[ As it so happens, he's just wandering by when he hears the fight. It's about a block or so over, and Larus would have ignored it if not for the familiar but still unusual heartbeat he picks up. Carver. It's like he knows, somehow, and there are things Larus has started to wonder at since the last time they'd seen each other. How long this would continue, what it might be if it's anything at all. They're his usual thoughts, pausing only briefly when Carver picks up on the fact he's there—not that he'd been too subtle about it.
He steps out from the shadows with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, relaxed and expression neutral.
Until he smells the blood. ]
I'd rather avoid getting stabbed. [ He keeps his distance but for an entirely unrelated matter. ] I didn't think I had to make sure you weren't going to hurt yourself.
[ The voice is familiar. Larus. Should’ve known, Carver thinks. They always end up colliding. It’s a relief, and it isn’t, and Carver supposes that’s because he’s been scattered and distant and his hand fucking hurts. It’s his left, non-dominant — better than the alternative, but only a little.
It fucking hurts. And what did it get him?
Carver bares his teeth at Larus, at nothing, and kicks the stranger on the ground hard enough he hears something give. There’s a momentary flash of ugly satisfaction, sadism, whatever. It doesn’t last but for a few glorious seconds it’s there.
[ There's something about this that's off, different. Larus can't pinpoint it, not right now, and for several seconds, he just stands there and watches. Listens, makes a point of recognizing that they probably have no boundaries to speak of when he finally moves and gets closer to him. The smell of blood is far too noticeable to ignore, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth as he steps into Carver's personal space and takes him by the wrist. He isn't gentle when he grips the knife by the hilt and pulls it free, frowning as all his senses tune into the amount of blood smeared over the blade.
Larus throws it away before he can even think about doing something else with it. ]
I don't know how you think I can help.
[ Because all he wants is to taste his blood again. But he shakes the thought, keeping his eyes focused on Carver's hand. He doesn't have anything to staunch the bleeding, and after a second, he slowly peels off the glove to get a better look at the wound. ]
[ He means it to come off droll, flippant, what the fuck are you gonna do? That sort of bullshit. But the pain is immediate and sharp, only dulled by the relief in his lizard brain that he has the knife out of him. Instead, his tone is tight, flattened. It’s not the first time he’s been stabbed and he doubts it’ll be the last, but it fucking hurts.
The knife clatters away. Carver watches Larus silently as he peels the glove away to inspect the damage. It’s not pretty, but it could be a lot worse.
Carver’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t pull away. ]
You just did it. Easier to have someone else pull it out.
[ He cants his head. This time, at least, there’s nothing mocking in his tone. ]
[ Maybe it's easier to blame how he feels on that. The smell, the blood. He can't remember the last time he fed, and usually, it's not as difficult to ignore as it is right now. But it's also different with Carver, purposely letting his fingers smear away some of the blood gathering in his palm because he's apparently a glutton for punishment. There's nothing else but this moment, the two of them.
He doesn't even care about the unconscious man on the ground at their feet. ]
It's your blood, [ he says, like that explains everything. Larus isn't even sure it would be the same now. ] It's not like I can forget how it tastes.
[ A curse of his nature, probably, but he swallows and turns his gaze to Carver's face, treading a fine line with his fingertips coated in blood. ]
You should get it looked at before you bleed all over the place.
[ There was a time when Carver would have hisses at this. Hurt Larus for daring, for tracing his fingers through the blood. Fucking unhygienic, isn’t it? But things are different now. They are too, he thinks.
[ As if he needed Carver to tell him that to realize it. Of course he's all over the place, and more than that, Larus isn't helping by continuing to stand there. But that question catches him off-guard, pausing as he drops his eyes to Carver's injured hand and how stark that red is against his own skin. ]
I don't know. [ Honest as always. ] But that doesn't matter right now. We need to get this under control.
[ It's not as if his will power is absolute. He's just not going to bite Carver, especially out in the open where anyone could see. ]
[ As if he has any right to talk. Carver exhales through his teeth. He’s bleeding still, though not heavily. But this shit needs to be disinfected. ]
We’ll go somewhere. I’ll clean this up and then I’ll run you a line.
[ Does he? Larus gives him a look that says as much, eventually dropping his hand and putting some distance between them. He also purposely makes an effort to wipe his fingers on his jeans so as not to be tempted to taste them. ]
I don't need you to do that. [ Mostly because it never feels like enough. ] I'm not the one who's hurt right now.
[ Back to those original endearments, it seems. Larus returns the look with one of his own. ]
Is that going to make you feel better? [ It's not a yes, but he decides they can argue the point some other time. He steps forward and grabs his uninjured hand. ] Come on. We can talk about this after you're not bleeding.
[ He's been called worse, and really, it doesn't bother him much. All Larus does is squeeze Carver's hand and move them both away from the scene, wondering how long it would be before other gang members returned and went looking for Carver. Not that Larus himself is innocent, but he hadn't been involved this time.
It's the only thought he tries to focus on as they walk, heading for a building several blocks away that Larus had scoped out months ago. There are obvious signs of people inhabiting the place, but for now, it's empty. ]
Did they attack you first?
[ He only asks once he lets go of him and searches for anything they can use. ]
[ On they go. Carver lets Larus take the lead, watching their corners, and thinks about how they always seem to collide like this. Not every time, but often enough. He wonders if they’ll fuck later. If they’ll turn it into a fight.
He just shakes his head and tugs out the medkit he’s taken to carrying strapped to his belt, ratting it so Larus will see what he’s got. Seemed practical to have, under the circumstances. It doesn’t have everything, but it’s a place to start. ]
Does it matter?
[ Carver rolls his eyes. The locals are idiots. ]
No. I needed more gear so I went walking and let them be stupid. Not my fault they weren’t carrying anything good this time.
[ Seeing that Carver is at least somewhat prepared doesn't seem to relax him, looking through cabinets and drawers to gather anything that might be useful. But he does look at him when he says that, something Larus himself would have said, and there's a sigh when he continues on, explaining what he'd assumed to be the case. At least it isn't worse than that, dumping the few supplies he's found on a nearby table before taking Carver's injured hand in his own.
The bleeding has slowed but not much. It'd probably need stitches later. ]
But it's your fault you got stabbed. [ His tone is flat. ] You should have asked me to come with you.
[ A moot comment in the scheme of things, using some of the gauze to wipe away the blood. The entire time, Larus feels how tight he clenches his jaw, unable to relax. ]
[ That comes out sharp, a warning edge. His fingers twitch again but he doesn't jerk out of the hold. It doesn't hurt but there's something vulnerable about it, about admitting he got hurt. It wasn't the plan but it happened and it's fucking fine.
[ His eyes narrow, focused on the task of taking care of Carver's injury. At least it looks relatively clean, tightening his grip momentarily as he disinfects it with whatever Carver's got in his medkit. Larus really isn't in the mood to deal with this kind of behavior right now, but he should have realized that everything had been too soft lately. Too easy. ]
I never said you needed one. That wasn't what I meant. [ There's trust, isn't there? What happened to relying on each other? ] If you've got it figured out, maybe I shouldn't be here.
[ It's reflexive, protecting himself even when it's not necessary. But he doesn't let go until he's carefully wrapped Carver's hand, and even then, it's almost reluctant. ]
[ Carver tightens his jaw, scowling at the wall instead of Larus. It feels vaguely childish, this whole goddamn mess of vicious bullshit even before they touch the blood. The last time they collided, Carver barely felt like a person. Barely felt alive.
Now, he wants to fight. Start something destructive. It’s just what people do, isn’t it?
But it still aches when Larus lets go of his hand.
He grits his teeth. ]
I needed to hit something, [ he says finally, though that isn’t all of it. He wanted the adrenaline, enough of a rush to prove he wasn’t weak. It’s not the same with a partner. ] Before I lost my goddamn mind.
[ He doesn't know why they're doing this or where it stems from, but he doesn't like it. There's familiarity in it though, something Larus thinks he can understand, and for a moment, he just stares at Carver before turning his attention to picking up the things scattered across the table. This almost feels pointless; he's never liked this kind of fighting for that very reason. ]
And if there had been more of them? [ Larus knows Carver can take care of himself, but numbers can outweigh skill. ] You could have lost more than that.
[ He does his best to keep his tone even, shutting the medkit and pushing it towards Carver before turning away. Moving seems like something he should do, but he doesn't go far, instead crossing his arms and settling a faint look of displeasure in Carver's direction. ]
[ So what's the point in thinking about that, all those what-ifs? He's gone against hundreds of rotters, thousands, sometimes in herds. And it wasn't the dead that killed him in the end, but Maggie. She took a blade after she forgot to count her bullets - a fucked up end cap, if ever there were.
He never saw the others fall. But he heard the shots and only Shaw screamed.
Carver's fingers twitch again. He wishes Larus would look at him. Would yell at him, or something. Anything but this. ]
I'm not weak. I can't throw people into walls with one hand, but I'm not weak.
[ He reaches for the medkit, in the meantime. There are sutures. It won't be the first time he's sewed himself back together. ]
[ All Larus does is clock the movements, standing where he is and listening. Maybe a place like this is never going to be good for people like them, the ones who need something more than relative peace and quiet. Who are used to fighting, to surviving. Trying to live.
His expression thins. ]
Did I say you were? [ He frowns. ] Has anyone ever said that you are? Getting yourself hurt doesn't prove anything, Brandon. It just says that you don't care.
[ And there's a thread of emotion that pools in those words, something he wishes he could swallow and ignore. But something's happening here, and Larus doesn't know how to process it. He isn't sure he even wants to right now. ]
Who do you need to prove that to? [ Because Larus has never once thought that about him. ]
[ The words come out flat. He unwraps the sutures, gets started. Listens to the dry sound as needle and thread drag through skin. He's still bleeding, but not so badly. This is just happening, and Larus still isn't looking at him. That hurts more than the ache in his palm, though he can't imagine ever saying so. ]
Everything is a test. God's always watching. I don't know what you fucking want from me, Larus.
[ He stays silent through the way Carver stitches his hand, and for the first time, he wishes he could do something about it. There is no healing power in what he is, only that he can save himself if it comes down to it. Maybe he could smear some of his own blood into the wound, see if that does something, but he's too wary of such an exchange to even think to offer it. So, he doesn't.
He doesn't even move until Carver's finished, ignoring the way his jaw clenches at the mention of a test.
If this is a test, they've both failed it repeatedly. ]
Maybe I don't want anything from you, [ he says finally, voice thin. He steps closer then, eventually looking at him. ] Maybe all I want is for you to care about yourself the way I do.
[ It doesn't take long, in the end. Maybe he'll go bother Frost for some healing afterward, if he can come up with an excuse that won't beg questions. He's taken too many injuries lately and that marks him, makes people question his use, and that cannot stand. There are rules here.
There are always rules.
Carver flexes his hand, watching the stitches move. They hold, for now. ]
I could turn that around on you. You really don't know the last time you fed? What the fuck, Larus?
Larus turns his head, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, and for a moment, he considers cutting it open on his fangs. Not that it would do much except remind him of what he is. All he does is sigh, something quiet and still. ]
It's something I'm used to, but I didn't think we were talking about me. [ The tension threaded between them is pulling tighter, and Larus doesn't know what to do about it. ] Is that what we're doing?
[ He'd like some clarification on whatever this is. ]
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He steps out from the shadows with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, relaxed and expression neutral.
Until he smells the blood. ]
I'd rather avoid getting stabbed. [ He keeps his distance but for an entirely unrelated matter. ] I didn't think I had to make sure you weren't going to hurt yourself.
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It fucking hurts. And what did it get him?
Carver bares his teeth at Larus, at nothing, and kicks the stranger on the ground hard enough he hears something give. There’s a momentary flash of ugly satisfaction, sadism, whatever. It doesn’t last but for a few glorious seconds it’s there.
Mostly, it just hurts. ]
You gonna help me or not?
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Larus throws it away before he can even think about doing something else with it. ]
I don't know how you think I can help.
[ Because all he wants is to taste his blood again. But he shakes the thought, keeping his eyes focused on Carver's hand. He doesn't have anything to staunch the bleeding, and after a second, he slowly peels off the glove to get a better look at the wound. ]
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[ He means it to come off droll, flippant, what the fuck are you gonna do? That sort of bullshit. But the pain is immediate and sharp, only dulled by the relief in his lizard brain that he has the knife out of him. Instead, his tone is tight, flattened. It’s not the first time he’s been stabbed and he doubts it’ll be the last, but it fucking hurts.
The knife clatters away. Carver watches Larus silently as he peels the glove away to inspect the damage. It’s not pretty, but it could be a lot worse.
Carver’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t pull away. ]
You just did it. Easier to have someone else pull it out.
[ He cants his head. This time, at least, there’s nothing mocking in his tone. ]
What? The smell getting to you?
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He doesn't even care about the unconscious man on the ground at their feet. ]
It's your blood, [ he says, like that explains everything. Larus isn't even sure it would be the same now. ] It's not like I can forget how it tastes.
[ A curse of his nature, probably, but he swallows and turns his gaze to Carver's face, treading a fine line with his fingertips coated in blood. ]
You should get it looked at before you bleed all over the place.
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Carver exhales. ]
My head’s all over the place.
[ It’s half an explanation. ]
When’s the last time you fed?
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I don't know. [ Honest as always. ] But that doesn't matter right now. We need to get this under control.
[ It's not as if his will power is absolute. He's just not going to bite Carver, especially out in the open where anyone could see. ]
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[ As if he has any right to talk. Carver exhales through his teeth. He’s bleeding still, though not heavily. But this shit needs to be disinfected. ]
We’ll go somewhere. I’ll clean this up and then I’ll run you a line.
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I don't need you to do that. [ Mostly because it never feels like enough. ] I'm not the one who's hurt right now.
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Motherfucker, just say yes.
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Is that going to make you feel better? [ It's not a yes, but he decides they can argue the point some other time. He steps forward and grabs his uninjured hand. ] Come on. We can talk about this after you're not bleeding.
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You’re an asshole.
[ But he doesn’t jerk his hand away. This is happening, apparently. ]
Lead on.
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It's the only thought he tries to focus on as they walk, heading for a building several blocks away that Larus had scoped out months ago. There are obvious signs of people inhabiting the place, but for now, it's empty. ]
Did they attack you first?
[ He only asks once he lets go of him and searches for anything they can use. ]
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He just shakes his head and tugs out the medkit he’s taken to carrying strapped to his belt, ratting it so Larus will see what he’s got. Seemed practical to have, under the circumstances. It doesn’t have everything, but it’s a place to start. ]
Does it matter?
[ Carver rolls his eyes. The locals are idiots. ]
No. I needed more gear so I went walking and let them be stupid. Not my fault they weren’t carrying anything good this time.
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The bleeding has slowed but not much. It'd probably need stitches later. ]
But it's your fault you got stabbed. [ His tone is flat. ] You should have asked me to come with you.
[ A moot comment in the scheme of things, using some of the gauze to wipe away the blood. The entire time, Larus feels how tight he clenches his jaw, unable to relax. ]
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[ That comes out sharp, a warning edge. His fingers twitch again but he doesn't jerk out of the hold. It doesn't hurt but there's something vulnerable about it, about admitting he got hurt. It wasn't the plan but it happened and it's fucking fine.
It doesn't matter at all. ]
I can handle my shit.
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I never said you needed one. That wasn't what I meant. [ There's trust, isn't there? What happened to relying on each other? ] If you've got it figured out, maybe I shouldn't be here.
[ It's reflexive, protecting himself even when it's not necessary. But he doesn't let go until he's carefully wrapped Carver's hand, and even then, it's almost reluctant. ]
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Now, he wants to fight. Start something destructive. It’s just what people do, isn’t it?
But it still aches when Larus lets go of his hand.
He grits his teeth. ]
I needed to hit something, [ he says finally, though that isn’t all of it. He wanted the adrenaline, enough of a rush to prove he wasn’t weak. It’s not the same with a partner. ] Before I lost my goddamn mind.
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And if there had been more of them? [ Larus knows Carver can take care of himself, but numbers can outweigh skill. ] You could have lost more than that.
[ He does his best to keep his tone even, shutting the medkit and pushing it towards Carver before turning away. Moving seems like something he should do, but he doesn't go far, instead crossing his arms and settling a faint look of displeasure in Carver's direction. ]
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[ So what's the point in thinking about that, all those what-ifs? He's gone against hundreds of rotters, thousands, sometimes in herds. And it wasn't the dead that killed him in the end, but Maggie. She took a blade after she forgot to count her bullets - a fucked up end cap, if ever there were.
He never saw the others fall. But he heard the shots and only Shaw screamed.
Carver's fingers twitch again. He wishes Larus would look at him. Would yell at him, or something. Anything but this. ]
I'm not weak. I can't throw people into walls with one hand, but I'm not weak.
[ He reaches for the medkit, in the meantime. There are sutures. It won't be the first time he's sewed himself back together. ]
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His expression thins. ]
Did I say you were? [ He frowns. ] Has anyone ever said that you are? Getting yourself hurt doesn't prove anything, Brandon. It just says that you don't care.
[ And there's a thread of emotion that pools in those words, something he wishes he could swallow and ignore. But something's happening here, and Larus doesn't know how to process it. He isn't sure he even wants to right now. ]
Who do you need to prove that to? [ Because Larus has never once thought that about him. ]
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[ The words come out flat. He unwraps the sutures, gets started. Listens to the dry sound as needle and thread drag through skin. He's still bleeding, but not so badly. This is just happening, and Larus still isn't looking at him. That hurts more than the ache in his palm, though he can't imagine ever saying so. ]
Everything is a test. God's always watching. I don't know what you fucking want from me, Larus.
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He doesn't even move until Carver's finished, ignoring the way his jaw clenches at the mention of a test.
If this is a test, they've both failed it repeatedly. ]
Maybe I don't want anything from you, [ he says finally, voice thin. He steps closer then, eventually looking at him. ] Maybe all I want is for you to care about yourself the way I do.
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There are always rules.
Carver flexes his hand, watching the stitches move. They hold, for now. ]
I could turn that around on you. You really don't know the last time you fed? What the fuck, Larus?
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Larus turns his head, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, and for a moment, he considers cutting it open on his fangs. Not that it would do much except remind him of what he is. All he does is sigh, something quiet and still. ]
It's something I'm used to, but I didn't think we were talking about me. [ The tension threaded between them is pulling tighter, and Larus doesn't know what to do about it. ] Is that what we're doing?
[ He'd like some clarification on whatever this is. ]
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