The Universe's Mixer

Since Evey's crash, Peter had narrowed his focus. There was a steady monitor on the older version of Evey, constant (though non-invasive) awareness of her status. He didn't read her thoughts, but made certain she was still there. Her efforts to shield herself were non-existent, forcing Peter to devote enough energy to the link to protect himself from the feedback of her despair. The link to the younger Evey was feather-light, only touching upon her once in a while. It was easier on him.

The Leeloo he'd known on the island had found solace and even happiness with the younger version of Eric. Peter wished them both happy, and had withdrawn his monitoring of this version of his beloved. So it was with full devotion and will that he had given himself up to his Leeloo, his perfect being.

Which wasn't to say he didn't occasionally check up on his friends.

There had been a chord in the air, a hint of something ethereal, something somber and sinister. The truth of it eluded him. Peter had kissed Leeloo's sleeping form, wrapped a warm blanket around her, and then ventured out to find what was troubling him.

He did a tally in his mind as he walked, following that subtle sensation. His mind touched on those he knew, but found a chilling blankness when he tried to focus on the younger Leeloo. And when he reached toward the younger Eric, there was more of the same.

Emptiness, where there had once been a mind.

His pace quickened. On the lingering touch to Eric's mind, Peter reached and found the other, the changed one, but that presence was filled with nothing good. His footfalls were taking him in that direction, and suddenly, he couldn't run fast enough. Peter took to the air and, moments later, settled to the ground beside his friend.

The disturbance in the earth was clear. There was nothing subtle about it. The stone was marked in blood, and Peter didn't need to be told whose blood it was. He put his hand on Eric's shoulder, kneeling beside the grave to offer his own ( sorrow. )

[following this post]


Digging the grave wasn't the hard part. The thought of having to bury himself was.

Each scoop of dirt thrown from his palms was actually almost something tangible he could cling to in those moments. The excavation didn't take long with his powers, the vampire part of him allowing the process to be almost too quick, actually. He never imagined he would be planning to bury his own body. But now he was, and he couldn't see another alternative. He didn't want to incinerate it, that didn't seem right. Nor did leaving it laying on the roof in all of that blood. No, it deserved better. He deserved better.

Once the hole was opened and deep enough, Eric picked up the headless corpse of his other and lowered it gently into the depths of the ground. The head came next, settled once again on the chest. The fact that he and the corpse were soaked in both dirt and blood didn't matter. Clumps of moist Earth clung to both of them. The ache in his heart was worse. This was not the way he had hoped to leave this realm, but it wasn't his choice. It never had been, even when this had been his mirror.

The pile of dirt to the side was then pushed back into place and patted down, a few swift motions and the corpse was covered now completely. A large stone sat at the head of the buried site, a marker of sorts. Eric had planted it there even before the digging had begun. Now he sat before it. A puncture to the skin with his fangs and the fresh blood beading on his flesh became the fluid for the epitaph. Instead of a name or words, Eric drew their symbol. His symbol. The Crow.

Bran looked down at him from atop the headstone, perched idly. The bird was uncomfortable. Eric felt it. He hated it. But he couldn't help it.

When the drawing was complete, Eric closed his eyes not bothering to heal the wound. It would seal itself. He put his face into his hands and sat on his own grave, legs folded beneath him. Still as a statue, unmoving, he settled and it was there he would be for some time. More than likely well into the night. The images wouldn't leave his mind. The scenes played themselves over and over again before his vision. He knew Macklyn and Mara lurked beyond him some place but he couldn't go to them. Not yet. Maybe later.

Now....now it was time to mourn.

He had a kitten in his hands and the knowledge of the Other Eric in his mind. He stood at the door to the home he shared with his mate, uncertain about everything. Macklyn wasn't used to being uncertain and he didn't like the feeling of it.

The fairy took a deep breath and opened the door. "Eric?"

Their house was still not all the way decorated, but he'd brought in some things over time. The abandoned recliner had been repaired and reupholstered to fit more into their lives. He'd chosen an elegant print for it, though he'd been highly tempted to find the most garish seventies monstrosity he could find, just for the amusement. It was the realization that he would also have to look at it every day that stopped him.

"Eric?" He called, the kitten held behind his back. He knew that his mate would likely smell or sense the animal before he saw it, but it was still... well, it was supposed to be a surprise.

Potentially not a good one.

Maybe Selina was right, maybe he should have asked first. But it was too late now. He was in the house with it.

Outside he heard Bran yelling at something, probably one of the squirrels. It made Macklyn smile.

Leeloo had discovered rooftops.

More specifically, she'd discovered rooftops at midnight.

It quickly turned into a game. How far could she travel in a single sprint without having to pause for any reason? How high could she go while choosing only rooftop-to-rooftop jumps that went up? And then, when she noticed she was in a darker part of town with more lights that were destroyed, she learned a new twist to the game. How many could she protect?

She'd never felt this alive; she'd never felt as if she'd fit so well anywhere before.

As she stood over a group of mostly-unconscious lumps of muscle and ill intent, the only thanks she got was a pair of slender footfalls fleeing down the unlit street. It was enough, though. She grinned, then grasped the drainpipe attached to the side of the building where she stood, pulled herself up quickly enough - bracing her foot briefly on the nearby trash bin - until she was back again on the rooftops.

Running.

They had talked, him and his mate, about this Other Eric that was out in the world. There had been caution at their first chat. A plan. They were going to establish themselves in the City and then seek out the other version. Between those events, they were going to discuss what they should do about it. But somewhere along the line, the plan had gone out the window, and Eric had gone to talk to the mirror of himself without Macklyn there to back him up.

It didn't anger the fairy, on the contrary, it frightened him. They had no idea what the other Eric would do, and yet his love had wandered off to confront him alone. It wasn't that Macklyn didn't think his Eric could take care of himself. He knew that there was very little alive that could take him down. Peter, probably, but Peter was a friend. That didn't mean that Macklyn wished to see his soulmate hurt in any way, and this seemed like a good way for him to get hurt, particularly psychologically.

He wouldn't chide Eric for it, or let his distaste toward the situation be known. Eric was a man, and could make his own decisions. Though he belonged to Macklyn now, in heart and in blood, and Macklyn could order him to not do or do something as he pleased, that's not what Macklyn wanted for either of them. Lilith had done that to him, he would not do it to another.

The result of that meeting had been that Macklyn needed to go speak to the Other Eric. He had been told to play nice. He had promised that he would go into the meeting with a clear head and he would. He had not promised that everyone would walk away from it. Macklyn still did not trust the Other, a lot of damage could be done by this one man, a man fresh with hurt. More than one. A man who still swam in the darkness like a hungry shark, bent for revenge.

The hybrid did not find the Other Eric as easily as he could have found his own, but it was still by far more simple than it should have been. His scent was still that of the man he loved, and the City seemed to be guiding him, bringing the pair together. The apartment building loomed before him, and he could hear the soft padding of feline footsteps within. Macklyn decided to start this venture by knocking on the door like a civilized being. He mounted the long stairs, though he didn't take those as a human would. He was at the top in a blink, knuckles rapping against the wood lightly.

This Eric knew as much as the other had, which already set Macklyn on edge. But it meant that he would not talk with the practiced Southern accent, nor would he go by Ben here. It would just be Macklyn. Fairy, vampire, every truth. Macklyn sighed. He really wished that Eric had taken a little more care in introducing the truth to his mirror.

He found it at the library.

It was an enormous building, far bigger than even the head branch of the New York Public Library. Steve had seen why almost immediately - there were exhibits and displays enough to merit this place a museum as well as a literary archive. Remembering how the phone book had updated itself with new residents, he took to the displays with hungry curiosity, to learn whatever he could about his fellow denizens. There was a lot to learn, and a great deal of it seems almost too much to believe.

Then he turned a corner, and was confronted with an image of Bucky. Etched into a thick pane of glass, the dark hair and eyes still so striking that the sight tugged at Steve's heart. He'd seen this wall before, dozens of times over, at the Smithsonian exhibit in DC. Knowing the historical importance of Captain America and the Howling Commandos, Steve didn't object to the display, but he was still mildly embarrassed by it. He had confronted the curators, however, insisting that his men be given their due recognition - the exhibit couldn't and wouldn't be about him alone.

Each of the Commandos had a wall, but Bucky's had been particularly poignant - the only member of the elite team to fall in the line of duty.

( If only. )

Music wafted through an open door and on to the sidewalk like the gentle waves lapping the shore of a pristine beach. It was a warning feeling, comforting. Even despite the fact that the person creating it was mediocre at best. Music was music, though, and for a man that spent most of his mortal life making it, hearing it being played again like that brought all of the memories to the forefront of his mind.

Eric liked to think he could push away the memories, store the feelings in the depths of his mind. He still became surprised once in a while when something so minute dredged them up from where he had put them with no intent on allowing them to resurface.

Life had a funny way of reminding you what you used to be with subtle cues and forgotten promises.

Like a shadow, Eric lingered in the darkness of the open doorway of the small, local music lounge as it touched the sidewalk. A shoulder pressed lightly against the frame and he listened. Nobody would have known he was there, like the shadows he came from he exists solely in the night. Macklyn had given him the sun, and yet Eric still lived for the night time and the shadows.

A stumble over a note and Eric smiled. He could see the stage from the doorway, the youth perched on a stool with an acoustic guitar pulled tight against his bent legs and long torso. The kid wasn't even looking up at the two people that had been brave enough to grace the vacant area before the stage itself. No, his eyes were focused on his fingers.

Eric could hear his heart over the music. Each breath the youth took, the smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes. Things Eric used to like and didn't care for now.

When the song ended, Eric nodded. The kid looked up and around, grinning like a fool. "Good for him," the hybrid breathed from the shadow. Then Eric turned and vanished into the night, moving off to contemplate the rest of the evenings affairs.

Bran flapped his wings and pushed from the roof, soaring after Eric as the vampire hybrid moved swiftly down the sidewalk. Only when they were approaching the yard to the small house Macklyn had chosen did they meet. The bird landed on a shoulder and both entered the abode with other things on their mind than sleep.

In all the time they'd spent together, mostly all they'd done was work on improving the state of the apartment that Eric invited Leeloo to share with him. When they first started, the windows were exploded out and glass covered the inside of the space. That was the best of it. The worst.. Leeloo knew it'd been blood. She tried not to show her feelings to Eric, knowing that it hurt him more to see it himself - but it had been very difficult to watch him clean it. He wouldn't allow her to help. She'd tried.

But as the weeks fluttered by, the place became more and more livable. Finally, there came a day when they both sat back and realized - there was nothing else to do to make the place whole again. Neither said it, but they shared a look and a smile. It was good enough - that. And, Leeloo had learned more about Eric while working beside him than she was likely to have otherwise.

She liked him. She liked him quite a bit. He was full of opposites - kind and dark, broody and considerate. He treated her as well as Peter had, but with one difference: he never really touched her. There were no hugs, there were no kisses, and he didn't wrap her up with him at night. After having experienced that, and having thought it normal, the difference was strange. She'd not asked about it. Maybe she would, one day.

But today, it could wait. Today, he was taking her 'house shopping' - though she didn't know exactly what that meant. He said she should pick out whatever she wanted, but as she walked into the store with him at her side, she wasn't sure exactly what that might be. Then the aisles opened up to her, and her eyes widened.

All of this could be theirs? Leeloo picked up a whisk.

"What's this?" she asked, waving it about experimentally. It didn't seem like a weapon.

The prince in him had wanted to take up at The Manchester, with all of the gargoyles and columns, the fact that it veritably stank of wealth. But what he really wanted was to have a place with Eric where they could have privacy when they wanted it. And an apartment, or condo - no matter how well appointed, was not going to provide that.

A lot of time had been spent looking for just the right place, and he finally found it. A cute little cottage-style house complete with white picket fence. Maybe it was absurd, but it warmed Macklyn's heart.

Eric had run off to do an errand, and the fairy hadn't butt into it. He knew that when Eric was done, he would come back and tell Macklyn everything. They didn't hide anything from each other. And if Eric thought it was necessary, then it was. Period.

But now he'd found a house and he wanted to share.

Eric. He pushed out with his mind, they didn't generally speak telepathically, but with two Brans out there, he didn't want signals to get crossed and messages to get sent to the wrong place. I have something for you.

Could you call it a stand off? Perhaps. But there wasn't a reason valid enough for what was happening to have such a title drawn about it. It wasn't as if either really could claim ownership of the place over the other. Neither really wanted it to begin with.

The hybrid beheld the sight before him, the phantom that stood at the exact same height, and just watched.

The phantom tilted his head just slightly as he beheld the other version of himself. What exactly had he become? A vampire. That was the obvious factor, but there was something else too. And how had he managed eve to succumb to the disease in the first place? Effie had tried biting him, and he didn't taste good. Like flat soda, he recalled. And he didn't bleed nor did his wounds stay open long enough to contract anything.

So the sight before him was curious indeed.

"How....?" The phantom began.

The hybrid grinned, "It's a long story."

A long story, and so many small details. And Macklyn. A lot of that had to do with Macklyn.

The phantom nodded, still a bit confused.

The hybrid approached slowly and paused when they were close together, the pair standing face-to-face within an arms reach. And Eric did reach. His fingers touched the phantom's hand and instantly the phantom was flooded with all of the story. Every detail and aspect. He was catching up.

The hybrid left nothing out, and when it was done he severed the connection and stepped back to give the other one of himself room to breathe and process.

Leeloo had mentioned "Ben". Now Eric knew Ben to be Macklyn. Their soul mate. But Shelly...? That made no sense and it made all the sense in the world.

Maybe that was why the phantom had felt so lost. He had yet to really claim his place at the side of the person whom he was destined to be with. He was disappointed that it wasn't Leeloo. Eric loved her dearly. Too much, in fact.

That was why Leeloo's scent was in the apartment. The hybrid could smell it. The walls were coated in her perfection, the floors and broken windows. Everything.

But this changed all of it. Changed it completely.

Bran rustled from its perch high on a ceiling beam where it sat next to the other one, the more alive one. That is your path.

That is your path. Follow it.

This place was almost uninhabitable.

The window was in dire need of repair, there were stains on the wood floor, some of the planks were warped from excessive moisture and needed to be replaced. Thick layers of dust coated anything with a surface, and despite then use of the fireplace after a year of being gone (before he had ended up in that broken world), the yawning mouth of the hearth seemed too empty. The pile of ashes were still there from the fire he had started long ago. And that was curious. He had burned all of the photos, the letters, anything that could remind him of her and that night.

But you couldn't wipe a place clean of the memories. You could burn the structure to the ground, which was a thought that kept coming back into his mind again and again, but you could never truly rid yourself of the ghosts.

Some of the floor was covered in shards of glass, bits so minute that even the naked eye couldn't see them. Pages from torn books sat in a heap in the corner. The only room that was truly intact was the kitchen, a room Eric and Shelly rarely used for it's true purpose. Shelly was a terrible cook. Eric loved that about her. The brunette could burn water trying to boil it so it was rare they had a home cooked meal together in their apartment unless Eric was the one making it. He was alright in food preparation, much better in comparison with Shelly, but he was gone so often it was pointless really to try to have a formal dinner. Being on the road got tedious but it also allowed one to get swept into the idea of takeout or fast food.

The kitchen was where Eric sat now. His back was pressed against the closed oven door, the glass fogged from disuse with dust. Everything in the kitchen was just how they had left it. The pots and pans were still in the cabinets around the oven and stove unit, the plates and cups neatly stacked in the cubbards above the sink. The refrigerator had power, oddly, as if the City was expecting someone whom actually consumed food to move in and take up residence. Maybe it knew Leeloo would be there far before Eric did. That was impossible, but not.

Eric had needed a break from trying to tidy the place up. He wanted to make it look nice for Leeloo, his invited guest, and yet...somehow, the process was a lot harder than he had originally thought. It wasn't a physical toll, he couldn't succumb to exhaustion, but an emotional one. Shelly had been gone for years and every where he looked he saw her there. Even here, now. Everything he touched he felt her.

Eric closed his eyes and waited to see if the strong feeling would fade. He hoped it would or he felt he would be unable to go on. He felt unable to move from this spot, too heavy and too weighted down by the dredge of burden to even attempt to rise and continue. He felt defeated and he hadn't yet even made a dent in the things that needed to be done.

He couldn't. Not yet. But he would.

He would for Leeloo. But not yet.

Eric sighed.

He settled into the atmosphere of the cliff and watched the land expand before him. Behind him sat their house, the one he had built for them and the one that now seemed not to matter. No longer were they trapped on this island. No longer did they have to live in such basic accommodations though he would hate to see the place go unused.

It was almost as if the dinosaurs themselves sensed the changed. The trees were quiet, still. Not a leaf shivered. Not a saur cried into the daytime. It was strange. But as much as Eric loathed a cityscape, part of him welcomed the familiarity of it. Except for the part that lead him to believe that some of his past had finally caught up to him.

Bran had flown ahead to assess the danger. Eric had never expected the scene the bird saw. Bran had seen him, and Peter. It had sensed Peter's need for stability and comfort, thus the black avian had flown a circle around their friend to offer comfort. And before Peter had stood...Eric. Himself. He that seemed different. The Dark Avenger couldn't imagine what world or time that part of him was from, as familiar as it was, and yet he knew. They shared the same memories to a point. But that didn't mean Eric liked the idea of having another of himself running amok in the city.

That could be dangerous considering they didn't know exactly what to expect.

And so Eric sat patiently. He watched the city through Bran's eyes and weighed the challenges presented before them. They could do well in a place like that. Function better. He and Macklyn. His mate deserved much more than ancient flora and fauna. But Eric wouldn't move without Macklyn. If Macklyn wanted to stay here, they would stay. If he wanted to explore the tall concrete buildings and cityscape, then they would go together and forage a new existence there. But he would let Macklyn decide.

Bran cawed, perched upon a Directory. This place, apparently, was called The City, and it was waiting for them. Eric could feel the subtle pull. He wondered if Macklyn felt it too.

It was a fascination to Leeloo that they were suddenly no longer trapped on the island where she'd first been pulled. After having slept some in Peter's very comfortable bed in this very comfortable apartment, Leeloo woke to find herself alone.

Untroubled, she got up, went through her morning routine, and was on the cusp of stealing more of Peter's clothes, when she looked to the bed. It was made already - strange; she hadn't made it - and there was an outfit waiting for her at the foot. Finding that she far better enjoyed it than the other clothes meant for Peter in this apartment, she slinked out of what she'd been wearing, left it in a pool on Peter's floor, and tugged on what had been left for her.

Then she left the apartment for the first time, and started exploring.

By the time she made it to the lobby, she knew her way very well around the apartment complex. The lobby was something different. She stuck her head into the fireplace and looked up the chimney; she explored the refrigerator in the common dining area and stole an orange from the bottom drawer; she went to the courtyard pool and swished her foot in what she saw as a concrete pond, and then she wandered back inside, intent on exploring the world past this building.

As she approached the door, someone stepped in front of her from the corridor just ahead. She recognized the way he carried himself.

"Eric!" she said, happy to have another friend here.

( Working on our night moves... )

The night was still.

But most of them were.

The tip of the sword he held was pressed ever-so-gently against the moist Earth. He was thinking, and watching. Tasks that came easy because they were second nature now. Eyes closed, Eric watched the sky as Bran did. He could see the broken world for what it was. Also, he noticed the glimmer of something capturing the reflection of the moonlight against it.

It was bright enough, that glimmer, to earn the attention of the too large bird. A caw, and Bran tilted his wings in efforts to discover what lay tucked just beneath the fresh blanket of snow. The crow landed, hopped some and then began to excavate the moist Earth with it's sharp beak, determined to unearth its prize.

Eric wasn't sure exactly what Bran had found and the curiosity showed on his face. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at the sky for a moment or two. Bran wouldn't be long now.

But something didn't feel right. It felt off. Unstable. Eric lowered his eyes and looked around, finding himself on top of a building. A building? A moment ago he had been standing outside in a world too broken to sustain life, and yet there was a city looking back at him that felt too full. Almost as if it would burst at the seams.

The black bird fluttered forward, settling on Eric's shoulder. It lowered its head and dropped the shining object into Eric's free hand. Eric lifted his hand up, opened his palm and noticed it was a set of keys. But not just any set of keys. It was a set that haunted his very core instantly. "What...?"

He looked at the bird in question, eyeing the corvid with suspicion.

This is not my doing. This is now your path.

Eric frowned at the response, looking once more at the keys. These went to the apartment in Detroit. The apartment he had once shared with Shelly, the one he had left in efforts to hunt down every last one of them..... These went to the beginning.

He moved forward instantly and peered over the top of the building, finding himself glancing down into a large, broken circular window. Some of the panels near the top were stained with old, dried blood. His heart dropped. "Is this Detroit?"

It cannot be. It was not alive.

"Alive?"

Indeed. This is out of my control. Here lies your path.

If it wasn't Detroit, what city was this? Where were they? And how did they get here?

With those unanswered questions in mind, Eric leapt down into the loft below, sword in hand, ready to challenge the night.

Eric settled into the night, tucking himself into the shadows with practiced ease. He didn't need to breathe in the air to know that it was different from the pollution in Detroit, clearer and free of the usual ash. Had this been Detroit it would've been aflame. The sky would be orange, crimson from the arms of the fires, and the streets would be covered in a coat of ash, burning buildings and lost dreams.

He was glad that this city held none of that blatant disrespect. The skyline was quite something to behold, each building casting it's unique presence against the darkness. One of the largest seemed to be the Stark Tower, a beacon of it's own amongst the collection and assortment of the other surrounding buildings. None seemed to be as spectacular as that one, but Eric really had never been one for endless flash. Even in his career as a musician he had taken his image serious, but it had never been described as flashy.

Lingering another moment in the shroud of the night he watched the peaceful sky. The air was void, also, of the usual city sounds. There were no sirens, no screams. He couldn't feel danger here like he had in Detroit. And the bird seemed almost unsettled by this.

Eric had a mission to complete and yet somehow he had found himself here instead. Sarah had been in trouble which was what had lured him out of the graveyard in the first place, but instead of saving her as soon as he crossed the threshold of the old, broken church he had found himself here. There was no Sarah, no Top Dollar or Myan, just the stillness of the city.

He looked down at the street from the top of the three story building he was on, surveying. He knew he couldn't stay here, he had to finish what they had started and finally find the peace he deserved. Which couldn't happen if he was hanging around here, but it was nice to be in a place void of that danger. Void of the tension, of the fear. Eric never feared, not anymore. He was fear. Fear for anyone willing to do harm intentionally to anyone else. The Killer of Killers, the Dark Avenger, the bringer of Death.

The crow cawed and flapped it's wings, perched on the overhanging ledge of the building. Eric only smiled a little and shrugged, before pulling back and out of sight.

He settled back into the shadows and closed his eyes as the bird took off into the night sky. He would wait for it to find an exit, and when it did, he would go without a word. He would finish his mission and finally be at peace. He would rest and finally be able to live.

But for now he would just wait.