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 Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2016 6:07 pm
been wonderin' if your heart's still open
and if so i wanna know what time it shuts.
│CREATED BY nowSERENITY
│· Just a run-in with the wrong twin.
│· Closed thread.
│· Benjamin St Jude & Leon Fenwick
│· Awkward reunion.
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Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2016 9:31 pm
Father never sent texts. No matter how short the message, it came as an email, somehow crisp and professional even across the screen of Ben's phone. A slim, black piece of technology with a numbered code that not a single member of his family would ever guess. There were business particulars, of course, that needed to remain private. Numbers and accounts and--yes-- Father's emails which were always meticulous and vague all at once. They had never spoken of it aloud, but there was an understanding between them, and Ben had long ago learned to parse the patriarch's instructions.
"I would appreciate," the message began-- no "Dear Ben," no "Darling Son," but then, of course, he was a man now and didn't need such things-- if
you would pay a visit to my dear friend, Cassandre Finn. He has spent some time out of town recently, and I have had no opportunity to see him since his return. Please convey my firmest wish that we continue our close friendship as though he never left.
No "Thank you." And the man hadn't so much as typed his name. Ben already knew, of course. So there wasn't much point in it, really. And only ungrateful whiners needed a thank you or a gold star in order to get them to do their jobs. He was neither ungrateful nor prone to whining, and so the brunette had glanced briefly at the email and then blanked the phone's screen, rubbing the item along the fabric of his sweater to clear the surface of even a hint of which places he'd touched to make Android give up its secrets. Charlotte needled him at times about his compulsive privacy. She teased that the phone was his girlfriend, or that maybe he had a second family somewhere. Every now and again she referred to the slim, black rectangle as 'That Hellraiser Cube.' She smiled when she said it, but they both knew she wasn't entirely joking.
Was it cruel of him that he didn't refute it, and just let her wonder?
His father had always had a weakness for women. It was the man's only fault as far as Ben was concerned, but only because it was what had driven his mother off a roof. Then again, everyone who'd been old enough to remember back that far said his father had argued bitterly about it. Denied everything. And although the fourth son of the great St Jude legacy could have had his pick of women, the fact was that he was startlingly faithful to the woman he'd been bartered into marrying. Charlotte tried valiantly to pretend that their union had grown into a love match over the fourteen long years they'd been chained to one another. And Ben, for his own part, treated the blonde with kindness and familiarity. Performed his duties as a husband when it seemed required. It wasn't terrible-- she was, after all, a beautiful woman. And the children were enough to make the blandness of it somehow worth it.
But it was, sometimes, just a little tiring, having to explain to a person he didn't even like about where he was going, and why, and for how long, and with whom.
So sometimes, he didn't. And she wondered, and she fretted. And Ben let her do it. Because she wouldn't like the truth any more than she liked the little telenovella she was writing in her head.
"I would appreciate it", his father wrote. And words like that, which conveyed gratitude, were the man's way of expressing a need for expedience. At the start of a message meant do this right now. "Pay" and "spent", the simplest references to money which was owed. And "friend." Oh, that was unfortunate. Because father's gradations of acquaintance in letters like these always seemed to connotate the amount he was meant to collect. A colleague or a distant relative might escape with a stern warning, a threat. But a "dear friend?" Never. Moreover, this one had split town and then been stupid enough to come back, no doubt thinking he'd thrown off those who'd been on his scent before.
So Ben had ruffled the brown hair of the nine year old sitting beside him on the couch, laughing fondly as the little girl made a slightly prehistoric noise before flopping against the cushions. Tongue out, eyes closed-- until she opened one to peek at her father. Mussed hair, Zoe's one true weakness! The mage swept his daughter up effortlessly, scooping her comparatively tiny body into the crook of his right arm, and deposited a kiss on her forehead before bouncing her harmlessly back onto the sofa.
"Be a good girl, Zo'. Daddy got a work email, so it looks like we'll have to watch The Lorax for the seventh time tomorrow night. Okay?"
"But daddy! The Onceler! We gotta do the dance!"
He never had to pretend with his kids. They were effortlessly perfect, effortlessly endearing. Look at the spine on little Zoe, standing up on the couch to air-guitar at him, somehow managing to get her little lips in a pout through most of that ridiculous How-Bad-Can-I-Be song. She made a good play at sounding heartbroken, but nerved back up again as soon as it was clear he really needed to go. And then, the art of the deal:
"Okay, okayyyy. But you gotta get me a slurpie. For breakfast. Before school. To make up for this traumatic lack of parental attention!"
"I don't negotiate with terrorists." Straight-faced, dead-panning in a way that had his daughter slumping on the couch again with a fwomp of defeat. The heels of her tiny feet stood up against the arm of the sofa, and he tickled them as he walked past. Stopped. Turned around to fix her with a solemn expression and a pointed finger. "Slurpie after school, Lorax again if you finish your book report."
The groan as he moved toward the door made him pump one fist in the air, all Breakfast Club victorious.
"Dad knows all! Dad is the night!
And an hour later he was threatening to break a man's jaw.
In an apartment that looked like a room at some middle-America Marriott, right where Ben's address book said he would be, was an elf. He'd answered the door without sliding the chain across, and it had been the simplest of things to shove the barrier inward, using the door's edge to catch Cassandre in the forehead. Easy to shut the door behind himself, quiet as a kitten, and send an elbow-- flesh and blood, his right-- into the blonde man's sternum to get him back against the wall. Easy to force the first three fingers of his left hand into his mark's open mouth and hold the mandible still, pinch the tongue down with a strength that shouldn't belong to any normal appendage. And it was easy because the metal beneath the false skin was something Ben controlled effortlessly. He could see what he was doing, but couldn't feel it. No nerve endings, so the warmth of flesh under his touch went unknown. The saliva that dripped from the corners of the distended mouth was just a small detail that he cared nothing about.
All the warmth he'd shown his daughter, all the easy smiles and nods he'd exchanged with people on the street-- that meant nothing here.
In the time it took to carry out his father's orders, Ben was just a piece on the board. So he held the elf's jaw and watched him cry with the knowledge of how soon that piece of bone and sinew could be ripped right off his face. And he explained, patiently, pleasantly, that such a thing could be averted. Such a thing could be just a memory-- If. All Cassandre Finn had to do was start paying rent again on a very discreet storage space owned by the St Jude family. All Cass had to do was just fulfill the obligations detailed in the contract that he had signed of his own volition. All he had to do was stay in town, because God help him, there were scarier things in the woodwork than Ben. And he didn't want them crawling out, did he?
Of course not.
The parting shot-- a formality, you understand-- was delivered to the smaller man's ear. Sensitive place on an elf, really, so it wasn't as though Father would have approved if his fourth son used the full extent of his strength. You couldn't get the golden eggs once you killed the goose, after all. Ben hadn't gone easy on him in the least. Cassandre had bled, after all-- a tiny trickle from his ear. He'd bled and cried and about pissed himself insisting that he couldn't pay right now.
Well. Father wouldn't enjoy that news.
The brunette stood on the landing to deliver it. Leaning against the balustrade of the stairs, he slipped the phone from his pocket. Reflexively glanced around, as though Charlotte might actually be hanging from the ceiling, waiting to catch him tapping out the code. One-two-five-one-four. A significant date, maybe. Or a zipcode. A combination of birth days. Ben himself had been born in May, and Nicolas in December.
And he was so busy typing out the email that he almost missed the shock of the white hair when someone left the apartment across the hall. It was only the furtive motion-- the effort at going unnoticed-- that made him glance up. And then freeze.
Noel.
After all these years, all the times he'd tried to track the ******** down so he could fit the fairy for a body-bag. After all the nights Ben had laid awake in bed, jaw clenched tight enough he wondered if his teeth might break. The metal of his left hand flexing, wanting to rip his former friend apart. They'd been kids together. Had been forced to attend the same stupid parties where their families schmoozed and made deals. Teenagers wandering tipsy-to-drunk through those weird fairy gardens in the dark, laughing and nudging one another-- but Ben always carefully, not wanting to bruise them, the twins, white and gold, both of them, light on their wings and on their hair and so delicate, like someone had spun them out of silk and sun, but that was kind of faggy, wasn't it, to think that, so he didn't. He never thought it. Never. Never through a buzzed and adolescent haze had he lain between them like a Persian prince, aroused and ashamed and awed when they kissed one another, mirror images meeting. And he hadn't tried to explain it away to himself after. Because it had never happened. He hadn't tried to reason that it was only because the twins were so girlish-- weren't they? Slim and pretty and-- None of it had happened.
He'd tried to tell Noel that, when he'd arrived on the doorstep. Tried to make it clear that that rift in reality was something that must never be discussed. Not real. Noel had imagined it. Ben didn't have to take the fairy's insinuations. He didn't have to listen to the ivorette saying how Charlotte would never even know. It could be their secret. Like when they were kids. Even Leon didn't have to be involved. Hadn't Ben been so bored by Leon anyway? The little lamb. Noel was the one who knew all the tricks. Noel could work out all of Ben's kinks.
His metal fingers had bitten into the fairy's shoulder like a promise of pain, and this part Ben could remember. Because he'd said something that his Father would have been proud of. Get your tiny, delusional a** off my doorstep, Fenwick. You think anyone will believe you? That I would ******** you? You're not much of a man, granted, but the little bit that you are doesn't interest me. I'm not a ******** f*****t.
And he remembered, too, the petulant, angry look that had flashed over Noel's face, chased quickly by smug satisfaction. Then, the dust. There, in his face, pulled into his lungs on the first inhale, turning his whole body warm and sensitive except for the part that wasn't him at all. The metal was suddenly the only piece of Ben that conformed to his original thoughts on the matter, because it didn't feel anything at all. But the rest of him had pulled the smaller man down the steps and into the alley to push him up against the bricks and turn him into a bruised and sticky masterpiece. When it was over, the brunette had righted his own clothes, run back into his home, and been violently sick.
All because of the dust. Leon's dust. Leon. It wasn't like Noel would have even needed to steal it. The twins were close. So close with one another. So ******** close. Had Noel told his brother what he wanted to do? Had they laughed over it together, arm and arm in the garden, wing and wing, hand and hand, mouth and mouth. Had he known?
There was murder in him when he lashed out, taking a quarter turn that looked almost casual until it sent his knee into the ivorette's stomach. The little sound of pain and surprise was even gratifying, and Ben didn't wait for the smaller form-- but stronger now, wasn't he, less purely delicate-- to collapse under the blow. His fist came down on the crown of the fairy's head, and he felt the reverberation climb up his right fist-- flesh and bone and blood and tendon-- up his wrist, up his arm, to his shoulder. Weight behind it. Fury behind it.
"Well, look at us, Noel!" And the words were hysteric. Manic. Full of a sick and violent cheer that rang false, terrifying, in the hallway. He'd dropped the other man easily, and slipped the toe of his foot underneath the prone form, rolling the ivorette bonelessly onto his stomach on the grubby hallway carpet. Ben's knee came down on the small of the fairy's back, pushing, pinning, like this was a bug he meant to frame, a single needle through its thorax. "Reunited at last! Let's see if we can't test the Bystander Effect, huh?"
He wanted to slam the smaller man's face into the floor until it broke into a thousand pieces. He wanted to squeeze his metal fist around the back of the neck until it cracked and splintered and oozed blood between his fingers. And he almost did it. Almost. But murderers didn't get to watch The Lorax with their daughter, he'd bet. So Ben eased. Contented himself with threading his fingers in the fairy's hair and pulling, forcing the smaller frame into an uncomfortable arch. Down the hall, the one door that had even opened closed sharply. In Saxon City, most people knew to keep their noses out of other peoples' business.
"Give me one ******** reason, Noel, after what you did to me-- One reason I shouldn't tear your ******** wings off."
OOC: Please bear with the gigantic picture, as I haven't made a proper layout for Ben yet. XD Sorry.
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Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2016 10:45 pm
#997495
"Yeah, thanks as always." The human salaryman smiled at Leon pleasantly. Politely, Leon returned it, although it was clearly halfhearted. Leon liked Jayce well enough. The older man in his mid forties was his dealer - a connection he'd made through Crownless. Whenever his stash ran a little too low, he would come visit him. Leon enjoyed this connection primarily because he didn't have to venture out into the slums to get his fix. Jayce and his wife lived in a homely little apartment complex in the well-inhabited suburbs, where people felt comfortable walking down the streets as long as it was daylight and their rent was on time. He did't even bother flying there... most of the time. Some days Leon was jumpier than others. But today, he was feeling particularly bold and comfortable. Of course that didn't stop him from wanting to exit Jayce's cozy home as soon as he could. He always felt oddly out of place there, despite knowing that plenty of Crownless members like himself were constantly flitting in and out. Jayce's sweet little nuclear family just made him feel... out of place. Like a hedgehog among rabbits. He muttered his thanks again as Jayce walked to the door. He'd already stuffed the goods in the bottom of his boot. As gangsters went, Leon was one of the most unassuming in appearance. In fact, he hadn't yet been stopped by a police officer once. When he walked, he tended to carry his suitcase with him as well, so he often looked like any other busy businessman on his way to or from somewhere important. Cops didn't bother well to do people like that. Today he was dressed to that part, too; a white suit with black undershirt, black shoes in need of a polish, a white tie (slightly dingy grey now) and a frayed pocket square. He clutched his little tarnished black briefcase as he ducked out of the door, giving Jayce one final polite wave as the smiley human gently closed the door behind him with a soft click.
He wasn't in any particular rush to get home, per se. After all, despite living in the Crownless 'den', there wouldn't be anyone waiting for him at home, besides his cat, Nanny. There never was. And Nanny had already had her kibble today, so she wouldn't be over eager for him to get back. And he was in kind of a foul mood. Jayce had a mirror in the entry hallway of his apartment, which Leon had endured standing near for a little too long. That was an odd peeve of his these days. He hated looking in mirrors. Whenever he did, it wasn't his own face he saw; it was his. His reflection laughed at him, mocked him, made those beautiful sad puppy eyes he used to make when he was trying to cajole him into something that he knew was a bad idea. His left hand itched dully, and Leon scratched at the scar.
He took a deep breath of the air outside in the hall, casting a furtive glance around as he tugged on his tie. There was the usual crowd about, mostly deserted of people coming and going, thanks to the late hour. The stars blinked dully down at him through the lone hallway window, mostly obscured by the constant glow from the city below them. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders in his suit and twitching the wings folded into his back. He would have preferred to fly home, but of course he'd brought his briefcase... so, walking it would be. It was less suspicious this way, in any case. He didn't want to endanger Jayce or his pregnant wife, after all. They were in a precarious situation enough as it were without Leon looking the part of a desperate druggie. He rolled his neck - a nervous habit he'd developed in prison - and turned to start down the walk. But as he turned, there was a blur of motion. A brief flicker of gold in his vision, and a blur of cloth. Leon was jumpy, but not quite jumpy enough. Even as he took a reflexive step back, a force like thunder personified slammed itself into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. His brain barely had time to register shock and confusion. He felt bile rising up in his throat, his entire abdomen contorting inward with the force of the blow, and he let out a pathetic gasp that was really mostly the sharp escape of air from between his slacked, shocked lips. He had no idea what was happening, what was going on?? He tried to suck in a breath in vain, instead gagging on the empty air. He doubled over, staggering back with the force of the blow. Gods, it felt like someone had fired a cannon straight into his stomach. The panicked part of the fairys brain told him that he was dying. Those organs were important, and now they were silly putty, and he was dying. As he struggled to breathe, or make sense of the situation, whichever came first, the second blow came. If the first one felt like thunder, this one sounded like lightning, a sickening CRACK! that reverberated from the back of his skull, sending him into the ground with a heavy thud. The bile he had felt coming up ejected itself, and he vomited water and bile onto the dirty carpet with a trembling heave and choking gasp. Had it all been a dream? His falling in with Crownless, the release, getting set up in the city, taking on cases again, all just some fantastic dream? Had he really never left prison? He was still there, wasn't he? That's why this was happening. As the pain worked its way into him, the memory brought fear back into him, Real fear, not this flittering paranoia he'd gotten so used to. The reality hit him almost as hard as the blows had.
"I'm going to die. They're going to kill me." The thought rang through his head as the blow reverberated through his ears. The word rang with each throb from ear to ear. Die. Die. die die die die die die.
He coughed and writhed, pale face contorted in sheer pain and fear, eyebrows pinched and eyes squeezed shut tight against more blows. He could feel his attacker standing over him as he shouted. There was such power, such hate and fury in his voice. If he wasn't already laying on the ground, gasping for breath, he would have cowered from that voice alone.
"Well, look at us, Noel! Reunited at last! Let's see if we can't test the Bystander Effect, huh?" His brain was running at one thousand miles an hour. His brain didn't care that he was being mistaken for that guy, it was too busy trying to get itself together, and maybe find a way to avoid death. Besides, if he was being honest, it wasn't likely that this attacker wouldn't care that he'd gotten the wrong one, either. Leon as by far much more concerned with the bystander effect comment. As he feared, he was about to become a murder statistic. He opened his eyes, teeth gritted, as he felt the strange mans foot pushing against him. Maybe he could find a weapon, a blunt object, anything. But what he saw was the furious face of a very muscular blonde man with thick eyebrows. A face that seemed.... oddly familiar, somehow. Far from being comforting, a fresh jolt of terror washed through him. Someone he had seen before, who was about to beat him to death? Someone with a grudge, obviously. He couldn't think as he was rolled over, his limp body too overwhelmed with pain to even strain against the movement as he thumped over face down, and felt a horrifying pressure on the small of his back. Quick, quick, who was it? Who was it? If he was from prison he might be able to bribe him. One of Odin's friends? He might be able to threaten to call the werewolf on them, even if it was a bluff. He felt thick, strong fingers curl themselves into his fine white hair. He felt the pressure, and once again was struggling to breathe, his airway stretched and compacted so each breath was a tenuous wheeze. More frighteningly, he felt his spine, pulling back in the wrong direction, wincing and crying out pitifully as the vertebrae began to protest. His back was going to break. His spine was going to snap. He was going to suffocate. If he could breathe, he would have been hyperventilating. Who was it? Who was it!?! Quick, QUICK!!
"Give me one ******** reason, Noel, after what you did to me-- One reason I shouldn't tear your ******** wings off."
Who--
The memory came to him in a sudden flash - or was it just because his life was flashing before his eyes again? He was holding hands with Noel. Towering above them were so many strangers, all dressed in colors like a hundred dying rainbows, crowding along the marble floors of the country club villa. There was the constant sound of laughter and muffled conversation. Women and men dripping in precious metals and jewels, the whole crowd sparkling. Noel said they looked like a school of fish, like they saw in the aquarium when dad took them. But they didn't look that way to Leon. They looked like strangers, with wicked grins and frozen eyes, and they were terrifying. He wanted to hide behind Noel all night, but his younger brother wouldn't permit him. As he dragged him across the ballroom, under tables and around floral displays, the two of them had spotted them. Another group of children, about their age, some younger and some older. There was a blonde boy chastising a younger boy for some mischief. He'd felt his heart skip a beat, the way childrens hearts tend to do. Noel had made friends with all of them; he was always so personable. Leon had barely been able to squeak out a word. They had all been so young, in retrospect. But little Leon, helplessly, had latched onto that bigger boy, held to the cuff of his sleeve and stuck to him like glue the rest of the night. For whatever reason the older boy had permitted it - perhaps it had reminded him of his own brothers, or perhaps he had just barely noticed. It had always been the same after that, Leon would always seek the brothers out, but especially Ben. Noel had teased him, and he hadn't minded. Memories of the other night came rushing in too. The smell of alcohol on his breath, the rustling of the tall flowers in the moonlight, the feel of his skin...
--Ben?
Ben!! It was Ben! A new wave of agony surged through the fairy, but this time it wasn't the physical pain that had claimed the rest of him. Ben was the last person he had hoped to ever see again. Especially not here, not the way he was now. It was too humiliating. Wait, but... Noel? He thought he was that b*****d! What had Noel done now, what to Ben, of all people?? Even disregarding the fact that he could rip either of the brothers in half like paper mache, he had been their friend. What would--
The terrifying creak of his spine, and burning of his scalp jolted him back to reality. Oh. Right. Speaking of getting ripped in half.
Sucking in a desperate gasp of air through his clenched teeth, his eyes watering, Leon feebly reached towards the hand holding his hair, trying to steady himself on his stronger right arm on the ground. Numbly, the dead-nerved fingers tapped weakly against Bens hand. They twitched, but Leon couldn't get the useless limb to grip Bens hand. Weakly, he desperately choked out what words he could muster.
"B-Ben--! No....please! N-not... Leon! S'me!" Tears streamed down his face as he struggled feebly. All of the strength had been knocked out of him, his muscles twitching and slack. His chest heaved, not being allowed to expand enough to let in more air at that odd angle. He coughed out a frantic sob "Please d-on't...! I'm sorry, please-!"
[[ooc // too busy swooning over the post to even notice the layout! <3 Ben is so brutal!!]]
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Residential Apartment Complex xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Terrifiedxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 2:21 am
Ben was good at keeping himself from drawing blood, mostly. But he hadn't expected the wash of thin vomit that Noel gushed onto the carpet, and so he was powerless to hide the disgusted noise that welled out of him in tandem. It was childish, really, compared to what he was doing-- the damage he was causing. Incongruous. As though someone in the audience of a Pulp Fiction screening decided to say "Ooooh! I'm telling!" in reaction to harsh language. And come to think of it, the fairy was behaving oddly too. Like a rabbit in a snare. Where was all that arrogant swagger now? Where was the smug assurance that Noel Fenwick was so smart that he could surely talk himself out of anything? Was he actually crying? Were those tears that glittered on the curve of that pale cheek? Ben had wanted his revenge, but his resolve shook a little when the fairy's hand reached for him, fluttering, weak. He'd anticipated a fight. Thought that Noel would scramble and snark and deserve the beating that the mage had always planned on giving him. But the tears-- the way the voice stuttered, sobbed, broke.
He knew before the name was even off the ivorette's lips. And with the knowing came the retreat, an instant cessation of cruelty. Ben's fingers relaxed their grip on the fairy's hair, and he shifted to the side, freeing the small of the other man's back from the weight of his knee. For a moment, he forgot the question of whether Leon had been a part of it, because--
In his own family, birth order had always been obvious. The boys of the St Jude family had had enough years between them that height had given it away until almost adulthood. Lyndon, Alexander, Oliver, Benjamin, Nathaniel, Charles, and Julian. Straightforward and simple. Each of them wearing their own carefully tailored suits, and the youngest of them trying always to remove his tie, so that Ben had needed to constantly retie it. But then, Julian had been three, so perhaps he had been too young to appreciate a good Windsor knot. In two years, the azurette would rip off his big brother's left arm in a gout of blood, but for the moment Benjamin St Jude was a whole person. Complete and solid. The first time he'd met the twins was at that party, and he'd assumed-- like many others, probably-- that Noel, with his confidence and gift for gab, had to be the "big" brother. Not Leon, surely. Leon, who shied away and clung to his twin until he was clinging to Ben's sleeve. And the brunette hadn't known what to do about it, really. He'd been an eleven year old boy, then, and intent on not embarrassing his family by behaving too poorly. Besides, the ivorette was so small, so easily frightened, that Ben would have felt like a heel to chase him off. So he'd let the fairy stay, and after that it was traditional for their families to mill around one another, with the twins becoming more and more a familiar sight at every party the metal mage attended. They had been his friends, hadn't they? Yes, and Leon had never really bothered Ben with his clinging, until they were much older and the brunette had become concerned about just how that might be perceived. The kind of whispers that might cause, and the things that people might call him. Things his Father would hear.
Little Leon, who cried easily and seemed scared of so much. Ben had beaten him to the ground, until the ivorette got sick. And he was a fairy. So easily bruised, so easily hurt. He'd always known that. Had made it a point not to roughhouse with the Fenwicks the way he did with his own brothers. But this had gone far beyond horsing around. In mistaking the little lamb for Noel, Ben had come dangerously close to killing him.
".. Leo?"
The name was thick and foolish on his tongue, just an echo of what the man had tried so desperately to say. Ben had moved to the side, sitting in the hall next to that crumpled form, but that still left the fairy in a heap, laying in a pool of his own sick, and he couldn't think of a way to move forward from that. It wasn't as though the brunette could just Prince of Persia the situation and start all over. Neither could he just stand and walk away, leaving the smaller male to his own devices. Ben had been practicing kickboxing since he was a kid, and the only way he'd pulled his punches here was by keeping his left fist out of the mix. Even with that, Leon wasn't going to be able to just get up and fly home.
With a sigh, Benjamin carefully rolled the ivorette onto his back, one hand slipping under the fairy's neck while the other arm-- his left-- tucked in underneath Leon's knees. The younger man had grown in the intervening years, and his frame wasn't entirely the waifish wisp that Ben remembered. It didn't stop the brunette from lifting him from the floor in one easy movement, though. Even now, he seemed so light. And the metal mage had laid into him with all the brutality of the rage Noel had earned.
Well, ******** tried to summon some of the ice that had made it so easy to cause Cassandre's tears earlier. It was in his best interests not to try to remedy this situation. It wasn't as though he really knew Leon anymore, and Ben had no proof that the twins hadn't been working together all those years ago. The Fenwick brothers were the only people in the world who had anything on him. Not that it was real. Not that it had actually happened. He should have gotten up all on his own and taken the stairs two at a time to the street; he should have left Leon to find his own way.
Instead, Ben held the smaller man without any difficulty. Carried that tiny frame down the stairwell one slow step at a time, trying not to jar the fairy. Had he damaged the ivorette's ribs? His skull? Leon had always struck him as fragile when they'd been children. Delicate in a way that Noel had never quite been, even though physically they appeared identical. And another thing he knew-- Ben couldn't possibly show up on the Fenwick property and explain to Leon's mother that he'd gone all cage-match on her son. Nor could he take the fairy into the large suite of rooms Ben's family inhabited. Not when Zoe would immediately ask what kind of monster would beat up someone so helpless, and the brunette would have to explain that daddy had done it.
That left only one place, although Benjamin didn't much like the option.
The second apartment was one he kept because even a doting father sometimes needed his own time, his own silence. Though, if any member of his family had seen fit to notice, the times when the metal mage "needed his own space" coincided almost perfectly with the parts of the year when his children were away at school. If there was anyone he was actually avoiding, it was his wife, although that probably sent Charlotte the wrong message. The more she accused him of wrongdoing, the longer he stayed away-- at least until some holiday brought Zoe and Nicolas back for a day or a week. And the real kick of it was that Ben really did spend his time in the apartment alone. Whatever buxom harlots his wife envisioned never made an appearance. If they had, the brunette would have probably just pointed to the "NO SOLICITING" sticker on the door before promptly closing it. The apartment was his place.
But there were such things as emergencies.
"You're coming with me."
'No argument', the tone said. Well, that, and the fact that he was actively carrying the ivorette down several flights of stairs. All things considered, it probably wasn't the most reassuring thing to say-- particularly since Ben had just beaten the poor fairy half to death. It probably sounded like he was kidnapping one of the Fenwick twins outright.
And it was a shame that Ben didn't realize any of that at all.
