jiaoqiu is not an angry person. he isn't. but the scarf makes his whole world narrow. his vision gets dark around the edges as he takes in the bloodstains. for a moment, he's standing in a stall, watching a little wolf flush beet red as he tucks the edges of a soft, new scarf into his jacket. he's got his hand in his own, he's being dragged through the city on an aching leg, he's gasping into his mouth in their bed, fingers laced. he's curled up under the blankets, letting that wolf pet his ears.
it's like rushing through an underground tunnel. like being deep underwater before your ears pop, the sound and colors a rush of nothing. he is a strategist. he's supposed to use his brain, he's supposed to sweet-talk these men into letting him into the church, a rescue mission, but the blood all over therion's things, taken by force, because there's no way he'd ever give them over - it makes a fury in him that he didn't realize he was capable of rise up in his throat and behind his eyes, and he cannot think of anything else.
he does not, for a second, hesitate to reach across the bar and take the scarf, and the switchblade. it does not matter if someone tries to stop him. that's the furthest thing from his mind, at the moment. those are his. try and stop him. see what happens. ]
okay!!! well. listen. the scarf is definitely useless to the guy now. it's gross and bloody who would want that, but the switchblade is probably worth a pretty penny. and besides, their boss will probably want it as a trophy, so there's immediately a fuss. the lanky guy's hand snaps out to grab jiaoqiu's wrist - he's fast and has a tight grip. clever fingers. clearly a thief, too as he sneers - "The hell are you doing? Trying to steal the bounty? Didn't see you coming to help subdue the tea leaf. Who's this clown?"
the louder noises in the bar stop - this confrontation starts to draw attention. the bartender looks between jiaoqiu and the man, frantically, and says, "--Messenger, he's, uh, messenger boy. Delivering."
[ tea leaf makes him instinctively bare his teeth, fangs on display.
but. the bartender speaks up, and it catches his attention. calm down. this is not how you handle this. you have to be smart. you have to be cunning. you cannot take an entire room full of thugs down yourself, you are not moze, you are not feixiao, you cannot have a death wish while therion might be dying or dead - what you have is your smarts. don't lose them. he breathes in slow, and then straightens.
smiles. and firmly takes the lanky guy's hand off of his wrist. peels his fucking fingers away, digging his claws in, but - delicate. like the way someone who does not appreciate being touched by filth might do. he puts the thief's hand down on the bar, and pats it. condescendingly. ]
My apologies. Most wouldn't dare to contest me. You must be feeling dazed from your fight. [ his smile gets a little sharper. ] Our friend here is correct, I am a messenger. I am on loan, here. Perhaps you've heard of Hoolay? I'd hate to have to report to him that a group of distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves damaged his goods.
[ he adjusts his cardigan. ]
Now. If you'll please hand me the scarf and the blade, I'll be on my way to alert your lord. You'll get your coin.
[ there's a bit of murmuring through the crowd - some "who?", some hissed, "what the fuck, you wanna stay away from that guy, man", and, "it's the obsidians' poster anyway, it's not like they give a shit what we do, lord darius is the one who set the bounty" and a variety of other reactions from a bar full of drunk thieves. some of the others take that as their moment to mind their business.
the lanky guy bristles up the second jiaoqiu bares his teeth, and scowls when he pats his hand, and looks like he's about ready to stab him, tense everywhere and a second from a fight, because there are a lot more thugs than there are pretty boys in here. however, between them, the bartender nods, trying to back up jiaoqiu's story because he was nice to him, and a tense, long moment passes in the bar, the leader of the thieves staring at jiaoqiu.
but, finally the leader of these thieves decides whatever jiaoqiu said passes enough muster - the namedrop helps - and he snorts, rolling his eyes and pushing the switchblade back across. fine, take both. "Bring it back when you're done, messenger boy. My trophy."
but with that, jiaoqiu's free to leave. in fact, several of the whispering, muttering thugs even part like the red sea to his sheer presence, slightly in awe and slightly terrified. ]
[ he's going to come back and give the bartender all of his gold, honestly.
he has to drag himself down under to not react to the mention of darius. he can't, right now. he just meets that long gaze with a smile, his usual. the world is blurry and the whispers of the thieves are distorted and wobbling, and he has to go, he needs to leave this bar right now because nothing is more important than finding therion. so, he takes the scarf and the switchblade, tucking them neatly into his bag, and turns. walks out of the bar, back straight as a rod, not making eye contact with the thugs, because this persona is above them. distinguished. spoiled.
it does not feel good to have people be terrified of him, even when they're his enemy. it does not feel good to put himself back in that mindset, of being hoolay's tool. he holds his chest a little once he's outside of the bar, once he's far enough, like he's going to cough or have a panic attack or - something, and then it passes. it passes.
and then he walks as fast as he can manage without looking strange, right to the church. ]
[ out he goes! jiaoqiu can feel the leader of the thieves' gaze on his back the entire time.
northreach is cold and miserable, so no one thinks much of the way he holds at his chest, if people were able to give the time of day beyond little glances and murmured whispers, people avoiding making eye contract for too long lest something goes wrong. lest you become like the former leaders of the town who got gutted as obstacles for speaking up against the abhorrent behavior of this gang called the obsidians. lest you end up made an example, or dead in an alley with no one to save you.
as jiaoqiu walks to the church quickly, he might notice an alley that smells particularly bloody nearby. the site of a confrontation, likely, but there's no one there - instead, there's a smeared trail of blood in the snow, thick drag marks where something or someone was dragged through it, and footsteps surrounding the trail of more than one person. the trail leads up the main path to the church, and all the way up the stone stairs leading up to the front entrance of the building.
the church itself has seen better days: aside from the bloody front stairs, there's a hole the siding where it's crumbling, and the stained glass window appears to have been smashed open. the front doors are currently closed.
there's not any sign of a person, though the drag marks continue through the snow beyond the front doors. ]
[ there's something in him that hurts, as he walks through this town. this is the sort of place that needs help. needs fixing. he's always hoped to help people live better lives. he's always tried, before he burned out so hard that he could barely stand. the only thing that had given him hope was his general, and she burned away, too. but - years later, in a choked-out city full of industrial noise and static, he'd found something to hold onto. he'd followed a blood trail to that, too.
he feels sick. he feels like he could collapse. this city is broken, and he itches to tear down the gang from the inside out. he wants to set fire to people's insides. if they've done the unthinkable, if they've killed therion - if he's dead, he's genuinely not sure what he'll do. the nausea rolls over him, down his spine, makes him dizzy.
but he puts it away. he doesn't have time for it. instead, he follows his nose - the smell of blood is so pungent to him right now that it makes him gag - and makes it to the stone stairs. the front entrance.
there's no people he can see, but he puts his mask back on anyway. he is hoolay's right hand, and he will be making sure that this bounty is suitable. he pushes the door open, and walks into the church. where do the drag marks lead? ]
[ the drag marks lead all the way inside the church. it's drafty in here - the wind flutters through the open window, blowing in snow crystals and ice from the outside. this church clearly hasn't been used much, at least in recent days, because the inside of it is a mess. the pews are knocked over and broken in some places, the floor strewn with debris. the carpet leading up to the altar is molded in a few spots and torn in others, but as a church, it does have an altar table.
the altar table is bloody, too - in fact, moreso than anywhere else, a small pool collecting on the warped wood. coincidentally, it's where the drag marks stop.
there appears to be nothing behind the altar itself at first glance. however, looking around at the marks to try and figure out what happened here, he might notice that there's a smattering of blood to the side that looks like it's been wiped away, or at least attempted. places that didn't get cleaned up fell in drops and small splatters, as opposed to someone being dragged around - whoever cleaned it up didn't do the best job.
that trail leads over to the broken pews closest to the stained glass window. there's one that's knocked over entirely on its head, and debris from a few others here, too. ]
[ it'd be wild if he had the ability to tell if this was therion's blood or not by smelling it, but alas. he cannot. ]
... Therion?
[ he calls out, cautiously, just... in case.
but - he thinks he maybe has some idea of what's happening, or what did happen. so, carefully, he makes his way over to the broken pews. follows that trail, ears pinned back. checks behind and under the one that's been knocked over entirely. ]
curled up underneath the pew, squished into the tiniest space possible, is a person curled up into a ball. though his head is down, that shock of white hair is unmistakable - it's therion. he looks even smaller than usual without his big scarf, and its hard to tell where one part of him ends and the other begins, between the shadows and his too big, torn clothes.
it smells like blood under here - he doesn't respond to his name being called. ]
[ yeah, that's about what he expected. the stab of fright that he feels is overwhelming. ]
Therion. [ he says, without meaning to - the panic in his voice is vibrant and loud. unmasked, as he pushes the pew away, as he shifts to check therion over. but he's a doctor. he's a combat medic, specifically, and so he knows how to do this. he knows how to stay steady handed even when it's someone he loves that is broken and battered. the panic only gets out once, and then he's taking a deep breath (the smell of blood in his nose all over his hands he can practically taste it) and slipping into focus. nihility serves him well.
he checks, first, before moving therion. first, breathing. second, if he can be moved. those are the two most important things. ]
[ the good news is that he is breathing. this becomes very obvious the second the pews move, because his eyes snap open as if he were electrocuted, his response just as panicked as jiaoqiu saying his name. have to get away have to get moving have to not die have to not die, he draws in further to himself, ready to kick and bite if he has to --
but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
[ there's blood on his hand where it touches jiaoqiu's face - his fingers are cold, palm is cold, and they twitch and curl as he holds his hand there, breath coming in short and sharp as he tries desperately to actually figure out what the fuck is going on. he's real, solid, and that's fucking terrifying in this shitty place he decided to spend time in. this was his own fault, righteously deserved, and the last thing he wants is jiaoqiu to get dragged into it, and he manages eye contact and then it fades away, the world threatening to go dark as he moves too much - this is distracting enough that jiaoqiu can examine him the best that he can. he could laugh. he could cry. he's not sure which.
but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
[ jiaoqiu catches him, when he falls forward. of course he does, he's waiting to. ]
You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
[ there is a back door! or, well, there's a spot where there's not a lot of rubble. it's a little rough, so he might get cut up by fallen glass and debris here and there, but jiaoqiu can make it out through the back of the church and out into northreach once more.
as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
[ he's so like, annoyed, every time that therion gets him to hide. he knows it's necessary, he knows they can't afford to be seen, but every second that they're out in the cold, there's more of a chance of complications. therion is good at staying awake, he's good at suppressing pain, but that will mean nothing if he bleeds out, or if a wound is too deep. he's so very aware that there is always a time limit. he doesn't know the extent of therion's injuries, but a stab wound is enough that he's a little frantic about getting somewhere safe.
it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
this is all he really needs - the hair stick and some finagling. he fiddles around like an expert, one handed, slumps against the door when he's not leaning against jiaoqiu so he can hear the lock tumblers catch and click, and it only takes as long as it does because he's hurt. but, sure enough, the lock pops open and the door swings wide, and there are chain bolts on the back of the door that therion insists on locking once they're inside.
the abandoned house is just that. it's a little, one room thing with a bed and a couch and a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and not much else. it's cleaner than you might expect - thanks, heathcote - and therion grunts and tosses the hairpin on the ground as he's lowered down onto the couch or the bed, whichover one jiaoqiu prefers. that's about all the strength he has left, and he keeps his broken arm over his stomach and lolls his aching head to look at jiaoqiu, the usual green of his eye duller than usual, the other covered by the sticky, matted bangs on his face.
he's got nothing to say yet, but that's not that unusual - his teeth chatter a little, though, and he shuts his eyes and leans back against the cushions, trying to keep himself still and trying to get warm all at once. ]
and jiaoqiu doesn't say a word either. he just - gets to work. this is where it's easier to flatten out. he has to, for this. therion is dazed and has his eyes closed, but if he opens them at any point, he'll see jiaoqiu's gold eyes are flat, just a little distant. removed from the situation. because if he is, he doesn't have to focus on how therion's teeth are chattering and how faded out he looks.
it's clinical. off goes the shirt - he cuts it away, if necessary. the stab wound is first. he cleans it, makes sure it won't get infected. with steady hands and a needle and surgical thread, he stitches the stab wound shut. it doesn't take very long, really, he... insanely practiced at this, it's like it's nothing. cuts get cleaned, covered with gauze or with bandaids, if they're small enough. he gently cleans the blood from therion's skin with bottled water, and then - pauses.
sucks in a sharp breath. his ears tremble, his expression still flat. and then he starts to move again. need to - need to check his head wound. next. that's next. ]
[ the stab wound's not as bad as it could be - it doesn't seem like it hit anything particularly vital. it's likely he was in the most danger of bleeding out over anything else. after all, it was "dead or alive", and god knows darius would have liked to have the last word.
the hoodie's the zip up kind, easy to slide out of, though it's a loss, anyway. cut around the fabric and underneath, he's a mess of already forming bruises and other cuts, some thin, some sharp. he's got cuts on his hands, too, where it's clear he was trying to block something, and the majority of them look like they came from different weapons, like maybe he didn't lose a fight so much as he just became overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who came at him. throughout the process, therion's in and out - pain tolerance or not, there are moments when he's very, very quiet. he doesn't react as he's getting stitched, almost eerily still as he holds himself in place, takes in shallow breaths and tries to stay conscious. distantly, he can hear that flat, odd tone, and in his addled brain, it's hard to figure out what's wrong with it, but something's wrong with it.
when jiaoqiu moves again towards his head, he'll see therion's looking at him. there's still blood coming down his cheek, his fringe stuck in place, but he's staring at him - like he's trying to convince himself this is actually happening, that he's actually there, or... that he's observing him, trying to understand. ]
Jiaoqiu. [ he croaks, as he comes closer again. jiaoqiu, what? ]
[ he should feel something, seeing these wounds. he does, somewhere. somewhere, his heart breaks because the idea of all of these people coming at therion, trying to hurt him is overwhelming. therion alone and backed into a corner, all because he was trying to get away from jiaoqiu. it should hurt, it should make him wildly, frantically upset, but his whole emotional state can't handle that and make sure therion doesn't die. so it doesn't register, right now. it's all shut off.
the world is a million miles away. the only thing he can hear is therion's breathing. shallow, unhealthy. dying, probably.
he tilts therion's head to the side. his hand shakes slightly. that won't do. he stops, until his hand stops shaking, and then therion speaks up, and he glances at him. pauses again, so that he can try to split his attention. he's looking at therion's head wound, or head wounds, carefully unsticking his fringe to see the damage there. gingerly feeling for the cut or broken skin against the back of his skull, where he left blood on the pew.
(where he left blood on the pew where he could have slowly and surely died alone in the middle of a town far far away from jiaoqiu because he couldn't love an anchor) ]
Shh.
[ he says, instinctively. ]
Relax. I won't let you - you. [ he stutters. stops. tries again, voice soft. ] I won't let you die. Don't go to sleep, just yet. Do you need me to talk to you?
[ it looks like the majority of the bleeding might've actually come from the back of his head, because head wounds bleed a lot. he's okay - something up there's probably fractured, but whatever brain he has knocking around in his noggin is just bruised, not broken for good. bandages and stitches will help, though a little magic might help once triage is done.
under his bangs, it looks like someone stuck the tip of a knife into his scar and cut it back open - his eye's mostly shut, and the scar tissue oozes with blood, but it looks like it was something that was done on purpose. he's not really paying attention, just lets jiaoqiu take his head in his hands and move it around, lolls into his grip with relative ease, and just stares at him.
and the first thing he says to all of that, the stressed twinge and the numbness, words a little slurred but still coming out of his mouth -- ] 'm sorry.
[ because he is. because he's a fucking idiot. jiaoqiu came all the way here, he found him, and he's so beyond worthy of therion's trust. he is the best thing that's ever happened to him. finding people to rely on, people who are trustworthy and kind, is the only thing heals you when you're broken like he is.
but that's not all - he needs to say more, and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, so he doesn't, for a moment longer, tries to actually process what he's saying. ]
[ there's another burst of fury that tries to break free, roars so loudly in his ears, at the sight of the scar being cut open. he freezes, when he sees it. sucks in a breath that sounds like it hurts, and he has to let go of therion because he's going to accidentally hurt him. the rest of it was fighting. a stab wound, a broken arm, a concussion. this was on purpose. cruelty, for the sake of cruelty - digging a knife into old wounds both physical and emotional.
he's going to burn them alive. he's going to find the leader and he's going to charm him, he's going to promise him all the coin in the world, a promotion, a comfortable lifestyle, he's going to really sell it. he's going to make that man think he won't ever have to steal anything again, and he's going to toast to it, and he's going to watch as the man froths and gurgles and is eaten from the inside out from the most insidious poison jiaoqiu can find.
silence, for a long moment, as he tries to wrench his emotions back, as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily through his nose, and empties out. the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, thudding wildly.
I'm sorry, therion says, and jiaoqiu says, stiffly: ]
I can't possibly imagine what you could be apologizing about, right now.
[ don't be mean. don't snap, you can't let the last thing you say to him be awful. run, moze. don't expect a meal when you come home, general. his head is full of static. ]
Turn your head. [ let him fix it. he has to fix this. ]
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jiaoqiu is not an angry person. he isn't. but the scarf makes his whole world narrow. his vision gets dark around the edges as he takes in the bloodstains. for a moment, he's standing in a stall, watching a little wolf flush beet red as he tucks the edges of a soft, new scarf into his jacket. he's got his hand in his own, he's being dragged through the city on an aching leg, he's gasping into his mouth in their bed, fingers laced. he's curled up under the blankets, letting that wolf pet his ears.
it's like rushing through an underground tunnel. like being deep underwater before your ears pop, the sound and colors a rush of nothing. he is a strategist. he's supposed to use his brain, he's supposed to sweet-talk these men into letting him into the church, a rescue mission, but the blood all over therion's things, taken by force, because there's no way he'd ever give them over - it makes a fury in him that he didn't realize he was capable of rise up in his throat and behind his eyes, and he cannot think of anything else.
he does not, for a second, hesitate to reach across the bar and take the scarf, and the switchblade. it does not matter if someone tries to stop him. that's the furthest thing from his mind, at the moment. those are his. try and stop him. see what happens. ]
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okay!!! well. listen. the scarf is definitely useless to the guy now. it's gross and bloody who would want that, but the switchblade is probably worth a pretty penny. and besides, their boss will probably want it as a trophy, so there's immediately a fuss. the lanky guy's hand snaps out to grab jiaoqiu's wrist - he's fast and has a tight grip. clever fingers. clearly a thief, too as he sneers - "The hell are you doing? Trying to steal the bounty? Didn't see you coming to help subdue the tea leaf. Who's this clown?"
the louder noises in the bar stop - this confrontation starts to draw attention. the bartender looks between jiaoqiu and the man, frantically, and says, "--Messenger, he's, uh, messenger boy. Delivering."
