Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-12-23 21:09:00 |
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Mobius sustains a wound during the first night of the full moon. Loki finds him, but there’s only one way to save his life. And it comes with its own consequences.
The irony of being taken out by a very human weapon was not exactly something Mobius appreciated. But here it was, unfolding like a sordid scroll regardless - his tale, from beginning to end. Seemed possible that this was the end. He’d gone to check on Matt, catching him in the middle of the hunting act - however, they couldn’t exactly hunt here, not in the way they did before. Mobius understood the anger. He understood the need to protect others - to ensure that no other innocent person felt the ache of losing a loved one who became collateral damage or a meal for a supernatural creature, terror as old as time itself the last thing they felt. Of course he knew that. He’d lived it. But things were different on this campus. Their glorious trap had backfired, in the sense that they were all in this melting pot together - maybe it was punishment, maybe it was penanance, but he was tired of deciding who got what (he wasn’t judge, jury, and executioner - not here, not now) and tired of fighting against what he felt to be true. He did all he could do to help keep the peace and he would ensure the hunters all stuck to that - but not all of them were sticking to that. The scuffle that ensued left Matt unconscious - knocked out with a blow to the head, Mobius bringing him into one of the dorm rooms and chaining him to the bed, ensuring he wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile. But during that blur of an altercation, Mobius got in between a supernatural creature and a bullet. He was bleeding - he had a bullet lodged somewhere vital, probably... Hot and cold, cold and hot, a pain so great it made an old-fashioned root canal seem like a frolic through daisies. He was dragging a trail of blood behind him; it wove like red ribbons and his gait showed signs of the adrenaline rush abating. Everything was slowing down - he didn’t think he’d make it to the clinic and even if he got there, what would he do? Try to remove the bullet himself? Asking for help on the shared network seemed to be his best bet but he wasn’t sure if anyone would get to him in time and when he tried to reach for his phone, his grip was slippery. The screen was red-stained, blood caught in between the crevices - he simply sank to his knees then, bleeding out from his side, and he wanted to look at the stars. So he did, rolling over onto his back and watching the night sky. It was beautiful. The stars twinkled like jewels - fuzzy ones, as his vision waxed and waned. At the very least, it was peaceful - and gods knew he had so few moments of peace in his life. Maybe he’d just take a chance to savor this one after all. The experiment that left them all trapped in this tiny perimeter of campus space had left Loki busy. Most of his time was spent trying to build a space to protect his people. Not necessarily all vampires, because Loki only had a responsibility to his own, but he did invite the occasional ally to aid in his cause. Derleth didn’t exactly offer a lot of opportunistic places for vampires to hide during the day. Safe places, that is. Guard duty was becoming a fact of their new lives. And it was going well. Vampires were notoriously cranky when they tried to stay up during the day and sleep at night. It went against all of their body’s instincts. It had also interrupted Loki’s contact with Mobius. Their relationship had taken a slightly (although not entirely) unexpected turn a few weeks before the experiment. And they hadn’t had much time to discuss what it meant or what it would become. Added to the fact that Loki had an inkling that Mobius was also involved in the plot to trap the vampires and werewolves had hindered his desire to have a conversation. Conversations were tricky. He was much better with taunts and threats and flirtations. And Mobius was mortal. Which meant that their time together was limited anyway. Was there really a need to talk about what was going on? Loki didn’t think so. Besides, he enjoyed the tension. He was aroused by not knowing what was going on. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel some level of ownership of Mobius. He did in a strange obsessive way that only vampires could properly display. Loki had tasted Mobius’s blood and allowed him to live. That connected them. It was a bond. They belonged to each other. So, when he caught the scent of blood—familiar blood—on the wind, Loki was enraged. That blood was his. No one else deserved it. And his reaction was furious. His envy was so immediate he was practically green in the face. Worse than that, he felt deceived. Which was why he followed that scent of blood, fully intent on giving Mobius and his new vampire fling a real taste of what it felt like to double cross his emotions. Imagine his surprise—and his guilt—at finding Mobius alone. Alone and dying. Sorry, Mobius. Peaceful moments be damned. Loki dropped down to his knees and frantically grabbed Mobius’s shoulders. “Mobius! Wha—” He paused, moving aside the fabric of Mobius’s shirt to see the wound. He was soaked in blood. “This is … I can’t fix this.” Getting grabbed and jostled by his vampire lover was not what Mobius was expecting but he had to admit, the relief he felt at seeing Loki was nearly palpable. He tried to sit up but it was no use. His blood flowed like honey, slithering, slithering, staining the ground as darkness ebbed and flowed just as easily - it was a figure eight, streaming and dragging. “Took a bullet for one of you,” he wheezed. He wasn’t even sure who Matt had been originally chasing - all Mobius knew was that he fired the gun, he took his shot, and there was nothing to be done but get in between. Whoever it was didn’t deserve to go out that way - Though, really, gods forbid they all started getting what they deserved. Maybe Mobius already was getting it though. “I can’t - I can’t be without you though,” he heard himself saying, dimly, because his voice sounded far away. As far away as one of those stars in this brilliant, black velvet sky. “I can’t.” Mobius panicked then, realizing what this all meant - the certainty of death and the clanging of his own funeral bells, all of it was crashing down on him and he was scared. Usually he wasn’t. Usually he was fearless. All those games, all those threats and everything, he knew what it all represented and how closely he held it to his useless heart - when you let someone in, and they let you in, you both became a part of each other’s story. It was hard to give that up. Mobius didn’t want to. “Why?!” Loki couldn’t understand why Mobius would throw himself in harm’s way to protect another supernatural. Even with what was going on between them that didn’t make sense. There was no logic to it. Protecting vampires and werewolves? Loki wouldn’t even expect Mobius to protect him. To protect someone who mattered less than him? A stranger? He couldn’t see the sense in any of that. It was irrational. Especially now. “Why would you do that? That’s—That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard! It’s so reckless! The experiment would just bring them back in a few days.” And the same would be true of Mobius, as well. Assuming, of course, that the experiment continued to hold true. And none of them really knew if it would. There was some speculation among the vampire community that a change would happen. That the hunters and humans might find a way to send themselves back to a world without vampires and werewolves. Loki didn’t know if he believed that. But as he sat there, crouched over Mobius, trying to hold his wound closed with his palms, he wondered if that might happen. Could death be the thing that sent the humans home? The thought brought a pained, panicked expression to his face. “Godsdamnit, Mobius. What do you want me to do with this? This is…” …too much blood. And Loki knew almost immediately that there was only one option if he wanted to try and spare Mobius an agonizing death. But Loki’s cure wasn’t a guarantee. It could go wrong. It didn’t always work. And these circumstances didn’t offer a lot of hope. Then there were the consequences. What if it did work and Mobius was trapped in immortality? Or worse, what if the reset turned him human again? Loki didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that the thought of Mobius dying made his heart ache. It even blocked his body’s instinctive hunger for blood. It was an eventuality he hadn’t allowed himself to think about. Because Loki wasn’t ready to change the dynamic. He foolishly thought that they had more time. “I’m not ready for you to leave me…” "You know how this ends," Mobius replied - he wasn't going to waste his breath explaining why he did what he did. Maybe getting trapped here brought its own sort of clarity too - made him see that he wasn't meant for this. The anger that simmered like a landmine waiting to detonate - that was how hunters lived. They kept going, they never stopped, fueled by pain and anguish and were blind to anything else besides what hurt. They got used to it - and boy, how he hated that he’d allowed that numbness to build up over time, pressure and steam. He reached for Loki's hand. "You know what has to happen. And I love you, I do - there's always a ‘me’ who always loves a ‘you.’ I hope you know that too." He wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, and maybe Loki needed to hear it - and Mobius needed to say it. Because he felt that it'd be okay - that he wouldn't be floating adrift in a churning sea of red, of blood, by himself. And, more importantly, that he was steely enough to find his way back to Loki as well. He vowed to keep what they had safe, and keep that love where it belonged, very much alive, in a heart that would no longer beat. But Loki didn’t know what had to happen. Was Mobius telling him to let him go? Or was he asking him to try and save him? There was no guarantee, of course. There never was. Vampires didn’t know why the change worked for some humans and failed others. Why it provided salvation to a select few while it quickened the deaths of the rest. Each vampire had their own theory and had built their own rituals for turning based on those theories. On those supernatural beliefs. Even Loki had his patterns. His idiosyncrasies when it came to welcoming someone into his family—into his blood. This was not how he liked to do it. He had too many bad experiences trying to ‘save’ people from death. The stress, the trauma, the emotional unrest—these were not the best circumstances to create a new Child of Darkness. “Stop it,” Loki hissed. “Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t talk like this is the last time we’ll see each other.” Loki leaned in close, lifting one hand from Mobius’s wound to run his fingers through those grey hairs, staining the strands red with blood. There’s always a me who loves a you. Those words pierced Loki’s heart like an arrow. Nobody spoke to him like that. Not family, not friends, not lovers. But he knew it was true. He knew it was true because he’d seen into the lives of other Lokis. Not just the one who lay dormant in the back of his mind this week. He’d come across many thin places in his lifetime. Places where the boundaries between worlds were cracked. Where the fabric of reality shifted and stars realigned in unfamiliar but nostalgic patterns. He knew that Lokis who had Mobiuses in their lives fared better than those that did not. Perhaps Mobius had witnessed those crisscrossed moments in space-time as well. Or maybe it was just something he imagined. Something he once saw in a dream. Another Loki with another Mobius playing another game. But it didn’t matter. Loki knew it to be true. And he also knew that he felt the same. Although he’d never say so. “If I ever find out that you planned to lure me here and leave me, I will destroy you,” Loki whispered just above Mobius’s lips. He wouldn’t kill Mobius. He’d devastate him. He’d snap his heart in two and then crush it in a million pieces. Because Loki knew that would hurt him more than death. And while Loki had hopes to be better, he was still a vengeful man. “Now … I can’t promise this will work. But I can promise it will hurt.” Loki turned Mobius’s head to the side and bit hard into his carotid artery. That was exactly what had to happen. Mobius knew Loki would get there. “Not gonna leave you, honey,” Mobius chuckled weakly and, well, guess he had the rest of forever to prove it - or he would. Because he refused to believe he was actually going to die here like this, beneath the silvery glow of sequined stars. There’s always a ‘me’ who loves a ‘you.’ “...elskan mín,” he added, and where those words came from - he had no idea. This Mobius didn’t know any other languages. But - there was a Mobius who knew every language there actually was to know. Maybe it came from him. The bite though - it was different than all of the other (loving?) bites which Loki had given him. This was purposeful, and Mobius had to stifle the urge to scream. His body jerked out of instinct and some barely-there sense of self-preservation, hands flailing as he reached for Loki to cling to him, to clutch him in a grip as tight as he could manage. It was all cotton in his haze, like too much Novacaine, everything was slipping away and growing darker and he could feel the swish of that black velvet curtain about to close. Lid of the coffin slammed shut, soil poured atop it. Being drained of blood, being drained of life, his grip slackened, pallor to his skin - now a limp, barely moving sack of muscle and bone. The image of grass surrounding the coffin buried six feet in the earth, closing in around him. This was it. His eyes closed. He stopped struggling. Loki didn’t need to hear those two special words to make his decision—he’d already made that choice years ago when they first started this unlikely courtship—but they did encourage him. Those two words filled him with the focus he needed to feel confident in what he was doing. Loki understood the importance of choice when it came to immortality. It wasn’t a life for everyone. And while there was no guarantee that it would last through the reset, it was still important for Loki to receive some form of consent. He usually had a clear process for this. He didn’t make fledglings on a whim. He always took his time. He always made certain the person knew what it meant. What they could expect. Both the good and the bad of a life shrouded in perpetual darkness. He hadn’t had that experience with Mobius. Not that he needed to. Mobius was keenly aware of what vampirism meant and how it would change his life and his relationship with the living. But it was still important that he gave Loki an indication that this was what he wanted. And those two words were enough. Loki drank, but he didn’t indulge. Normally he would lavish in the taste and the moment. (This