Freelancer New York (freelancer_york) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-08-06 06:39:00 |
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Harry’s face hurt. That was to be expected after the equivalent of a tank punched you in it more times than your brain could reliably keep track of. Harry had eaten what amounted to half a bottle of aspirin over the course of the day to ease the headache he’d maintained since the night before. It wasn’t working. It made him grumpy, but as he was just generally grumpy on the day to day his overall attitude hadn’t undergone any drastic changes. The wizard had closed up shop today in favor of not scaring away his prospective clients. When you went out to them looking like someone’s personal punching bug it didn’t exactly inspire confidence in your abilities to handle yourself. Or give them the impression you were in any kind of control of your life. So he’d putzed around the inside of the apartment, tried to sleep off his headache, fiddled with magic and just generally did nothing. Weird. He never had too many days off in life and he couldn’t imagine doing this more than once in a decade. Throughout it all, his face continued to hurt. Of course, Harry didn’t keep mirrors in his house so he didn’t know exactly how bad off he looked. But if it was as bad as it felt, well. Then he pitied the poor souls that would have to look on him almost more than he pitied himself. He’d deserved it. Anyway. So he sat in the middle of the main room, a circle drawn out in chalk on the tile floor, with candles in a five point star and Bob, who was rambling about Tex’s boobs. Who had been rambling about them since Harry had woken him up twenty minutes ago. “Will you just shut the hell up?” Harry asked, scowling. “Sure--but I’m serious, Harry. They’re still perky and you just don’t see that in women her age.” Harry clenched his fists and was about to knock Bob off the stool he was sitting on, when he felt the shift in the wards. Fuck. Oh, fuck. He’d hoped York would stay away today. For the next month, even. No such luck. The door opened, Bob’s eyelights flicked off and Harry was hurriedly turning away as if it would make a difference in what was about to happen. *** “Hey Harry!” York’s normal call out, dragging himself (along with four bags of food) into the apartment atop the lab, closing up the door behind him. “I brought food.” He always brought food. He wanted to make sure Harry was eating something. The food was dropped onto the table near the kitchen, glancing back to the giant man on the floor in the center of the room. “Glad to see you’re making yourself at home.” Drawing on the floors already. Huh. Well, York supposed wizards were allowed to be a little crazy. He’d start pulling things out of bags and putting them away. “Ed’s doing a little better, the Colonel, Lieutenant and I took him out drinking the other night. I’ve never had so much to drink in my life, I passed out at the bar. They had to wait for me to wake up to go back home. I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure we had fun. The Lieutenant didn’t seem too annoyed with us.” And that was always a good thing, according to Mustang. “Broken arm at the infirmary today.. Things have really slowed down there since everything’s calmed down. It’s nice. I had a chance to go over some financial stuff-- it’s weird, you know? I’ve never really had to worry about money. Tex came by and we had lunch, seemed like she was in a better mood. She says she’s taking my old room, I told her to back off, ‘cause I still plan to sleep here one or two nights a week.” He opened the pantry to put a few dry goods away. “But if she does stick around, make sure she pays rent. It’s not like she’s me, she can’t just freeload.” He flashed a grin back over his shoulder at Harry before looking down at the dog who’d come over to greet him. “Oh, hey Mouse.” He paused to give the dog attention, and a few treats, before putting the rest of the food away and folding up the bags. Finally, he came around the bend of the counter and over to Harry on the floor. Right up behind him, he leaned down to set both hands on his shoulders and give a squeeze. “Have a good night?” Releasing his shoulders, he stood back up and headed over to the couch. Then paused. “Harry.. Is that blood?” On his couch. Yep. A few nice drips of blood on the pale fabric. York turned to look back at Harry curiously. *** Harry couldn’t keep up with the litany of York’s day. Or week. Or whatever he’d been rambling out, because the wizard had gone suspiciously silent in his attempt at creating a valid cover story. What the fuck was he going to tell him? Maybe York would decide he had something he had to do immediately, maybe he’d talk himself to sleep so he wouldn’t notice anything. Maybe Ed would call, or Mustang would need him or he’d do something other than- Nope. He came over to the couch and Harry twisted around to look at it. Yeah. That was blood. Harry didn’t know if it was his or Tex’s but it had dried on the fabric before he could clean it. Fairly useless for magical purposes all in all, but kind of gross to just be hanging out in the open like that. Harry grimaced, tried to rub his face and winced. It still freaking hurt. “Yeah, that’s blood,” he said placidly, sounding a little nasally because his nose was off center still. He had at least one black eye, maybe two (he couldn’t see it, he didn’t have reflective surfaces in his apartment). A split lip, a bruise that felt like it covered half his face in a parody of the Phantom of the Opera’s mask and a series of cuts where Tex’s fists had met bone and just split the skin. Fun times. Forget the rest of the injuries and general soreness that reported from the remainder of his body. Harry eyed York through his Not Swollen eye. He could still see from both, but one felt like it was about to pull a York and pop out if he aggravated it too much so he squinted through it instead. “Have a good day?” he asked. Nothing wrong here. This was totally normal. *** “Oh my God.” Came York’s immediate response, the couch abandoned as he moved right for Harry and dropped down very nearly into his lap in his haste to look at his face, the concern clear on his face. “What the fuck happened to you? Nevermind, you can tell me on the way--” He was climbing to his feet and grasping Harry’s bicep to try and tug him up, as well. “We’ve got to get you down to the med bay-- why didn’t you come down and see me? Shit-- this happened at least twelve hours ago.” Maybe longer. If Harry didn’t get to his feet immediately, York would pull him up. Either way, Harry would be on his feet soon enough and the blonde soldier was inspecting his face again, in this slightly better light. “Your nose is broken-- what the Hell, Harry?” But then it dawned on him and that blue eye lifted to meet Harry’s darker set. “The bear.” He said he felt like he’d been attacked by a bear. “Did you get in a fight? Who--” He paused there and shook his head. “You just give me a name and I’ll take care of it.” Could you even imagine, Harry? Sweet, nice York, going and taking someone out at the knees because they’d hurt you? It was almost funny. Almost. “Come on. Infirmary. Mouse! We’re leaving!” Called to the dog, still nosing around the kitchen for more treats. *** That was all a little overwhelming. It made Harry wince because his head was pounding, which York’s yammering was doing nothing to relieve. His tugging was doing nothing but aggravating the stitches on his arm but Harry said nothing, doing his best to help York help him up while also keeping his feet firmly planted. “York,” he said. The Spartan kept talking. “York, I’m fine-” Except his face said otherwise and his body was protesting being alive. But it had some generally good soreness in places that were okay to live with, doing their part to counteract the parts that sucked. “I’m fine--I can’t go to the med bay,” Because someone would die and Harry wasn’t going to risk the lives of innocent people because he had a couple of bruises and a broken nose. “Calm down,” He said as firmly as he could. “You’re freaking me out panicking like that, and don’t be ridiculous. You’re not ‘taking care’ of anything. It looks worse than it is.” Hopefully? Probably not. He didn’t know. “I already cleaned it up.” Well Tex had. “It’s just swollen. But if you want to go ahead and sock me in the temple, I can probably use some sleep.” It’d make his head stop hurting anyway, until tomorrow. *** “I’m panicking because you look like you went through a meatgrinder-- Harry.” The blonde wet his lips and pushed his hands back through short hair. “You look terrible. How are you even standing? Talking? I have some medicine back at the med bay.” At least he was starting to think a little more rationally. Harry wasn’t normal. He couldn’t take him somewhere like the infirmary. Shit. Letting out a breath and stepping back, he set his hands to his hips. This place was making him a nervous wreck. “Harry. Your nose is definitely broken. Your eye is swollen shut and bloody. Can you see out of it?” His eyebrows went up. “Your jaw is so purple on this side-- if it’s been less than twenty four hours, it’s likely you have a hairline fracture there. Do you get me? Your jaw is probably broken. How do your teeth feel? You could have a concussion. There could be damage.. Brain swelling? A skull fracture? I don’t think you have any idea. You need to be looked at. Cleaning yourself up isn’t good enough.” A pause. “What happened?” That was more firmly questioned. *** “A lot of aspirin, a couple shots of very expensive whiskey, and because I’m a wizard,” Harry replied. That was how he was standing and talking and why the magic hadn’t worked well today. Bob had advised against any heavy workings because Harry was liable to blow himself up in this state. Harry agreed, so they’d been going through some basic meditative exercises before Harry even thought of doing large workings. He stared at York for a moment through his good eye, then his eyes flicked down to Bob. Let Bob do the talking or answer York’s questions? Let Bob give the status report and sit down in silence for a second? Harry sighed softly. “Bob,” he said, “Status report, and shut the hell up about everything else or I’ll break you.” “You sure, Boss?” The skull’s eyelights flicked on immediately, glowing orange in the sockets. “Yep.” And Harry sank onto the couch and closed his eyes because his head was pounding. “Overall his brain isn’t worse off than it normally would be. He has a thick skull,” The skull said brightly, turning to face York. “Hairline fracture, check. Swelling of the brain not indicative of a serious concussion - his equilibrium has been off. General dizziness, no nausea. But he got hit in the temple, his vision is a little impaired, and there’s a pretty big chunk missing out of the back of his head. Not ‘missing’ but you get the point.” Bob reported this all happily, as if nothing about it mattered. It didn’t, not to the spirit. He didn’t understand the gravity of the situation in ways humans cared about. “Harry got beat up by a girl.” Harry opened his eyes and eyed Bob. “That’s enough, Bob.” “Aw, come on, Harry! It’s funny! You went down like a sack of potatoes, it doesn’t do much for the whole scary wizard thing you keep trying to do.” *** Bob? A