the wind around the willow

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

“I think, mm, the hard part was the healing, love.” He says quietly, finally taking these few moments to pull himself together, head lifting further so he can open his eyes without the world seeming to spin. It’s after he hears the pop of the cork, realizing it’s probably a strong pain killer dunked into the glass of brandy, but the butcher doesn’t shy away from it.

He gets his breathing under control — exhaling slowly and inhaling and on the inhale the shadows curl into him again, his voice losing the dissonance, face a touch pallid and clammy as he takes the glass and downs it with a wince he can’t hide from the burn of the brandy.

But its liquid courage enough to help him peel himself from the stool, getting his feet back under him and leaving the threaded cane in the same place it fell. Guided for perhaps the easiest time into the alcove amongst the plush pillows and blankets, closest as they can get to their den.

There’s only a few quiet grunts that leave him as he gets settled into the space. “Yes.” He murmurs hoarsely. “Everything was going fine until the last hit and the fucking thing blew up.” A staticky, dissonant growl leaves him toward the end before he takes a deep breath to relax any imaginary flat ears. “It is gone now, though.” He confirms, eyes opening to search for Danta as the drugs begin to work.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"...Yeah, ironically enough." Danta says quietly, brow furrowing as he leaves for the bar to collect the medical supplies and to fill a basin with water. The healing might have been necessary - one look at Asta says that it was - but he's never seen the butcher in such pain, and the fact that he's still processing those details is all too evident in the subdued way he speaks and moves. It's like this is all happening to someone else, and Danta has to wait for it all to drill through the shock for him to feel it.

Still, it's nothing compared to how Asta must feel.

"Blew up?" he repeats with a wince as he returns to the alcove, murmuring an apology as he sets everything down and conjures more fire to help (read: burn) the butcher out of his clothes. "...Why are there eggs in your pocket?" he asks before he can think better of it, blinking it away and shaking his head before clambering to join Asta. Already the water in the basin is starting to bubble and simmer, and he plunges a clean cloth into it to start wiping away the rest of the mud and ichor.

"It's gone and you're still here," he agrees, gently cleaning off Asta's face and letting out a sigh that trembles ever so slightly at the end of the exhale, as if the mud had been hiding the injuries and now there's nothing else to do but stare straight at them. "I'm glad you were able to make it home," he whispers, the admission just for the two of them. They can be all bluster and ego to everyone else, but Danta knows the distance from the Greatwood, and he knows what it would have cost for Asta to drag himself here in his current state.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

As he settles into the plush pillows and the comfortable blankets and warmth that soothe any immediate pain that lingers in his bones and thrums through his body. He’s half between paying attention to his surroundings to fight the drugs and alcohol that has his mind growing fuzzy and half succumbing to it, even when Danta returns with water and a cloth.

“Blew up.” The butcher sighs, perking up a little to hear his question as he’s helped out of the rest of his clothes – his pockets harboring the butcher knife roll and painted eggs and bandages that had been less than useful – nearly empty as if he’d spent the majority of it swapping out the ties on his arm on his return home. “It.. left behind these eggs? A few were taken, Maea took none to heal this attuned, and.. mm, I took the rest.” He announces as he pieces the events back together, surrendering into Danta’s touch to let him swipe away the grime and muck, only wincing slightly when he gets close to the worst of the worst for the bruises.

It takes him a few moments of leaning into the touch and letting the weightlessness finally settle in bones far more uncomfortable with being out of control, so that he can reach up and snag Danta’s wrist gently – tilting his head to press a kiss to his wrist. “Didn’t I tell you before, darling? I survive.” He flashes a small shark tooth smile, crooked and dazed.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Glancing from the butcher's bruised face down to the collection of weird eggs, Danta's about to let himself laugh of all things before Asta continues, and if he'd had a haunt it would be working itself into overdrive. Instead, tail lashing without his permission across the plush blankets, his brow furrows. "Other people were there? She... what? How bad was the state of the Attuned?" he asks, tone very carefully neutral as if it might hide whatever bloody gears have started spinning in his mind.

Rinsing out the cloth and reaching out this time to press its warmth against Asta's chest, he finds his wrist suddenly caught, the Maverick blinking up at his lover as his lips press to the delicate flesh there. "Yeah, I know," he mutters, voice barely audible. With his throat unexpectedly tight and his eyes stinging, Danta abandons the basin and the bandages without much thought, shifting to curl himself around the other man as best he can, as if to feel the solid reality of him for a few minutes.

"Sorry I didn't go with you."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

It’s a belated realization that Danta’s tail whips across the blankets in a lashing motion when he lets the admission drop – blinking slightly in surprise to hear the neutral tone. Mostly, because he knows his lover. And out of the two of them, Danta was often the better one of the two for letting their emotions out – until he’s pissed. In which case, this is a good signifier; questions, understanding, carefully neutral before letting flame and feather burn within him until it either goes out or he’s satisfied with the result. “As bad as I was. Burned, though, rather than the cuts. I did not make my presence that known. I am fairly certain they forgot I was there until I took the eggs.” A little babbling here and there – blame the dreamdust – but he gets the point across. “There was someone else as well.. Another attuned. A griffin? Tried to command us to use flame against it despite the Pegasus flying toward it.” He mutters as the details come back, eyes slipping shut as if he’s trying to remember it.

Unable to recall anyone saying any other names aside from the pale Ancient’s (that he could hear), the butcher watches as Danta abandons the bowl and bandages, shifting to curl up around him. And between the arm that mostly works now and the dreamdust and brandy in his system, the butcher finds himself wrapping himself back around him in turn. “Do not be sorry, love.” He whispers against his golden crown, cradling him and keeping him close as limbs and tail curl around him to keep him close. “I do not know if much would have changed with you there, Danta.” He admits quietly, nosing his way in to press a much needed kiss to his temple, against his skin. “Besides, I would have worried about you the whole time.” And while he knows better than most just how much the Maverick can handle himself, it’s worry solely based in not wanting to see him hurt.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Danta's lip curls as Asta explains; there might not have been any names involved apart from Maea's (and he knows he'd told her the ball was in Asta's court when it came to their relationship or lack thereof, but it still rankles to know that she'd blanked him in his current state) but it's enough to understand that this was clearly a group effort. "Right," he says quietly; it doesn't ring any bells - if only - and so the Maverick is left simmering to himself about it.

At least until he feels Asta curl around him in turn.

"Careful," he whispers automatically, despite the way he's already turning into the other man's warmth and the way his lips press to his temple. "You're still in a bad way." And that's putting it mildly; he might have stepped back from death's door, but Danta would be hard pressed to find a bit of the butcher not marked or bruised or sore.

Scoffing under his breath to hear Asta's words, his hands move now to carefully move across his skin, fire flaring out wherever he touches to inject warmth and to disintegrate any lingering dirt of blood on his skin. Fire is as good as water at cleansing, so they say. "Well then you know how I'm feeling," he mutters in response to his last point. "Is the medicine working, at least?"

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

Perhaps he’ll have a better idea of just who was among them for the battle of the behemoth, but for now the butcher lets those thoughts fade away in favor for the warmth of Danta curling into him, taking the moment to wrap himself around his lover even further like he’d trapped his own prey. A protectiveness that blends with the ease of forgetting about his pain because of the drugs and alcohol, focusing on trying to soothe the wounds he’s poked and prodded at with yet another trip gone south, returning bruised and bloody.

“When has that ever stopped me, darling?”. He asks in a mumble, eyes closed as he nuzzles into Danta, only parting slightly as he feels the Maverick’s flame tipped touch skate over his body and the rest of the mud burning away in dark streaks of ash.

To hear that Danta is worried is not a surprise, but the flatness of it sinks like a stone in the void of his chest, and he exhales a soft breath of agreement. “It is working well.” He hums, a touch slurred as it settles more in his system. “I think you deserve a trip to relax..” He pauses, head tilting slightly as he withdraws just enough to look at the Maverick, his dark gaze hazy. “Some place not in the mud to indulge however you like with zero worries. An apology.. and a birthday gift.” He lets a small smile tug on the corner of his lips, waiting to see how Danta would take it. "What do you think?"

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"It hasn't," Danta agrees reluctantly, his own body betraying him with the way it clings to the butcher's heat and voice and presence, as if trying to build a reality where he'd just come home and everything had been perfectly mundane and boring. He blinks his eyes open enough to keep track of where his hands have burned away the grime from Asta's body - he doubts he'll be conscious for much longer if the drugs have anything to do with it, and so any further first aid can wait until then.

The good stalls on his lips when, of all things, Asta recommends he take a trip to relax, the Maverick barking out a laugh and peering up at him. "Be serious," he says gently, leeching the warmth and comfort from his close proximity for a few seconds more before he starts to sit himself back up. "You didn't choose to go out and get attacked by the literal ground," he reminds him. "So there's nothing to apologise for. All I care about is that you're okay."

At least until it gets quiet and dark and Danta is left with his own thoughts, but the butcher won't be awake for that.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

He’s lucid enough for the time being to let his thoughts loose – not blocked out by the seconds of hesitating that the butcher often did to ensure he meant exactly what he said. Instead, the butcher feels his lips quirk up slightly to hear Danta’s laugh – the haze in his gaze glittering as he reluctantly lets his lover go to sit up. “I am being serious.” Comes his quiet, accented protest – the whitebrim accent growing thicker with each passing minute.

Asta curls up in the space left behind, head propped slightly to peer up at the Maverick as if he might be able to feel the warmth left behind. “And I am okay, now. And I will be if you go.” He hums a little quieter, the original smile fading for something serious as he tries to sit up again but feels his body weigh a little too heavy for him to succeed. “No region to rule or worry about, no me to worry about.” He feels like it isn’t selling well enough, though, so rather than try to sit up to chase and invade his lover’s space, he reaches up with his hand, fingertips encased with little rings of mud under his fingernails as he cups his lover’s cheek.

“I know you are upset, love. And I know you have no good way to get it out right now.” He whispers softly, like their confession earlier, words shared only for them in the confines of the plush blankets and pillows and ashy mud.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"You might be serious, but you're also really high right now," Danta tells him affectionately, absently tucking a dark lock of hair back behind Asta's horns as he shifts to curl up further. "I'm not going anywhere," he says with quiet and easy finality. Perhaps they can try this conversation again when Asta is sober if not in a helluva lot more pain, but as far as Danta's concerned right now, he's exactly where he needs to be.

Reaching for one of the feather stuffed pillows, as Asta tries to sit himself up Danta interjects by placing it gently beneath his head, as if to persuade him to give up the fight for consciousness to let his body rest and start to heal. The movement has him caught by the butcher's hand, his expression softening into something carefully neutral as he gazes down at him.

"But I'm not upset at you," he whispers back, as if it's something that needs saying. His hand comes up to cover the back of Asta's palm, Danta turning his head to press a kiss to his fingertips. "We have a rage room for a reason," he jokes, even if it doesn't really land right now.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

“Where did I say to go right now?” The butcher shoots back playfully, his tail sweeping out to curl around Danta’s leg as if it’s the last thing he wants to do. But when he’s better and can move on his own? Then he’ll be fine enough for Danta to take some much needed respite.

He sinks back down against the plush, feather pillow — his bruised cheek resting gingerly against the softness of it as he looks up at Danta with his hazy gaze, tired and exhausted from having put himself through the ringer to get here and then some. His hand is warm where he presses it to the Maverick’s cheek, withdrawing it after a few moments to tuck it in against his chest. “I know, darling.” He knows it isn’t him. Just a bad place, bad time situation (or good, considering they killed the beast).

As for the rage room, he snorts and it sounds a little softer as the drugs make his blinking hang heavier, his tail loosening the tight grip against Danta’s leg. “Would that help?” The rage room, that is, and before he can even get Danta’s response, the butcher slumps into a deep sleep with his exhaustion.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Well you did bring it up right now," Danta points out with a crooked smile, shrugging his shoulders and pressing further kisses to Asta's fingertips before his hand slips away along with his fight to stay awake. He watches as the butcher sinks into much needed sleep, Danta letting out a long sigh and leaning in to kiss his cheek goodnight. "No, I don't think it would," he confesses, sneaking another kiss before sitting back and putting himself to work.

By the time Asta comes back around - however long or short that time might be - it will be to the smell of spiced black tea laced heavily with honey, a tray of it settled somewhere beside him, far enough out of reach not to knock over. He'll also find himself clean of muck and blood and beneath a thick blanket, his wounded arm neatly bandaged and dressed.

The tray, if he investigates, will also contain painkillers - no dreamdust this time, not unless he really wants it - and some clean clothes are folded nearby, too. The only thing missing, truly, is Danta.

The Maverick isn't far though at least - he's out on the main floor of the Dusklight, absently sweeping some broken glass into a pile, one hand wrapped in a bandage suggesting he might have been the cause of it.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

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

He’s out quickly, beyond the point of immediate return. Lost to the sound of whatever chaos Danta indulges in while he slumbers in his drugged sleep. The shattering of glass and whatever else has been destroyed by burning or pure physical rage is unknown – perhaps for the better. Instead, he wakes to the sound of the sweeping broom – to the scent of dark spiced tea, sweet enough that it can wake the dead with a toothache.

But the second thing the butcher realizes is that his head fucking hurts. The blanket is soft, his face throbbing and aching where he blinks and comes to, sucking in a shuddering breath that borders on the edge of a quiet groan – pulling himself up and letting the blanket fall to realize he’s bandaged up and clean.

Cradling his head in his good hand, he breathes through his nose in short bursts to rouse himself more awake; at least enough that he can take a sip of the hot tea and down the painkillers he very desperately needs, even if the fact he has to hold his breath for a second sends his head into overdrive of pain.

Slowly, he gets dressed, pulling himself together stiffly before he emerges from the little makeshift den, searching for his lover from a gaze darkened by the purple of a black eye. “Darling?” He asks through a hoarse voice, finally spotting him with a bandage on his hand and a broom, cleaning up something that had shattered.

Astaroth

what was it like to feel in love?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Having swept away the shards of glass, Danta is in the process of dumping them in the trash - next to a jumble of broken pieces of what might have been a chair, Asta will note - when the butcher's hoarse voice rings through the large and empty space. It's a rarity for the Dusklight to be this quiet, but evidently Danta had been serious when he'd sent everyone away, and as he turns to face Asta it's written all over his face that he hasn't slept a wink.

"Hey," he says, keeping his voice as soft as the smile on his lips, his feet carrying him across the room to the other man without a moment's thought. "Welcome back." To the land of the living, he should say, Danta slipping careful arms around the taller Ancient to corral him closer without jostling him too much.

"What do you need?" he asks. Booze? Breakfast? Another twelve hours in the dark? Nothing, evidently, is too much trouble this morning.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash