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.
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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.