voice came from the side and York paused.. Then looked that way.. Then looked down. At the skull. With glowing eye-holes. Who turned to look at him. The soldier stared. The skull-- the talking skull that Harry had told him about-- began rattling off Harry’s issues. Fractured jaw. Swollen brain. Blurry vision. Missing a part of his head? Beat by a girl. “Texas did this?” He questioned to the skull-- because yeah, this was normal, sure-- before looking over at Harry. “You let Tex beat you? What the Hell were you thinking? She could have killed you, Harry. She’s my friend, yeah, but if she ever attacks you.. You could have used your magic. You could have stopped her. You just let her wail on you?” A hand rubbed up and over his face. “Harry..” What had the wizard been thinking? “You have to let me fix you up. Pain meds and whiskey is not a solution.” And now York felt miserable. His chest felt tight. He’d introduced Tex to Harry, and she’d done this to him. It was all his fault. *** “Yep!” Bob said cheerfully, “Harry didn’t even get a single solid punch in. It lasted about five minutes. That’s just sad.” Harry sighed. “Told you, I’m alive, no big deal.” “You’re lucky she kept you awake last night, actually, you probably would have died in your sleep,” Bob’s tone didn’t change at all. Harry blinked at the skull. “You didn’t say that part.” “Well, you didn’t ask. Your brain is swollen, Harry, I mean you’re an idiot who takes a lot of damage on the regular, but when’s the last time you took direct hits to your head? Not since you got that psychic blast through Little Chicago that one time and that was mostly mental. But there’s only so much direct damage your actual head can take before you quit. She got you in the temple and the back of your head, moron. What else happens after that?” If Bob had shoulders he’d have shrugged just then. Harry scowled at Bob and York, his brain feeling sluggish because the mix of aspirin and alcohol was doing its part to relax him. “It wasn’t exactly like that, York. It’s fine, I promise. It wasn’t her fault.” Not in Harry’s eyes anyway. Maybe she’d come over to taunt him on purpose, but Harry would never see it that way. Ever. “We had a little disagreement and we settled it in a way that made sense.” *** “He’s right, Harry. If your brain is swollen, you could have died in your sleep. If your brain was bleeding, you could be dead by now whether you’d slept or not.” An eerie calm had settled over the blonde soldier, arms crossed over his chest. That smile was gone. Suddenly, York looked far more like the war machine he’d been turned into. “Texas isn’t a person. She’s a weapon. If she came after you, you should have killed her.” So said the medic, who finally let his arms drop and took slow steps towards the older man. “You clearly don’t think it’s a big deal, but you’re wrong. People care if you die, Harry. I care if you die. I care if you’re injured. Or beaten to a bloody pulp. You’re my friend--” But he stopped himself there and shook his head, taking a slow seat on the couch next to the wizard, so he could get a better look at his face. “I’m sorry this happened.” It wasn’t Harry’s fault, it was York’s. “I’ll get you fixed up as best I can-- or I could call Cas up?” He’d been told the angel could heal, Mary Winchester had mentioned it. Maybe Cas could help with Harry? He’d feel better about that, most certainly. Just in case there was something underlying. “I’ll call Cas.” It was the better choice. He was tugging out his tablet. *** Harry opened his eye and squinted at York through it, noting distantly the changes that had overcome him. It wasn’t computing in his head just then but something looked off about York. Different. Aged. You should have killed her. “I tried,” he said blandly. Fuck. No, that wasn’t--where had that come from? “She was better, and I’m glad.” He watched York get closer, frowning and wanting to make that somber expression go away because it didn’t belong on the kid’s face. “I know-” Did he? Did he know how much anyone really cared if he died? The people back home, sure. He’d seen up close what his death had done to them, but anyone here besides York? Nah. He sighed again and reached out to touch York’s arm, applying a light pressure because that was all his fingers were capable of just then. “What--no, don’t call Cas.” He didn’t want the angel to see the surge of dark ugliness in his soul, then he’d know he’d made a mistake in letting Harry live. “I’ll let you look at me, York, I’ll take whatever medicines you want me to take. Just don’t call Cas.” Fuck. Thinking about Cas called Cas. God damnit. Harry rubbed his head and grunted a noise, summoning anti-angel thoughts in a weak bid to keep him away. *** “No, Harry, you don’t know. Not if you let her do this to you. You could have killed her. You didn’t.” He should have. That blue eye drifted down to the hand on his arm, then came back up. “I don’t want to bury you.” That would be a terrible day for York. And really, he might have had a chance to say more, but it was all over as soon as Harry had started thinking about Cas. Don’t call Cas. Just don’t call Cas. “What’s going on?” That rough voice came from just a few feet in front of them, where the Archangel had appeared,tilting his head slowly at Harry as he looked him over. And there it was. The look. “What did you do?” The question was only a rough whisper. “Can you heal him, Cas?” York turned to look back at the man in the trenchcoat, but was ignored as Cas came closer, to stand nearly knee-to-knee with Harry. The entirety of the angel tilted, as if to see the wizard better. But no matter which way he looked, this way or that, the