don't need love when it comes in a bottle

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He feels the flinch just as much as he sees it with the deepening tear of the pillow, spilling more feathers across their shoulders and hair. And he can sense it the second that his voice leaves him, the way that Danta freezes, like he’s suddenly just been caught out by a version of the butcher that only exists anymore on the long dark recesses of their minds.

Danta’s tense as a stone despite his attempts to calm him down successfully from the nightmare he’s trapped in. But it seems evident he’s only made it worse. And it burns something hot and unforgivable in the butcher’s chest to know that all it takes is the sound of his voice when Danta’s like this to dredge up more horrors.

He clutches at him and the blankets in spite of it, though, not fully aware of where he is while the nightmare has him still, and it gives Asta a moment to try and figure out what the fuck to do. He doesn’t force him into any position that would be reminiscent of the Climb, and instead hears the cut off request.

He remains close but doesn’t continue to try and nudge Danta one way or another. If anything, he continues to let his voice drop to something less than familiar for the Maverick — as close to Ferox as he’s gotten to sober, at least. “You’re safe. They’re going to have to get through me first.” He murmurs, an attempt to try again as a version of himself that’s as far away from the Climb as he can possibly get.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Danta's head shakes a little, enough to send feathers cascading around his face, the feel of them startling enough to have him swiping at his cheek from within the grip of his dream. His back arches as if whatever is happening is about to result in one of the deeper scars that cut across the length of his body, and though he can taste blood from biting the inside of his cheek, even that isn't enough to draw him towards consciousness.

The unfamiliar cadence of Asta's voice, though, quietens him again, as if Danta is able to parse the words from the unexpected tone now, unable to find the lie in it when it doesn't sound quite so close to the butcher's taunting purr. Cringing closer to the other man rather than away this time, his breath leaves him in a quiet gasp, a tight admission of, "It hurts--" before something - likely the result of the room's spirits, in retrospect - falls off a side table, and the sharp clang of it hitting the floorboards has Danta jolting very unpleasantly awake.

Panting hard into Asta's chest and only vaguely registering the hot sting of tears that stain his cheeks, he's already hiding himself against the butcher, arms tight around him, body fighting not to shiver with adrenaline. "Am I okay?" he whispers, certain he can feel blood on his back and that, if he looks in a mirror, he'll see himself freshly flayed to the light.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Blood is scented nearly immediately after it’s begun, and Asta’s jaw works slightly as he fits his sharp teeth together and tucks his head in as Danta’s back arches, a pose he knows all too well as he’s often been on the other side of it. And all he can offer is a version that isn’t himself, that falls awkwardly from his lips in an attempt to draw him back to him.

“I know it does. I’m sorry.” No terms of endearment or nicknames accompany it, even if his lips part and his breath hitches like he’s going to add it. It’s too much of an indicator that it’s him to let it slip. And when he cringes closer to him, Asta welcomes him with open arms even if his heart aches long and deep.

Something falls and it makes the butcher jump, too, as Danta wakes with an unpleasant startle. His heartbeat thunders in his chest and rabbits against his neck as he tucks Danta into his chest, warm and comfortable, and inviting — all direct opposites of a previous life they’d lived.

His glamour is still up, hiding his horns and tail as he pulls his lover close against him, arms winding around him now that he’s awake in a protective wrap that would suggest he isn’t planning on letting anyone near but himself. “You’re okay.” He confirms, muffled into the crown of tangled blonde curls, pressing his bearded face into his head and hoping that the scruff he’s meticulously kept up is enough of a barrier for the sharp prongs of Danta’s diamond horns to not break through entirely.

Even if he’s sure he deserves whatever pain might come from it, he knows it isn’t what Danta would want.

So he’s careful as his fingers spread out gently, a tender touch that strokes slowly down his lover’s back as if for proof there’s no raised skin, swelling, or blood that would come away from it. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to get you while I’m here.” His voice drops further, nearly a low growl, as if he can pretend that the version of himself that had done all these terrible things wasn’t the monster he sees in the mirror each and every day.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Still reeling from the pit he's clawed himself out of, imagined though it might be, Danta is at least awake enough to recognise the man curled around him as Asta - his Asta, not the gentleman monster who haunts his dreams. Letting out a shuddering breath and hiding his face away in the butcher's chest, he can feel the thunder of his pulse against his ear, Danta swallowing hard as a fresh wave of tears prick at his eyes.

He flinches at the touch to his back, even on the heels of Asta confirming he's whole and uninjured, and only as the butcher's hands smooth down the length of his body does he finally let himself relax. "Okay," he whispers, clenching his jaw as his teeth try to chatter, his whole body feeling as if his bones might vibrate right out of him.

"I hate this," he says quietly, pressing his eyes shut and forcing himself to take a few long, deep breaths, to ground himself in the here and now with the other man, rather than wherever he's just been.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Despite Danta’s flinch, the butcher’s hand continues to drag gently down his back as if proving to the both of them that there’s nothing that awaits him there aside from the pale and long since healed scar tissue crossed along his spine. And when the Maverick finally relaxes a fraction from the realization, the butcher’s arms are warm as he tugs him back into him again, like the space he’d granted during the nightmare was too much and he suddenly can’t remember how to breathe without Danta pressed against him.

“I’m so sorry. For all of it.” He whispers on the heels of Danta’s grounding words – because he hates it too, but he doesn’t want to make Danta feel bad for having these nightmares, nor does he want him to think he shouldn’t share them with him. Gods knew that he’d had more than enough with Danta – enough that the silver scars of his teeth still linger against his arm from a nightmare woken up from not soon enough.

His tone is still very much Ferox as he nestles in closer, using his beard as a blockade to prevent Danta’s sharp nicks of his horns from piercing him so he can tug him in closer. Angled the way they are, he’s able to move his hand gently across his lover’s side, his fingertips imbuing with fire to offer a heated, warm caress in case he feels too cold from waking up from hell.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"I know," Danta whispers back, sniffing and letting himself become boneless in Asta's arms to allow the butcher to clutch him as close as he likes. His arms are a reassuring weight around him, the press of his body something to lean into and take shelter, and as the warm lick of fire caresses his skin he hiccups in a breath, not expecting the comforting heat of it but craving it all the more.

They stay like that for a long few minutes, Danta feeling his own pulse start to even out, his breath slowing to something less panicked, less desperate for escape. "I never think of you like that when I'm awake, except for when your haunt gets too intense," he says quietly, as if to offer a crumb of reassurance where Asta might be afraid there's none to be found.

He can feel the apology already burning a hole in his tongue, but he knows to say sorry to Asta right now will likely only provoke further guilt. So Danta draws quiet again, freeing one hand between them to wipe at his cheeks instead.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

As long as he knows how sorry he is, the butcher can take some amount of solace in it. As he continues to offer affection in the gentle touches along his side and back, flame tipped and hot wherever he touches, he indulges in the silence of listening to Danta’s breaths even out, for the way the tremble begins to slow. And when he hears the answer, it’s something that cements within him even if subconsciously he knows it.

Sometimes it’s nice to hear it, though. “I know, darling.” He says equally as soft, letting Danta draw silent and even letting him free one hand to wipe at his cheeks. He takes the moment to loosen his grip, to let that fire warmed hand lift to follow after Danta’s fingers, swiping away the mess of tears in a small puff of steam. “I’m still learning how to get to you when you’re in them. I can’t just.. Talk to you.” The tone is still off, even if it's still apologetic – the Whitebrim accent heavy and flooding each and every word, like he’s trying to keep the more proper version of himself at bay until he’s certain it won’t reflect negatively.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Letting his hand drop so Asta can take over, Danta closes his eyes again to lean into the cradle of his fingers, feeling more exhausted than when he'd let sleep pull him under. "This helps," he mumbles of the soft, gentle touch, the hush of their breath and the warm comfort of the butcher's embrace. He has no idea if it would help in the moment, but evidently trying to talk him out of the nightmare hasn't worked so far.

"You sound different," he says quietly, as if having picked up on the more casual cadence of his accent, the musicality of the words that leave his lips. Blinking up at the other man at last, Danta leans up at last to kiss Asta's cheek, tail curling loosely around his calf. "Thank you for trying to help."

However much or little it might have helped, it still means the world to have someone willing to try to reach out for him in those moments of bleak horror, and Danta doesn't take it for granted.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He shifts enough to take over for Danta to swipe away the tears, letting them steam away until there’s nothing left but the puffiness to his eyes and the red lining surrounding them, making his blues even brighter in the low light of the fireplace. The butcher still has no horns or tail on display, no lengthened canines but the sharp version of his usual teeth when he nods quietly, threading one hand back into his blonde hair. “I’m glad.” Because it’s something he can do easily.

As for him sounding different, he nods softly – meeting his lover’s gaze with a soft one of his own, leaning into the kiss to his cheek. “Ferox.” He whispers quietly, like it’ll answer the question as to why without him having to describe he’s chosen a much younger version of himself – pre-trauma to help Danta get through his, because they both know the traditional sense of the butcher was too close and too much involved.

“Always, Danta. I’ll always try.” Comes the vow – the promise as he tips his head up a touch to press a kiss to his forehead and sinks in to press his nose against the golden crown of his hair, still cupping his cheek with one hand before it falls to the side of his neck. “Whether or not it works.” Just like you do for me.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"Ah," Danta says with soft understanding. "You ought to be careful, you know - I've already fallen head over heels with one version of you. It'd be too easy to fall in love with this one too." Planting a second kiss on his cheek just before he's adjusted in the butcher's arms, Danta closes his eyes and feels himself relax, at last, into the other man's touch, his assurances managing to seep into the cracks into his psyche to melt away any lingering horrors there.

"Being like this works," he decides, sounding a touch drowsy even as he forces his eyes to blink back open. That was the problem, of course - it always worked to help send him into slumber. It's the staying there that's causes issues. "I think I might run that bath now," he says a moment later, tilting his head to glance up at Asta. "Then we can get breakfast and go home?"

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

The second that Danta presses the second kiss to his cheek and murmurs something akin to a jest is the first time since the nightmare began that the butcher feels like he can finally breathe. A smile tugs at his lips, gentle and soft and felt from where he rests his head against Danta’s own. “How boring. Falling in love with a cannibal that doesn’t have horns or a tail.” He whispers it softly, a playful tug that hopefully isn’t too far away from the tender, fragility of the moment.

To hear that being like this works, he’s almost prepared to stay like that the rest of the day – but Danta suggests running a bath and already Asta’s moving slightly so he can peer down at the Maverick with a nod. “Sure.” He hums softly. “I’ll make sure there’s no spiders on the curtain.” Another soft little twitch of his lips accompanies the words, shifting slightly so that he might be able to slip out of the bed and corral Danta into his arms to take him into the bathroom.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"Maybe I could use a little boring right now," Danta says with a smirk, leaving a few gentle kisses against the column of Asta's throat and slipping his arms back around him for a moment or so. He could also stay like this all day if given half the chance, relishing in the butcher's steady, solid presence against the screaming dark that had snatched the Maverick up not too long ago. But returning to what's familiar and comfortable now is far too tempting, and so he opts not to change their plans.

"How kind of you," he mumbles, peeling himself away from Asta for long enough to shuffle to the end of the bed, only to find the butcher corralling him right back into his arms. Daring to huff out a laugh at the princess treatment, his tail curls around the other man's waist as they head for the bathroom. "I could get used to this, you know," he tells him.

Not enough to want to be terrorised each night by his own mind, but the pampering is nice. It's with that same lazy sense of ease that Danta opts to approach the rest of the day too, and when they are clean and fed and dressed, he wastes no time in corralling them back to the Dusklight to get right back into bed.

~FIN

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now