OOC: You're so kind. ; 3 ; Also, yeeeeeah. Muay Thai will ******** up a person's day, and Ben's pretty good at it. And he hates Noel. Like. A lot. Also, I didn't realize before, but both of them have messed up left hands. Leon's is all nerve damaged and Ben's is a metal killing implement that can't feel anything. Also, sorry this is short. Dying of sleep deprivation again. @_____@
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 5:11 am
#997495
Leon had learned years ago that, if there were gods, they knew nothing of justice, let alone mercy. After all, what cruel gods would make a world like theirs? Would let children starve, slaves be beaten to death? What kind, merciful deity would let Noel Fenwick slip away into the night and have Leon suffer for it? For Years? No, the gods did not know mercy. Thankfully, it seemed that Ben did, at least. The moment he'd managed to squeak out his name, the pressure had released. Those cruel fingers disentangled themselves from his hair, and the frightful pressure on his spine relented. Leon slumped against the floor, immediately pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his stomach. He was still reeling from the blows - it had all happened so quickly, within a span of just seconds. Finally released from the deathgrip that had promised to snap him like a twig, he gasped for air, gaping like a fish out of water. He felt his abdomen kick, and was afraid for a moment that he would vomit again, but he only heaved dryly. He hadn't eaten much anything of substance in the past three days aside from sugar cubes, so it wasn't terribly shocking that his stomach had nothing left to evacuate. When he was done heaving, the greedy gasps for air quickly turned into whimpering sobs. His heart was still pounding at a thousand miles per hour, but with the immediate threat of death gone, the adrenaline fled his system, leaving only weak, trembling soreness in his place. He was glad to know that his heart was still working, at least. But Leon remained unconvinced that the rest of his guts hadn't been evaporated. He could already feel the bruise blossoming along his stomach, the muscles he'd worked so long to harden torn asunder under the soft flesh of his belly. He shivered against the floor, sniffling and sobbing, each intake of breath painful. He barely heard Ben say his name, 'Leo?' It sounded like maybe a different person was addressing him. All of that venom had evaporated, fled from him like a ghost from the daylight. That voice sounded like Ben, not the monster who'd threatened to tear his wings off.
He felt, heard the man shift, and reflexively flinched as he sat down close to him. His eyes had been screwed shut in pain, but he made himself open them again. His vision was blurry, although whether it was from his tears or from the head trauma, he couldn't say. He realized that he could feel another bruise forming on his face as well, on his right brow and cheekbone where he'd hit the floor. No doubt his right elbow would be blue the next day as well. He could taste the quiet behind his own pathetic crying, feel Ben sitting, contemplating, although what, he couldn't say. Maybe mercy wasn't what he was after. Maybe he was mad at him, too. Not just Noel. Maybe he just felt that a different brother deserved a different punishment. He'd learned at school that both brothers often paid for the sins of one. As an adult, he'd reconciled that to one twin paying for the sins of both. Maybe Ben would be satisfied with taking out his anger on Leon. Was he just reevaluating his options? Each time Ben moved, Leon flinched, anticipating another crippling blow. Even most of the men in prison didn't hit that hard. Most, at least.
He whimpered fearfully when Ben touched him again, wincing at the contact. But there were no rough, bruising hands this time. Instead the larger man gently, gingerly, rolled Leon from his side onto his back. It was startling, the stark difference between now and just a few moments ago. The same hands that had cracked his skull (he was pretty sure it was cracked; it sure felt like it) now handled him with such care, carefully putting his arms beneath his neck and knees and lifting him up. He tried to stifle his sobs, biting his lip until it bled. That small, stinging pain distracted him, just a little, from the overarcing pain that crawled over the rest of his body. He felt like he couldn't un-curl himself from that fetal position if he tried. He felt fearful again, but now it was a distant, fuzzy fear, like more of an impending dread, as Ben stood with him and started walking off.
"You're coming with me."
It sounded more like a commandment. It wasn't a suggestion, or something up for debate. Leon, still completely in the dark as to Bens intentions, shuddered in pain and that dull fear. The tears had made his cheeks slick, and he struggled to blink them out of his eyes. He could feels Bens chest against his side as he held him. Once upon a time, that would have been the most comfortable feeling in the world. To have him hold him close this way, feel that warmth from him again, a young Leon would have traded anything. He dimly recalled when he and his family had attended Bens wedding. Leon had cried, and he and Noel had both insisted that they were happy tears. That he was just so happy to see his good friend in what would certainly be a happy, healthy union. Both twins had known the truth. Noel had done his best to comfort him quietly, later, but Leon had preferred to sequester himself, and sulk. That day, if he had been told it would take a few broken ribs and a cracked skull, but Ben would hold him this way after, he would have taken the trade. Even just for a moment of it. Things were different now, largely because as Ben sweetly carried him off, he wasn't sure if it was to a hospital or to a shallow grave. He did his best to quell his sobbing as they descended down the stairwell. He winced with each step, even as tentative as Ben was being. To his credit though, every breath hurt, so there was hardly anything to be done for it.
As he licked the blood from the nick he'd bitten in his lower lip, he lifted his yellow eyes up at him. Had his hair gotten darker? He blinked, remembering that he had a much more serious, immediate problem.
"Where.... are you taking me?" His voice was weak and shaky, despite his best efforts. A few tears were still rolling down his cheeks, but he had mostly quieted his crying by the time they were down the stairs. He was flailingly trying to come up with a plan. If he was going to take him somewhere and kill him, maybe he could shrink at the last moment and fly away from him. The two big flaws with that plan were that there was no telling when he would have the strength to return to his regular size, and , more importantly, if Ben grabbed him at that size, well... that really would be the end of it. And his body would be easier to hide, to boot.
[[ooc// no problem, mine's short too, coz i gotta get to work! Dx ]]
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Residential Apartment Complex xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Terrifiedxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 3:59 pm
Would Leon have looked so sketchy leaving his own apartment? Unlikely. So it never occurred to the metal mage to take him back up the stairs, to whoever he'd been visiting so clandestinely. That way lay long explanations and bribes to arriving officers of the law and tension with Benjamin's father, who had always so appreciated his fourth son's discretion before. And, of course, if the owner of the apartment had been that good of a friend, they'd have come out into the hall to question the sounds of violence. Because Ben had been too preoccupied with avenging himself to consider the sound his fist must have made on the fairy's skull, or the noise audible to apartments below when the ivorette's body dropped to the carpet. Deduction? Leon had no friends here, really. Not the cowards in their rent-controlled home-sweet-home, and certainly not the man who'd battered him without so much as a warning. So then where did the smaller man have to go, really? Hospital? Not acceptable-- not without knowing what the fairy would say when questioned.
So down the stairs, the fetal curve of Leon cradled to the front of Ben's sweater, the ivorette's white suit smudged with the leftovers of a thousand shoes that had passed over the hallway carpet. No matter how many passes of the vacuum, there was always going to be dust in the nap somewhere. Dust. That was what had started all of this. Or maybe if one wanted to taken a Dickensian approach, it had started with the stupid parties, the social obligations that became friendships. Or it might have begun with brandy and honey and a bed of white gladiolus which had swayed just a little in the breezes.
More likely, this was all the result of Ben not shoving Noel down the stairs of his apartment building all those years ago. If he had, the malignant twin would have had no opportunity to do what he'd done, and the brunette would likely never have crossed paths with Leon ever again. It would have been better for both of them-- especially the fairy, whose voice still held the tremor of tears when he asked the question:
Where are you taking me?
It was hard to look at the bruise that was starting to paint itself across Leon's cheekbone. The drop of blood that welled on the fairy's lips from a small split. Ben hadn't hit him there, had he? No, just the top of the head, and the stomach, and the spine. Was it a wonder if the younger man had bitten the blood out of himself? And the feeling that grew in Benjamin was far different than the satisfaction which usually rose with causing damage, proving himself stronger. Because it wasn't a victory to topple someone as small and nearly defenseless as Leon, was it? What chance had the ivorette stood?
"To patch you up." It was a curt answer. As though it made all the sense in the world, and any sane person wouldn't argue about it. As though, even if the fairy wanted to prove himself unreasonable, Ben simply wouldn't take No as an answer. And that was true enough, because at the ground floor the mage shouldered open the door to the street without bothering to set Leon down.
Outside, the night was full of light pollution amid the sounds of televisions playing in hundreds of rooms behind thousands of windows. Look up and a person could catch snippets of real-life programs unfolding behind curtains. Shadow pantomimes. Families and friends, arguments that ended in tears or embraces, and the ongoing war against silence, waged with radios and phones and bright glowing screens. How many of those players strutting the stage ever took a role that made them feel like they'd portrayed the truth? Or was everyone in the world lying to get from day to day?
Ben sometimes thought these things at night, standing on street corners, staring up at the points of light while he waited to threaten someone at his Father's request. But tonight, he didn't have time. Nine-tenths of going unnoticed meant behaving as though you belonged where you were, and that meant his head was up when he carried Leon out of the building and toward the grey Pullman he'd parked at the curb a lifetime before. He never looked to see if someone was watching them, because of course he was doing nothing wrong. The fairy was plainly hurt, but not by Ben, or else the ivorette would have been screaming for help. The casual observer might think the metal mage was Good Samaritaning.
The casual observer was usually not that smart.
He never bothered with the key to the vehicle, simply focusing his intent on the latch within the door. At the same time, Ben gave a slight roll of his head, neck pivoting in a way that caused a satisfying pop from his vertebrae. An answering snick from the car was the response as the latch twisted aside and the door slid open under the residual strength of his metalmancy. A parlor trick, compared to the liquidic control of his left limb, but then so much of his ability was used to make the arm move as naturally as possible. So that it wasn't robotic or harsh when he transferred the fairy onto the Pullman's grey upholstery. Front seat, rather than the spacious back, because there was no driver tonight-- or any of the nights that Ben dedicated to the less savory aspects of his job.
The brunette moved without much urgency to sit behind the wheel, pulling both of the car's doors shut without the aid of his hands, and paused briefly before pulling out of his parallel park-- leaned over to pull the seatbelt across Leon's chest and click it into place. But only when his eyes were on the road and his hands were on the wheel, steering them through the twists and turns of Saxon City at night did Ben speak again.
"Shouldn't have whaled on you like that." Not an apology, really, but at least it was an admission of guilt. An acknowledgement that Leon only sat there bruised-- possibly broken-- and sick because Benjamin had lost his temper. And because the fairy's brother was a colossal ********. Noel had as much to answer for here as Ben, didn't he? The metalmancer tried to think so, but glanced at Leon's purpled cheek when they pulled to a red light and couldn't quite manage it.
"Never could tell you two apart." A lie. Leon had been the one who trailed after him all the time, holding onto his sleeve, looking up at him with mooncalf eyes that Ben had first read as worshipful. Look-up-to-you eyes. The look of a little brother that thinks the elder has hung the moon and hopes to one day learn to do so himself. And it was a look that had stayed even after Ben was snipped apart and had to attend some of the dances with one empty sleeve pinned up. Uncomfortable for other people to look at. Uncomfortable condolences and advice from people he barely knew. Uncomfortable to be in a room where everyone spun and gamboled and whirled and Ben couldn't because he hadn't been able to hold a partner with two arms. And Leon? Well, he'd simply clung to the other sleeve after that.
Leon was the one Ben teased for bringing books to galas. Leon was the one that was so easily moved to tears. Timid, fragile, delicate Leon. He was a baby and a bit of a coward, really. Skittish as a deer. Leon had been the one on his lap. The one he'd petted and soothed and kissed, half-drunk, in a time that didn't exist, where the world was all dim light from the party far away, beyond the tall spears of gladiolus, swaying. Leon was the one whose head he'd tipped back so gently, to drip honey into the boy's waiting mouth, tiny drops of liquid sweet that Ben had rescued with his tongue when they fell awry to land at pale throat and jaw.
Oh, yes. He'd known the difference then. But then had never happened, so perhaps he could be excused his mistake.
It was another ten minutes before the Pullman was back in park, taking up a space in front of a different apartment complex. Well-to-do, sure, but nothing compared to the family compound-- the massive building which housed so many of Ben's relations. This was something else. Stately brick, but it was what the middle class would have considered upscale, rather than the creme de la creme type of abode one of the mage's own kind might have expected. Not a family residence, but a room he kept for when he needed time away. For peace, or for work that necessitated a certain amount of recovery time. No need to go home injured and startle anyone. After all, only the arm was metal-- the rest was only flesh and bone.
There were a few scattered lights on in neighboring windows, but the lobby looked relatively clear. Not many people wandering in or out at this hour. And so Ben didn't even ask as he pulled the keys from the car's ignition, clasping the carabiner it was on to the belt loop of his jeans. The brunette simply unbuckled the fairy and scooped him up again to carry him into the elevator. Whether Leon could have walked or not, he couldn't say and didn't appear to care, because when Ben elbowed the requisite buttons and waited for the empty elevator to climb, he didn't bother lowering the other man to the ground.
Clearly he could shoulder the fairy's added height and weight without difficulty, but the weight of the situation and circumstances was something altogether different.
He'd thought he'd finally found Noel, but he'd been wrong. And now, how was he supposed to ask this twin the questions he had to ask? How, when Leon was all a shambles? He'd been shivering before, like he was in shock. Crying. Had been sick on the floor. Probably Ben had cracked his ribs or concussed him, or both. Had he ever raised a hand to Leon before tonight? Had he ever treated this Fenwick to anything more severe than a frown and a stern word?
Never.
So then. Impossible to look down as the elevator went up and up. Impossible not to feel like a monster and a bully. Impossible to stare into those golden eyes and ask the question, searching for truth or lies in Leon's gaze. Did you know? Did he tell you? Did you give it to him? Red numbers changed on the screen above the door-- ten, eleven, twelve-- and there was the sound of a small bell, letting them out into a hallway. Doors to either side of the blue carpeted walkway, but Ben only carried the ivorette to the first on the left-- apartment five-one-four. If anything, he certainly couldn't ask those questions in a corridor. Because what if Leon said Yes to any one of them?
The fairy really couldn't take another beating.