black smudge on his soul that hadn’t been there before was impossible to notice now. Great. Blue eyes set to brown. “What did you do?” He asked again. *** Harry flinched. No amount of Castiel appearing and disappearing out of thin air would ever get old enough for it not to surprise the wizard. He didn’t want him coming for exactly that look in the angel’s expression and the depths of those soulless eyes. Harry dropped his gaze immediately, eyes closing, his head pounding steadily on. What did you do, Harry? His heart lurched a little and the blood flow made his head hurt even more, all the points of injury thrumming with the sudden burst of feeling. What did you do? It only confirmed what Harry had feared in himself yesterday. Tex had said he hadn’t hurt her, it didn’t change the fact Winter had won just that much of himself, and the ugliness that lived inside him had liked it. “I hurt her,” he said quietly, not raising his eyes to Castiel’s just yet, “I tried anyway. I attacked her.” His gaze moved to York. “I attacked her first, she was defending herself.” And that, York, was why it was fine, and why Harry hadn’t done anything about it. “She was in her rights to do it.” *** “You attacked a woman?” The angel’s voice was harder as he asked that question, eyes narrowing down. It didn’t seem like Harry at all. Something was wrong here. “It took over? You let it?” The darkness inside him, that was. Had it taken over? He already knew the answer. He could see it there, plain on the man’s soul. “You attacked Tex?” York asked in almost the same moment as Cas, glancing at the angel before he looked back at the wizard. “No. I don’t believe that. If you’d just attacked her, she’d have killed you and left you in a puddle of your own sticky bits. What happened?” And now poor Harry had two people staring, asking for answers. Well, an archangel and a person. Close enough. “Did you harm her? It does appear that she got the upper hand.. Are you severely injured?” Did he need to be healed? York would answer before Harry ever got a chance. “Yeah, he does, can you heal him?” Because damned if he was going to let something happen to Harry. Not because of Tex. Not because of him. *** “Yep,” Harry said darkly, because it would be a lie to say otherwise. Maybe his brain was addled and he shouldn’t have been trying to assess himself, but he had always had that bit of dark inside his soul that made him want to do horrible things. It was impossible to ignore the idea that that piece of himself had encouraged him to let Winter win. He spent so much of his time pushed around and beaten down that why not take power and control and possession of the world at his hands and do what he wanted? So yeah, maybe he’d let it win. “I lost control, Cas.” He looked at the angel finally. “Maybe I meant to. I wanted to rip her heart out of her chest and… and…” He shrugged thinly. Monster, of course. He wanted to do horrible things. “She was in control the whole time though, she did everything right.” He sounded pleased as he said it and who wouldn’t be? He’d take a beating any and every day of his life if it meant it would stop him from hurting someone else. “I don’t need to be healed, it’s fine. This is nothing.” And it would continue to remind him up until it healed and then maybe Tex would hit him if he asked her to. Bob watched this all for a moment in confusion and quiet (surprise!) contemplation. “Harry’s attracted to Texas, the Winter Mantle exploited the loop he leaves open for just about every woman he encounters and used it to short circuit his brain. Harry’s also afraid of Texas because he’s a sissy, so he was already defensive, which amped up the aggression. Lust and anger combined, it was a perfect opening. She saw it coming from a mile away though. I’ve got to say, it’s pretty impressive. She should make video recordings of her kicking people’s asses. It would sell for a lot of money. Just not people like Harry, he can’t fight back against people he likes.” Thanks, Bob. Harry eyed him sourly. *** Both angel and soldier listened as the wizard-- and then the skull explained. York sent a glance back at Bob-- what a weird thing, a talking skull-- but Cas ignored him entirely. He already knew what was going on there. He did take the information, however, his eyes never moving from Harry, as if he were making some sort of decision. Slowly, Castiel took a step back. “You’re dangerous.” He reminded the wizard sitting there, so cowed and forlorn on the sofa. “What’s inside you is even moreso. You know what you’re capable of. What you could have done to her.” He dipped his chin some, though his eyes remained pinned onto Harry’s. “What you wanted to do to her.” He let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I can take you now.” Wait. What? York turned his head to look at Cas. “I can send your soul to heaven before it gets any darker. Before you can hurt anyone else. I can trap that darkness here.” He was so sure he could, way out here in the nothingness. “What? No.” The blonde man, however, was ignored. “We can put an end to this now, if that’s what you want, Harry.” The offer was out there. But York wasn’t having any of it and he was on his feet and stepping between Harry on the couch behind him, and the archangel. What a stupid move. It caused Cas to lift his chin some and look up at the Spartan, as if he didn’t understand what York was attempting to do. Did he really think he could stop him? *** He could send his soul to heaven. Trap the Winter Mantle here in Knowhere. Free Harry of his burdens, let him have some peace. Sounded nice. It would be a relief. Too bad it would never happen. Not for people like Harry. The wizard looked up at the same time York got to his feet, making himself a bodily shield between Harry and the archangel. Alarm bells shot off in Harry’s sluggish brain and the wizard was climbing clumsily to his feet, reaching out to grab York’s arm to pull him back, to take him out of the line of the archangel’s sight. Too bad York was a fucking tank and Harry was a toddler in that moment. He ended up just moving slightly ahead of him, turning halfway to look at York and raise a hand toward Castiel in surrender “He doesn’t understand,” Harry said. “And no, no. I can’t do that-” Harry said, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to make the words make sense. “My brother is next for this piece of shit Mantle if I die and I won’t do that to him. She told me, the Winter Queen,” to say her name ‘Mab’ would make her listen and Harry had no desire to summon her right now. “And you can’t trap it, you can’t take away the balance in my universe because we’re---Winter’s fighting a war at the Outer Gates. Reality depends on it. I saw what the world looked like when they kept Summer’s Knight trapped. I saw it Cas, the way I saw you when I had the archangel’s powers. It was…” Scary and devastating and beautiful. “You can’t do that to my universe. Not for my soul.” He wasn’t worth all their lives. *** York was a tank. He was more immobile than Texas, and that was saying something. But he had sixty pounds on her, so it really explained it right there. Still, she was stronger than he was, but he could take a beating better than she could. They really were a good team when paired up, with one made to defend and the other made to attack. Unstoppable. York had been that way with Carolina, too. So he was able to stand his ground when Harry tried to pull him away, but didn’t try to fight Harry slipping slightly past him. He did, however, grab the wizard’s arm in return and hold. He wasn’t going to let you go, Harry Dresden. “Very well.” The angel relented after a few seconds of silence, reaching forward to catch Harry’s head in his hand, over his temple, along his skull, so the meat of his palm rest over that damaged point, where Tex had thrown her very first punch to his face. “Your brain is swelling.” A soft glow, then it was gone. The bruising remained. The headache that come as a result of the swelling was gone. The archangel dropped his hand. York tightened his hold on Harry. “Does she need to be healed?” Cas asked a second later, looking over the blonde, then Harry once again. Had she been injured during the fight? Should he find her and take care of her? Really, did anyone think that would end well? “She’s fine.” York would offer, though he hadn’t see her yet to know. *** One day Castiel would stop forgiving Harry for his sins and one day the world would be rid of a terrible power. Harry expected it, he’d want it eventually. But for now he was just glad to be alive, even though he flinched when the angel touched his head. He thought that was it, that was the moment his life ended for real because there was no Mab or Demonreach here to retrieve his soul from the very edges of St. Peter’s gates like the last time. They ripped it right out of whatever came Next’s grasp and put it back inside his body. That wouldn’t happen here. But then the headache was gone and Harry exhaled a breath at the flush of relief and he was glad York was holding onto him because he stumbled into the giant and clutched at him tightly for long seconds until he could right himself. He looked at Cas just barely, humbled, and dropped his gaze again. “... thanks, Cas. She has injuries, nothing fatal. Surface injuries. Nothing…” He paused, “I didn’t take anything from her.” Nothing she wasn’t willing to give later, but that didn’t bear thinking on or remarking about just now. *** The stumble and clutching had York holding Harry tighter, pulling him close and against his chest like a protective brother. And maybe he was, even if it wasn't by blood. The view had Castiel’s face softening slightly. But those words? They had the angel focusing on Harry again and his head tilted a bit, reading into that just perfectly, as he always had and always would. “You intended to rape her.” The words were simple. To the point. And they had York’s single blue eye suddenly riveted onto Harry. *** He could feel the weight of York’s gaze, solitary eye that it was, as deeply as he felt Castiel’s pressing into him with those words. It made his heart stop inside his chest then pick up rapidly immediately after. Harry looked at Castiel, then his gaze switched to York’s, avoiding making eye contact before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. No excuses. No arguments or buts-- He’d lost control and that was exactly what he’d intended to do to her. Monster that he was. It had thrilled him. It still thrilled parts of him he didn’t like to acknowledge. What kind of person was he? Mantle or not. *** The heavy silence hung there a second. A minute. Cas finally nodded. “I’m glad for both of your sakes she was able to defend herself.” His attention lingered long and hard on Harry. “I don’t need to tell you that your stool is becoming unsteady, Harry Dresden.” That was it. The angel was gone. It just left York, standing there with Harry, still clutching onto him and staring with that single blue eye, as if he didn’t believe what he’d just heard. Harry had been planning on raping Texas? York’s friend. Now.. part of him was angry. More than angry, it was furious, livid that the wizard would ever consider such a thing, that the thought could even pass through his mind. The other part of him? Well. Had Harry really thought he could make Tex do something she didn’t want to do? Not physically. Not ever. Not unless he’d been able to subdue her by magic and he hadn’t.. He could have, but he hadn’t. Something wasn’t adding up here. “Hey, Bob, how’s he doing?” He seemed unsteady after Cas had touched him and York wanted to know what was going on inside his brain. *** Harry became aware York was touching him sometime around the moment Castiel disappeared. He blinked and looked at the younger man, flinching away from the rage there inside that pale eye. It made him pull away from York on instinct, self defense saying to put distance and draw up the magic because that was a look that said clearly you’re a piece of shit, I’ll kill you for hurting my friend. Even if it would have hurt York to do so, after his soft professions of not wanting Harry to come to harm. If York had to be the one to hurt Harry, it’d probably break him. Even just a little. Harry didn’t doubt he could do it though. “Still an idiot, Boss,” Bob reported to York a beat later. “His brain’s back to normal, hey does Castiel know he does a little psychic damage every time he does that? Weird.” Nothing to be concerned about, otherwise Bob would happily report Harry’s brain was melting or something. “Feeling alright, Harry? If you keep drawing in that energy you’re going to kill York here. You should probably stop.” Harry shook himself and looked between both of them. Bob was right. He had been drawing in energy. It was a reflexive habit born out of paranoia. He released the energy slowly. He wouldn’t hurt York. “You should go, York. Tell Tex she can’t stay here.” *** Harry pulling away from the Freelancer made that hard expression soften some, the anger fading from his eye and turning to concern almost immediately. Of course, it was then that he realized why the wizard had pulled away and Delta began screaming in his head as the taller man started sucking in energy like a sponge. Energy to use in his defense. Energy to use against York. For the second time that night, the Spartan would look like the monster he was, his face falling lax and taking on the expression Tex usually wore. Something somewhere between hard, and uncaring. Something blank that bore no emotion. And that cold blue eye quickly lost all its warmth. “Good, I wouldn’t want him any other way.” York said if Bob’s assessment, keeping his eyes on Harry as a trickle of blood slipped from his ear, the angle there making it impossible for the taller man to take any notice. “I’ll talk to Cas about it next time I see him.” Offered up, it should have come with a smile but it didn’t. That blood began to drip to his shoulder just as Bob mentioned that maybe Harry should stop. Thank God he stopped. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. You’ve had a rough day. We both have-- I’ll find us something to eat.” His color was slowly draining as Delta frantically did damage control inside his head. “Sit down, I’ll bring you some water.” All the right words, but without any of the proper inflection. Harry had been preparing to kill him, if he needed to. York had been ready to stand there. And he’d yelled at the Colonel. *** That distant look and those empty words didn’t belong to York. No, that was a lie. They were part of York all the same as the rest and it was important for Harry to remember them. So he stared at the Freelancer and took it all in, etching the image and the sound into the depths of his mind so that he’d recall what he was capable of pushing the soldier to. What the soldier was capable of becoming. “Hey, Harry,” said Bob. “Yeah?” The wizard asked. “Uh, can I come out?” Harry blinked and looked at Bob, eyes narrowing. “Why-” “York’s going to die if you don’t let me. I can help him. “ Fuck. Harry backed up further, stepping into his ring of candles and the five point star he’d already laid on the ground from earlier. “You have my permission to leave the skull, Bob, for this purpose only. You stay inside the apartment, you help York, and then you go back.” “Got it, Boss,” and then the orange lights flicked out in the sockets but the orange essence itself seemed to flow into the air from the depths of the skull. It wafted on over to the soldier and settled around his head, looking like a weird shell that molded perfectly to his skin, sinking in but not becoming a true possession. That took an invitation, remember, York? He was only adding another layer of defense against Harry’s assault, to help Delta along, protecting the Spartan and his AI from the blast. “You sit down, moron.” Harry said. “I’ll … just stand right here.” *** York had taken a step away, turning his head. It was clear he wasn’t hearing anything that was going on in the apartment because he was listening to Delta in his head. Delta frantically making calculations and figuring statistics and counting down how long he had before he was going to be overloaded, all while he diligently tried to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t. The Spartan’s hand came out and he grasped at the tall arm chair he was standing near. He listened as Delta rattled off probabilities, and his stats, and his blood pressure, and told him which parts of his brain were shutting down. York’s hand tightened on the chair. He couldn’t have run if he’d tried. Thankfully, Bob was suddenly there and Delta caught a break. Thank you came his quick greeting, some of that tight hold on his lockdown procedures slipping. Can you hold it off? He’d question to Bob, as concerned sounding as a machine possibly could be. When he got an affirmative, he dropped the lockdock procedures entirely so he’d be able to do what was necessary, but at that point the bleeding had gotten too bad. It’d begun to leak from his nose, and his eye on the same side. That was when that tired, single blue eyes found Harry again. “I’m sorry, Harry.” The soldier breathed the words out. York. I can’t stop the bleeding with your heart beating. A factual statement. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” That was what had brought this all on. York had made Harry fear for his life. He’d made him take up defenses with just a look. He hadn’t meant to. He wouldn’t have hurt Harry. I have to stop your heart. Delta insisted. “Do it.” He told the AI. It only took a fraction of a second for the artificial intelligence implanted into the Spartan’s brain to put a full-stop on his heart, just as the blood had begun to leak from his opposite ear. York went down to his knees, then over onto his side. And Delta went to work. Three minutes. It took Delta three minutes and seventeen seconds. The bleeding stopped. Trauma marginalized. Lockdown procedures back into place. The Freelancer gasped for breath and rolled over onto his stomach, coughing as he worked out how to breathe again. Fuck. *** Bob confirmed his ability to withstand the assault, he hadn’t anticipated it getting much worse than it was, but really. He was a strong spirit that could take more than Harry’s frantic power was lashing out. All he’d done was layer himself over the soldier so Harry’s errant energies ran into him instead and worked to drain Bob’s defenses over Delta’s. He could hold all day if he needed to. He’d done much more difficult feats in worse conditions. Harry didn’t know what was happening. He was on the outside of this threeway watching with worried eyes. I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to scare you. “No,” Harry said, because that sounded too much like a goodbye. It sounded too much like York was giving his last words. And that’s when York dropped like a stone. “No!” Harry lunged for him, hitting the ground beside the soldier, on his knees so he could gather him up in his arms and hold him close, “York!” His fingers pressed over the pulse in his throat and found nothing. Oh, god. No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. This wasn’t fucking fair. For the second time in less than 36 hours, Harry wept. A whole three minutes and seventeen seconds Harry thought he’d killed his friend. He held him all the while. Three minutes, seventeen seconds Harry lost a friend he cared about the most. He didn’t notice when Bob disengaged and returned to the skull. But he did feel the body in his arms jerk and then that cough. Harry’s heart almost quit too. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, thank you. Miracles do happen. “You fucking asshole, you don’t get to die on me.” *** York curled in on himself-- and tucked into Harry’s arms the way he was, it just caused him to curl slightly in Harry’s lap, his forehead pressing against the Wizard’s shoulder as the pain in his chest and the burning in his lungs, and the pounding in his head thrashed his senses. Fuck. “Thanks.” It was just a mutter, but Delta had heard it-- and hopefully Bob and Harry had, too. He was dimly aware Bob had helped, and knew that the wizard had surely told him to. He just needed to lay there another moment to gain all of his senses back. His eyes closed again. He hurt all over. But after another minute or two, he was slowly shifting again, his muscles doing their best to obey his traumatized brain and work together to sit him up straighter, so he could open his eyes again and look at Harry. A little grin curled his lips. “You look like shit.” Hi, Harry. *** His hold only got tighter, which was probably antithesis to breathing, but like hell was he letting York go. Not ever if he could. Which was irrational at best, but it satisfied the hammering in his heart and the pain therein that had reduced him to the rubble of tears and desperate sounds. York was breathing and then his eyes were open and he was looking at the wizard. What a pathetic sight they made, two grown giants on the ground, one crying like a woman and the other half dead and coming to. Some twisted version of a Shakespeare play without any of the sex. Harry looking this side of Quasimodo and York that side of a freak with his missing eye and still weirdly handsome grin. Fuck him and his stupid Captain America rip-off. All of that and Harry didn’t care. Who the fuck cared that he had tears in his eyes and that he just fucking held on. Just for a minute longer, York. *** A minute longer. Two minutes longer. York would relax back into that hold when his brain processed that he wasn’t in any immediate danger. It knew this man had been the cause, so muscles had bunched and worked and he’d tried to sit up. But Harry had held on and York had gotten control of himself and relaxed again. The soldier allowed those minutes to pass in silence, until Delta asserted that he needed to get up. He needed to move. The AI needed to know all parts of that repaired brain were functioning as expected, and laying there in Harry’s arms wasn’t making anything work properly. “You know I’m not gay, right?” The blonde asked from his exhausted sprawl in the wizard’s arms. It was followed a few seconds later by: “Delta needs me to get up.” Hopefully, Harry would take that as an invitation to help his friend to his feet. Shifting again, York would take the initiative to begin sitting up, a hand grasping onto Harry’s bicep to help him do so. “Hey, Bob.. thanks.” The second thanks was surely due to Delta’s reminder that if it hadn’t been for him, he’d be dead now. *** “Fuck you,” Harry said, but he laughed, hoarse, for what it was worth. If York could joke it meant he was okay. Right? Yeah, okay. And Delta needed him to move. And they both needed the wizard to step away, probably. So Harry obliged, he rose and helped York to his feet, making sure the man was steady before he backed up again and disciplined his emotions into their proper order. He’d been too raw and vulnerable today, too exposed and self loathing. He’d allowed himself to believe the worst in his soul and he thought York was going to hurt him, his friend who even in his anger hadn’t moved a muscle. It said a lot about the two of them. But Harry schooled his emotions back into their proper place, so he could think clearly, so that if York twitched awkwardly he wouldn’t take it as a signal and attack. Friends didn’t hurt friends. York was a better friend, that was okay. To the side, the eyelights inside the skull flared brighter and Bob said, “Sure thing, Boss.” Before he yawned. Impressive, considering he had no lungs. And then his lights flicked out. *** Harry would get some time to himself as York obeyed each and every command Delta gave him. Walk five steps forward. Five steps backwards. Move to the side. Lift a knee to your chest. Other knee. Touch your toes. Crouch. Lift your hands above your head. Touch your nose. Other hand. How many fingers. Close your right eye. Close your left eye. Clap. His hands missed one another. They missed another a second time. Left hand up, he touched each finger to his thumb, backwards and forwards. Right hand. He just stared at his right hand. He recited the alphabet. Counted to twenty. Counted back down from twenty. Heading over to the kitchen, his brow furrowed as he listened to the voice in his head, he opened the pantry and pulled something out. He just stood there for a few long seconds before he put it back in and pulled something else out. Another too-long pause. The item was placed back where it had come from. “Foxtrot-12.” He answered the silence around him. “December 25th, 2488.” A long pause. He dropped his head a little and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “New York. Yeah. No. I got it. Sorry.” He must have looked like a crazy man. His right hand came up again, just to be stared at, and he shoved it into his pocket in what was probably a little more forceful than it needed to be. “Why don’t you take a break for a little bit, D, you need a rest. Run diagnostics. Thanks, man.” And only then did that blue eye seek out Harry again. “Hungry?” Right back where he’d left off. That was a little weird. *** That was more than a little weird. That was a whole fucking truckload of weird. Watching the giant of a man move around and mine and test himself all to the voice inside his head. Weird didn’t begin to describe it. But Harry had stood back and let it happen. Well he hadn’t stood anywhere, he’d sank himself back down into the circle and closed it off around himself with will and intent. Normally he’d have gone through the entire ritual, cleansing and all, but fuck if York had time to waste for Harry to get a hold of himself. So he’d sat down and pushed his mind through meditative breathing practices until everything inside his head had calmed and the storms raging therein were quieted. In the background of the apartment he blocked out York’s movements, his occasional voice responses to his personal crazy, and only when the two had finished and the wizard felt clear headed did he stand up, step out and shake his head at York. “No,” he said, “But I can use a drink. There’s a really expensive bottle of whiskey in the pantry, Tex can get a new one.” *** Harry responded and came around the bend and closer to the kitchen, going on about some sort of whiskey, and York immediately took on a concerned look and came out of the kitchen, rounding the counter and heading straight for the wizard. “Oh my God, what happened to your face?” A hand was reaching out to grasp hold of Harry’s bicep. “Why didn’t you come to the infirmary? You have to have that looked at.” His free hand lifted to touch carefully at his jaw. “Your nose is broken.” He turned his head slightly to the side, though his eyes lingered worriedly on Harry’s face. He was listening. Then, after a few seconds, he wet his lips and he slowly let his fingers trail away from their gentle touch on Harry’s jaw. “Sorry.” The word was only a breath. Sorry, Harry. *** What the fuck was that. “Bob!” “Jesus Christ, Harry, can’t a guy get any sleep around here?” Bob groused, but he did come back alive, the urgency in Harry’s tone probing him. “What now?” “What the hell is wrong with York?” There was silence when the skull looked over the soldier again, “Oh, he’s fucked. That’s alright, it’ll come back. Or maybe it won’t. Brain damage, what can you do?” And then Bob flicked out again without saying another word. Harry stared. “I’m sorry, too.” *** That blue eye shifted immediately to the skull and York let his gaze linger there before the assessment was accurately made and the lights went out again. Only then did Harry get all of his attention for a second time. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.” The hand on his bicep gave a little squeeze. “Just-- just sit down, man, I’ll grab us a drink and I’ll check you out, make sure you’re okay.” Though even as he said the words, he seemed to take notice of the fact he had blood on his shirt. Oh. Shit. “You mind if I borrow a shirt?” Finally, he released Harry’s bicep and took a step back, tugging it off over his head and using the shirt to wipe the blood from his face and ear. The other one had been bleeding, too? Well, that one got a proper wipe down, also. “Then we’ll have a drink.” They both needed one, York could tell. |