would be his last time tasting Mobius’s mortal vigor, after all.) Normally he would turn it into something pleasurable for them both. But Mobius had already lost a lot of blood. There was no time to make this memorable or passionate. There was no time for romance. This was a rescue mission. One with a very meager chance at success. Once Mobius was drained almost to the point of unconsciousness—when his heartbeat was so faint it was like the last flutter of a butterfly’s wings—Loki pulled away from his neck. He dug his fangs into his wrist, until his own blood flowed from those invigorated veins, and pressed it up against Mobius’s lips. Drink. He thought he said it aloud, but he didn’t. He was too nervous. Too anxious that he’d taken too much. That he’d waited too long. Or that Mobius’s body had already been weakened beyond the point of resurrection. Various legends of the turning had been crafted over the centuries. Many vampires had their preferred methods—their ceremonies—for the change. But really it was quite simple. Drain the body of blood. Feed it the blood of a vampire. And wait. For some people the change took hours. For others, minutes. There was no way of knowing how long it would take. But if twenty-four hours passed and nothing happened then the answer was clear. Loki hoped he wouldn’t have to wait that long. But thankfully he was already dead. So, holding his breath wouldn’t hurt him. Mobius fluttered his lashes, barely awake. But when he felt the press of Loki’s wrist to his lips he did what was expected of him. Blood poured into his mouth, heat of it on his tongue - so Mobius drank. Drank, swallowed, slurp, suck - with all the vigor he could manage in that moment, and as it stood, the taste was...good. Maybe not something he’d spread on toast or pour into his tea, but - good enough. A craving for blood would likely change, however, once he did. His face was smeared in blood, mustache and chin soaked with everything Loki was - then he let go, and with vampire blood coursing through his system he let his eyes close again. They didn’t open. Not yet. Not for a few minutes. Not until the memories of hunter Mobius were laid to rest, tucked away into a box at the back of his mind, and the Mobius who had arrived for the other Derleth experiment fresh from the brink of a time war was back in the driver’s seat. But it wasn’t even close to twenty-four hours or even one - nothing was going to keep him from fighting his way back. His eyes snapped open (ghastly crimson, powder blue long gone) and he gasped, shuddering, as their collective consciousnesses merged and he processed just what the hell had happened. “Loki??” The presence of the intruders—or the imposters as he had come to think of them—hadn’t really fazed Loki all that much. Very little of his life changed simply because a few people couldn’t remember who they were or because he had an extra soul hanging out inside of him. He’d come to a kind of silent agreement with his extra Loki baggage, the one who’d arrived from that mechanical dystopian world. That Loki wanted to rest and this Loki didn’t want anyone else in control of his body. So they settled on a kind of symbiotic exchange. Loki could peer into Loki’s mind, share his memories and muse over the circumstances of another world in which he was an actual god, and the other Loki could sleep. Rest. Regain his strength for whatever drama awaited him in the next incarnation of Derleth. But Loki had been glad that Mobius still remembered him. It was difficult enough having to deal with Natasha, a woman he’d spent more than a century with, looking at him like he was a stranger. The last thing he wanted was to see that look in Mobius’s eyes as well. When Mobius opened his eyes a wave of relief spread over Loki. He sighed. His heart, previously caught in his throat, dropped down to his stomach. He clasped Mobius’s hand in his own and desperately checked the wound. It was clean. Repaired. Healed. And Mobius had a pale sheen to his skin that only the undead could wear well. It worked. Loki’s lips started to curl into a smile, but stopped. Something else that was different. Something Loki didn’t want to admit. Familiarity but … distance. “Mobius…” Loki squeezed his hand. He must have looked a mess. Mouth covered in blood that had dripped down his chin and neck, staining his shirt. Disheveled black hair outlined in moonlight. He still had panic in his eyes, half hidden behind his allayed fears that Mobius would die. “My darling. I don’t even know why I was worried. You’re so bloody stubborn. Of course you’d come back to me. You just couldn’t let me win our little game, could you?” “Loki...” Mobius said his name again, awe and hushed and he let himself break a little. Before, when he’d been in that machine apocalypse, he’d been useless for the good part of a week and then after? Well. It wasn’t exactly the right time to wax poetic, to Loki, about how Mobius felt when it came to him - that Loki was still distrustful; he didn’t believe that when Mobius fell in love with him, it spanned the universe and all of the potential universes beyond. Like a guitar string, almost - plucked a little differently by each Loki that walked into his life, but the core facts remained. There’s always a ‘me’ who always loves a ‘you.’ Mobius squeezed his hand in return - he didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want Loki to get up in horror, disappearing into the shadows, when he realized that hunter Mobius was gone for now - they’d be reunited later, however. Weren’t they always? “I’m - don’t leave me.” Apparently he was going to voice that fear out loud too, and he didn’t even care if he sounded desperate. Sue him. He was a fucking vampire and being left on the ground and to his own bloodthirsty devices seemed terrifying. “Leave you?” Loki quirked a brow. There was a split second of confusion that crossed his expression because he, too, wanted to indulge in a brief moment of denial. Then he laughed. One of those typical Loki laughs. The kind meant to disguise a feeling of inferiority or a hesitation. A laugh meant to hide the fact that he had any real feelings at all. “I’m not going to leave you. I could never leave you. You and I are one in the same now. We belong to each other.” Loki leaned in close so he could whisper against Mobius’s ear. “We all belong to each other. Even if some of us don’t realize that yet.” He placed a kiss on Mobius’s ear lobe, leaving behind a lip print of blood. Then he sat back on his haunches. His knees had been digging into the dirt for what felt like hours. If he’d been alive then he would have lost sensation in his legs long ago. But that was something he didn’t have to worry about anymore. And neither did Mobius. He glanced around cautiously. Loki didn’t have to ask to know what had caused Mobius’s injury. Not a vampire. Not a werewolf. Bullets—like the one that had popped out in the grass when the wound healed itself—were a human weapon. A hunter’s companion. Which meant trouble could be nearby. And Loki didn’t have the strength to fend off an attack. Not after a turning. “We can’t stay here long. It’s not safe. And dawn is less than an hour away.” Loki looked down at Mobius’s hand with a small frown. Cold. He wondered how long the memory of his body heat would remain in his thoughts. He turned his focus back to Mobius’s eyes. Yes, there was something different there. Which was why Loki forced himself not to blink. He didn’t want to miss even the slightest hint of a response. “Do you trust me?” We all belong to each other. Even if some of us don’t realize that yet. Mobius nodded, the closeness and the kiss making him shiver - but he knew what Loki said was true. He knew they would get there - they just had to get through this first. He sat up, his head swimming - but he, admittedly, felt incredible. Ravenous, but incredible - certainly not like he’d just taken a bullet. He didn’t even really have to think about Loki’s question much. Mobius, well - he knew he wasn’t perfect. That he had flaws, that those flaws lingered in the air, were a part of all he was - he couldn’t exist without them. He wasn’t a saint, and he did everything he possibly could to be better when he realized he fucked up - for him, it was vital he fix his mistakes; this was his deepest conviction. And it was also what he had seen in Loki from the very beginning. “Yeah, I trust you,” he replied, his other hand coming up to rest on the back of Loki’s head, fingers stroking through his hair as Mobius leaned in to briefly touch foreheads. “I trust you.” There was a tiny twinge of disappointment that lingered in the back of his mind. He supposed he should have suspected that it was possible for others to change throughout the course of the week. He’d been aware of the other Loki tucked inside of him almost from the moment of the reset. He’d assumed that was the same for most of the others, as well. Mobius included. But he hadn’t given a lot of thought to it. Nor did he expect it to change. That look in Mobius’s eyes, however—it was both the look of a lover and a stranger. Which, in and of itself, was peculiar. Because from what he’d gleaned from the other Loki, he didn’t have that kind of relationship with his Mobius. Loki found that both sad and unfortunate. For all of them. But there was no time to dwell on that. Safety first. Feeding second. Then they could talk about who they were—and weren’t—to each other. And maybe Loki could shed some of his disappointment. And the sadness that came with not being able to properly share this moment with the man he’d come to care for. But it seemed that this Mobius, whether he was partly the man he knew or not, had a sixth sense of what he was to Loki. And if it hadn’t been too dangerous, Loki would have lingered in that touch a little longer. Forehead to forehead. Nose to nose. Alas, the time for that would have to wait. “Then let’s go someplace else. We’ll clean you up and find you something more alive to satiate your hunger,” Loki said. “And then we can get to know each other again.” |