It took some effort to get this door open without reaching for his keys-- mostly because it was a second before he could get the necessary click to sound from his shoulder socket. The right. The one that was still real, sheathed in formidable muscle. Bones inside to make the noise that focused the leftovers of his power and turn the tumblers in the lock, swing the door open easily. Blood inside to make the limb warm beneath the soft cableknit of the sweater he wore. So different from its twin.
Well, that was going around.
The apartment was an open space, kitchen and livingroom all one chamber of white walls and wooden floors, sparsely furnished. Couch in a soft spring-green. No pillows or blankets to throw out of the way, because Benjamin wasn't much for interior decor, so he deposited Leon on the sofa, careful, for all his strength. Laid the fairy down without a word and disappeared into the short hallway to open a door on a room where the colors were reversed. Walls, green like the couch was green. Bed, large enough for Ben's sprawling sleep positions, done in stark white linen. And above the headboard, a framed watercolor-- massive in size, and yet serene in depiction. It was the apartment's one concession to beauty, it seemed, but the brunette ignored it on his way to the closet, and when he came back to the livingroom it was with a first aid kit.
"Sit up. Shirt off. If I broke your ribs, you want to know about it. "
OOC: I took some liberties here with past interactions. Please, seriously correct me if I was wrong about how Leon might have behaved. XD
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 7:05 pm
#997495
"To patch you up."
The answer was simple, to the point, and cold. Ben didn't give Leon any reassurance, no apologies or brief glances to tell him that everything was all right. When they were kids, with Leon clinging to his sleeve, he had sometimes balked from new faces or scenes, and in those times Ben had given him those small looks. Silent, but meaningful. They said simple things like 'It's safe' or 'I'm here'. Leon had learned all kinds of silent communication, since Bens eyes always said more than his mouth ever did. His eyes said 'I'm sorry', 'Not now', and once or twice, they even said things like 'don't leave', and Leon had always treasured those glances. Bens eyes had always been honest with Leon, even if the young mage had never realized it. Bens eyes had told him everything he ever wanted to know. But now, those eyes wouldn't meet his. Those eyes were as silent now as his lips, and it stung a little bit. The logic in Leon told him the sad truth of it; This man was a stranger. He might have known Ben the cute kid, Ben the curious teenager, and even Ben the Dutiful young man. But he had no knowledge of this Ben, except that he'd hurt him, battered his body and swore at him. Even if he knew that had been meant for the other one, it didn't change the pain coursing through what seemed like every fiber of his body, or the bruises he could feel on his stomach, or the worrisome, sharp pain in his back, or the throbbing of his skull. Logic told him to stay on guard, that this could be a trap. It told him not to let him steal him away, not to allow himself to be put in the car, not to trust this strange man as far as he could throw him. Logic said to push him away, insist that he put him down, and crawl off to the nearest hospital.... with a boot full of smack?? No. Maybe the caim then? He knew that the Seven Steps would see him. He took care of a lot of Crownless, since they were one of his biggest sponsors. Logic told him that this was the best course of action, to not let himself be kidnapped. And yet, even as logic yelled all of these things inside his aching head, he held his tongue, closing his eyes again and breathing slowly. He started counting backwards from ten in his head. Breathe in for three seconds, hold for one second, breathe out for three seconds, hold for one second. Repeat. Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, hold, 1, out 1, 2, 3, hold, 1, in, 1, 2, 3... The pain was still very real, but as Leon breathed deeply and did his best to calm himself down, he slowly felt the fear seep out of him, leaving him hollow and exhausted. He had run out of tears by the time they got to the car. The sobbing and sniffling had subsided, leaving a glassy silence in its wake. The empty feelings that followed after fear and weeping settled in, and he found himself frowning, sullen.
He felt Ben shift his head as he opened the car door with nothing but a pop of his neck. A distant part of Leon noted that it was kind of funny; he himself had developed a habit of popping his neck when he was uncomfortable or nervous. It had been his way of expressing being ill at ease in an environment where weakness was preyed upon. How funny, they at least had one thing in common. He didn't say anything else as Ben lowered him gently into the passenger seat of the car with a surprising amount of fluidity and grace. It might have seemed like a sight, to a stranger, the burly, scary metal mage moving to delicately, as if his cargo were precious, and he would never let anything happen to it.
"Hah. What a joke." Leon found himself thinking bitterly. It was funny not only because Ben had been the one to brutalize him, to shatter his body and break him down sobbing and terrified for his life, but because Leon knew that the truth of it was that he had never been precious cargo, not to Ben, not really. Without being bade, the faint memories of that warm midsummer night came back to him, when Ben really had handled him as though he were made of glass. He had been a bundle of nerves only just barely eased by alcohol, and he remembered how his skin tingled at how sweetly, how gently he touched him. The feeling of his warm fingers trailing down his spine had caused him to shiver. Noel had remarked later that he was surprised at how gentle Ben had been, but Leon wasn't. Leon had never doubted him. Leon knew that never in a million years would Ben ever hurt him. It was a truth as simple as the sun rising in the east, as the night following the day. It just was. If he'd had the energy to laugh bitterly, he would have. But his chest burned with each ragged breath, so laughing was out of the question. He tucked his knees up, putting his scuffed shoes on the car seat and laying his head on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. He stayed silent. So did Ben.
He turned his head to the side so that he could look out of the windows, making mental notes of which direction they were headed, and what streets they passed. He had been trying his best to readjust himself to the city, but he had only been out of prison for less than a year. The whole outside world was still foreign to him, or a fuzzy memory at best, and soon enough the street names became unrecognizable and unmemorable. He tried in vain to remember them anyway, in case he needed to escape. In his sullen silence, the next emotion in his lineup slowly started to bubble up towards the surface; anger.
Admittedly, it was mostly directed at that guy. Tacks. Leon didn't like referring to him by any other name these days. Calling him by the name his brother had used made the betrayal too real, too painful. Noel was the one who rubbed his back when he cried about his stupid childhood crush getting married like they always knew he would. Noel was the one who brought him hot tea in college when he stayed up late working. Noel was the one who worked flawlessly in tandem with him in and out of the courtroom. Noel was the one who kissed his neck, his eyes, his lips, and made all of the hurt go away. That wasn't Tacks. Tacks was the jerk who went off gambling with money that wasn't his. Tacks did whatever he felt like doing, even if it hurt someone else. Tacks stole off in the dead of night and left Leon alone, friendless, and surrounded by his enemies. Tacks was a different man than the brother he loved. Not unlike this new Ben, who was not exempt from his burning, sullen anger. Ben knew that they were identical twins. He knew. But the stupid knuckle-dragger couldn't stop and consider that before he went assaulting someone?? Who the hell did he think he was? He had half a mind to sue the ever loving s**t out of him. That would teach him. But Logic knew better. The St.Jude family had always been just as well-connected, and politically even more powerful, than the Fenwicks. And Leon was obligated to keep his head down and focus on the legal and political battles of Crownless now. Starting a legal slappy-fight with a powerful and well-connected empire wasn't exactly simpatico with Crownless' idea of laying low. He shuddered to think what Flint might make of it. No, the truth was that he had nothing to fight back against Ben with. He was in the same position as ever - he just had to take his beatings and live with them. The spot on his lower back tugged sharply, making him wince and sniffle. Had Ben actually damaged his spine?
"Shouldn't have whaled on you like that."
It was a sudden break in the silence, and Leon turned his golden eyes to him. He didn't respond; he was fairly certain talking would be just as painful as laughing. He settled for leveling his gaze on him. Now that the fear had seeped away, and the hollowness was in his chest, he couldn't find it in himself to even act fearful anymore. His face was blank, staring at him. But, aside from a passing glance, Ben kept those silent eyes on the road, not him. The silence stated to creep back, before Ben broke it one more time.
"Never could tell you two apart." That made Leons eyebrow twitch. He kept staring at the man who used to be his Ben. He didn't need his honest eyes to know that for what it was.
"....liar." He muttered it so quietly that the word was likely lost in the soft humming of the car around them. He let the silence lapse back in. Ban had always been able to tell them apart. In fact, it had been a bit of a magical talent, in Leons eyes. Even when the twins pretended to be one another, Ben had always been able to tell. They speculated that maybe he told them apart by the way they walked. They had never found out his secret, but those honest eyes of his had always told Leon. Ben looked a Leon differently than he looked at Noel.
When they pulled up into park, and the engine stopped, Leon didn't recognize the building in front of them. He allowed himself to feel a bit of relief. It suddenly struck him how humiliating for him to be dragged to the St.Jude compound. Come to think of it, didn't Ben already know? He knew that his mother and Bens father kept up their association. Surely, Bens father knew about him being imprisoned and disowned. Surely, Ben already knew his shame, that he'd been in the klink for the past five years, his younger brother awol. He sank a little lower, the anger simmering down to the shame underneath. He clung to the anger as best as he could; it was preferable to the shame. Yes, of course, no wonder he was bringing him to this strange place, and not to his old house he shared with Noel, or the Fenwick Family Estates. He finally lowered his eyes, not raising them even when Ben opened his door to fetch him. Weakly, he had tried to stand on his own, but his injured head had spun and he felt his abdomen spasm. Flinching, he's cradled his stomach with his left arm as Ben caught him, effortlessly, and resumed carrying him just as he had been before.
He kept his head and chin tucked down, leaning in against Bens chest as he carried him through the lobby, and into the elevator, waiting. The small, closed space around them was disquieting. The silence felt ten times heavier in there. He kept his eyes closed tight, and went back to counting his breaths. The pain was making its rounds, reminding him that he was pissed at this guy, so he shouldn't be enjoying the fact that, if nothing else, this Ben at least smelled the same. He didn't squirm or protest, and he'd stifled all of his sad whimpering, but despite his best efforts, he still winced when Ben set him down on the couch. When the brunette disappeared into another room, Leon took a moment to take in his surroundings. It didn't look like the kind of place where a whole family lived, and he saw no sign of Bens wife, or his kids... gods, how old were those kids of his now? As he took in the scene, his eyes were drawn to the painting above. His eyebrows raised, and he found himself shocked. The painting was beautiful but its centerpiece startled him. Those white flowers were just like the ones that bloomed in his mothers garden, the same ones that had swayed silently above them that night, white and forgiving, peaceful around them and their muffled moans...
Ben returned not a moment later, and Leon quickly peeled his eyes away from the confusing painting.
"Sit up. Shirt off. If I broke your ribs, you want to know about it. "
He averted his eyes again, although his face remained blank and sullen, eyes red and puffy from crying, and the bruise on his face slowly deepening as time passed. Obediently, he slowly uncurled his body and winced painfully.
"You did." He said it flatly, with little emotion. The sad, crying, pathetic voice from before was gone, now that his life wasn't in immediate danger. He was familiar with the feeling of broken ribs. He was certain that the same two from the last time had snapped; bones that had been broken before tended to be more vulnerable to breaking again. When he'd been stomped on by the elf he'd tried to double cross, he'd stomped his right side in and broken his bottom two ribs. If he were Tacks, he would have bet money on them being broken again now. But Leon hated gambling. He peeled his jacket off, hissing through clenched teeth as he moved his shoulders back to do so. The sharp pain in his back had gotten worse, but it wasn't quite his spine. As he tugged off the frayed black button up shirt off of his back, he tentatively flexed his wings out, and immediately cried out in pain. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes again, and he looked over his shoulder, crying out again in dismay at what he saw. His long, prismatic dragonfly wings extended out behind him, each of the four segments glittering in the artificial indoor light... well, except for the smaller, lower right wing. It was bent at an odd angle, the fragile lining snapped. He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut to the sight and hugging his shoulders. It hadn't been his spine he'd damaged, it was his wing, folded neatly against his back during the beating. Leon shuddered. He couldn't fly. He was trapped. Desperately, he took sharp, jagged breaths and tried to count them, but the numbers were all out of order.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Ben's Apartment xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Sore and unhappyxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 9:50 pm
He was thirteen when it happened.
There were times, still, when he woke up feeling it. Hearing it. The way his flesh had torn and split, the muffled pop of bone ripped from its socket and still trailing tendons and ligaments. Hot, wet spatter of his own blood in a rush that soaked his clothes and the carpet. Searing, inescapable pain that snapped through his young body and left him less one arm. Ink in his eyes and nose and mouth, drowning and blinding, blotting out the world. He'd pissed himself, hadn't he? Yes, of course. But who would know for all the blood? Who would notice for the way his young frame had twitched in shock, life pumping out of him in the dark where Julian had put him. Julian, whom he had always bullied-- but for his little brother's own good. To make him strong. To make him better than what he was. So Father would be proud of his baby brother, the way Father was proud of Ben, who was strong and capable.
And then he woke up in that hospital bed, Julian's mother there beside him to make her devil's deals, and Benjamin wasn't strong or capable anymore.
The therapists told him to envision himself relaxing the limb he'd lost. Visualize it. As though he hadn't been able to feel it there, torn and burning and stuck full of pins as his brain tried to learn that the arm was gone. He'd been a boy no older than his Nicolas was now, and he'd cried and he'd screamed and they had looked on him with pity. Like he was a crippled embarrassment. Think of yourself unclenching your fingers, Ben. Let yourself relax. Let yourself let go.
It had never helped.
What helped was the look on his father's face when the family patriarch stood on the roof with him. Alone, looking out over the neon lights of the city after dark, John St Jude still in the suit he'd worn on his red-eye from Berlin. The man hadn't even loosened his tie. His hands stayed forever behind his back, one of them clasping the opposite wrist-- a thing Ben could no longer do. He'd come home after a business deal was concluded to find his son maimed, but there was no hugging. That was not a thing men did, he knew. The man in front of him had said so, and Benjamin believed his father to be the fount of all knowledge. So when he stood there on the roof and stared silent into the dark, the boy the brunette had been did the same. And after a long time, the words:
She jumped from here, your mother.
Niccola. Her name was Niccola. He named his son for her, his firstborn, his Nicolas, whom he hugged at home where Father could not see or judge or disapprove. Niccola. His mother, who had loved in a marriage where love had never been an option, and that was like Charlotte, wasn't it? Wasn't it? History repeating. History curling in on itself like a shell on the beach somewhere which, when held to the ear, echoed back not the ocean but a thousand-thousand screams.
There are people in this world that are born weak like that. When something hits them, they shatter. They.. jump.
The man said it with such distaste, such contempt. And he'd felt torn again, hadn't he? Wishboned down the middle. Because on one hand, Father was the arbiter of all knowledge. And on the other, Ben hated that estimation of his mother as a weakling. But he had little memory of the woman, and surely the impulse to defend her was foolish. The fact was that Ben didn't have an "other hand", and so he'd nodded as though he understood. Nodded like he agreed. Said nothing, and let his father believe that meant approval.
You have a choice, Benjamin. Either jump, or find another way to be strong.
Find another way. Don't focus on the limb you lost, you ignorant little ********. Don't wallow. Make something better. Make yourself better. And in the night, when the empty, scarred-over socket of his left arm screamed, Ben had worked on it. Had built metal around that phantom limb until he could no longer feel its torn skin and cracked bone. When he reached for things, his new digits were titanium and cold and strong, and Father nodded approvingly. Father looked at his fourth son with a species of respect and pride, and Ben's brothers glanced enviously amongst themselves. All but Julian. Spoiled and selfish Julian, who didn't have to remember.
As the years passed, it was Julian others looked at with sympathy. And Ben? He noticed an unease on peoples' faces when they realized the deadly potential in his left fist. Father had a use for it, and that took away some of the sting, but the brunette couldn't shake the feeling of injustice. He wasn't a monster. Not like Julian. That little squid in sheeps' wool, that little kraken, that little beast from the deep who looked so helpless and small and sweet until he tore you apart and left you neverthesame neverthesame neverthesame. Julian didn't have to remember. Julian didn't have to spend hours in physical therapy. Julian didn't have to endure that look from everyone, like he was threatening. Like he might hurt them.
Like Leon was looking at him now.
And he'd earned it. Of course he had.
Because it had never been about their hair or the way they walked or the infinitesimal differences in the veining on their wings. No. It had been in their eyes that Ben had always seen the difference. In that soft widening that Leon's golden gaze had always kept when it fell on Ben, even when the fairy was pretending. And Noel? Too sharp. Too sly, even when he made a mock of innocence and sweetness. But he hadn't seen the ivorette's eyes in the dim of the hallway, hadn't made himself known. He'd struck like a monster in the dark, and what he had done ate at him from the inside. So, he imagined, must anyone feel when they destroyed something which, to them, had always been precious and beyond price.
The blank quality of Leon's tone-- those two words, so simply and flatly giving voice to how Ben had treated him-- was new. The blue of the ink where X marked the spot over the fairy's heart, also new. The stitching of the scar on the left hand which clung weakly to Leon's own shoulder, foreign. Every bruise and snapped bone tried to render the ivorette a stranger, but these were marks the mage had caused, and he knew them a little better. If he'd known as well that there was a caim out there in the city's seedy streets that could wipe this damage away without asking a single question, Ben would never have stopped here. But he didn't.
So he drew himself down to the wood of the floor, hard surface unforgiving on his knees through the denim of his jeans. He could never be smaller than Leon, but he could stop looming-- and so he did. Placed the first aid kit on the cushion beside the smaller man, and made himself look at the way the fairy's wing twitched, broken. He'd done that. Him. Ben. He'd put his knee just so, and he had said it, hadn't he? Said that he'd take the man's wings from him, knowing what it would mean, only ignorant of which twin he'd been threatening. And what could he say now? That he was sorry? That he wished he could take it back? That he hated himself for causing that look of pain? All those things clawed at the inside of Ben's throat, but not a single one of them could change what he'd done.
"I never meant to hurt you, Leo." One sentence, but it meant so many things. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you. But ah, it was the last that was true, wasn't it? I never meant to hurt you, Leo. Not you. Never you. Not in a thousand years. Not if the sun exploded in the sky and sent us all to hell in a cloud of burning gas. Not for any reason.
But he had.
"If you want me to take you somewhere else, that's fine." It wasn't fine. He busied himself with the kit to pretend that it was, but realized that nothing inside it would help except for the painkillers and the ice pack. Maybe the movies showed people wrapping broken ribs tight, but Ben knew better. He'd had a few of his own before, and a little brother who was a doctor besides. All wrapping would do was decrease the room Leon's lungs had to expand, and maybe help him get pneumonia or a pulmonary infection.
"But I--" When did his voice get so stupid and weak? Sometime around when those tears returned, clinging to the ivorette's lashes. Sometime around when Leon's breathing turned quick and panicked. "I did this to you. I want to take care of you. So I need you to look at me, and I need you to breathe slow."
It had been such a long time since he'd been genuinely gentle with anyone besides his children. Father prized his efficiency and his professionalism and the way he didn't flinch from hard or unpleasant work. And Father would have been disgusted by the remorse in Ben's eyes, but Father wasn't here to see.
"Breathe slow, Leon. I will never hurt you again. Do you understand me? "
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Posted: Thu Aug 11, 2016 10:52 pm
#997495
One, two, three, one, three... wait, one, three, two.... two, three, one, one....
He couldn't fly.
One two three, one two three two one two three one one one three,
That was okay, he was okay. He'd done this all before.
That's right, he'd been here before. It was okay.
One two, one two, one two one two onetwoonetwoonetwo.
He vaguely realized that he was hyperventilating. He might have been going into shock. He needed to calm down, everything was ok. Hell, he hadn't even noticed that his wing was broken the whole ride over, so it could hardly be a big deal, right? Oh gods he couldn't fly. He brought his hands up to his head, knotting his fingers into his hair, hanging his head and breathing quickly. Onetwoonetwo, onetwoonetwo, onetwo, onetwoone. The breaths were rapid, and painful. He glanced down and saw his abdomen, exposed now that his shirt was peeled away. His pale skin was discolored all over, faint yellow and green rapidly fading to light blue and purple. By morning the whole thing would be a dark ink blotch of deep black and purple welt, creeping across his stomach and ribs. That wasn't the problem though, he could deal with broken ribs. He'd had broken ribs. He could fly with broken ribs. He could feel the tears sliding down his cheeks again. How weird, he thought he'd used all of those begging for his life earlier. Guess not. Somewhere far away, he could hear Ben talking.
"I never meant to hurt you, Leo."
His hands were shaking, and his head was still pounding. Was there really a crack in his skull? That would be fine, he could fly with a split skull. He remembered falling when he was first learning to fly. Noel had bumped into him, and he'd gone tumbling clumsily over, and bonked his head on a tree. It was just a little red welt, really, but to the fairy toddler it felt like the end of the world. He sat on his butt in the dirt bawling while his twin frantically tried to comfort him, apologizing constantly. "I never meant to hurt you, Leo!" He'd cried. Leon had believed him then, even though it had hurt. It was a mistake, an accident. He'd taken his twins hand, and their mother had smiled so beautifully, so sweetly at them. She took them by the hands and said "Let's try again." She led them, beating her wings softly. Unlike her sons, the Lady Fenwick had beautiful green lunar moth wings, wide and glistening and perfect. They had inherited their fathers dull dragonfly wings, but Mother insisted that they served their purpose. Leon had been afraid of trying to fly again. But she insisted, so he tried. He wobbled through the air, clinging to his mother as he did. He was so tiny in his small, flying shape. He felt like a single gust of wind would sweep him away, but mother said the wind was their friend, and it would never hurt them. She had been right. So it was all okay. Even if it hurt, it was okay. He grew to love flying.
"If you want me to take you somewhere else, that's fine. But I--"
Wait, that wasn't Noel... that was Ben talking, right. He wasn't back home, with his mother and father and brother. Home was... gone, he supposed. If only he could fly there. His wings twitched and he whimpered, wincing. If he couldn't go home, where could he go? He was trapped. It was back in prison, wasn't it? He'd been there for five years, after all. Of course, prison was his home. He hadn't been able to fly there, either. How cruel, he'd just gotten it back... but maybe that was for the best. He realized that his thoughts were manic, and Logic told him once again to calm down.
"I did this to you. I want to take care of you. So I need you to look at me, and I need you to breathe slow."
Logic told him to listen. But he didn't want to look up. He didn't want to see his face, that face, he hated him. He couldn't fly, he couldn't look at that face. Why, when he finally saw this one important person after so long, why did it turn out like this? Logic reminded him that he was in shock. He needed to listen, or he would never fly again. Listen. Breathe. Look. Look at him. Look. Breathing still shaky and haphazard, he slowly pried his eyes up from his lap, dragged them up and made himself look at the face, the face of the one who did this to him, the face of his attacker.
But instead, all he saw was Ben.
Wow, when did he get so old? In all the hassle, Leon had never really gotten a chance to look at him properly. His eyes were still wide in shock and pain, blurred by the tears that he was somehow still managing to produce. But he looked at him nonetheless, mouth agape, breathing sharp ragged breaths, one two one two. He definitely wasn't a guy in his early twenties anymore. Nope, his face was definitely showing signs of wear and tear, and his jaw seemed more square, somehow. Any remnants of baby fat had dissipated, and he looked sharp and chiseled, his brown hair falling across those thick eyebrows. Heh. Those were the same. Noel had said they looked like caterpillars, but Leon had always liked the way they looked. He'd never been bold enough to ask to touch them.
"Breathe slow, Leon." He nodded dimly, looking at him and trying to obey. He could do that mugh, right? Breathe slow. How did it go? In, 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3...
"I will never hurt you again. Do you understand me? " In, 1, 2, 3, out... I will never hurt you. He'd heard those words before. I'll never hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I won't hurt you. Promise. Pinky swear. It had been a lie every single time. How could he be fool enough to trust anyone? The other half of himself had betrayed him. Leon left him, why shouldn't everyone else? I'll never hurt you again? What a joke. Keeping his eyes on Ben, his quivering lips slowly contorted into something that was either a smile, a grimace, or maybe both. He looked manic.
"Never hurt me again? Yeah, I've heard that joke before." He practically spit the words. He was in pain. "You're not the first person to stab me in the back, you know. You probably won't be the last. Hell, maybe one day I'll stop being surprised! Ha ha ha!" He had been right before, laughing hurt like hell. He snarled that wicked grin at him, and it wasn't Leons face anymore - it was Tacks. He tried to keep Tacks' face on, but as he stared at Ben, it all fell apart again. The wicked grin and bitter laugh fell away. He was trying so hard to stay angry. He had every right to be, didn't he? But it was the same as it had always been. In the end, nothing had changed. His face fell and the tears came rushing again. He sobbed out the same thing he'd sobbed so often as a little kid, alone and separated from his brother, surrounded by strangers in a cold, foreign place.
"H...help me, Ben... Without thinking, he clutched at Bens shirt and leaned his head on his shoulder, his own shoulders shaking, his left hand only making a half claw while his right balled into a fist full of his shirt. He started to sob in earnest. "Help me, I can't fly... Even as he sobbed and his long wings vibrated weakly behind him, he did his best to follow instructions, drawing long, slow, shaky breaths.
One, Two, three, in, one, two, three, out...
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Ben's Apartment xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Sore and unhappyxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2016 12:32 am
One second the man in front of him was familiar, the tears on his cheeks and lashes like a time machine that pulled the veil of years ago over Ben's eyes. The extra height was a mirage, like the tattoo and the bruises and the way he'd gone lean like a swimmer. All those details, and what the brunette still saw was the boy he'd known when they were younger. Soft and pale and timid, needing to be handled with care lest he break. Priceless porcelain and stained glass, a thing of beauty that should be touched with gloved hands only. A tender lamb that should never feel the pressure of a predator's teeth. And the mage's heart constricted in his chest, but he ignored it. Fought it down. Denied it with everything in him. It was for the best, really, that he did.
Because in the next second, Leon was gone. The look on that face underwent a change so sharp, so startling, that Ben tensed there on the floor, unsure if things were going to devolve into violence again-- from the opposite direction. There was venom in every word. Steel. And it was Noel looking at him, as though the twins had taken on one shape. Or maybe one of them had finally learned to pretend well enough, and the mage was just so off balance with guilt that he hadn't been able to tell. It had been years. Years. What were the chances that he'd recognize either of them now? Had he been wrong? Had it been Noel all the way since the landing, just play-acting? Noel, stringing him along, putting up the front that he knew would make Ben relent. Because the other option was just too sad, wasn't it?
The other option was that it really was Leon sitting there. Leon, bitter and angry and disillusioned. Leon, bruises forming all over his body. Leon, wing broken and unable to fly. And if he could be that way, could summon the mask of his brother's face so easily, then what about years ago? It had been Leon's Dust, and Ben's mind had whirled in paranoia just like it was now. Either Noel had stolen it, or Leon had given it to him. And now, another terrible, painful suspicion. Maybe it hadn't been Noel at all.
But no. That he couldn't believe. Wouldn't.
Leon, who'd clung to his sleeve as a child. Leon, who'd cried so much at his wedding, giving the feeble excuse of happiness that Ben pretended to accept and believe. Leon would never have put those events into motion, even if it was what he'd wanted. Because Leon wasn't cruel the way Noel could be cruel. The way Ben could be cruel. He was different. He was better
Then what had happened to him? Was this purely the work of Ben's fists? Even the brunette didn't have enough self-loathing to honestly believe that, but at the same time he didn't know what to say. He couldn't refute how Leon had lashed out at him. Because he deserved it, didn't he? Excuses didn't change effects.
When the fairy collapsed against him, it was like he'd been exorcised of a demon. The slice of that sharp grin faded, and the brunette stayed still under the ivorette's hands, unsure whether Leon was trying to embrace him or simply holding tight to the only mooring he had, trying not to be washed away in the storm that had gone through him. The smaller man shook against the wall of Ben's chest, and the mage's arms stayed to either side, knowing the pain he might cause if he added pressure to the fractured ribs Leon had assured him of. Or to that wing, so fragile.
Help me. Like he'd heard a almost a thousand times when they were children and Noel had gone flitting off somewhere else, leaving his twin bereft. So Ben's fingers-- warm, living, these ones-- touched down at the back of the smaller man's neck, a gentle pressure. One meant to show the acceptance of how Leon folded against him, at least right now, in this place, unseen by others.
"You're safe. We'll get your wing healed somewhere, and you'll fly as far and as high as you want. " Low and slow, spoken into the fairy's hair, like trying to talk a jumper away from the ledge or soothing a child who'd had a particularly vicious nightmare. Reacquainting them with a reality that was structured and comforting. Ben's own breaths slowed, went deep and easy, an example to follow. One Leon would be able to hear and feel as long as he remained close there, against the brunette's chest. "Breathe with me, Leon. Slow and steady."
And if his fingertip had taken to tracing a featherlight circle at the base of the other man's neck, that was to comfort the fairy. Certainly not to calm Ben himself.
"I'm going to check your ribs, alright? And then your head. We need to know how you are before you can take something for the pain. " Expressing intent, creating order out of chaos. Speaking so calmly, like all of this was just a matter of course. Nothing to worry about. Ben would handle it. The same way he'd always spoken in the past, listing the places they would look for Noel until the ivorette had found him. Assuring Leon that he wasn't alone, because-- "Ben's here. It's okay. "
OOC: Apologies for shortness! Sleep beckons!
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Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2016 9:24 am
#997495
Leon nodded into Bens shoulder, still clutching to his shirt. History was repeating itself all over again, it seemed. Leon was once again the helpless child, clinging to his friend by the shirt, because what else was he going to do? Come to think of it, the first time Leon had seen Ben after the accident with his arm, it was when he was lost and afraid like this. Noel had run off with someone else, and although Leon had tried desperately to follow, he'd gotten lost in the crowds. He was afraid to talk to any of the adults. He didn't want his parents to be embarrassed by him, and he didn't know those people anyway. As he'd circled desperately through the crowds looking for his own face in their numbers, he'd spotted him. Ben, standing off to the side, head down. Even at that age Leon could see that he was upset about something, but that was all right. Leon was upset about something too, and if Ben was there, it would be ok. He'd made a bee line for him, but it was only when he was standing in front of him that he realized what was different - the one shirt sleeve pinned up. Leon had glanced at it. That was definitely different, his whole arm was gone. Was that why he'd been over there sulking, Leon had wondered? But a glance was all he spared for it. To Leon it was just a minor detail. He just reached out like always, tugging on Bens sleeve and trying his best not to cry about it, he was getting too old to be constantly weeping, and said "Help me, Ben."
And that had been all there was for it. Without missing a beat things had proceeded just as normal, and Ben had helped him like he always had, like Leon knew he would. All he ever had to do was ask.
So now Leon followed directions, breathing. His breaths were still ragged and shaky - that was the broken ribs - but he forced them to be long, and slow, even as they rattled in his throat and gurgled in his chest. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat over his milk white skin, and as he breathed, he slowly lowered his wings, half-folding them as much as he dared, until they were in a relaxed position. What an odd position to be in, crying into the shoulder of the man who had beaten him, turned his white flesh green and blue, and broken his wing. But, then again, what an odd position to be in, to be beaten half to death by your childhood cru- friend, because he mistook you for your identical twin brother. The question came bubbling up to the surface of his mind again, what had Noel done? It niggled at the hollow spot in his stomach. The last time he'd seen Ben had been years ago, before Noel disappeared, before he was locked up. They attended his parents parties less frequently, since they were always busy with cases and trials. Leon had spotted him across the hall, and his cheeks had flush. He'd smiled, excused himself from the conversation he'd been in with another fairy, and turned to go see him. But as the crowds moved, he saw that Ben had his wife on one side, and Leon had stopped. His children might have been there, too, running around between the feet of the upper class just like they had, once. Ben had seen him, and Leon had simply smiled, given him a brief wave, and turned away. Whiel Leon busied himself talking to someone else, Noel had patted him on the shoulder, crossed the hall, and struck up a conversation with Ben and Charlotte. When Leon snuck a glance, she was smiling at some joke Noel had told them. Ben wasn't laughing, but he was watching him. They had seemed close, then. About two months later, Noel vanished, and shortly after, Leon was incarcerated. What had happened between then and now, to make Ben hate Noel so much? To make him want to do to Noel what he'd done to Leon, maybe even more? What would have happened if he hadn't stopped there? Did it happen while Leon was locked away, or before he even disappeared? What could he have done to make him, their childhood friend, Ben, want to hurt him that badly? He was afraid to know the answer.
Leon shuddered at the feel of Bens fingers on his neck, warm and gentle. He pushed down the memories that came flooding back from that night, the taste of honey on his lips, and those warm fingers touching, searching, pushing. It had been much easier when those memories had lain dormant, all but forgotten.
"You're safe. We'll get your wing healed somewhere, and you'll fly as far and as high as you want. "
Leon nodded again. He wasn't sure if he believed him, but he really wanted to, so he tried. He could feel Bens chest rising and falling rhythmically, slow and deliberate, comforting. His voice was so calm and assuring. The corner of Leons mouth twitched. He bet Bens kids adored him. He had the perfect manner for handling children, firm, but warm and comforting. No wonder Leon had always clung to him, he was just a giant kid. Even now, the hardened prison convict was just a blubbering child. He sniffled, as the shock slowly receded and he got his head on straight again. Gods, he was an embarrassment. "Breathe with me, Leon. Slow and steady." The fairy obeyed, matching his breaths to Bens as best as he could, slow and deliberate as well. His breath made a slight wheezing noise as he exhaled, and he wondered dimly if that was because of his ribs. His scalp tingled a little when Ben spoke near his head - it was still burning from being manhandled earlier. His wing had been stepped on, his ribs re-broken, and his skull and scalp were throbbing, but here he was, holding on to Ben, who he hadnt seen in over five years, breathing slowly. He knew that when he left he was going to smell like Ben. Fairys were oddly susceptible to having other peoples smells cling to them. Leon and Noel used to have enough of their own smell between them that they had their own scent. These days, Leon smelled like the slums, like Flint and Pete and Jayce, and the other Crownless who he saw every day, and Nanny. But he never got this close to any of them. After all of this, being held against him, being in his car and his home (this... place? Charlotte and the kids weren't here, so this couldn't be his home), he would end up smelling like Ben for days.
"I'm going to check your ribs, alright? And then your head. We need to know how you are before you can take something for the pain. " He was mostly calmed down by then, at least as much as a fairy could be, with broken ribs, a concussion, and a broken wing. "Ben's here. It's okay. " He sniffled, and by then his breathing had slowed mostly down to normal, except for that wheezing. He allowed himself another few moments to be close to him. It wasn't him Ben had meant to hurt. It was Noel, and gods knew Noel deserved whatever he got. Ben would never hurt him, not again, and not on purpose. Ben was safe. It was okay.
He really, really needed to believe that.
Logic told him not to.
After a shaky sigh, he slowly sat up again, releasing his death grip on Bens shirt and wiping at his eyes with his bad left hand, the scar on the palm facing outward as he did like a squinting eye in his hand.
"I'm... sorry. He said plainly, his eyes turned downwards. He was too embarrassed to look at Ben, after his little freak-out episode. Ben would probably be ashamed to admit that the two of them had been friends once, now that he knew Leon was a prison convict, and someone who had complete meltdowns over something like a broken limb, a washed up lawyer. He hoped to at least keep it a secret that he was a member of the Crownless gang, and a fiendish drug abuser on top of that. He hated to think of the face Ben would make if he knew. "I... kinda wigged out. I-I'm okay now." His voice was still a little shaky, a little labored, but it was mostly calm, not quite that dead tone he'd used earlier. "It's probably the bottom two ribs, on my right. Here. He held his right arm up, and traced his left hand along the bruise to his right side. He tried to make his bad hand point, but his fingers only curled halfway. He frowned, and decided on a different approach. Gently, he reached out and took Bens right hand, the flesh one, and guided it to his side, placing it over the spot where he knew the breaks (or maybe fractures) would be. His skin was decidedly cooler than Bens, but he could feel that even against his warm hand, his side was radiating heat from the agitation."They've been broken before," He explained dully, calmly. He was certain Ben had heard of his imprisonment from his father, there was no way he wouldn't figure out why they'd been broken before. Surely Ben wouldn't need an explanation. "So they're easier to break than the others. You know... more prone to it." He only then realized that his tattoos were exposed to Ben now, further proof of his shameful past. The distinctive dark blue ink of a prison mark, the X on his chest and the scales on the back of his shoulder (although maybe Ben couldn't see those yet, nor the scar below his uninjured wing). He'd submitted to them willingly, enjoying the stinging pain, and the knowledge that these marks made him different from Tacks. But now they were just embarrassments for him, reminders that now, he and Ben were worlds apart from one another; that Leon was someone to look down on with scorn, maybe even contempt.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Ben's Apartment xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Sad and bruisedxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Sat Aug 13, 2016 12:35 am
Yes, he'd heard. Not from his father, who rarely bothered to pay attention to the social field, preferring to send his sons out to survey it like chess pieces on a board. It had been little brother Charles, and they'd been shooting the s**t while the bespectacled sibling checked Ben's ribs for breaks. Laughing off the fact that the metal mage was badly bruised, one eye swollen shut from the fight he'd eventually won. The other guy had come out of nowhere, like the raptor you didn't even know was there, making it two on one, because Father hadn't been explicit enough in his description of the situation he was sending Ben to resolve. Neither brother talked about what a close call it could have been, or how most of the brunette was still just flesh and fallible. They spoke with all the confidence and bravado found in a bar on game night. Boys would be boys, after all. Guys got into fights, right? It was expected. Hell, it had turned into Ben's job to get in fights. But then Charles had changed his tone, and it hadn't been casual anymore. Or, it had been, but so much so that it had to be manufactured. Because his brother had looked at him over the rim of his glasses, and it had been a knowing look. One that Ben liked less and less the more Charlie's mouth moved.
By the way-- Did you hear about those kids you used to know?
And he'd pretended like he didn't know who the younger man meant. The Fontaines? Were those the kids he meant? No, of course not. The Fenwick twins. Didn't Ben remember? He did, but he'd shaken his head anyway, and Charles' face said he knew the brunette was lying but he'd let it slide. Ben's favorite brother, that one. Knew when to let something go, instead of going after it like a terrier with a rat.
They say the one's up and disappeared, and the other is going to prison for embezzlement, fraud-- all kinds of s**t. Can you imagine that? A fairy in prison?
He'd answered with silence and nursed his whiskey and tried not to imagine that. Because he didn't have to ask, did he? The one that always ran off was Noel. The one who did inconsiderate s**t to people he was supposed to care about. The one Ben had battered because that was what Noel wanted, wasn't it, and even if it wasn't it was what he'd deserved for the stunt he'd pulled. Leaving little Leon turning one way and another, looking for his twin, inevitably winding up holding Ben's sleeve. Except that was years ago, and even if Leon had asked for help Ben wouldn't have been able to give it. They weren't kids anymore. Ben had kids of his own. Worrying about it wouldn't change any of it. But he had worried. And he'd never spoken of it. Had cut people off mid-sentence when they leaned nearer to him at parties and asked whether he hadn't heard. Like it was interesting and salacious. But there was no one holding the cuff of Ben's sleeve, and he didn't want to think about it.
So he'd known. Yes, sure. But knowing something at the surface of his mind wasn't the same as seeing it there in front of him, in the winking scar of Leon's palm and the prison ink over pale skin. The fairy apologized, and Ben watched the way those eyes dropped with the words, and he had to clench his jaw against a feeling like rusty nails in his throat. Leon was sorry? Sorry for what? For taking a beating and having the spine to be angry about it? For having his ribs broken in prison, and again tonight? The mage didn't trust his own voice not to sound the way he felt, so he said nothing. Because the thought of anyone, anywhere, making all those marks on Leon's body made Ben want to break everything in the room down to kindling. The rage was there just under the surface, curling in his chest, but it was useless because no matter who had done the damage before, Ben was the one who'd inflicted it tonight. What right did he have to be angry?
When the fairy took his hand, guiding it to the breaks, he prayed not to feel the little bumps under the skin that would tell him the ribs had snapped. But he did, even with the ghost of contact that he allowed, not wanting to press. He'd never slid his palm down this pale body. Never traced Leon's ribs in a slow caress that moved lower, brushing the other man's navel, and then-- No, not once, not ever. Ben couldn't remember how it felt to have soft, cool skin under his lips when he pulled the fairy onto his lap, because he had never kissed the place where the tattoo now sat. His hands had never traveled Leon's hips and thighs to draw the ivorette's legs around his waist, fitting the two of them together like key and lock. Never murmured drunken praise into the smaller man's hair, whispers for him alone. No. What Ben had done was send his knee up hard and hammering, to snap those two right ribs. He had made the bruises and the breaks and the tears. And that made him no better than anyone else who had done the same to the little lamb. What could he say to make any of that right?
Nothing. But saying nothing also wouldn't set the fairy at ease.
