I'm where the spiders go

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

The sticky hands of the Maverick as they thread through his hair are perfect, dragging along all the sensitive portions of his scalp that were often overlooked with his horns. But from this angle, Danta has perfect access to smoothing his hair back and hooking his leg around his waist. Like he was intending on being anywhere but here. But the butcher surges in anyway, claiming in a reverent way, as if Danta was his god at this present moment and he wanted nothing more than to atone.

And gods, if he isn’t a little dazed when they do part, eyes dark but warm, his posture lacking the usual stick straightness in favor for a relaxed slouch, trailing his kisses along his lover’s cheek and jaw as he noses in and nuzzles against his jaw. The question hits him about the same time that he does realize how exhausting taking on a bear had been, and so its with a slow stretched curl of his tail as he sinks down enough to press his forehead against the other Ancient’s shoulder that the butcher hums his breathless answer. “I believe they call those ‘power naps’…” He trails off, smirking a touch, before his head tilts to press a kiss against his lover’s throat. “And yes, I suppose we could get away with that.” Already his arms tighten around Danta, tugging him down with him so that they might be able to curl up together, uncaring of whatever had been spilt on the ground that would likely soak into them.

It was all part of the hunt, as far as he was concerned.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"Power naps, huh?" Danta grins. "I like the sound of that more than feeling old enough to need a late afternoon snooze," he admits, tilting his head to the side to generously accept further kisses to his throat, smoothing his hands down the length of Asta's back as if to feel every place where his body has succumbed to relaxation. Shifting enough to allow himself to curl up with his lover, using the bear carcass as a pillow to boot, he lets out a content sigh and leans into the other man, like he might be able to burrow closer to him somehow.

It takes only moments for the Maverick to fall into a doze, his breathing slow and deep and his limbs heavy, tail twitching its contentment before stilling as he drifts into a deeper sleep. It's only meant to be for half an hour or so - a quick nap before heading back to the Grounds for further shenanigans. Alas - as is usually the case - he sleeps for much longer than intended.

Long enough to dream. Or, in Danta's case, long enough for the dreams to turn sour with old memories.

It's almost dark before he startles himself awake on a sharp inhale, having been shifting fitfully in his sleep for a few moments before that. But as he's dragged into abrupt wakefulness, it's with snapping shadows and a too wide smile flashing in the forefront of his mind, with Asta's laughter - not his Asta, but one from centuries before - echoing off cavern walls. And gods, if it weren't for the wilderness, weren't for the butcher's arms wound around him, it might have been alright.

But in the unfamiliar setting and with the scent of old blood still heavy in the air, Danta's already trying to fight his way back from the other man, lips pulled back in a snarl.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“It works out, darling.” Asta hums in lieu of saying anything more about their ages or how exhaustion crept up on them constantly whether they admitted to it or not. Instead, he responds with actions, happily pressing kisses to Danta’s throat as his hands drag down his back, along a fully relaxed spine.

The soft breath of content that leaves him as he sinks them down and gets them comfortable against the bear is one that only bolsters how quickly Danta falls asleep. Asta, lagging behind, watches and fusses as much as he can in the bloody daze he’s in, before he too is falling asleep.

He doesn’t dream. It seems Danta has had enough of one for the both of them in that case. But he does start to stir as Danta’s twitching and restlessness are noticed even by his subconscious. But he isn’t awake enough yet to see what the panic is, only that Danta is suddenly fighting against the arms around him when Asta’s eyes finally open.

Untangling the two of them, the butcher misses the snarl on his lover’s lips that’s aimed toward him, thinking in that exhausted half awake state of his that says it’s reasonable for a snake to have maybe tried to get in between them and their kill, maybe it had snuck up Danta’s pant leg in the process.

He isn’t sure what it is, but he lets Danta go with a quiet huff of a sound, accented and rough before he finally looks up at his lover’s face when nothing else seems to stick out, confusion immediately pinching his brows to see the snarl there and no real thing to cause it, but the fact he’s been trying to fight out of his touch.

