean that Quincy can’t be playful about it. They likely both need the bit of levity.
“…I suppose I don’t know much about that, either.” Arthur shrugs, obviously not too bothered by that. “But, uh, I’m good at learning things? So you think I can learn to… be good with people?”
Before Quincy can even give himself a marketing spiel about this being just the thing he can heal, he has John do his work for him, grumbled as it is:
“Molly’s not going to give you a choice on that one. That’s what the fucker does.”
Arthur turns his head to look at Quincy, the cautious hope in his gaze almost painful to see. “It is?”
Building himself up to full height and trying to sound confident, Quincy still knows he’s failing half-way through because, yes, yes, he’s giggling a bit too high-pitched. “Indeed it is! I’m a healer, after all… and I’m a nervous wreck, yes, absolutely you will learn or so help me the Divine, I’ll shriek about my entire life turning into a tragedy!”
Quincy can hear the hysterical edge in his voice, but clearly, his darling notices and tries to cheer him up with a chuckled: “Back to your usual drama.”
“…What does me learning how to deal with people have to do with you being a nervous wreck?” Arthur looks puzzled, because of course the hopeless-without-some-polishing honey does.
“Taking care of somebody’s how he calms himself down,” John explains as he walks out the room again and towards the stables. Should Quincy feel exposed here? Then again, not really a big secret to anybody with observational skills, so instead he looks back at Arthur and just agrees with a shrug.
“Remember how I made tea for everybody after Cycy staked me?”
“Ah,” Arthur says, nodding slowly. Not as if Quincy can’t see that the nerd is filing that piece of knowledge away carefully, and really, that’s probably how he can get through to him on social interaction being something that can be learned. After Arthur puts the sword into an empty spot, they follow John back out.
And none to soon, Quincy is eager to get out of the weapon room. Get away from the violence.
But…he knows he has to come back. Darcy is missing.
Suddenly, he has to fight.
He’s no good with violence and he has no choice.
He has to fight, probably hurt Llew, or never see his queen again.
The fear of that lances through him, hard and hot and with his drac howling… only to be accompanied by another cold wave of determination. Cold and non-emotional and grabbing for power.
Just the way he was in the visions.
But Darcy isn’t here to save him from himself.
No, no, he can’t be cold like that! He can’t be his grandfather, he can’t let himself go crazy with fear and become Radu!
He has to get away from it! Away away away!
The howling in his mind becomes head splitting, and he doesn’t know if that’s exactly how it starts. He already unleashed powers earlier. What if he keeps going? No, no, no. He can’t hurt his darling!
He has to get away!
He starts running, hands clenched tight.
Out! Out! At least for a while, he needs to be gone, be somewhere else… and his fear comes true instantly.
Quincy screams as the corridor around him bursts into a kaleidoscope of colours, he doesn’t know where he is, what is happening, but the colours vanish as quickly as they came.
Only when he feels the hard impact of the ground underneath him, feels himself tumble down a hillside that hadn’t been there a second ago, does he realise that the thing he had clenched his hand tightly around is Arthur’s hand.
~