"That can happen with a prior break. Charlie always warns me about mine." And the brunette's metal arm moved, fingers touching the left side of his own body about half-way up, indicating where a baseball bat had taken him by surprise a few years ago. Five. Five years. Glossing over why Leon's ribs were more likely to break. Glossing over where that had happened, as if it didn't matter. Because it didn't, did it? Whether it happened in a cell somewhere or-- And for the first time Ben's mind stuttered over the other ways someone like Leon could be hurt in prison. The other reasons that someone who had been silken and soft before-- Many years ago, his mind stressed-- might come back leanly toned, stronger. He hadn't noticed. In fact, he didn't see anything but bruising, and he didn't feel anything but the cracked ribs under his fingers. The breaks seemed clean, not splintered. Not pushing into his lungs and not digging through his skin. Thank God for small favors. "I'm not going to wrap them. It'll be hard enough to breathe without me binding you, and I want you to tell me if you're not getting enough air. Because then I'm taking you to a hospital."
Gently, his right hand moved just a bit lower, pressing a bit more firmly against Leon's abdomen. Touching, softly kneading, before remembering that he should explain what he was doing. Charles would have laughed at what a s**t doctor his big brother would have made. Good thing Ben had a job doling out the damage instead of trying to fix it. "Not hard." His stomach. The wall of the ivorette's abdomen. "Means you're not bleeding into your abdominal cavity, and your spleen is alright."
It was meant to be reassuring, really, but he felt like a piece of s**t for having to say it at all.
And then he leaned back a little, his attention centering on Leon's eyes. Checking the dilation to see if it was even. Neither of the fairy's pupils were blown-- a good sign. But not the only indicator. Mercifully, it wouldn't be necessary for him to touch the swelling egg he'd caused on the other man's skull. It would only give him more pain. Instead, Ben rose from his place in front of the couch, catching the ice pack from the first aid kit with one hand as he made for the kitchen.
"You don't look concussed and you aren't slurring." Calm enough, but the tinge of relief wasn't something he could bleed out of the words completely, so he focused on getting ice from the freezer, back turned to the livingroom, the couch, and Leon. If the lack of his wife and children hadn't been an indication that this place wasn't a family home, the contents of the fridge would have been. A single package of strawberries, some orange juice, and a box that was unmistakably take-out Chinese food were the only items present. Clearly Ben didn't spend enough time here to have many ingredients for cooking-- or a slave present to do any culinary duties. "Any dizziness? Drowziness?"
When Ben returned from the kitchen, it was with a full icepack and a clean dish towel. The latter was what he wrapped the former in, to keep the cold from being too biting, too sharp. When he held the combination out, it was probably the only way he knew how to say sorry.
OOC: Truly sorry for how long this took. Damn. @___@
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Posted: Sat Aug 13, 2016 12:24 pm
#997495
Leon kept his eyes down as he released Bens hand, letting the larger man feel for himself. If he shuddered at the light, fleeting touches, it was certainly just because of the pain, nothing else. That was all. Just the pain. He flicked his tongue across the nick he'd bitten in his own lip, now scabbed over and tasting metallic. Pain was something he'd gotten used to a while ago. He liked to tell himself that it was something he'd adapted to in prison, but he knew the truth of things. Leon had been experimenting with pain from a relatively young age. It was always small, quiet, and simple, then. Tiny pricks with a sewing needle, seeing how far he could push his finger backwards, always hiding it from his brother and his friends. It was enjoyable when it was controlled, he discovered. But all too often, pain was permeated by fear, and fear did not sit well with Leon. Fear caused accidents, like the time he'd accidentally dusted one of the other St.Jude siblings. He'd gotten into a lot of trouble for that later, but he preferred not to dwell on it. In prison, Leon had speculated that this odd fascination with the pain might have had something to do with his Dust. While incarcerated, Leon had to do things with the dust that he'd never considered nor condoned before. The stab scar on his back was actually from a pinch he'd been in, and ended up dousing the entire room in a thick cloud of dust. Five men aside from himself had to be hospitalized and sedated, and the screams of pain had kept Leon awake for nights after, resounding too loudly in his memory for him to sleep. Leon hated using it, in most any circumstance. He had come to view his dust as another cruel jest of the gods, a substance which could either turn men from their senses and succumb to their basest instincts, or simply send them to the floor in excruciating pain. And, as much as Leon had come to revere pain, it had no effect on himself.
So when Bens hands traveled further down, his heart quickened and he winced, and if his breath was a little shakier, it was just because of his ribs. Nothing else. Those large hands felt at his stomach as gently as they could manage, but every touch hurt. He nodded at what Ben said, letting his eyes follow to where he pointed, at a spot on his own side. It didn't surprise Leon that Ben had his ribs broken as well, he had always been such a rough and tumble type. It would have been more surprising if he hadn't, really. That, or a testament to his skill. He supposed that Charlie was still looking after him. Noel and Leon had never been particularly close with that one... the fairy blinked. Could he even name all of the St.Jude siblings anymore? Honestly, he only remembered Charlies name because of Ben mentioning it. It seemed that every moment that passed served as another reminder of what a different time that was, a whole world away. Was that why Ben was clenching his jaw so tightly? He could see it too, couldn't he? The world that they had shared as boys was only a distant memory now. Leon belonged somewhere else, down in the slums, or under the heel of the higher ranking Crownless members. He belonged in the opium and hookah dens on fifth and front, with all of the other loose ends pushed aside by the street sweepers. Ben had a life, a family, a home, a job, and status. He ought to stick closer to Julian, and forget all about Ben. Julian could understand, at least. They were in the same boat, now. Julian had always understood Leon more than any of the other St.Jude siblings. He had even looked similar, for a while, like Noel and Leon had another brother instead of Ben. He had felt protective of Julian as a child, and to an extent, he did now as well. That made being unable to help him all the more frustrating. How could he help the older St.Jude brother?
Likely, by disappearing. He needed to just leave, pretend it had all never happened. Sleep off the pain and the bruises and the memories, pack it away and put it all back in the attic of his mind, where they belonged. Go back to Julian and Edric and Jayce and his dope, and not mar Bens perfect world with his filth.
"I'm not going to wrap them. It'll be hard enough to breathe without me binding you, and I want you to tell me if you're not getting enough air. Because then I'm taking you to a hospital."
"Wait, what?" Ben had actually said the words earlier, as he moved his hands down from his ribs, but Leon had been so lost in thought that his response was delayed. By the time he'd thought to say anything, Ben was already done palpating his blackening stomach, and affirmed (admittedly to Leons relief) that his organs were not, in fact, turned into silly putty, or dissolved into a useless sludge. So the physical proceeded as Leon groped for an excuse not to let Ben take him to the hospital. He ought to just leave, stand up, walk out... could he stand, or walk? He took another deep breath. It was definitely still painful, but he was also getting enough air. That was good, maybe he could avoid the hospital after all. If it came up again, Leon supposed he could always use the excuse that he had no health insurance. That wasn't a lie.
The fairy stiffened when Ben examined his eyes. It was a struggle to not look away from him again. but instead stare straight back, so that Ben could look at his pupils. He was quick, at least, glancing from one eye to the other briefly before standing and turning away, grabbing up something in his hands and walking away from him as he spoke.
"You don't look concussed and you aren't slurring." Leon was able to catch it, a faint hint of relief in Bens voice. It made sense, Ben probably didn't want to have to take him to the hospital either. What would he tell them, after all? 'So I accidentally almost killed this guy, but only because I thought it was his identical twin.' That probably wouldn't go over well, so they both had plenty of reason to avoid that course of action. "Any dizziness? Drowziness?"
As he was sitting there, Leon didn't feel dizzy at all, but now that Ben mentioned it, he did really feel like going to sleep. But, was that his head, or the weariness? He hesitantly placed his booted feet on the ground, sitting upright. He used his hands to steady himself against the couch, and slowly pushed himself up to a standing position. As soon as he did, his head spun and pounded, and his vision went dim. Carefully, he immediately lowered himself back to a sit.
"I'm fine as long as I'm sitting still. The lights flicker when I try to stand and move." He didn't dare lift his eyes up to meet Bens again when he returned and held out the ice pack to him. He reached out and took it gingerly, trying his best to avoid touching his skin again, but his fingers still brushed against Bens as he took it. He turned to the side, using his good hand to press the pack against the back of his head with a hiss of pain. But after the first contact, the burning numbness started to settle in. A thick silence started to settle in between them. What should he say? What did he want to do? Well, Leon knew what he wanted to do. He glanced up at the painting on the wall. He wanted to go back to that time, when it seemed like everything was right with the world. Even if it was only for one night, if he could get that feeling back again... he dropped his eyes. How could he even think something like that? Ben was married. Had kids. Had never been interested in him, not really. Every time they'd ever touched, it had been because Ben had been influenced, coerced somehow. Whether a drunken romp between teens, or an inhale of dust so light as to spark the most fleeting of affections between boys. Ben, as himself, sober and whole and right of mind, would never. Not in a million years. Maybe he even thought Leon was disgusting. He should leave. He decided that's what he would do. He'd thank him for the care, call a cab, limp home, and sleep it all off like a bad dream. He was going to leave. As soon as he asked one question...
"So.... why did you do it? I mean, I get that you thought I was Tacks, but I mean.... why were you going to do that to him?" He kept his eyes averted, down and away. He didn't want to see the face Ben would make at that, the expression in his honest eyes when he looked at him and saw his twin again. "I've... been gone for a while. I missed out on a lot. Mother and Dad never came to visit, and of course I haven't seen Tacks since then..." The sad truth was that no one had come to visit Leon in prison. During his first year, the feeling of loneliness and abandonment had threatened to crush him. It made it easy for him to completely shed his old life later, when the only reminder of it was Julian, just as severed as he was.
"So, I'm kind of out of the loop. ... What did he do?" It wasn't a seeking kind of question, not what could Tacks have done to deserve it, but what did he do? There was a Darkness in his voice when he asked, like a man looking for another reason to be angry.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Ben's Apartment xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Patheticxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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Posted: Sat Aug 13, 2016 10:33 pm
He'd still been crossing the room when Leon stood to test his equilibrium, and if Ben walked a little faster after that it was purely a coincidence. Surely the fairy knew his own limits-- and apparently those limits had been reached just by rising from his seat if the way the ivorette sank back onto the sofa was any indication. It was for the best the other man wasn't looking at him, then, because the frown on Ben's face might have given the wrong impression. It wasn't Leon that bothered him, but how badly the fairy was hurt-- and how that hurt had been inflicted. He kept hoping that when he looked again he'd have been wrong. That he'd prove to have over-estimated the damage he'd caused. But every time his gaze passed over his old friend's body, just assessing, just diagnosing, only registering the injuries-- no other reason to look, was there?-- the facts remained the same. Ben had always been vain of his strength, but it was hard now not to feel the same self disgust that shot through him when members of the family couldn't quite smile all the way to their eyes at him. Like he was beneath them. Just some thug, some hired muscle. Hands to do the dirty work, and his hands were well suited, weren't they? At least one. And he could see the tension in the smaller man, a visible pall that hung over Leon. A disquiet. A fear. The fairy couldn't even look him in the face. But was it a wonder?
"Then don't move so much." Curt. Brusque. As though he thought the ivorette was stupid. That was how it sounded, but the irritation was really pointed inward. How many times had he snapped that way when they were younger and he'd still been learning the limitations of his new arm? When he was most frustrated with himself, Ben had a way of giving the impression that others were the cause. He knew it, and had taken pains to rein it in, because in the beginning his children had suffered for it. And so little, only four, Nicolas had dissolved into tears. His son, his firstborn, had looked up into Ben's face with such heartbreak, and asked if daddy didn't love him anymore. Promptly the brunette had delivered one of the few apologies he'd ever given in his life, and he had fought hard after that point to behave better with his kids.
He loved his Father, but Ben didn't want to be him.
All the same, he let the silence stretch between himself and the battered man on his couch. Deafening, that quiet. Because he wasn't certain how to apologize to Leon. The fairy was trying so hard not to do so much as graze fingertips with him, and it made the ghost of any contact that much more striking awkward. And he was watching-- so closely-- when those golden eyes turned toward the hall. Ben knew what Leon would see if he looked there, and felt foolish all at once to have brought the fairy here at all. To have that painting above his bed, taking up all of the space between headboard and ceiling, was something he could have passed off as a mere extravagance to anyone else. Oh, yeah, that thing. It came with the place. But it hadn't, of course, and here sat one of only two people in the world that might look at it and see it for what it was.
A moment, frozen.
A moment that didn't exist.
The brunette turned his attention back to the first aid kit, righting its contents with singular focus as he avoided looking at Leon. Not wanting to see a question there. His fingers curled on the bottle of paracetamol to keep it separate. Deposited it on the little coffee table when the rest of the kit was snapped closed, ready to be put away. But as neatly as he tried to avoid one query, another pierced the quiet between them. And this one was just as bad, maybe.
"Tacks--?" But no, the context clues were all there. Leon was talking about his twin. Leon was talking about "being gone" so delicately, like it was a subject he'd prefer Ben never know about. But the facts of it were written on his skin and in his averted eyes and Ben remembered standing there at the gate once. Just once. And the way the black car had idled behind him, waiting, while he decided whether to move forward or back. The glossy black phone in his pocket had rung, and he'd half expected his father to be on the line. All-knowing Father. But of course it was Lyndon. Lyndon always preferred to lay his orders down in his own voice, where Father preferred the impersonal directness of type. You will not involve yourself, or this family, in that man's debacle. His own Mother has conceded the loss. If you are not a fool-- and for our father's sake I hope you are not-- then you will come home now. And he'd gotten in the car. He'd received an email. Broken the legs of some miscreant who'd torched a building his family owned. Spent a week in this apartment drinking himself blind. But he hadn't cried, and he hadn't visited Leon in prison, so perhaps he hadn't disgraced himself too badly. Perhaps his father would have been proud.
But the question had Ben defensive from the start. Why did you do it? Because he'd thought one twin was the other. Yes, but why would he have taken it upon himself to beat one of his long-ago friends half to death, like a savage, like an animal? What did he do? And Ben heard something in Leon's voice that told him even this man, the one who'd received the violence in error, believed that his twin had earned it. And he had. Ben knew he had. But the why was harder to say.
For a second he only stood there, and then the brunette looked away, sweeping the sleeves of his sweater up past his elbows, as though the room had grown too warm. As though he had work to do that required his hands. But the powerful forearms dropped back to his sides, without a purpose. There was no one here for him to hit-- no one that deserved it. Finally, he said it. Like tearing off a bandaid or firing a gun or swallowing a shot. All at once.
"He used your Dust on me."
Leon, of all people, would understand. It was his Dust. He had to know what it could do. Had it been Nathaniel who'd teased him too badly, rough-housed too much? Ben's brother had borne most of the cloud, breathed it in and collapsed in writhing, screaming agony, but it was Leon who'd run to the metal mage crying. Still covered in it. Still with it clinging to his clothes and his hair. Just a little of the powder had tickled Ben's nose when the fairy folded to his taller frame, but it had been enough that he'd felt.. warm. Full of a tender, melting concern that made every part of his body feel somehow better. It had been alright, in that moment, to hug the ivorette to him and drop a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Soft and chaste, a reassurance that things were alright. That Leon could come to no harm, because Ben would shield him from it.
Another moment frozen in time. Never to be acknowledged. Like that painting over the bed. Like Noel standing on the stairs of his building. Things that never happened. Leon should know what he meant, but the look on his face held no recognition. Curiosity, maybe. Confusion, certainly. But there was no dawning light which saved Ben from having to explain further. From having to acknowledge things he'd never meant to say out loud.
"He wanted.. for it to be like before. When we were kids. Noel wanted-- I think he wanted me to be.. Like I was. With you." Slowly, stiltingly, like drawing the words up from a very deep well. It looked like it pained Ben to say it, embarrassed him to admit how he'd been bested. Manipulated. His taller frame folded down, seated on the coffee table across from the couch, and even in this he didn't seem to know how to do anything but sprawl. Knees spread, his elbows rested on his thighs so that his hands came up-- broad palms, long fingers, hands meant for holding and grasping and hitting, too-- to fold under his chin. His face never hid in them, but rested there, chin at the backs of knuckles that were metal under a veneer of false skin. So that he had to look at Leon when he said it, despite the embarrassment. "I.. told him no."
Ah, but he'd been cruel, hadn't he? Of course. He'd said the harshest things he could think of, used the most ruthless words. Tried to dig in under Noel's skin and pry at his vanities, so that the more confident of the twins would slink away and change his mind about what he'd chosen to pursue. Ben had told both of them so many times, hadn't he? That they were never to speak of it. That it would never happen again. That he had been drunk, and he wasn't gay, and they were his friends, and friends would understand. But Noel hadn't. He had sauntered up with such arrogance and tried to be a temptation and never understood that what he likely meant as an invitation to delight was, to Ben, only a betrayal of trust. And so Ben had lashed the other man with his words to drive him away.
Only, Noel hadn't gone.
"I wondered-- for a long time. Whether he stole it from you or not. You two were so close. If he'd-- If Noel asked you for it, would you have asked why?" It seemed rhetorical, the question. A trace of bitterness was there, but the rage from earlier in the night seemed spent. Maybe because the face he was looking at wasn't the face he'd meant to bruise. The ribs he'd touched so carefully, every whisper of contact still eliciting a jolt of pain, were not the ones he'd wanted to break. And there was more to say, wasn't there? If Noel had tried and failed, Ben wouldn't have been so humiliated. And even after all these years, he didn't want to say something crass. Didn't want to say something off-color to Leon, who had always been the picture of innocence.
"He thought.. that I'd be sweet." Noel hadn't understood for a single moment who he was dealing with. Hadn't fathomed that dear, sweet, simple Ben might not behave according to plan. Hadn't expected to be dragged into the dark and pressed to the wall like a common whore. Hadn't known Ben's hand would wrench his head to the side, shove his soft, pale cheek to the bricks so that his lips could seethe a thousand vicious things into the fairy's ear. This is what you wanted, isn't it? I want you to remember, when you can't sit, or stand, or ******** walk-- You remember that I didn't want you. You had to cheat to get even this much of me. Not a kiss, not a caress. Just slacks dragged low enough that Noel could feel him there, threatening pressure. No preparation, no concession to decency. No affection. Oh, Noel thought he could manufacture it, did he? Thought he could store tender reverence in a bottle, to be brought out like a party trick. Rub the lamp and the djinn appears. But no. Ben had taught him quickly. Roughly. Without mercy. And God help him, he'd enjoyed it. Whether it was Dust, or cruelty, or only forbidden fruit, the release had hit him hard. There had been bruises shaped like his fingers on Noel's hips when Ben had finally drawn away, letting the fairy collapse. And the twinge of guilt had been there buried deep, because they were identical, but he would never-- He would never-- If it had been Leon, he would never-- The thought had followed him as he righted his clothes, and raced up the steps. As he locked the door behind him in the upstairs bath, to stand under the scalding spray of the shower. Noel was the one who was wrong and ******** up.
"But I wasn't."
OOC: [ Cough. ] Ben really is ******** up, though.
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Posted: Sun Aug 14, 2016 12:14 am
#997495
It had been a difficult question to ask, as much as it had been bothering him. Hell, the moment he'd had brain cells to spare for it once the beating had stopped, he'd wanted to know. What did he do? What had that stranger with his face, Tacks, what had he done this time? How had he hurt yet another person they had considered precious? But, as Leon waited to hear the answer, keeping his eyes distracted, carefully averted, his guts felt cold and heavy.... and that he couldn't blame on the ribs. Even as children, Leon and Noel had always felt.... responsible, for one another. They were practically the same person. If one of them messed up, they both got into trouble. Because they were brothers, they were supposed to guide each other, keep one another in line. How could you let your brother do this? How could he let him do this? Even now as an adult, knowing that his brother was his own man, an adult capable of making his own decisions, he still felt it. The man who shared his face was still his responsibility, somehow.
What had he done?
"He used your Dust on me."
He winced at that. Of course he did. Tacks just couldn't help but rope Leon into his filth, even when he was nowhere near. A mix of disgust and rage welled up in him, washed away by an intense shame. His dust. Leon's terrible, terrible dust. That disgusting substance, that turned men into animals, beats of anguish and lust and no self control. That. But, what kind of animal had it turned Ben into? Leon waited for further explanation, but none came. After the silence stretched on a bit too long, he dragged his eyes back to Ben, furrowing his eyebrows. He was staring at him, maybe... expecting something from him? Leon wasn't sure what he was looking for. He cocked his head to the side, not understanding. Had Tacks hurt him? Stolen from him while he writhed, like he'd stolen from Leon and their firm? He stared at him, but his face didn't give him the answer. Those honest eyes though, now that they were looking at him again, told him that it wasn't anything quite so simple...
"He wanted.. for it to be like before. When we were kids. Noel wanted-- I think he wanted me to be.. Like I was. With you."
Realization sunk in and his eyes widened. If Ben had thought it was impossible for Leon to be any more pale, he was proven wrong as all of the color drained from his face, accentuating the bruise there even more. That answered one question, but raised others. Tacks wanted to be with Ben... the way he was? But that didn't make sense. On that night, that fateful midsummer night, the one they'd all agreed not to speak about... they had all three been there, Leon and Noel both lain with him that night. Just like always, everything Leon ever had was shared with his brother. But, he supposed, that wasn't the important question, just the selfish one. He knew what Ben meant by then. Noel - Tacks, had wanted just what Leon wanted. He wanted to go back to that night. Ben sat on the table in front of him, chin on his hands, staring at him, his eyes intense.
"I.. told him no."
Oh no.
The Dust.
Now, with the course of the story visible before him, Leon was feeling like he might be sick again, his empty, bruised stomach churning in his belly. He reached a hand into his pocket, fidgeting, fumbling, until his fingers wrapped around a familiar object. His fingers came back dusty, since a few cubes had been crushed in the melee. He averted his eyes once more, still wide, and looked down at the sugar cube before popping it into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue anxiously. He really wished he could dip into some of the contents of his boots right then, but he knew he couldn't. Not with Ben right there, and not now, of all times. He did not raise his eyes again as Ben continued speaking, but he could feel the mages eyes steady on him.
"I wondered-- for a long time. Whether he stole it from you or not. You two were so close. If he'd-- If Noel asked you for it, would you have asked why?"
Oh no. Leons pulse quickened, and more dots got lines between them. He was right, they had been close. So close. Closer, perhaps, than brothers ought to be. Leon had loved him, given his brother everything he'd ever asked of him. His mind, his time, his body.
His Dust.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, and he suddenly seemed terribly focused on chewing on the sugar cube in his mouth. He wouldn't look at Ben. Couldn't look at him. It was his dust, and Ben had said no. Noel brought Leons dust with him, and Ben had said no. His insides twisted like writhing snakes. Ben thought he did it. He may as well have, right? He'd given it to him, Leon couldn't deny it. Ben thought he was involved, maybe he thought the two of them had planned it. Or at least he suspected. If he answered wrong, was he going to end up in the ground anyway, like he'd feared earlier that night? But that didn't seem to be the case. there was no edge in his voice. The question, like a loaded gun, seemed perhaps to be meant to go unanswered. Or maybe that was just a matter of politeness. Of course it was. In his position, Leon would want to know, wouldn't he? If it had been one of the St.Jude brothers who'd done that to him, wouldn't he need to know if Ben was involved? He shuddered, and kept staring down at his fidgeting hands, scratching at the scar on his hand.
"He thought.. that I'd be sweet."
The silence between the words was hanging over him like a dense fog, so thick he might choke on it. Dread and fear and shame crawled over his skin. He'd done that. It was Tacks' hands that had done it, but it was just as much Leons fault. His dust.
"But I wasn't."
Images flooded his head unbidden. Imaging them tangled up, those firm muscles of Bens, his rough hands and metal appendage, his brothers soft skin and the sound of his painful gasps. For half an instant, he felt a flash of protective anger at the thought of his brother being hurt, but then remembered himself, and when the anger came back, it was towards Tacks. It came boiling up from deep down in his chest, and filled his face with red color again, as he put his face in his hands. How dare he. How DARE he!? That idiot, that fool, that selfish, manipulative, unfeeling p***k!! He felt the disgust rolling through him in waves. Ben was their friend. They'd agreed not to speak of it. Hell, the two of them hardly ever discussed it, and Tacks had the gall to go behind his back, and turn on their friend that way? And while Leon had been none the wiser, Tacks had learned exactly what kind of animal his dust turned Ben into.
It all made sense then, the anger, threatening to tear his wings off, the broken ribs and his head and his wing. Of course he'd wanted to do that to him, to that face. He found himself balking at the idea that Ben could even look at this face the two of them shared and not feel disgust. Then again, maybe he did. Not for the first time, he made a silent vow to find that ********. Sooner or later, his own face wouldn't haunt him anymore. He would find him, and add Ben to the long list of wrongs that he would need to right. But then, there really was no righting something like that, was there? The damage was done. Ben had been forced to feel something that wasn't his own, do things he didn't want to do, been bullied by someone he thought he could trust. Someone he should have been able to trust. Now, it was time for Leon to face his role in the debacle. The question echoed in his mind as he pondered how to best respond, sliding his hand down his face so that his eyes were exposed again, keeping his chin and mouth covered as he looked to one side.
If Noel asked you for it, would you have asked why?
He hadn't.
He sat in silence for a seven second period which felt like seven years. Even the burning ache from every wounded muscle and bone couldn't distract him from the pain of the truth. He'd done this. His dust put that rage in Bens blood. He had no one to blame but himself, and Tacks. Of course he hadn't known what Noel had planned on doing with it. He'd never known, and would never have condoned it, would never have given it so willingly, so freely. But he hadn't even asked. How could he look Ben in the face and tell him that? He exhaled shakily, and lowered his hand, fishing in his pocket for another sugar cube while wishing he could just swallow one of those pills instead. The Blue would have offered an awfully nice reprieve from this. But he couldn't run away from this, not with drugs nor anything else. When the seven seconds were up, he forced himself to bring his gaze back to Ben. Where did he start?
"I'm.... I'm sorry. Ben, I'm so sorry. I... I don't really know what to say." There were a million words he could say. A million feelings to convey. None of them would be sufficient. It should never have happened, but thanks to his dust, it did. He had to own up to that now. Honesty was the least he owed him. "I.... I did it. I gave him the dust. But, but Ben, please believe me, I had no idea, none at all what he'd planned on using it for!" He pleaded, begged him with his tone, please believe me, as if that helped. As if that would change anything. "Tacks, in college he'd found all kinds of uses for it. Helping with headaches and things. So when he asked for it, I didn't.... I didn't even think twice." A new fear took root in Leons mind; Had Ben been the first? Had Tacks used the dust, HIS dust, so abuse other people? How many rapes had his twin committed, with his ignorant blessing? Hanging his head, he put his hands on the couch, and pushed himself up onto his own feet again. His head spun and the edges of his vision blurred. His black shirt, the ends tucked into his pants still, hung loosely from his waist, and he grabbed his white jacket from the couch. His face contorted, in pain and in rage.
"I'll find him." He said, and the rest of the words hung unspoken in the air, but as loud as any before them. And I'll make him pay. Staggering only slightly, he turned and slowly walked away from Ben, towards the door.
"Thank you for your help, but I shouldn't be here."He said it in a cold, steely tone. It was more and more true with each passing moment. There was no way Ben didn't hate him now, and he'd count himself lucky if he limped out of that apartment in one piece and never saw him again. It would be easier for them both."I'm going. I.... I am sorry. The edge in his voice faded there at the end, trailing off into that weak, pitiful sound again. No matter how many times he said it, it wouldn't help. All the apologies in the world couldn't fix it.
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███ ☂ l o c a t i o n ♦ Ben's Apartment xx ███ ☁ m o o d ♦ Ashamedxx ███ ♥ w i t h ♦ Benjamin St.Jude
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