It’s been a while since Danta has had a nightmare that Asta had been the source of. It doesn’t even occur to him right now that he is the reason and cause for this. “Danta, darling?” He asks, a mistake perhaps, because his rough accent might be a bit closer to the nightmare version of himself that had always been deep with sleep or exertion.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Normally his nightmares have him trying to get back and get away, but this time as Asta releases him, Danta is already on the offensive. Rolling into a clumsy crouch, blue eyes seeing only the shape of the other man, the blood all over his face and clothes and the long shadows he casts in the evening light, he's already reaching for the blade he'd tucked back in his boot. There's no Danta darling available for the butcher right now, fire lashing around the Maverick and catching on the dry grass, not that the element will do much against a fellow Ancient.

But it might give him the element of surprise, the flames leaping high enough to obscure him before he launches himself through it, blade held aloft with the intention of tackling and pinning the butcher to the ground. He doesn't waste time with words, the same way he'd never have bothered to back in The Climb. Not when Asta would wreathe himself in nightmares and come prowling through the tunnels to ruin his day.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He’s used to that. He’s used to letting Danta go and remaining where he is as the Maverick compartmentalizes it after having pushed himself away to come back into himself. This time, though, it’s different. And gods, he should have known. He should have realized the second Danta rolled into a crouch, his mind suddenly replacing the nighttime woods around them for the dark fiery din of the Climb.

Where they’d fight. Where Danta would square up to him just like this. And so out of shape for a fight like this as the butcher is, he’s forced to press back against the carcass of the bear, pulling himself up as the fire does surprise him and blind him, only for Danta to launch through the flames, a blood crusted blade in hand that has his name on it.

He thinks, in that split moment, of snuffing his glamour out. But he’s reminded quickly that he’d used that as a trick a few too many times. Unassuming, horns vanishing, only for them to come back ten times worse as his primal self was freed. “Danta!” He urges through grit teeth, hissing as his Theocrat collides with him.

He is pinned, and his gut reaction says to do the same thing he once might have done — lock his leg and tail around Danta’s body where he could reach and twist them so he’d always come out on top — but if he wasn’t fully aware of where he was, that probably wasn’t going to help.

It would just seem to prove more that he’s that version of himself.

So, against all of his better judgement, he sucks in a breath and goes limp, chin tilted down to at the very least protect his throat from the assault he knows is likely coming, his voice dropping to something rougher, an edge of pleading, the perfect mix of Astaroth and Ferox. “It’s okay. We’re not in the Climb. The year is 319. You’re free and safe.” And maybe if Danta’s still out of it and does slip the blade in, his breath might hitch, it won’t stop him from adding “and I love you.”

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta is already acting well before Asta tries to reason with him - before he's decided what to do with his glamour, whether to go limp or to fight, what he's going to say. The Maverick pins the other man beneath him, eyes dark with feral rage, his hand thrusting the knife deep between Asta's ribs without a second's hesitation. The only surprise that flickers across his face is when he realises he's actually succeeded, and the butcher's voice, rough and breathless, starts to trickle through to him.

319.

Free and safe.

I love you.

Gasping in a shuddering breath that's all horrified clarity, Danta releases the hilt of the knife as if it's something electric between his fingers, swallowing hard and sitting back a fraction. The world feels cooler - not the oppressive heat of The Climb, but forest air and soft grass beneath his knees. The Hollowed Grounds; they'd been hunting, and Asta--

Gods, Asta--

"I'm sorry," Danta whispers, eyes wide as they go to the blade he'd buried in his lover's side. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I can... we need to get you help."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

It was a rare thing, even back then, for Danta to get such a blow on him. For anyone to, really, because he was smart and resourceful and he didn’t get put into situations like this. But here he is, a complete shift from the past in the hopes that it might drag Danta out of it, and it works.

Though, not before the sharp biting pain of the blade sinks between his ribs. A hitch of his breath, a grunt of pain, his body tensing as his breath picks up a touch. Blood pools and floods through the already bloody waistcoat the butcher wears, but at least it offers some stability for the blade still sticking out of him. And only when he’s confident Danta’s back to himself does he tilt his horned head back against the grass, taking another sharp breath, voice rougher than it had been even previously. “It’s okay.” He repeats when Danta sits back a fraction. His eyes open up in time to see Danta’s gaze flit to the handle he can see sticking out of him and with another short burst of breath, the butcher replies more instructionally than he probably should be in this situation.