right?? right?? ]
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but. the bartender speaks up, and it catches his attention. calm down. this is not how you handle this. you have to be smart. you have to be cunning. you cannot take an entire room full of thugs down yourself, you are not moze, you are not feixiao, you cannot have a death wish while therion might be dying or dead - what you have is your smarts. don't lose them. he breathes in slow, and then straightens.
smiles. and firmly takes the lanky guy's hand off of his wrist. peels his fucking fingers away, digging his claws in, but - delicate. like the way someone who does not appreciate being touched by filth might do. he puts the thief's hand down on the bar, and pats it. condescendingly. ]
My apologies. Most wouldn't dare to contest me. You must be feeling dazed from your fight. [ his smile gets a little sharper. ] Our friend here is correct, I am a messenger. I am on loan, here. Perhaps you've heard of Hoolay? I'd hate to have to report to him that a group of distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves damaged his goods.
[ he adjusts his cardigan. ]
Now. If you'll please hand me the scarf and the blade, I'll be on my way to alert your lord. You'll get your coin.
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the lanky guy bristles up the second jiaoqiu bares his teeth, and scowls when he pats his hand, and looks like he's about ready to stab him, tense everywhere and a second from a fight, because there are a lot more thugs than there are pretty boys in here. however, between them, the bartender nods, trying to back up jiaoqiu's story because he was nice to him, and a tense, long moment passes in the bar, the leader of the thieves staring at jiaoqiu.
but, finally the leader of these thieves decides whatever jiaoqiu said passes enough muster - the namedrop helps - and he snorts, rolling his eyes and pushing the switchblade back across. fine, take both. "Bring it back when you're done, messenger boy. My trophy."
but with that, jiaoqiu's free to leave. in fact, several of the whispering, muttering thugs even part like the red sea to his sheer presence, slightly in awe and slightly terrified. ]
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he has to drag himself down under to not react to the mention of darius. he can't, right now. he just meets that long gaze with a smile, his usual. the world is blurry and the whispers of the thieves are distorted and wobbling, and he has to go, he needs to leave this bar right now because nothing is more important than finding therion. so, he takes the scarf and the switchblade, tucking them neatly into his bag, and turns. walks out of the bar, back straight as a rod, not making eye contact with the thugs, because this persona is above them. distinguished. spoiled.
it does not feel good to have people be terrified of him, even when they're his enemy. it does not feel good to put himself back in that mindset, of being hoolay's tool. he holds his chest a little once he's outside of the bar, once he's far enough, like he's going to cough or have a panic attack or - something, and then it passes. it passes.
and then he walks as fast as he can manage without looking strange, right to the church. ]
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northreach is cold and miserable, so no one thinks much of the way he holds at his chest, if people were able to give the time of day beyond little glances and murmured whispers, people avoiding making eye contract for too long lest something goes wrong. lest you become like the former leaders of the town who got gutted as obstacles for speaking up against the abhorrent behavior of this gang called the obsidians. lest you end up made an example, or dead in an alley with no one to save you.
as jiaoqiu walks to the church quickly, he might notice an alley that smells particularly bloody nearby. the site of a confrontation, likely, but there's no one there - instead, there's a smeared trail of blood in the snow, thick drag marks where something or someone was dragged through it, and footsteps surrounding the trail of more than one person. the trail leads up the main path to the church, and all the way up the stone stairs leading up to the front entrance of the building.
the church itself has seen better days: aside from the bloody front stairs, there's a hole the siding where it's crumbling, and the stained glass window appears to have been smashed open. the front doors are currently closed.
there's not any sign of a person, though the drag marks continue through the snow beyond the front doors. ]
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he feels sick. he feels like he could collapse. this city is broken, and he itches to tear down the gang from the inside out. he wants to set fire to people's insides. if they've done the unthinkable, if they've killed therion - if he's dead, he's genuinely not sure what he'll do. the nausea rolls over him, down his spine, makes him dizzy.
but he puts it away. he doesn't have time for it. instead, he follows his nose - the smell of blood is so pungent to him right now that it makes him gag - and makes it to the stone stairs. the front entrance.
there's no people he can see, but he puts his mask back on anyway. he is hoolay's right hand, and he will be making sure that this bounty is suitable. he pushes the door open, and walks into the church. where do the drag marks lead? ]
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the altar table is bloody, too - in fact, moreso than anywhere else, a small pool collecting on the warped wood. coincidentally, it's where the drag marks stop.
there appears to be nothing behind the altar itself at first glance. however, looking around at the marks to try and figure out what happened here, he might notice that there's a smattering of blood to the side that looks like it's been wiped away, or at least attempted. places that didn't get cleaned up fell in drops and small splatters, as opposed to someone being dragged around - whoever cleaned it up didn't do the best job.
that trail leads over to the broken pews closest to the stained glass window. there's one that's knocked over entirely on its head, and debris from a few others here, too. ]
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... Therion?
[ he calls out, cautiously, just... in case.
but - he thinks he maybe has some idea of what's happening, or what did happen. so, carefully, he makes his way over to the broken pews. follows that trail, ears pinned back. checks behind and under the one that's been knocked over entirely. ]
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curled up underneath the pew, squished into the tiniest space possible, is a person curled up into a ball. though his head is down, that shock of white hair is unmistakable - it's therion. he looks even smaller than usual without his big scarf, and its hard to tell where one part of him ends and the other begins, between the shadows and his too big, torn clothes.
it smells like blood under here - he doesn't respond to his name being called. ]
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Therion. [ he says, without meaning to - the panic in his voice is vibrant and loud. unmasked, as he pushes the pew away, as he shifts to check therion over. but he's a doctor. he's a combat medic, specifically, and so he knows how to do this. he knows how to stay steady handed even when it's someone he loves that is broken and battered. the panic only gets out once, and then he's taking a deep breath (the smell of blood in his nose all over his hands he can practically taste it) and slipping into focus. nihility serves him well.
he checks, first, before moving therion. first, breathing. second, if he can be moved. those are the two most important things. ]
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but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
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[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
Put pressure back on your wound. I'm here.
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but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
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You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
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as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
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[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
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the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
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it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
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this is all he really needs - the hair stick and some finagling. he fiddles around like an expert, one handed, slumps against the door when he's not leaning against jiaoqiu so he can hear the lock tumblers catch and click, and it only takes as long as it does because he's hurt. but, sure enough, the lock pops open and the door swings wide, and there are chain bolts on the back of the door that therion insists on locking once they're inside.
the abandoned house is just that. it's a little, one room thing with a bed and a couch and a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and not much else. it's cleaner than you might expect - thanks, heathcote - and therion grunts and tosses the hairpin on the ground as he's lowered down onto the couch or the bed, whichover one jiaoqiu prefers. that's about all the strength he has left, and he keeps his broken arm over his stomach and lolls his aching head to look at jiaoqiu, the usual green of his eye duller than usual, the other covered by the sticky, matted bangs on his face.
he's got nothing to say yet, but that's not that unusual - his teeth chatter a little, though, and he shuts his eyes and leans back against the cushions, trying to keep himself still and trying to get warm all at once. ]
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and jiaoqiu doesn't say a word either. he just - gets to work. this is where it's easier to flatten out. he has to, for this. therion is dazed and has his eyes closed, but if he opens them at any point, he'll see jiaoqiu's gold eyes are flat, just a little distant. removed from the situation. because if he is, he doesn't have to focus on how therion's teeth are chattering and how faded out he looks.
it's clinical. off goes the shirt - he cuts it away, if necessary. the stab wound is first. he cleans it, makes sure it won't get infected. with steady hands and a needle and surgical thread, he stitches the stab wound shut. it doesn't take very long, really, he... insanely practiced at this, it's like it's nothing. cuts get cleaned, covered with gauze or with bandaids, if they're small enough. he gently cleans the blood from therion's skin with bottled water, and then - pauses.
sucks in a sharp breath. his ears tremble, his expression still flat. and then he starts to move again. need to - need to check his head wound. next. that's next. ]
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the hoodie's the zip up kind, easy to slide out of, though it's a loss, anyway. cut around the fabric and underneath, he's a mess of already forming bruises and other cuts, some thin, some sharp. he's got cuts on his hands, too, where it's clear he was trying to block something, and the majority of them look like they came from different weapons, like maybe he didn't lose a fight so much as he just became overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who came at him. throughout the process, therion's in and out - pain tolerance or not, there are moments when he's very, very quiet. he doesn't react as he's getting stitched, almost eerily still as he holds himself in place, takes in shallow breaths and tries to stay conscious. distantly, he can hear that flat, odd tone, and in his addled brain, it's hard to figure out what's wrong with it, but something's wrong with it.
when jiaoqiu moves again towards his head, he'll see therion's looking at him. there's still blood coming down his cheek, his fringe stuck in place, but he's staring at him - like he's trying to convince himself this is actually happening, that he's actually there, or... that he's observing him, trying to understand. ]
Jiaoqiu. [ he croaks, as he comes closer again. jiaoqiu, what? ]
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the world is a million miles away. the only thing he can hear is therion's breathing. shallow, unhealthy. dying, probably.
he tilts therion's head to the side. his hand shakes slightly. that won't do. he stops, until his hand stops shaking, and then therion speaks up, and he glances at him. pauses again, so that he can try to split his attention. he's looking at therion's head wound, or head wounds, carefully unsticking his fringe to see the damage there. gingerly feeling for the cut or broken skin against the back of his skull, where he left blood on the pew.
(where he left blood on the pew where he could have slowly and surely died alone in the middle of a town far far away from jiaoqiu because he couldn't love an anchor) ]
Shh.
[ he says, instinctively. ]
Relax. I won't let you - you. [ he stutters. stops. tries again, voice soft. ] I won't let you die. Don't go to sleep, just yet. Do you need me to talk to you?
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under his bangs, it looks like someone stuck the tip of a knife into his scar and cut it back open - his eye's mostly shut, and the scar tissue oozes with blood, but it looks like it was something that was done on purpose. he's not really paying attention, just lets jiaoqiu take his head in his hands and move it around, lolls into his grip with relative ease, and just stares at him.
and the first thing he says to all of that, the stressed twinge and the numbness, words a little slurred but still coming out of his mouth -- ] 'm sorry.
[ because he is. because he's a fucking idiot. jiaoqiu came all the way here, he found him, and he's so beyond worthy of therion's trust. he is the best thing that's ever happened to him. finding people to rely on, people who are trustworthy and kind, is the only thing heals you when you're broken like he is.
but that's not all - he needs to say more, and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, so he doesn't, for a moment longer, tries to actually process what he's saying. ]
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he's going to burn them alive. he's going to find the leader and he's going to charm him, he's going to promise him all the coin in the world, a promotion, a comfortable lifestyle, he's going to really sell it. he's going to make that man think he won't ever have to steal anything again, and he's going to toast to it, and he's going to watch as the man froths and gurgles and is eaten from the inside out from the most insidious poison jiaoqiu can find.
silence, for a long moment, as he tries to wrench his emotions back, as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily through his nose, and empties out. the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, thudding wildly.
I'm sorry, therion says, and jiaoqiu says, stiffly: ]
I can't possibly imagine what you could be apologizing about, right now.
[ don't be mean. don't snap, you can't let the last thing you say to him be awful. run, moze. don't expect a meal when you come home, general. his head is full of static. ]
Turn your head. [ let him fix it. he has to fix this. ]
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