He stares at them like they're in control of his breath, like their decision will influence whether or not his lungs continue. He doesn't miss the way they flinch from him. He'll never forget it but he keeps holding on until the blanket is taken from his grip and he's left with nothing but air to hold between them. He wishes they'd reach out like the way they seemed to want to. He wishes he could take the excuse to hold them close.
When they speak, he could cry with relief. He doesn't, but he's sure he could.
He almost ruins things. He almost says the truth; I don't care. I don't care. Tear me apart. Do it, please, let me forget, anything to help you, let me--
It's a miracle he keeps that bit of stupidity inside. His head bobs.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Out the back." He stands up too. He reaches, slow, for the bottom edge of the blanket. It's something to hold instead of their hand.
And then, he leads them out. He opens up the door and he heads to that patch of ground that's still scorched from where they burned every little thing.
He leads them out after taking the bottom edge of the blanket and there's a part of Nekane that wants to make some shitty joke about Héctor walking Imelda over the threshold.
They don't. But Nekane holds that image in their head, something nice to lay over the memories trying to sneak to the forefront of their mind. Focus on it. Focus.
Outside they zero in on the scorched ground. Nekane runs their hands over the ruined ground and dig their fingers into the dirt. They look around at Hell's surroundings and wonder what it was like before all of this. There were ruined buildings here and there, and these houses suggested there was life before something happened. Did God destroy it all? Was it Lucifer's fault? Or was it simply a matter of time ticking forward despite those who would wish for a moment's pause? It's hard to say.
They stand up again and find a stick. "Can you go near the door? I need to measure something."
And once he does, they draw a line in the dirt directly at Héctor's feet before walking away. Counting paces in their head until they're far enough away that their magic won't reach. Even if it's by accident, they won't be able to hurt Héctor.
"If you stay there..." Nekane says slowly as they sit down and wrap the blanket around them again. "I won't hit you. No matter what, please don't move from there, okay?"
It would have been a difficult memory to hold in the moment. It would've been a shame because it would've been a joke he'd like to smile over.
Besides that, when they dig into the dirt, he's thinking of different thresholds. He imagines them hauling up the dirt for theirself and laying down under it.
He knows he won't do what He's told if that happens. He'll dig them up. Or he'll die in the dirt. Either way.
But, for now, he does as he's told, standing away. He nods his head.
"Just don't hurt yourself, okay? I'll be here." An out to the contract.
He gives them an out and the corners of their mouth twitch. They can't take his hands like they normally do, but instead Nekane places a hand over their heart, even if he can't see it.
"I won't. I'll...be using my magic. But I won't."
They don't call into question if he'll be there when they turn around. Nekane knows Héctor. If he says he'll be there, he will be.
So with a slightly lighter heart, Nekane sits down and thinks of the monsters they know.
The cult had once been a family of normal mages. There was love there, once, when the goal was to seal away the demon that would become their 'God'. They loved the world enough to protect it until it became loving themselves and the powers they got. They loved the angels they made for that reason, they loved 'God' for that reason.
A few shadow claws sneak out of the darkness and make their way to Nekane. They don't do anything but take one in their own hands. Think. Think.
And 'God' loved them in turn because the cult loved him. That's how it went - he loved those who loved him. For someone that wanted to lose his name, that 'God' put himself on a stage to keep the audience's attention on him. Desperately so, Nekane thinks. He gutted them when Adriel tore their throat out, unable to understand why someone would kill themself rather then bask in his glory. He took them apart to understand, just like John took himself apart to understand.
Although for different reasons. 'God' loved himself too much while John destroyed himself. A man with no name with a force of a personality. He could be a monster to many, the man credited as the sole reason why the Midnight Man urban legend no longer existed as it once did. No, they think, John was a monster. But he was the kind of monster in the same way that Nekane was. Something to be so he wasn't himself. Hidden behind anger for them, hidden behind glamours for him.
Sometimes monsters were weapons used to protect oneself. Nekane saw it as the better option when John died, to be considered a monster by those around them then to be called what they were. But John died without any of his glamours on. He died as himself, a tired old man. He died with someone he looked after, who he said in his will was one of the most important people in his life. Tears prick at their eyes and Nekane scrubs at their face. A claw reaches up, hooking the bottom of their chin. Like trying to pull a particularly stubborn mask off.
Or maybe they're meandering in their thoughts. Nekane thinks of Dodger next. At last but if they're being honest with themself (and isn't that the whole point of this self-made bitch session?), they don't want to. The wounds are still fresh even if it's been days since he took them apart too. A monster more in line with the 'God' that Nekane knew, and a man who was...just somebody they knew. They wonder if there ever was that person buried under the darkness or if he was just good at mimicking it. A love for things, for people. For...life in general.
And in the end, they realize one thing...
"Hun." They suddenly say out loud. "Us monsters...we love too much, don't we? But love...the love I want...it just is."
It clicks into place. Of course it should, they told Héctor the same thing a long time ago. Love was this monstrous thing but it didn't have to be a shitshow like how Adriel and Delilah loved each other. Héctor and Imelda weren't an exception to some stupid rule. That's just...what healthy love looked like.
They stand up and take a deep breath. Like Héctor asked, they hold onto everything they've felt in the past few days and let it boil in their stomach. They let it become hot like lava and cold like that snowy field. They hold onto their monsters until it tears at them to let go. And they do.
Nekane tilts their head back until they're looking up towards the heavens and scream until their voice cracks. Claws from the shadows shoot out, clawing at the dirt and slashing it until it's not longer neat and tidy. Some shoot up towards the heavens while a few more zip past the roof and claw towards the hotel. As if any of them could hunt down God or Lucifer and drag them both here. It keeps going and going until Nekane hits their limit and then some because they are a spiteful, stubborn sack of shit and that will never change.
It's who they are. And nothing can take that away from them. Nekane fell once and that wasn't their fault. It's not their fault. It's never been their fault. The cult, that 'God', Dodger. The responsibility lied there. Choices made by other people.
They blink at one point and realize they've fallen to their knees. The detective coughs and feels like they're going to vomit, but in a way that'd make an upset stomach feel better. The cracks on their face have opened up again but they don't care. Slowly their magic vanishes and the shadows calm down.
He nods his head at their explanation. He knows what it means. They're going to unleash, go all out with their powers until they're painted in black. The first time he saw them do that, the first time he'd been taken with them, he'd had nothing but fear and he'd tried to stop them. He won't this time.
He stands back and he watches. His heart races, beating against his ribs as though trying to escape him and get to Nekane instead. He holds himself back as their shadows rise and grip and the images dance in his head of gorey suicides.
He begs silently, please, please, let this help. Let them be here another day. Let this heal... He wishes so bad he had someone to pray to. He wishes there was a God that listened.
He hears them speak, faintly. He hears something about loving too much. That's him. He told them that, back when they made that promise together. He told them that he loved too much, but he only let that love destroy him. He was so wrong. His love blinded him to Ernesto, and now his family had no support. His love blinded him to Dodger and it meant the man was close enough to tear Nekane apart. His love had casualties. For someone he loved more, he had killed a man he once loved.
He doesn't know what they mean by the love that just is. But they want it. He hopes they have it, someday. A love that doesn't hurt. Not like the God, not like the cult... not like him.
And then the scream tears out. It redefines what he considers revelation. Their shadow spills like they're a god themself, an old being that has been undone and will not let the world forget it.
The lawn is torn apart. A claw dives for the hotel and he likes to imagine it cracks the brick on its side. It is a vortex of destruction and darkness and in the middle of it they stand.
His ears ring with their screams. He has never forgotten a single scream of theirs and he won't forget this. Even after they stop, after they fall, it is all he hears.
He makes his approach. He moves around, so he's in front of them and in their sight. He goes to his knees before them, a pace away. He just... sits there. He sits there and he waits. He lets his own breath and pulse settle. For as long as he can, he lets the quiet live.
Then, between then, he puts a hand in the dirt. It's an invitation. It's a memory. Once, they put their hands out just like this, upon a bed, near but not touching.
They're stuck somewhere between laughing and crying by the time they realize Héctor is in front of them. Nekane has to keep a hand over their mouth or else they were going to be sick. But it's fine.
They feel like broken mess...more so then usual. Their chest is heaving and it feels like they're going to have a heart attack or a panic attack or both. The tremors coursing through their body are causing Nekane's teeth to chatter. But it's fine.
It's out and it's silent. Everything going on in their head was finally silenced for the moment.
They look down and see the hand. Nekane follows that hand to the arm and then the face and eyes of the closest person in Hell. Héctor. Héctor.
They reach out. Their skin burns so they leave their hand beside his. It's quite the contrast, Nekane thinks. A plain, normal looking hand side-by-side to one with broken skin now swimming with black tar and eyes. Each one are looking at him.
"Feel like...I'm going to pass out." They mutter. Just so he has a heads up because in the next few moments, after pushing their magic they way they did, Nekane falls forward and blacks out.
His breath shudders a little when they reach out. He's not sure he can call it relief, with how hollowing and horrible all of this is, but it's surely something close.
He looks down at those eyes without fear. At least, not fear of the eyes. There is a fear for them, that not-quite-relief, every bit of sorriness he can hold, a care that goes too deep.
His gaze is ripped away by their muttering, then falling. He yelps. He worries, and hesitates, but, ultimately, it's a good thing. If they're passed out, he can move them without causing a panic.
Carefully, he takes them up in his arms. He'll bring them inside, lay them with their nest. It'll make a mess of things, but it's a mess that can be cleaned and less important than seeing them well. He picks them and starts to carry them in, out of the chill fall air, holding them for what he hopes won't be the last time.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
When they speak, he could cry with relief. He doesn't, but he's sure he could.
He almost ruins things. He almost says the truth; I don't care. I don't care. Tear me apart. Do it, please, let me forget, anything to help you, let me--
It's a miracle he keeps that bit of stupidity inside. His head bobs.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Out the back." He stands up too. He reaches, slow, for the bottom edge of the blanket. It's something to hold instead of their hand.
And then, he leads them out. He opens up the door and he heads to that patch of ground that's still scorched from where they burned every little thing.
"Tell me what you need."
no subject
They don't. But Nekane holds that image in their head, something nice to lay over the memories trying to sneak to the forefront of their mind. Focus on it. Focus.
Outside they zero in on the scorched ground. Nekane runs their hands over the ruined ground and dig their fingers into the dirt. They look around at Hell's surroundings and wonder what it was like before all of this. There were ruined buildings here and there, and these houses suggested there was life before something happened. Did God destroy it all? Was it Lucifer's fault? Or was it simply a matter of time ticking forward despite those who would wish for a moment's pause? It's hard to say.
They stand up again and find a stick. "Can you go near the door? I need to measure something."
And once he does, they draw a line in the dirt directly at Héctor's feet before walking away. Counting paces in their head until they're far enough away that their magic won't reach. Even if it's by accident, they won't be able to hurt Héctor.
"If you stay there..." Nekane says slowly as they sit down and wrap the blanket around them again. "I won't hit you. No matter what, please don't move from there, okay?"
no subject
Besides that, when they dig into the dirt, he's thinking of different thresholds. He imagines them hauling up the dirt for theirself and laying down under it.
He knows he won't do what He's told if that happens. He'll dig them up. Or he'll die in the dirt. Either way.
But, for now, he does as he's told, standing away. He nods his head.
"Just don't hurt yourself, okay? I'll be here." An out to the contract.
no subject
"I won't. I'll...be using my magic. But I won't."
They don't call into question if he'll be there when they turn around. Nekane knows Héctor. If he says he'll be there, he will be.
So with a slightly lighter heart, Nekane sits down and thinks of the monsters they know.
The cult had once been a family of normal mages. There was love there, once, when the goal was to seal away the demon that would become their 'God'. They loved the world enough to protect it until it became loving themselves and the powers they got. They loved the angels they made for that reason, they loved 'God' for that reason.
A few shadow claws sneak out of the darkness and make their way to Nekane. They don't do anything but take one in their own hands. Think. Think.
And 'God' loved them in turn because the cult loved him. That's how it went - he loved those who loved him. For someone that wanted to lose his name, that 'God' put himself on a stage to keep the audience's attention on him. Desperately so, Nekane thinks. He gutted them when Adriel tore their throat out, unable to understand why someone would kill themself rather then bask in his glory. He took them apart to understand, just like John took himself apart to understand.
Although for different reasons. 'God' loved himself too much while John destroyed himself. A man with no name with a force of a personality. He could be a monster to many, the man credited as the sole reason why the Midnight Man urban legend no longer existed as it once did. No, they think, John was a monster. But he was the kind of monster in the same way that Nekane was. Something to be so he wasn't himself. Hidden behind anger for them, hidden behind glamours for him.
Sometimes monsters were weapons used to protect oneself. Nekane saw it as the better option when John died, to be considered a monster by those around them then to be called what they were. But John died without any of his glamours on. He died as himself, a tired old man. He died with someone he looked after, who he said in his will was one of the most important people in his life. Tears prick at their eyes and Nekane scrubs at their face. A claw reaches up, hooking the bottom of their chin. Like trying to pull a particularly stubborn mask off.
Or maybe they're meandering in their thoughts. Nekane thinks of Dodger next. At last but if they're being honest with themself (and isn't that the whole point of this self-made bitch session?), they don't want to. The wounds are still fresh even if it's been days since he took them apart too. A monster more in line with the 'God' that Nekane knew, and a man who was...just somebody they knew. They wonder if there ever was that person buried under the darkness or if he was just good at mimicking it. A love for things, for people. For...life in general.
And in the end, they realize one thing...
"Hun." They suddenly say out loud. "Us monsters...we love too much, don't we? But love...the love I want...it just is."
It clicks into place. Of course it should, they told Héctor the same thing a long time ago. Love was this monstrous thing but it didn't have to be a shitshow like how Adriel and Delilah loved each other. Héctor and Imelda weren't an exception to some stupid rule. That's just...what healthy love looked like.
They stand up and take a deep breath. Like Héctor asked, they hold onto everything they've felt in the past few days and let it boil in their stomach. They let it become hot like lava and cold like that snowy field. They hold onto their monsters until it tears at them to let go. And they do.
Nekane tilts their head back until they're looking up towards the heavens and scream until their voice cracks. Claws from the shadows shoot out, clawing at the dirt and slashing it until it's not longer neat and tidy. Some shoot up towards the heavens while a few more zip past the roof and claw towards the hotel. As if any of them could hunt down God or Lucifer and drag them both here. It keeps going and going until Nekane hits their limit and then some because they are a spiteful, stubborn sack of shit and that will never change.
It's who they are. And nothing can take that away from them. Nekane fell once and that wasn't their fault. It's not their fault. It's never been their fault. The cult, that 'God', Dodger. The responsibility lied there. Choices made by other people.
They blink at one point and realize they've fallen to their knees. The detective coughs and feels like they're going to vomit, but in a way that'd make an upset stomach feel better. The cracks on their face have opened up again but they don't care. Slowly their magic vanishes and the shadows calm down.
Everything is...quiet. Blissfully, thankfully quiet.
no subject
He stands back and he watches. His heart races, beating against his ribs as though trying to escape him and get to Nekane instead. He holds himself back as their shadows rise and grip and the images dance in his head of gorey suicides.
He begs silently, please, please, let this help. Let them be here another day. Let this heal... He wishes so bad he had someone to pray to. He wishes there was a God that listened.
He hears them speak, faintly. He hears something about loving too much. That's him. He told them that, back when they made that promise together. He told them that he loved too much, but he only let that love destroy him. He was so wrong. His love blinded him to Ernesto, and now his family had no support. His love blinded him to Dodger and it meant the man was close enough to tear Nekane apart. His love had casualties. For someone he loved more, he had killed a man he once loved.
He doesn't know what they mean by the love that just is. But they want it. He hopes they have it, someday. A love that doesn't hurt. Not like the God, not like the cult... not like him.
And then the scream tears out. It redefines what he considers revelation. Their shadow spills like they're a god themself, an old being that has been undone and will not let the world forget it.
The lawn is torn apart. A claw dives for the hotel and he likes to imagine it cracks the brick on its side. It is a vortex of destruction and darkness and in the middle of it they stand.
His ears ring with their screams. He has never forgotten a single scream of theirs and he won't forget this. Even after they stop, after they fall, it is all he hears.
He makes his approach. He moves around, so he's in front of them and in their sight. He goes to his knees before them, a pace away. He just... sits there. He sits there and he waits. He lets his own breath and pulse settle. For as long as he can, he lets the quiet live.
Then, between then, he puts a hand in the dirt. It's an invitation. It's a memory. Once, they put their hands out just like this, upon a bed, near but not touching.
no subject
They feel like broken mess...more so then usual. Their chest is heaving and it feels like they're going to have a heart attack or a panic attack or both. The tremors coursing through their body are causing Nekane's teeth to chatter. But it's fine.
It's out and it's silent. Everything going on in their head was finally silenced for the moment.
They look down and see the hand. Nekane follows that hand to the arm and then the face and eyes of the closest person in Hell. Héctor. Héctor.
They reach out. Their skin burns so they leave their hand beside his. It's quite the contrast, Nekane thinks. A plain, normal looking hand side-by-side to one with broken skin now swimming with black tar and eyes. Each one are looking at him.
"Feel like...I'm going to pass out." They mutter. Just so he has a heads up because in the next few moments, after pushing their magic they way they did, Nekane falls forward and blacks out.
And things stay silent.
no subject
He looks down at those eyes without fear. At least, not fear of the eyes. There is a fear for them, that not-quite-relief, every bit of sorriness he can hold, a care that goes too deep.
His gaze is ripped away by their muttering, then falling. He yelps. He worries, and hesitates, but, ultimately, it's a good thing. If they're passed out, he can move them without causing a panic.
Carefully, he takes them up in his arms. He'll bring them inside, lay them with their nest. It'll make a mess of things, but it's a mess that can be cleaned and less important than seeing them well. He picks them and starts to carry them in, out of the chill fall air, holding them for what he hopes won't be the last time.