Re: [quicklog: micah c, neil d, cris m, louis d]
[Cris reminded him that the things he'd done weren't human, and Neil put a hand on his shoulder and told him Joey's death wasn't his fault.
He wasn't entirely sure what he was meant to be anymore. Since he'd come to America, even before all of this, Louis's identity had been wrapped up in keeping his family safe. There had always been a new threat to battle, always a new nightmare to face down. He hadn't always succeeded, but he had tried, to the detriment of every other part of his life, and now Joey was dead. He had thought of himself as a good person trying to do the right thing for most of his life, working on behalf of the law to protect people who couldn't protect themselves, on an ideal day. Now he was a murderer, not human.
Micah had killed more than just Joey. He had killed men and women just for sharing names with him and Sam. And the offer to take him to the corpse only without the two men who were a less immediate danger sealed Louis's suspicions. Micah would not take him to the body. He would take him somewhere he thought he had the advantage, and try to reap a last revenge. He would really never see Joey again. He wouldn't be able to bring so much as a torn corpse back to the Alexanders.
Cris wanted a human death for Micah, quick and painless, no floods or scalded flesh. When he asked for it, the light behind Louis's eyes cooled. Murder. It was easy not to think of it that way when it was an invetiable consequence of what had been done to him, the thirsty needs of a tireless god, but without the apparati of punishment and ritual, Micah's death would only count as any other. It would feed nothing. It would be to make sure he never stood up again.
He didn't balk at the prospect, but it did grow cold in his chest. There was no doubt that Micah deserved it, and Louis had shot men in self-defense before. This was something else, though. Not the line of duty, not pouring blood from a ewer. This was execution.
His eyes were slate blue. He wasn't armed - the gun would need to come from Neil.
He extended a hand to his brother, open-palmed. He didn't seem powerful or terrible, then. Only weary, and thin.]