way the fuck out of dodge

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

The fact that the stranger doesn't pursue them is a boon that Danta will not be quick to forget, even if - let's be honest - he's already mostly forgotten his face. But there are more pressing matters than who they robbed, okay? For a start, he has no idea where Asta has gone given that his fyrhund shift is much fucking faster than the Maverick staggering through the woods.

Were it not for his still galloping heartbeat and the searing pain from the top of his back he might have even thrown caution to the wind and shifted into a gore crow to fly home; alas, all of that will have to wait. With his breath wheezing in his chest and his vision starting to fog at the edges, Danta doesn't so much as stop to lean against a tree as he collapses against it, sliding down the rough bark to the snowy ground.

Reaching up to shove back his hood and yank down the scarf covering his nose and mouth, he finds himself shivering despite very much not feeling the cold right now. Adrenaline is a funny thing though, isn't it?

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

When the butcher wishes to vanish, he can vanish. And so, without Sah pursuing them, the butcher rounds back — realizing it’s unlikely that Danta had been as quick as Asta had been when departing. So the fyrhund rounds back, concern painting his features as he stealthily slips through the snow, exuding heat and warmth and a limp now that the adrenaline is beginning to crash.

How he finds Danta is with a bit more concern than he’d had before, finding him sunk against a tree trunk onto the ground. The fyrhund limps closer, immediately pressing his face into Danta’s with warm smoky breath, before he withdraws and shifts back into himself, a knelt position, immediately lifting his arms to spit the mageglass out into his hand. But as he lifts the left one, it cracks and crunches and he does succeed in spitting the mageglass out only in time to hiss out a curse, bypassing the limp arm, dark gaze full of pain and concern focusing on Danta wholly. “Where is the pain, darling?” His back, he presumes, but Danta would know he’s seeking specifics.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Managing a lopsided smile as he senses the fyrhund's approach, Danta nuzzles his cheek against hot stone and smoky breath, leeching the heat away from Asta's shift before he exchanges it for his usually charming form. Sans one working arm anyway, or so it seems. "Hi," he rasps, his sunny smile pained at best as he watches the mageglass necklace hit the snow. Reaching out, Danta fumbles to tuck it away in his pocket for safekeeping, because fuck if he's going to risk losing it after all this.

"Feels like it's everywhere," he continues, though he reaches up and over his shoulder with a wince as if to gesture to the general problem area. "Asta, your arm," he adds, hissing in a breath and grimacing at the sight of it. "Fuck sake. We gotta get back home." As fun as sitting out here in the snow is, they're quite likely to turn into rather fetching statues like this.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Making no move to stop his lover as he pockets the trinket they’d just stolen, the butcher's focus is entirely on Danta instead of his arm even as the waves of pain radiate like flashes of the very same lightning that had wreathed the wrist of the man that had punched him. He leans forward, making a mental note of it, before he withdraws and lifts his one working arm to affectionately press against Danta’s cheek, sharing some of the warmth.

“The lightning.” He surmises quietly, before he flashes a painfully tight smile, sharp teeth on display. “I…” He trails off as if trying not to move too much. “I believe my shoulder is broken.” He admits, twisting his head to try and survey the damage but all he can see is the thick cloak and clothes he wears, and the radiating pain from turning his head that direction.

Wincing again, the butcher grunts a little sound he cuts off before he tries to stand, using his good arm to push him up before he extends it to Danta, face growing tighter with pain as the adrenaline wears off. “Can you walk, darling?” He asks quietly, sudden uncertainty coloring his voice. But he thinks… he thinks that if Danta needed to shift, he could try to compartmentalize it long enough to get back to the Grounds. Or Torchline, for the fountain and to drop off the goods.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Just as Asta is focused entirely on him, Danta's eyes rove over the butcher's limp arm, though he can't quite stop himself from leaning greedily into the warmth of his hand. Turning his head enough to kiss against his gloved fingers, he grumbles a mixture of pain and sympathy at the other man's admission. "All the better to get home quickly then, no?" he says.

Letting out a fluttery sigh as the butcher withdraws to straighten up, Danta reaches instinctively for his offered hand. "I'll manage," he assures him - which isn't his first mistake of the day, as it happens, but it is the latest. Closing his fingers around Asta's and drawing himself up as if to stand, the Maverick makes it roughly halfway before pain shrieks down the length of his spine, radiating out from what he imagines is a nasty blow to the back.

Releasing Asta before he risks dragging him down as well, Danta crumples back against the tree trunk with a rough cry of pain. "Fuck," he bites out. "...I could... I could be a wyrm for you to carry?" It's not a great idea - he'll burn through the butcher's clothes in moments - but it's better than the alternative.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He tries to think about a time when both of them had been injured like this, and he comes up with nothing. It was either one or the other, not both, and it’s that sinking realization that there are things they will both have to do that they do not like. It’s a thought that bounces around his mind before he’s withdrawing the warmth of his gloved hand to snag Danta’s and help him up, shuffling closer as his lover falls back amongst the snow from the pain.

“Darling—love, wait—” Comes the quiet outburst as he sinks back and Astaroth remains standing, his limp arm doing jack shit in comparison to the way he’d otherwise pick him up and cradle him until they got back.

He exhales a cloud of warm breath as the realization comes and he shakes his head tightly, minutely, because any extra movement causes sharp shooting pain. “No, love, I think.. I think you need to be a crow.” And before Danta has a chance to argue, he’s utilizing his good hand to gesture for him to not object until he’s finished. “I will manage until we get wherever we are going.” And gods willing the woods doesn’t reroute their attempts.

With a deep breath and silent resolve, his jaw is set tight and his familiar smile is gone, steeling himself for what’s to come, hoping his quiet lessons in practicing touching and being near Danta in this shift will pay off. Otherwise, what was it all for?

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"I'm waiting," Danta assures his lover with a smile that comes across as much more of a baring of teeth. Fruitlessly he tries to get his legs beneath him again, but gods if it doesn't feel like he's burning from the inside out - not that he's got anything to compare it to, the Maverick's heart continuing to rabbit in his chest. It doesn't slow at all as he realises what has to be done, and he gazes pleadingly up towards Asta.

"Just drag me," he says, even after hearing him out. "I'd make a decent sled." It might be funny were it not for the guilt churning low in his gut, and he hisses out another few curses before he finally resigns himself to it. "I can't move," he reminds him. "So I can't fly. Couldn't even hop. Just tuck me right here," he gestures with the crook of his arm, "and I won't even look at you."

And gods help the night to come. "Take us to the Infirmary, not home," he adds, before gazing sadly up towards the other man, his expression open and hurting for him rather than at the state of himself. "I love you," he adds, before promptly shrinking into a sorry ball of ruffled black feathers awkwardly hunkered in the snow.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

There’s the attempt at humor that fails so quickly it’s almost funnier, but the resolve in the tightness of his jaw prevents him from smiling at the jest, prevents him from doing much of anything aside from feeling the pain radiating from his side and the mental gymnastics he goes through to prepare himself for what’s to come. “You can look, just.. minuscule movements would be preferred.” Comes the quiet answer, before he’s promptly shutting himself up to hear Danta’s instructions.

He nods, as little as he can to prevent more pain, and meets those bright blue eyes full of sorrow and apologies already before the event has even begun, with haunted dark shadowed ones of his own. “I love you too.” He offers quietly, his good hand flexing a little as he forces himself to watch Danta’s shift take place, to remind himself the sorrowful ball of feathers in the snow is the man he loves.

To remind himself that the very crow he’s picking up is not the same that had flayed his skin from his body. “I will get us to the Infirmary.” He manages to say, though the words seem tough, the butcher reaching down to pick up Danta’s form, careful of his back and the feathers. He hesitates at the last second, fingers twitching before he grits his teeth and fights through it, snagging his lover’s form up into his arms and pressing the crow against the crook of his elbow.

Exhaling a sharp breath in a white cloud, the butcher clears his throat and looks to the path ahead. He has the benefit of being so bundled up that he can’t feel the feathers against his skin, and it’s a boon he relies on perhaps far too much as his anxieties and fears curdle into a ball at the back of his throat. “Okay. Let’s go,” he begins, though the sound forces its way through the lump in his throat, coming out gravelly and strained.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

It isn't the croaking of meat! and eyes! that Asta will hear as he scoops him up into the crook of his arm, but a short, keening chatter that cuts off the moment he's readjusted. With his talons tucked up and his feathers impossibly ruffled, the gore crow is a most pathetic example of his species as the butcher steels himself for the walk to come.

Danta wishes he might say something, but without the Attuned bond (and given that the sound he'd emitted at being picked up wasn't something he'd even done on purpose), he settles as best he's able, tucking his beak into the tiny space at the bend of Asta's elbow, as if to hide his face. At least they'll make good time like this, he considers, already trembling with the pain in his form as he waits inevitably for the Infirmary.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He flinches with the sound Danta makes, flinches with the realization that it’s pain that he sparked by lifting him up. It’s a whole lot of realizations he harbors quickly, though he keeps them swallowed up, compartmentalizing to the best of his abilities.

The woods take surprising mercy on him as he finds their way back to the village and the sky port within it, the nausea flickering in his gut in waves he swallows down the longer they go. He keeps him cradled just as close, keeping his attention averted, focusing on the warmth that settles into his elbow rather than the shape.

And thankfully, without getting sick or stopped once, they’re on a skyship heading to the Grounds. Heading toward the Infirmary.

Heading toward home.

— FIN

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //