[SE] melancholy hill

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

Has he, perhaps, taken too little of the sedative? Yes. Has it, perhaps, done jack shit for the stressors that stir him because of that? Also yes. He’d fallen asleep with the muzzle on just for safety, curled up close to soak in his sunshine lover’s heat, yet far enough away to keep his teeth to himself, to keep his arms to himself, just in case.

But it doesn’t stop him from stirring in his sleep, starting with the quiet huffs of breath and the way he curls into himself, trying to hide his scars away. Eyes screwed shut tight, jaw set, muscles feathering up from his jaw into his temple. A whimper leaves him, sharp like a whine, like the fyrhund shift is trying to break out. It doesn’t, though, thankfully. But he curves in on himself further, dragging his knees up to his chest, head trying to press against his legs. His horns tear at the pillows as he presses his head down, leaving two stripes in the pillows behind, his hands white knuckled where they grip both a blanket and his leg hard enough to bruise.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Having had a relatively easy day of it in comparison to Asta, by the time Danta falls into slumber, it's light and dozy, the Maverick easily stirred for precisely the sort of reasons that become apparent as the night draws on. He'd been sprawled comfortably on his front, half listening to the wind howl outside when the whine cuts through the air, and blue eyes softly open in an instant.

"Asta...?" Shifting enough to get an elbow beneath him, he reaches out a free hand over the blankets to softly grip the other man's bicep, purposely avoiding his back and shoulders for now in case he thinks something has come to attack or claw at him in his dreams. "Hey, I'm here. You're home and safe." His voice, rough with sleep, is low and gentle, the words familiar enough by now that they spill from his lips without him having to think about it.

Granted, this time there's no small amount of guilt stabbing at him as he watches the other man; tonight, unlike previously, these nightmares are entirely Danta's fault.

Dantalion

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

His name into the air doesn’t exist right this second. In this nightmare, this memory, Astaroth doesn’t exist. He won’t exist for a time after. No, tonight it’s a lightly sedated Ferrox; A cannibal and nothing else, even if the fyrhund movements try to prove otherwise. He remains with that jagged breathing, one that grows more frantic the second his arm is touched.

It’s a beautiful thought, really, and it’s evident it matters somewhat with how the butcher doesn’t immediately whirl on him. He flinches instead, curling in tighter with a gasped inhale of breath. The words would be nice if he was at all in a position to understand them. It’s why his answer doesn’t make sense, not as he grips his leg tighter, the skin red beneath his fingers. “Stop.” This is at least somewhat closer to the butcher’s usual tone, usual confident voice, until it isn’t when there’s the quiet addition of “please.”

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Fuck," Danta whispers, letting his hand slip away from Asta as he flinches, a worried frown drawing his brows together as he tries to parse through the next steps in his arsenal. Inhaling a deep breath and letting it out again, at least should the worst happen he can (hopefully) rely on the muzzle to stop the other man from getting his teeth in his neck, so he reaches out again, this time to tug the blankets back as best he can.

"Nothing here can hurt you," he continues quietly. "It's just a dream. It'll pass, I promise." Though every part of the Maverick wants to reach out and shake Asta awake, gods but every medic he's spoken to about it has advised him against it. Still, he doubts any of them have had to watch someone go through it. "It's not real. You're okay."

Dantalion

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

He’s released by Danta’s hand and shortly after his breath increases, like he’s held his breath for the last few moments. He begins to pant, curled up impossibly tighter, until the Maverick is tugging at the blankets and he moves, loosening his hold on the fabric though not before it has him flattening onto his back.

A horrible place to be, truthfully. The second that the warm bed touches his back, it hurts, a stinging, singing, burning pain that has him shooting up with a broken curse. He isn’t awake yet, but his tail thrashes against the bed, his knees draw up to his chest again, and his shaking and trembling hands find the muzzle — fingers pressing into the confined yet brilliant piece of metal. “No, no, no, nonono.” It’s a hiss of surprise, of panic, of restraint, of being tied down again without the only weapon he really has.

And while he starts this awkward, hiccuped hyperventilation, fingers try to pull the muzzle off like it burns, a frantic and erratic motion.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

idealism sits in prison
chivalry fell on his sword

Forced to scrabble back as the butcher lurches into a sitting position, Danta is more prepared than he'd like to admit to retaliate against any violence thrown his way, and adrenaline continues to siphon away his grogginess as the seconds tick by. "Asta-- wait, no." Shifting onto his knees, he's already reaching out to catch the other man's wrists as he tries to pry away the muzzle caging those brutally sharp teeth.

Feeling his own pulse start to hammer in his ears, Danta does his best to keep his hands gentle, but gods there's only so much to be done with Asta attempting to pull the contraption from his jaw as if it means to throttle him. "Fuck - Asta, it's not there to hurt you, it's-- Astaroth, wake up." Snapping the last words louder than intended and flinching a little at the sound of his own voice, Danta's hands leave the other man abruptly.

Dantalion

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

The pressure at his wrists spark more of that panicked breathing. Sharp and short inhales and exhales, shaking as he’s restrained from getting the contraption off, while also being held by his wrists. He flinches again, but gives up on the muzzle if only to try and free his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—please— I didn’t know!”

He’s begging. Perhaps one of the things most unlike Astaroth these days.

It’s the snap of his lover’s voice that brings him out of it in a jolt. He’s light headed, he doesn’t really know where he is, what he does know is that he can’t scent any blood. So either he hasn’t done anything or nothing has been done to him. But still the feelings linger and so do the remnants of the nightmare — like the way he has to sniffle because his nose is plugged from eyes that shine with tears that stubbornly fall before he can swipe them away, vanishing into his beard.

He does still remain curled, hands pressing against the bridge of his nose and rubbing at the side of his face above the muzzle, grateful it was still secure, and he tries desperately to relax his heartbeat — in that post nightmare limbo, where only he exists at this second; Danta barely even a blip on his radar.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Somehow it's worse when it stops, and in the silence after the sound of his lover begging, Danta can practically hear the thunder of their combined heartbeats and the tension that ripples between each one. "Gods, I'm sorry," he blurts out automatically, whether for snapping or for touching him, or for everything that had happened during the day to precede what he'll come to remember as the worst of Asta's night terrors thus far.

"I'm so sorry," he says again, voice lowered to a whisper, a slightly shaking hand reaching up to rake his blonde hair back from his face. "I... here, I'll bring up the lights." So saying, it's with a pulse of magic that he lets the fire roar further to life and the lanterns and candles to flare, bringing the familiar slopes and shapes of their room into sharp relief.

Dantalion

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

Danta’s voice has him reminding to try and slow his exhales and his inhales, even if he had hoped it was all kept to himself. It wasn’t, evident by the shakiness in the voice that greets him, that has him instinctively wanting to hide away more as he comes to grips with the current reality. He wants to tell him that it’s okay, but he knows Danta wouldn’t believe him the second it passes by his lips.

“I’m okay.” He says carefully, like he’s testing his voice, like he thinks it’s still just as hoarse and dry as it had been in his dream. Now, while Danta draws up the lights, the butcher unclasps the muzzle and drops it to the bed to scrub at his face. “Are you okay?” He asks even as he refuses to look at his lover with his glassy red rimmed eyes, choosing instead to press his forehead to his knees again, counting his breaths.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Gods, shut up Asta." The words are affectionately said, even as Danta shifts to sit properly beside the other man again, the Maverick rubbing at his eyes and feeling suddenly drained and shaky, though it's nothing compared to the butcher. "I don't believe either of us are okay." Safe, certainly, because whatever monstrous scenario Asta had dreamed up can't get him here in the real world, but okay? Not so much.

Leaning forward to grab at the blankets he'd dragged away, Danta carefully draws them back around the both of them, before tentatively reaching out to rest a warm hand on the butcher's shoulder. "Asta, it's me," he says softly, almost whispering. "You don't have to hide yourself from me."

Dantalion

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

He hears that it’s supposed to be affectionate, but either way the butcher remains silent. Whether that was his intention or not, Asta refuses to read into it further while he counts his breaths. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Comes the clarification, the realization that while he doesn’t smell blood that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt him in some way.

At any rate, the blankets are drawn up over the two of them; the butcher remaining curled in spite of it as he continues to count the seconds of his breathing — only to have them hitch when Danta’s whisper reaches him. And fuck, it breaks his heart to hear it so raw.

It’s the only reason he concedes, his horned head shaking as he lowers his knees and swallows as he feels the warm hand on his too cold and clammy shoulder. “Sorry.” Comes the apology as he looks over at his lover but doesn’t quite meet him in the eye. He stares straight at Danta’s collarbones that jut out of his skin.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Me? Wh-- no, no of course not," Danta says quickly, shaking his head. "It was you I was worried about." Worried he'd hurt himself, either by trying to tear off the muzzle or during whatever nightmarish torture he'd been going through. "It... that was the worst one I think you've had while I've been here." It's a hesitant admission, because gods sometimes it's as easy as holding Asta through it, waiting for him to pass back into sleep, or talking him down from the worst of it.

This had been a first.

Wincing to see the butcher so reluctantly uncurl himself, Danta finally loses his patience with trying to give Asta time to come back to himself. Shifting to reach his arms around the other man, whilst it will be easy for him to sit out of the embrace if he needs to, Danta has no intention of having either of them sit through this alone. "It's not your fault," he mumbles. It's mine.

Dantalion

i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse

“Yeah.” He says in a voice that’s deeper and rougher than he usually keeps it, his accent thicker and warping the tones as he drops all pretenses and formalities. A reversion for the night, even if he tries so desperately to cling to the shining beacon of who he’d become.

It’s a stubborn crawl toward it, is what it really is. “It was a different one than I usually get.” Usually it’s the action itself, the crows tearing at him, digging their beaks and talons into his bleeding, burning flesh. This time, it was the lead up. The getting trapped and caught, of the torment before the true torture began. Ah, but with the knowledge of what was to come.

Like if he pleaded enough in his dream he could prevent the ropes of scar tissue from lingering in his flesh when he woke up.

He’s sluggish to respond when Danta winds his arms around him, and it takes him a weighty few seconds before he’s finally succumbing into the embrace, still trying to count his breaths.

Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, three, two, one. Inhale, one, two—

“—It’s not yours either.” Asta muffles into his lover’s shoulder, even if they knew it was a bold-faced lie. They had to get through it. Asta has to get past it.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Yeah, it sounded like it," Danta mumbles, though he doesn't press the issue. He never does, leaving it up to the butcher to decide how much or how little to tell him each time. Relaxing only when he feels Asta tucking his head against his shoulder, the Maverick adjusts the blankets around them and slowly sinks back against the headboard, absently stroking the other man's hair.

"If you insist," he whispers, of it not being his fault either, the ghost of a smile curling across his lips before it's gone again. Able to feel the butcher's steady breath against him as if he might be able to count it himself without too much effort, whether it's unconscious or not, Danta does slowly match the rhythm. Reaching out, too, he slips one of his hands into Asta's, giving it a warm, grounding squeeze.

"Take as long as you need," he tells him quietly. "We'll sit like this all night if it helps."

Dantalion