“Leav-Leave it.” His hand comes up protectively, in case Danta was thinking about pulling the blade from him, covering the space which it’s plunged in. “I can stand. I think.”

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta knows better - more than better - than to touch the knife protruding from between Asta's ribs, watching with quiet horror as fresh red starts to bloom out around the fabric of his waistcoat. "Fuck," he whispers, under his breath, wiping at his face and swiping away the tears he doesn't realise have even fallen. "It isn't okay," he says, and somewhere in the back of his mind he's aware that this is a nightmarish reversal of roles from the night Asta had given him the scar on his arm.

Still, he hadn't stabbed him in the fucking chest, though.

"Let me help," he says roughly, surging forward to reach an arm around the other man, as if to guide him to his knees without jostling the blade still buried deep etween his ribs. "Gods, I'm so stupid - I didn't realise--" Hissing out a sharp breath as if to stop himself, Danta tries his best to focus on here and now, his free hand slipping around Asta's to further stabilise the hilt of the knife.

"Let's get you on your feet - that's the hardest part," he pants, focusing hard on keeping himself from trembling as he tries to urge the other man to rise, lending him his weight and keeping his gaze pinned on the ground.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

It is a reversal, and Asta likely will have a lot of moments to think about this and how to better handle Danta’s nightmares in the future. But for now? It doesn’t help anything. The blade is still sticking out of his chest, the blood continues to weep and wick into his clothing and onto his fingers, already having dried previously from the blood of their hunt. It’s slick and hot and he measures his breaths despite the adrenaline that wishes for him to start panting. Instead, Asta’s slow and careful to not push the blade deeper in, nor to take a big breath that might have it doing more damage than it already had.

“Okay.” He says at first, shifting a touch as Danta guides him to his knees, helping him up until he can press one hand down on the sodden, bloody ground, the other still pressed against his chest to keep the blade from slipping out. The grunt that leaves him is one the butcher tries desperately to swallow down but can’t. Danta’s hand is warm when it comes to help stabilize it. “You were dreaming.” Comes the weak protest, like he can’t truly blame Danta when it wasn’t really him.

Just like the butcher hadn’t really been the one the Maverick knows now.

He doesn’t hesitate when the option comes to get to his feet, the blade jostling only slightly in the attempt to stand, but he makes it with another growl and hiss of pain from the maneuvering. Expected as it was. It’s sharp and stinging and heavy with the blockade of the dagger still sticking out of him. His arm slips around Danta’s shoulders, and before they move further, the butcher’s tugging his lover a touch closer, pressing a clumsy kiss to the Maverick’s cheek. “I understand, darling.” He’d done it too. He gets it.

He understands how the regret will feel slick like oil, separating from the water of how things had been going. Coating anything that comes in and tries to escape. Perhaps his understanding will be a balm, the mix that makes it easier to swallow.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"I haven't had a dream like that in a long time," Danta admits half through a whisper. "I dreamed about things I'd forgotten about. The way things were - the way we were..." He winces on Asta's behalf as he hears the grunt of pain leave him while they get him more or less on his feet, and he slips willingly beneath the butcher's arm to take his weight and keep the blade from jostling any further.

Not expecting Asta to seek any further closeness from him, Danta can't help the way his breath catches at the clumsy kiss pressed to his cheek, and he turns briefly to press his face in against the side of the other man's neck. "I know you do," he mumbles, pressing bloody kisses to his throat. "Gods, of course you do. And I get it now."

He gets not being in control of himself to the point of hurting the person he cares about the most; he gets the guilt and bitterness, the fear of waking up to something he can't take back. "After we get you to the Infirmary," he whispers as they start to walk, their footsteps careful in the undergrowth, "you're going to show me your haunt. All of it."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He listens to the whisper, barely above the hum of the wind whistling through the branches. It’s cool and cold against the slick blood, but at least Longheat meant it wasn’t too cold to worry about frostbite. “I almost… Almost reacted like I would have before.” He starts to say, cutting himself off to take another measured breath. “But I realized it may not help get you… out of it.” Which is why he’d taken it.

Which is why, rather than having a body of scars given by himself and the gore crows of the Climb, it will have the addition of Danta’s own. And he doesn’t mind it. Even if Danta would likely refuse to look at that portion of flesh the blade is currently sticking out of.

It’s with confidence that the butcher’s sure he’ll be fine that grants him the moment of hesitation. The way he leans into Danta’s help and presses his weight and his clumsy kiss to his lover’s cheek. The bloody, sticky kisses left behind are ones that relaxes Asta more than just talking about it could, and so it’s with measured breaths and equally measured steps that they head toward the Infirmary. Thankful that they hadn’t drifted too far away from the rest of civilization.

He can’t help the way his head swings toward his lover, though, when Danta’s voice whispers and tells him the next plan, and if his stomach wasn’t already torn up by the pain of the blade jutting out of him, it would flip with the suggestion. “Are you.. Sure?” He asks, bewildered and surprised, but curious nonetheless.

If Danta thought it would help, he'd do it. Even if he's positive it was the worst possible fucking idea.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"I'm glad you didn't," Danta admits in a hushed, guilty voice. "You did the right thing. I'm just... I'm sorry I had a knife on me." Again, anywhere else - any other time and place - and the butcher would likely have gotten away with little more than a few bruises. Perhaps a nip from Danta's fangs if he'd been quick enough - but nothing like what had happened here. Leaning further against Asta as they head out of the thickets of trees and back onto the trail, it's a warm evening at least; for anyone who isn't Ancient, it would probably still be considered too warm.

He feels it as the other man turns towards him, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he clenches his teeth and nods. "I'm sure, Asta," he says in a low voice. "Everything I keep thinking about and worrying about is based on the things I remember. I need to see you now, as you are, for however long it takes for it to become... ordinary." He frowns.

"Put it this way - I did this to you without ever having seen your haunt since it came back. It's not as if seeing it now will make any difference to what's happened."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He doesn’t blame Danta for using the tools he has. Gods knew Asta did. It’s why the crescent mark of his teeth still remain scarred in his lover’s arm. The butcher’s best weapon was a part of him, incapable from being separated. And the two Ancient’s aren’t so dissimilar that they wouldn’t use the tools at their disposal. He’s sure if Danta hadn’t had a blade, he would have tried to dig his fingers in as he’d done once before. Anything to make it worth trying to spill blood. “I forgive you, darling.” He says, unsure what else to say to that. Because he gets it, so much.

The trail is even and flat at this portion, which certainly helps the blade refrain from being jostled further. And he feels like he can take his breaths a bit easier, even if Danta’s question has him hitching and looking at him before he sinks more of his weight into his lover’s side, nodding numbly. “I see.” He admits, his smile lines fading in lieu of a frown that finds his face before he’s nodding short and abruptly. “Okay. We will work on it. Starting tonight.” It’s resigned as nausea blooms in his gut again, nose wrinkling slightly as more lancing pain grips him, stuttering his steps.

But the Infirmary is shortly in the distance, and gods if he can’t wait to get this fucking dagger out of his chest. “If it becomes too much, darling… I can sleep in the mezzanine.” He hums, because he knows that Danta would refuse the idea of him sleeping back in his old room. But their own, just a different portion, might be suitable enough as an option, in case Danta was worried about it as Asta had been when going through the crow encounters to get his charm.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta glances away as the forgiveness spills so easily from Asta's lips, the Maverick frowning and offering little more than a quiet nod. It's absolution he doesn't think he deserves, even though he knows they've each stood in the other's shoes in this exact scenario. Nevertheless, it's with a long, guilty sigh that he returns his focus to helping the butcher walk and getting them in sight of the Temple. His hand presses more firmly around the blade handle to keep it from shifting too much, slowing his steps as he feels the other man's balance tip a little.

Only when he's good to walk again does Danta continue, nodding numbly at the idea of starting tonight. "All of it," he reiterates, casting a fleeting glance up towards Asta. "Don't pull your punches with it - I'll know." And his mind will seize on what's missing and twist it to make it worse in his dreams, he already knows that much.

The Temple comes into view and the Maverick is already scowling at the idea of sending Asta up to the mezzanine; he gives a stiff shake of his head and bites the inside of his cheek. "Let's try one night together," he half whispers. "Somewhere familiar where I can't stab you, it might be easier..." And he really doesn't think he can take sleeping apart from the other man again.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //