it's casting shadows and lies

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

Ronin’s hand remains at his shoulder and Sunjata can’t help the remaining lingering terror that he finds there. Because just before, just before he had embraced the Flood. The Star hadn’t let go. The Lullaby had played. And he still hasn’t processed it, he’s trying to make his way through the muddy waters, trying to scrounge it out. And when Ronin says that he didn’t believe him when he should have, Sunjata’s gaze shudders, darkens, he becomes weak again and again.

Frankly, it pisses him off. He’d just died. Dream or not, it had felt so incredibly real. And somehow? Somehow it was worse than when he’d tried to follow Lusea to the grave, to the scar that’s been on his neck for seven years. It’s worse, because Sunjata had wanted to go. There was no acceptance with this aside from that of which he didn’t think he’d be able to get out of it. But he had, somehow, Remi had figured it out.

“Why?” He says simply, bluntly, coldly. Hands shifting to the claws of the dragon that pierce the wood of the table. He still doesn’t look at Ronin, but where Ronin’s hand sits on his shoulders, armor plates spiral out, covering his neck and chest, the underside of his chin, all the way down. Those wings spread from his back, the one still broken, still limp, drooped and sweeping across the floor. “What did I ever do, Ronin, that would make you both think that I did this?” His words leave him in his despair and fear. “That’s not me. That’s not me. I have spent years trying to prove it. And it doesn't fucking matter, does it?”

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

It's the armour that causes Ronin to flinch away at last, the Star letting his hand drop to his lap, the other propping on the table so he can pinch at the bridge of his nose. Again he hears Sunjata out, Ronin's jaw feathering against the pain and accusation that slices through the air and right into him. "It's not that," he says - it's a poor defence, but it's all he's got. "Zeph sent a note to Remi. He was... I have never seen him that angry. He might have killed you and asked questions later," he mutters.

Rubbing his eyes now, Ronin slouches back. "And I have no power right now - nothing. Safrin took it all away. So I wouldn't have been able to stop him even if I had wanted to. And so this was a compromise, but... I didn't know he would do that, Jata. I swear I didn't know." Not that it would help. Not that anything will change this. "It does matter. Of course it matters. This shouldn't be happening to you."

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

Ronin releases him and Sunjata finds himself loosening a breath he didn’t know he’d been latched tight in his chest. It shudders out of him, the realization that Remi might have actually murdered him. “It was on a rumor!” He argues back, unable to keep the frustration from his tone, hating the way that it sounds, the way that it reminds him so much of the beast of his father. He nearly shies away, he clamps his jaw shut so hard that it hurts and clacks as his teeth fit together.

The idea that Safrin had taken everything from Ronin should draw nausea from him again, to worry for his friend, but he can’t. He can’t even draw up his own feelings in a way that makes sense to him – this back and forth of anger, frustration, hurt, and sorrow. “It always happens to me, Ronin. Every time. Those I love get taken from me. Always.” He pushes away from the table now, to stand, to let clawed feet hold him up against the weight of the wings on his back, drawing his clawed hands back as he moves to the fireplace mantel, to try and get some space, some breathing room, trying to soothe his temper. “Maybe I fucking do deserve it.” To have nothing but pain and darkness and shadows. A wild beast to roam Torchline alone, leaving everyone out of his stormy whirlwind of hurt.

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

They've vented to each other before, but never has Ronin felt so much like the enemy before. He's helpless in the wake of Sunjata's rage and frustration and upset, flinching as his words pierce the silence that has stretched between them since the Star's vow to be there for the Flood. He watches as he gets up and goes to linger by the fire like a gargoyle, bathed in shadows and flame. The wing is a ragged thing, a broken reminder of yet another truth that is not self-evident.

But ultimately it's the last part that riles Ronin back to himself; he frowns over at Jata and shakes his head. "No," he says firmly, and already the cabin around them is altering in subtle ways. There's the smell of blackberries, of sugar and pancakes. "No, you don't fucking deserve it. If you think you do, tell him that."

Beside Ronin, a child with steel grey eyes sits. His mouth is purple from the blackberries, and his feet swing gently from the chair. "He doesn't, and neither do you."

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

“No.” He hears, and he shuts his eyes tight, the faint scent of blueberries coming across him. His jaw clenches, and his wings ruffle, and horns from the dragon shift peek out from beneath his hair, his face cold and dark and ready to tell Ronin exactly why he does, exactly where he’s fucked up and where he deserves every terrible thing that happens to him.

So he whirls, his good wing battering into the side of the fireplace, cold steel meeting Ronin before snagging on something else. All that rage and fire burns out of him at the sight of the boy, of himself, before – just after the swim test. The pained leg, swinging from the chair, red and a reminder that makes his chest burn, that makes all those horrible things he’s said about himself choke up in a tight throat.

He turns abruptly, tearing his gaze away from the boy to burn his sorrow and anger into the flames that flicker, wings drawing around him even if one falters and scrapes across the floor. The boy is innocent, he doesn’t know any better. The version of him that stands before the fireplace is all those dark pieces, all the softness and innocence drawn. “He will. He will when he turns seventeen and kills twelve other boys. He will when he takes people from their families to sentence them to execution. He will when he gets his mother killed.” His voice chokes on the words but he tries to trudge on, tries to keep the silver gleam from his eyes, evident in his failure with how his shoulders buckle, how his wings flare and shudder with the sharp inhale he takes. "Because he's weak."

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

"No. He isn't." Ronin is on his feet now, approaching the other man as he shrouds himself before the fire, though he's not so stupid as to reach for Sunjata again. Not physically, anyway. "He isn't weak - he has gotten up again and again, after other people would have given up. You are not fucking weak, Sunjata - that isn't the mark of a weak man. I'm sorry about what's happened - about tonight, and about all the time before it. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Raking his hands back through his hair, he huffs out a breath. "I'm here now, though. I don't know for how long and I don't know how much help I can be, but I'm here." Will that even make a difference, at this point? Ronin doesn't know. "Jata, please."

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

It racks through him, Ronin’s words. Like little bullets that pepper all his hardened edges, until he has one clawed hand braced on the mantel, staring into the fire, trying to reign in his thoughts and drown out all the praise that Ronin gives him. But it isn’t until he can hear Ronin beside him, not touching – knowing better than to touch the feral, wild beast he’s becoming. He’s not sure which part of it breaks him, the fact that he had gotten up again and again to be pummeled back down, or the fact that Ronin said he wasn’t here.

But he was. He was when his husband poisoned him. He was when Remi slashed his throat. It had been so real. “Stop.” He pleads, turning to face Ronin now, unable to keep the tears from his eyes, reaching up with a clawed hand to wipe them away before they drip too far down his face. “You were here for that. Fuck the rest of it.” His voice cracks, the sorrow etching out of him in quiet and painful breaths. “He slit my throat and I died, Ronin.” Nevermind the fact it was a dream, it feels real to him, it shows in the pain etched across his face, in the way his body deflates but that clawed hand comes up to his perfectly intact throat.

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

Stop, Sunjata says, and the words wither and die on his tongue. Ronin's hands clench into fists out of helplessness and guilt - there's no room in him for any frustration and anger after what has happened to his friend. Any battering, verbal or otherwise, is something he deserves. "I know," he whispers through a throat that feels tighter than it should. "But I didn't know he was going to do that, Jata. I didn't think it would go so far."

It's a poor excuse, and Ronin hears himself suddenly, disgusted by the way he's trying to shy away from it, to make it someone else's fault somehow. He had agreed, and he and Remi, tied by blood and heartstrings, had proceeded into this together. "It was a terrible thing to watch, and a worse thing to happen to you," he says eventually. His voice is more level now, but his cheeks are wet.

"And nothing will ever take away from that. It wasn't your fault, though. You didn't deserve it. Whatever you think you've done in your life, Sunjata, you didn't deserve what happened."

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

He looks at Ronin, but it’s through a swimming gaze, through a chest that hurts and throat that feels like it’s on fire. And he’s right, he didn’t know how far it would go. But Sunjata, in all his years, had never been good with words, had no way to prove he hadn’t left the house aside from word alone. And perhaps that’s where the hurt comes from, the fact that they hadn’t trusted his word. All those months… Even Remi had asked him to become the Arbiter to try and prevent it, and in the end it had been Sunjata’s blood covering Remi’s body.

He spies tears on Ronin’s cheeks as he pulls himself back to the present, unsure what to do but knowing that they were stuck in this dream for however long it took to wake up from this horrible nightmare, this turn of events. He breaks when Ronin finishes his statement. That he didn’t deserve it, regardless of what he thought, it has him turning more fully, afraid to embrace Ronin again, afraid of what might come from it, but not having anywhere else to turn. He moves to embrace him anyway, pressing his face into Ronin’s shoulder, unable to keep his body from shaking, from trembling with the tears and sobs that finally break through.

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

Sunjata moves forward and Ronin is there, hugging him tightly even if he has to pull the other man down a bit to his level. "I am so fucking sorry," he mutters into a short crop of hair, holding him against the floodgates as they open, feeling every sob like it's a knife he's stabbed into his friend himself. "I didn't know things had been this bad for this long." Because whilst what had happened had undoubtedly been the crux of a horrific situation, it's been seasons.

Seasons since Ronin and Remi left; seasons since the Governor had been dealing with all that had come after the Longheat fever. The cabin warps and melts around them again, changing only enough that the boy at the table is gone, even if the scent of blackberries remain, and Ronin gently guides them to sit before the hearth and the crackling fire, though he doesn't let Jata go. "We'll fix this mess, okay?"

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

He apologizes and it only breaks Sunjata more, his heart thundering even despite the plated armor thet coats his skin. And with each passing second of Ronin’s arms tightening around him, the more the gargoylesque features of Sunjata smooth out, leaving just his trembling self in place. He lets Ronin take him wherever, moving him to sit before the hearth, and when he finally has some hold on himself, he shudders out a breath.

“Okay.” He manages, muffled, and broken, heaving a breath as he tries to shove his mask into place again; the one of indifference that doesn’t seem to want to go. He wants to hide away, to shrink away, but something tells him that Ronin won’t let him. He manages to get a few steadying cool breaths of air, letting it calm him a fraction so he can pull away, to wipe away any evidence of his break down in his face. “Okay.” He says again.

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

"It is okay," Ronin soothes, as if he's back here talking to the boy who had almost drowned and not the man he became, the Star's grip loosening enough only so he can grasp Sunjata's shoulders and squeeze. "But you don't have to be." There are a lot of things that the Flood might be, before this and after this, but okay isn't one of them. "Gods, Jata." A deep huff of a sigh leaves Ronin, and he sits at last before the hearth with his friend, an arm sneaking out to wrap around his shoulders.

"You know," he says, his voice exhausted but somehow conversational, "I did say the last time I was here, that I'd absolutely punch your dad in the mouth if I ever met him. I guess I'll finally get my chance, won't I?" He nudges the Flood gently. "Not before you do, of course. It's only fair that you get first dibs. Because we'll find him, you know that right? We'll drag his ass out in the open, and we'll give him what he deserves."

the dark star

// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //

He breathes and he breathes and he lets Ronin speak for him, to let his emotions out as it shudders through him. “I’m not.” He says fracturing slightly, heaving a breath again, withdrawing just enough to get ahold of himself as he peers at Ronin through red eyes. The Star’s arm wraps around his shoulders and he says into it, turning just enough that his head can rest on Ronin’s shoulder.

“You did.” He agrees softly, quietly, trying to loosen his jaw. “I don’t know how to find him.” He says slowly, quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he could be a lure, one that gives him an advantage if he brought others. But for now, now he’s too volatile, too fragile, too broken. His voice is grave and quiet as he peers at the flame of the hearth. “But I’m going to kill him.”

it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands

SUNJATA

I swear I still believe but I don't know

"And that's okay as well," Ronin says simply, the words mumbled into Sunjata's hair where he's come to let his head slouch onto his shoulder. He's happy to sit with him like this for as long as it takes, until he falls into a second, dreamless sleep or until they are pulled naturally into wakefulness. And when Jata confesses that he doesn't know where his father is, Ronin simply give him a gentle squeeze. "Then we'll find him," he says, like it's as easy as that.

Where most would expect horror or at least questions in the face of the Flood's conviction, Ronin merely sits and allows the words to sink in a bit. "Do you need help?" he asks. Help in general; help with the killing; however it goes down, Ronin doesn't mind. "I killed someone once... it was way back in the Hollowed Grounds. They had taken Aoife. I killed him with my bare hands." The confession about Skyler comes out not with a bang, but with a whimper.

the dark star