Chapter 15
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 15
John didn’t think this through. He fucking didn’t. He fucking couldn’t!
His girl is covered in open wounds and fletching and fighting for her life.
He was standing right there, perfect shot, not even five meters to the fucker who was hurting her.
His shotgun was already up! He had loaded it with slugs specifically because anything that would put the dhampirs in danger must be fucking bad.
Not that he remembered that he loaded slugs. Not that he remembered anything. He just needed to protect his girl!
So he pulled the triggers, both of them, and the pain hit his shoulder as he struggled to not lose his grip on the gun. It’s only a split second he loses sight of the fight from the recoil but one moment his girl is locked together with a white-haired boy, the next she’s holding up a body… with not much of a head left on it. The wall behind them is a tableau of red, the bone splinters glittering white against all that wetness.
Absolutely ridiculously, John finds himself thinking that he would have imagined that all wrong if he had built it in the dreamscape.
He can still see part of the side of the head where his slugs hit, the holes far more precise than he thought, but then Darcy lets go and as the body falls John finds his gaze stuck on the absolute ruin on the side where his slugs exited. Ruin is a charitable term, really. And why can’t he look away?
But, he did this. He killed somebody. Didn’t he read somewhere you remember the face of the first person you kill? That corpse doesn’t have a face to remember. One eye is still kind of intact, but the pressure of the shot travelling through popped it out of it’s socket. The other eye couldn’t pop out of any socket even if it was still around because the other socket isn’t there, the other half of that face isn’t there.
John wonders if he’ll be sick. If he’ll have nightmares. If that ringing in his ears will ever stop again.
If this is how his father felt after he murdered his mother.
John wonders if his father also had that absolutely doltish thought of: ‘Did I fully intend to do that?’ After all, one could say that his father only shoved his mother, shoved her down the stairs, but maybe he didn’t mean to.
Did John mean to kill?
He meant to protect his girl.
And with that, his brain snaps back out of the pondering circles it has been doing to figure out what the fuck he’s feeling. Because no, he doesn’t feel remorse, and he’s not going to freak out about that.
Yes, he killed. Like his father.
But it doesn’t make him like his father. No, his hands are still there for protection, not violence.
He only uses violence to protect those he loves. Never against those he loves. If that makes him a killer, then so be it.
He couldn’t live with being a violent man like his father, like the men who enslave the selkies, but he can live with being a man who won’t stop for anything to keep his girl safe.
His girl who is running towards him… claws and double set of fangs out… FUCK!
~
Arthur’s thoughts feel smooth and calm, his feet light on the uneven floor. He catalogues blood stains and bodies- youths and adults both – two groups, definitely. Crossbows have dropped next to some of the men.
Who uses crossbows? Hunters, he thinks, before he ever slides into the doorway behind John and sees that white hair, for a moment, before John’s shotgun obliterates it. The noise in the enclosed room is so loud it’s painful in his ears, but he ignores that. He can heal his ears later. Right now, he’s busy surveying the situation, trying to slot all the pieces, all the angles, everything into its place.
Darcy is more pincushion than dhampir. If not for her hair that is tumbling over her back in a mess, he might not have recognized her at all, between the male clothes (? file for later,) the amount of crossbow bolts, and the snarl that distorts her face.
Or maybe that’s the double set of fangs. Right, too much damage, berserked dhampir – bad. And two fresh sources of blood just stepped into the room.
He slams up a wall between her and John (and himself) just in time as she charges.
~
Blood!
Blood right there!
It starts running!
Ready to feed!
Then hits something it can’t see!
Fingers bent too far.
More damage!
Blood!
It claws at the air.
Need to get at blood.
Can smell blood. Can see food.
But the air won’t give.
Food is moving behind that air.
Can see, can track, must follow.
~
Oh thank the Divine for Arthur!
Quincy thinks he shouted to warn John, but his ears are making the most horrendous beeping sounds. He can’t hear shit.
But when it’s not just John but also Arthur sliding in behind the desk next to him, he could hug them both. What he can’t do is hear what they are asking, although they seem to realise that themselves. John is making exactly the face Cycy tried to imitate earlier, and Quincy didn’t think he could ever find a grumpy face so reassuring.
He hears the thoughts at least, so he points at his ankle and shakes his head. Whatever Arthur did to keep the berserked dhampir away, he doesn’t want to take his attention away from that. He’ll rather hobble out of here half-carried but with all his blood still where it belongs.
John is leaning out behind the desk, clearly mulling something over. Oh dear, that is not a good look on his face. Well, it’s too loving a look and in this situation, that makes Quincy worry that their manly man is going to do something stupidly heroic and admirable and absolutely idiotic.
He reaches to pull on his jacket, to give him a pleading look, and gets a smile back.
Fine, he’s an idiot. Cycy trusts John and his queen wouldn’t be wrong, so he trusts John, too. If the hunk is going to do something idiotic, it’ll be worth it.
~
Maybe he’s about to kill himself, but he’s trained with Darcy so many times. She’s always his good girl. The commands and habits are in so deep. He just has to trust that something being unthinking for his girl means it comes from her drac.
He’d ask their molly to command her down, but neither can they hear each other, (yeah, double slugs in a small room, real smart move, you dolt,) nor does he think their molly hasn’t tried. Quincy’s a coward, he knows that well enough from their dreamscape adventures, but normally when he runs, he tries to command their enemy down. It’s such an instinct for the molly to yell and use his powers. Well, of course it is, that’s his drac, and John just might be starting to be a bit fond of dracs.
So if Quincy’s drac can’t do anything here, he has to see to Darcy’s.
With a long exhale, he tells himself that this is just like being stern with one of their puppies when they are scared and that makes them aggressive. Just like that. Don’t flinch from the snarling and the bared fangs, no matter how fucking huge those look on his girl right now.
Stand tall, make his voice and body language clear, and hope that Darcy can even fucking hear him.
He steps out from behind the desk and stares Darcy right in the eye. He’s the boss here, she can scratch and scramble at the magical barricade all she wants. No, he won’t show how worried he is for her. He needs to make her safe for Arthur to heal!
Standing still for a moment longer until she has focused all her attention on him, he inhales and barks as commandingly as he can: “Down, girl. Stop it!”
He’s yelled that at her before, when she gets too brutal in their play-fights or when she’s chewing on his hunting kills.
She’s always let off. Please let her listen.
For a moment, she stares at him, snarl still there, but the glow to her eyes is fading. Then the snarl lowers. He still can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears, but he doesn’t need to in order to know that she whimpered, that she’s making herself small. That she’s thinking she was bad for him.
Yes, she’s a very hungry drac, but she’s his drac, his wolf-girl, he knew she would listen.
Just about to reach for her, he curses instead when her eyes roll backward and she collapses.
~
Arthur really needs to figure out how to dispel his walls, too. For now, he moves it out of the way so John can catch Darcy and he can dash over and start healing her.
He doesn’t know why she collapsed, but there are a lot of wounds, and she isn’t healing them. Maybe it’s just because she ran out of blood.
He very much hopes this doesn’t mean she’s about to die and become a vampire. But his healing takes, so presumably that means she’s still a dhampir.
His ears are still ringing and whistling, and giving himself a quick healing boost there behind the desk didn’t do anything except make them stop hurting, at least. So the lack of hearing must be not actual damage but just… his ears being overwhelmed or something?
Anyway, more importantly, the rest of Darcy’s wounds are closing. Right around the crossbow bolts, of course. They’ll have to do something about that, but he is very, very conscious that they are in a building full of blood and dead bodies, and it’s not that far from town, and there were gunshots, and how long did the fight go on before he and John even arrived? How long until someone comes to investigate?
What if the hunters have backup?
So he heals what he can on Darcy, bolts and all, and then catches John’s eyes, waves his hand to indicate all of them, points to the door and Hannibal, mimes running with his fingers.
John nods, and points at Quincy, then taps his ankle, points to Arthur.
Quincy’s ankle? Arthur nods his understanding, and leaves John to do a quick investigation on the hunters’ bodies while he scoots back behind the desk.
And yes, Quincy’s ankle is visibly swelling, and there is definitely something for Arthur’s magic to do- that was broken, he thinks.
~
The moment Quincy stops having this dastardly unsightly swelling on his poor ankle, and yes, it stops hurting, too, he gives Arthur a quick thank-you hug and tries if he can stand.
Yes! Good, he needs to get to his queen!
Oh, all the wounds she took for him. Seeing what John is up to, he lifts Darcy up, tries hard not to push on any of the crossbow bolts, but there are so many and from so many angles. Still, he wants to get out of here, needs to get out of here!
He can feel the first signs of his stomach acting up coming on, and makes a very concerted effort not to look around, to only keep his eyes on his queen, to only just about put foot in front of foot, even when he has to step over a corpse to get out of the room.
No, no, keep it together. No, don’t think about all the violence.
Think about your queen, think about everything she just risked for you.
He still tastes the bile in his mouth by the time he’s outside and thankfully, the overgrown theatre prop is right there. Good, a fast horse is good… but only one. Still, he has to lift Darcy up and over the saddle, he’s the only one tall enough to do it. He can do it.
He did it… and then runs as hard and fast as he can, at least a few steps away. Holding his own hair up as he starts heaving and puking against the side of the building.
~
Arthur takes a look around the place before he follows Quincy outside- but it’s a mess and he doesn’t think there’s anything much they can do to clean it up.
He wishes Art were here so they could ask him about hunter habits and practises and whether they have any strategies for cleaning up something like this.
He also stops by the dead hunting dhampir. Later, he knows he’ll feel very sad for this boy. Because that’s all he is. Arthur tries to ignore the destroyed head best he can, but even so, with the size and built of him, he was maybe thirteen or fourteen years old or something.
It seems like such a waste of a life that should’ve been so much longer. But at least there is no sign of healing, so he doesn’t think they’ll have to deal with a pissed-off vampire. The boy is well and truly dead.
He arrives outside in time to see Quincy settle Darcy on Hannibal- there’s at least one bolt trapped awkwardly beneath her, but there’s no way to avoid that- and then dash off. Concerned, he follows. But only until he can see Quincy bent over and throwing up. He feels a stirring of sympathy under his calm, hesitates, but then decides to head back to Hannibal. Quincy probably prefers to get that out of his system by himself, he thinks.
Since they want to get out of here, and he doesn’t want to jostle Darcy and the bolts in her as much as a trot would, he starts leading Hannibal down the road at the fastest walk both of them can manage. If Quincy and John don’t catch up in a few moments, he’ll stop, but he wants to make the best time they can.
~
John really doesn’t have anything to carry stuff in, and there are things from the hunters he wants to bring. Something to give them any chance of finding out more. Who were the hunters? How did they know about the dhampirs? What can they do to prevent future attacks?
There was nothing on the hunting dhampir, not a notebook or anything, and for a moment, John feels shit about having killed him, so he says, or whispers, or shouts for all he knows: “Sorry, but it was you or my girl.”
Having stuffed what he could get off the two other hunters into his own pockets, and carrying one of the crossbows and quivers under his arm, he gets out of the building. Just about to follow where he can see Arthur up ahead, he realises it’s only Arthur.
Ah fuck, their molly is not good with any violence, and frankly, that was about enough gore to make him feel queasy. Looking about, he spots him fast enough, didn’t make it far. At least John can offer a handkerchief and a friendly pat to the shoulder, but they need to get the fuck away now. Luckily, Quincy seems just as eager to get away, so with a bit of leaning on each other, they get going, too.
~
John and Quincy do join them soon- Arthur knows by how Hannibal’s ears are turning backwards, and he sees them catching up when he looks over his shoulder.
John comes up to walk next to him, gives him a clap on the shoulder and a nod of approval.
Speaking of ears that Hannibal is using and they can’t, yet, Arthur also reaches out to put his hand on John’s shoulder in return for a moment to heal whatever he can of the hearing problems- no one’s getting any permanent damage here if he can help it!
John gives him a confused look for a moment, but then his face clears and he mouths (or says) a “thank you,” so Arthur assumes his ears were also hurting.
Then John sets his hand on Darcy’s leg, and motions Arthur to fall back to walk with Quincy.
Arthur nods and complies- he doesn’t know what John’s reasoning is, but maybe he wants to be the one looking after Darcy, and Quincy shouldn’t have to walk by himself.
~
Could his bloody hands please stop shaking?!
Yes, yes, he’s not good with violence, but it’s bloody over!
Quincy feels like curling up in a hot bath or under blankets or just anywhere high up and telling the world to fuck off!
This is a little bit like when Cycy staked him. His idiotic hands couldn’t stop then, either, but he wasn’t in danger, not this time, his queen was right there. Protecting him.
Looking at her, even up front where she is still lying across the saddle, makes him feel a little bit better. Still lying… oh, John must be keeping her under. She should start waking up by now, Quincy thinks, but there are so many bolts in her. No, no, it’s good that John is looking after her like that… Can he please look after somebody, too, so he can focus on anything else than his own misery?
~
Quincy doesn’t look too good, Arthur thinks, but he’s not sure how to help.
Also, the walking is, in a way, relaxing- he’d say ‘calming’, but of course the lack of immediate crisis makes it hard to hold on to his crisis state of mind, and therefore, he’s getting less calm rather than more.
~
He did it last time, too, didn’t he? Curled himself around Arthur until he stopped shaking. They are walking, so that would be hard but still, Quincy doesn’t want to feel like this. He hates feeling like this, and everything in him screams for Cycy, his queen. But she fought so hard for him, she deserves the rest.
So instead, he reaches for Arthur’s hand and holds on there. Not as good, but still something to hold, somebody else to maybe care for.
~
Arthur didn’t expect Quincy to take his hand, but he can feel the tremble in it, and maybe it’s a little cooler than normal? Or maybe that’s just Quincy being a dhampir. Either way, the contact feels good and grounding, and so he smiles at him and squeezes his hand back in thanks, while he makes sure to keep his own breathing nice and deep and level, so the memories of all the blood and bodies don’t push forward, don’t jump on him with all their edges and significance. He still needs to help Darcy, after all, he’ll need to heal her when they get those bolts out. And she’ll need blood, a lot of blood.
~
Trying to smile back, Quincy feels the way his lips are pressing over his fangs, and there is still a little bit of a sensation at the back of his mind. No, not his internal sense of touch, more a sense of himself, and in there sits a hunger that also whines. He feels terribly undignified for it, but yes, apparently he can feel his drac being a demanding bitch about having done so good with all the powers and wanting its reward. He shouldn’t wonder about that. It’s his drac, after all. Of course it has his personality.
~
Speaking of blood, that looked like a tip of a fang peeking out for a moment when Quincy smiled.
Right, his healing would’ve been working on that broken ankle, too. Just because he’s a minstrel and not Darcy doesn’t mean that doesn’t take blood. And probably he used his powers to help in the fight, too.
And this is something Arthur can help with, right now. If he can figure out how to ask/offer. So he points at his wrist and gives Quincy a questioning look.
~
The incessant windchimes in his ears haven’t let off and refuse to have a nice rhythm, too, so Quincy assumes they are playing pantomime because he’s not the only one.
And well, he only just said that his drac is a whiny bitch… like himself, because yes, he wants a reward, too. Arthur is offering one, so that’s nice of him, and Quincy sees no reason not to take what he earned.
Just, well, he’s bitten a bunch of people now and he rather doubts that Arthur can walk while he’s off in ‘whatever makes you happy, honey’-land. So instead he pulls him in towards himself and then up into his arms. On-the-road-snack, dhampir style, this is ridiculous and kind of fun, so after giving Arthur a moment to hold on, Quincy takes the offered wrist and, Divine, okay, yes, he’s hungry!
~
Arthur’s surprised when Quincy lifts him up so easily- right, dhampir strength. Quincy might be tall, but he doesn’t look like he should be able to just do that, even with Arthur not being very big. But again, Quincy might not be Darcy, but he still has some extra strength.
Then Quincy’s bite magic settles calm over him, like a big, fluffy blanket. The jittery little nudges of his emotions and nerves disappear, and he just wants to curl himself up in this feeling.
But, right, yes, hungry dhampir, so he forces himself to concentrate, to pull up his healing matrix and get the magic going rather than closing his eyes and drifting in this lovely sensation.
~
Quincy didn’t think this little snack could be so nice, but he’s holding Arthur tight and, sure, there’s concentration on his face, he must be doing his magic, but still, Quincy could feel the tension go out of his muscles, the little involuntary leaning into him, and that sense of helping Arthur calm down calms him right down with it. Also, as with every new person he gets to taste, Quincy enjoys flicking his tongue against the blood, letting it settle on different parts, savouring the intricacies and layers to the sensation.
He’s hungry, he’s bloody hungry, so he keeps an eye on Arthur. Is he getting any paler? Is the beat of his heart under his lips changing? But he seems fine, so he keeps drinking until his bitch of a drac is behaving and settles down into comfortable satiation.
There, much better, and that was very nice of Arthur, so he deserves a reward, too. Quincy’s still learning the delicate parts to the art, but let’s see, ah, there is his gratitude and it’s an easy one to sculpt with his powers. Like mixing herbs for his cocoa so it has just the right kind of mouthfeel. Gratitude is a soft, full feeling, like a spoon of honey, (not sugar!,) and a pinch of cardamom, and just a bit of cream rather than just milk. Yes, there, that should bring his emotion across nicely as a physical sensation to Arthur.
~
Arthur is broken out of his spell concentration when the comfortable feeling of the bite changes, seems to pull together to give him a warm sensation in his middle that then radiates out. It feels as if he’d taken a sip from a perfect cup of tea, warm and tart and sweet, after coming in from a ride in the cold and curling up in the library. He can all but feel the warm porcelain of the cup against his palms.
It’s a very happy sensation- like Quincy gave him that cup of tea, sort of, and he smiles at him automatically in response. He’s not sure how Quincy did that, but maybe that’s a minstrel thing? It’s very nice, anyway, and whatever little bit of healing he might’ve still done can wait.
~
That smile is the best thing yet! Oh, Quincy loves seeing it, so he keeps the mindcraft up a few more seconds, but then closes the wound. The sculpting takes blood, after all, and they really don’t need to get into a cycle here. “Thank you, honey, hope that showed that I really appreciate it. Want to stay where you are for a bit?”
~
Arthur can see Quincy’s mouth moving, but the only thing he can hear, still, is a high-pitched ringing. It’s getting a little gentler, he thinks- he hopes- but it’s far from gone. So he tilts his head in question, because Quincy’s expression makes him think he asked a question, too.
~
Right. Bloody hell, idiotic windchimes! Don’t take his words away from him!
Huffing, (and at least that should be a perfectly visible expression,) Quincy tries to ask again by first pulling his arms tighter around Arthur, then relaxing again and going slightly into his knees as if he’d set him down.
~
Does Quincy want to set him down? But no, he’s still looking questioning, so Arthur thinks Quincy is asking if he wants to get down. Which… would be vastly more dignified, but does he care about being dignified? They’re walking among fields and hedgerows, in the dark! There’s a moon and it’s a clear night, so he can see reasonably well at a short distance, but it’s not like anyone else can see them well. So he dares to tighten his arms a little around Quincy, while doing his best to look the question whether Quincy minds carrying him a while longer. It’s just nice to be touching a warm and living person right now.
~