Dante (justbusiness) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-07-14 16:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | dante, roger |
Monday, June 23rd 2008
Who: Dante, Roger and Pam
What: Dante returns
When: Monday Morning
Where: BGH
Rating: R for fighting/language
Last night Dante had spent with Erin, laying with her and being with her and not worrying about what would come in the morning. Of course, when morning came, Dante was worrying. He left her while she was still asleep, kissed her forehead and headed back to his room, taking a shower and changing his clothes. Now that Erin was staying, he had something else that needed to be taken care of. Something possibly more important, equally scary.
Standing in front of the huge house, Dante swallowed, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. Jessica was parked a little ways down the road. He hadn't wanted to make a lot of noise and wake people, even though at least one of them would be up anyway. The fucking vampire. It was early, but he knew he couldn't wait on this or he'd just about die. Walking up to the door, Dante knocked sharply, hopefully loud enough to make someone come answer.
Pam was cooking breakfast. Nothing complicated, scrambled eggs and turkey bacon, but she wanted it to be ready before Roger went for his morning run. She had insisted he start running regularly again because one, exercise acted like an antidepressant and then Roger could cut back on his medication, two because it helped her son focus, and three because he was over thirty and as much as she loved Wesley, the man was a terrible influence on Roger's diet. Godric had come and gone through the kitchen and as far as Pam knew, they were the only two awake. The knock on the door made her pause, mouth wrinkled in puzzlement. Shutting off the stove, she trotted over to the front door, wiping her hands on her pale green yoga pants before grabbing the knob and opening, making sure no vampires were in proximity before she did so.
The face on the doorstep looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. At least, not until she saw the eyes. She'd seen those eyes hundreds of times, except they had been on her son's face. "Dante," she breathed, astounded. She'd seen him like this once before, when he had brought Roger to her door, though at the time she had not known who he was. Now she knew. And she drew back her fist and punched him hard in the jaw.
"FUCKER!" Dante screamed, hand flying up to grab his face. He really should've seen this coming, because even as he looked at her, amidst her confusion and astonishment, there was murder in her eyes. He stepped back as she came at him swinging, now more open-palmed slaps to his torso than flying fists of fury. "OW! Ow, Pam, ow STOP IT!"
"I should kill you!" she screamed angrily, maternal fury and heartbreak and protectiveness manifesting each strike to Dante. She almost wanted him to fight back, despite that one hit from his meaty fist would knock her senseless, just so she could feel more justified in causing him pain. "You son of a bitch I should kill you where you stand!!"
"Jesus, woman, stop it!" Yeah, okay, so maybe she had some right to be miffed at him. But this was totally unfair! He couldn't hit her back. For one thing, she was a foot and a half shorter than he was. And she was weaker than him, which wasn't a fair fight. And... she was the closest thing to a mom he knew. You couldn't just smack your own mother. "STOP HITTING ME!"
Roger was pulling on his sneakers when he heard the knock on the door. He assumed his mom would answer it, because that's just how he was, so he was calm as he finished getting ready, pulling his tee shirt on over his head. And then he heard the screaming. Swerving around the foot of the bed, leaving the snoring Wesley to continue his sleep, Roger flew down the stairs to the front door, which was hanging open. Something was wrong. Something had happened and his mom was in trouble, fucking shit why hadn't he come down to answer the door? Then it could be him, she could be safe and he could be the one-
Grabbing the doorframe to stop himself, Roger froze, staring. If he'd come to answer the door, he could have been the one beating on Dante. Fuck. Why hadn't he answered the door? Stepping out, Roger grabbed Pam around the waist and hoisted her up, placing her gently behind him back in the house. "Mom, Mom! Come on!" he grunted as she struggled against him, fists flying. "Stop it!" He grabbed her shoulders, holding her steady. "Mom... it's okay."
Dante was relieved and worried as Roger suddenly appeared, pulling Pam away from him. He was relieved because now he didn't have to keep getting smacked by her and worrying that his hard, muscled body was going to bruise her hands. He was worried because now Roger was probably going to start pounding on him, and that was going to actually hurt. Sure enough, once Pam was safely out of the line of fire, Roger turned on Dante with a look in his eyes that spoke of certain death. Dante had a half a second to raise his hands in defense before the half demon was on him, tackling him to the ground. Roger's fists were glowing blue, electricity burning throughout him. "This didn't go so well last time," Dante growled, trying to grab Roger's fists while delivering a few blows of his own.
"This time I don't care if you die," Roger shot back, lying but angry enough to sound believeable. Dante ruined everything. Why couldn't he just go, or stay? Why did he have to bounce back and forth, tear Roger's heart out over and over again? Why did he make Roger think that things were okay, only to screw them up again?
"I fuckin' care!" Dante shouted, sparks flying off his own hands as he made desperate grabs for Roger's. This time he was more in control of his body, and while he didn't actually want to hurt Roger, his brain was rattling off a hundred different ways in which he could kill, immobilize, hurt, incapacitate or otherwise take out the other man.
Pam stood a moment, stunned, as she watched her sons fighting. Because that's what Dante was to her, wasn't he? Like a son? She had helped create him, she realized that. She had raised him, watched him grow for thirteen years. She'd fought with him and screamed at him and he'd caused her so much heartache. And if that wasn't parenting, then she didn't know what was. Shaking herself from her daze, the small, middle aged woman stormed right up to the brawling boys and grabbed Roger's shoulders, yanking him backward. A jolt shot through her arms, stabbing at her muscles, making her heart jump. "STOP IT!" she shrieked, louder than intended. "Both of you stop, stop it!!" It took another hard shove to get Roger off Dante, as he was already taking another swing for the man's face. Pam pushed her son into the dirt, giving him a look that dared him to even think about moving. Panting, Roger froze, waiting. Dante looked less threatened by Pam's look, but still remained stationary.
Brushing her hands on her pants, Pam drew in a breath, ignoring the tightness in her chest. "You," she said, pointing to Roger, "in the kitchen. Eat your breakfast, take your pills, go run. You..." Her face darkened as it turned to Dante, her eyes narrowed. "Get upstairs."
Getting to his feet, Roger scolwed. He was 33, and should not have to take orders from his mom anymore. But on the other hand... one look at Pam's face made him slip back inside, his lungs burning and his heart thudding hard, brain running a million miles a minute. Dante was back. He was okay. And his mom was about to yell at him.
Not as willing to obey as Roger was, because he'd never been one to obey, Dante stood up and towered over Pam, glaring down at her harshly. "I ain't here for you," he grunted.
"Get. Upstairs. Now."
He scoffed. "You can't just-"
"MOVE IT!"
His feet started carrying him before he realized he was going, and that made Dante scowl harder. How dare this woman just start shouting at him and expect him to fall in line? Irritating bitch. More annoying was that he was doing it, stomping up the stairs and grumbling while Pam followed a few steps behind, her eyes shooting daggers into the back of his neck. He let her pass him at the top of the stairs, following her into the room that she had staked a claim to. He knew it was hers because it smelled like her hand lotion. It had been a long time since he'd ever really said anything to Pam, and even then it had only been to tell her that her son was going to live, hopefully. Now he was sitting on her bed beneath her angry glare, feeling like a scolded child.
Fucking mothers.