I carried on like a wayward son

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

Vai had managed to patch him up just enough after finding him, had managed to glare down anyone that came near to him, had fed him and cleaned him up, and you wouldn’t necessarily think that he’d been on the brink of death, disappeared for two entire days. And yet? Here he is, looking relatively put together all things considered. He has a lot to thank for Vai’s healing magic and general ability to fix him up.

But now he was nearing the door of home, charred and blackened within, terrified to see what he might find upon entering. He pauses at the front door, his bones heavy and his legs and body still incredibly sore, the scar up the left side of his face, gnarled and twisted from the days adrift at sea. So he pokes and prods, first. A shout down the bond in case Nate was hidden away in the smoky rooms of the home. Nate…? He waits a few heartbeats of a second, his hand rising to the door knob, finding it locked (for good reason) but Sunjata had managed to lose his set of keys in the tumble into the sea.

I made it.. I’m here, I’m sorry, please let me in. Even his mental voice shakes, cracks, draws quiet along the bond and if Nate’s too far away, he’d lose part of the conversation. Eventually, though, he leans his shoulder and head against the doorframe, sucking down a sharp breath, trying to focus on remaining upright. I’m so, so sorry. His throat is still too raw to say anything, to shout aloud. And if he doesn’t hear any sense of movement from within the home, then he’ll find the strength to knock on the door of his home.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

Nate hasn’t slept in years now, but for the first time, he doesn’t miss it. Something about the silence of the house feels right. It’s an empty place. He’s an empty place.

An echo seems appropriate, so much so that Nate doesn’t think anything of it, not at first. Even if it isn’t his own voice, like every other thought has been. Even if it’s his own name.

It stops making sense when Haai perks up, where she sits at the foot of the bed. It stops making sense with the trembling, breaking, familiar voice that continues in his mind. He’s moving before his mind has a chance to really catch up, stepping out of the bedroom, taking the stairs three at a time, rushing to the door so quickly he can’t actually stop himself in time and he crashes into it, fumbling to open the latch.

The thought that this is some trick doesn’t cross his mind. The thought that this is some kind of spirit doesn’t cross his mind. The thought that this is a boggart does cross his mind, briefly, but the echo in his head dashes that thought before it has a chance to fully form.

The door is thrown open along with Nate’s arms, wrapping around the figure on the other side of the door so tight there’s no way he doesn’t press against bruises. Sunny! Nate’s own voice, once he finally finds it, is hollow, unused, and filled with a desperate hope. I thought you were dead. Fluid, now that he has it to spare, pricks at his eyes, his face pressing against his husbands collar. He steps back, pulling the attuned into the house, a hand moving automatically to lock the door again.

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

There’s movement within, Haai offering pulses of relief through the bond – she’d known, of course she had known, if she hadn’t she’d likely have departed to go find more like her. But she’d stayed, and for that quiet comfort Sunjata is grateful. And with that connection to the griffin, he can tell that Nate’s roused, some relief shuddering through him as he leans against the doorframe, hardly able to keep himself up fully. It’d only been a couple of hours since Vai had found him, but these precious minutes that lead up to the sound of a doorknob turning, feels like an eternity.

The door opens and Sunjata can’t prepare himself for the arms that wrap around him, Sunjata essentially falling into Nate with prickles of pain coursing through him. “Ah,” he grits, clenching and clamping down on his jaw so that his cheek pulses with pain if only to distract him from the rest of it. But his arms rise too, pressing against Nate – because the pain was worth it for this. I just washed up in the Fingers, I think… He can’t remember fully when he’d washed up, only that he had.

Nate’s head presses against his neck, before the Ascended is pulling him back into the house and Sunjata follows suit, feet stumbling as he tries to keep them under him. “I’m so sorry, skatjie.” His voice is hoarse, throaty, from the days of swallowing down saltwater in the attempts to survive. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” All of it. His father, the kidnapping, the muzzle, his desperate attempt to drop his father off the cliff and fly up and away, only to succumb to the waves, too.

He suddenly finds his hands grasping for Nate, trying to latch on wherever he can, to bury his face into despite the pain of the still healing scar, trying to hide away his own tears that gloss his eyes and fall into Nate’s shirt.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

He’s selfish, deliberately and obviously, in a way that Nate very often isn’t. He has more than enough self awareness to know when to stop himself, usually, but this is a special circumstance. He is going to hold his husband as tightly as he can, for as long as he can. Until he’s certain, absolutely certain that Sunjata won’t be ripped away again.

Nate leans back, meaning to take a step, to lift Sunjata, but it’s an action that’s beyond him in his current state. His legs don’t hold out beneath him, and they both go toppling to the ground, Nate just barely aware enough to pull the attuned right against his chest. It’s not your fault. Whether that’s true or not isn’t something Nate’s actually put any thought into, isn’t something he ever will. It just sounds more certain than I don’t blame you.

You came home to me. All the love and devotion Nate can muster is pressed into the shaky, silent words. Every feeling he’s neglected to feel for the last two days comes crashing down on him, paralyzing him. Grief and panic and crushing loneliness, things that he can’t keep to himself. And underneath it all, a trembling, anxious, choking joy.

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

It’s painful, but Sunjata’s far too relieved to be buried within Nate’s arms, the bulk of his husband enough to shield him from everything else. Still, his body tenses with it, to protect against the pain, to protect against the bandage that’s pressed against the still healing puncture to his side, tenses as he buries his scarred side of his face into Nate and soaks in the scent and air of the Ascended. But Nate leans back a fraction and Sunjata, selfishly, isn’t ready yet, grasping wherever he can for his husband as they both go toppling to the floor.

Something along his side burns, the bruises along his shoulders bark out in pain, but he buries himself into Nate’s chest, letting himself feel the emotions that course through Nate through the bond, letting it bound and mix and meld with his own. The underline, however, is relief. And Sunjata shudders with the tears and the gasping breaths he tries to take through sandpaper lungs. I said I always would. He sends back over, shivering and curling up on Nate, pressing against him wherever he can even if it hurts.

He manages to get somewhat ahold of himself after gods know how long, and then he’s lifting his head, propping himself on a trembling arm, to look at Nate’s face and make sure that he’s okay, to try and get a look at whatever scars sit there. Steel eyes matching Shaju’s, only softer and darker with emotion, slowly scan for anything he can find. The light glints off the side of his own face, where the scarring is gnarled and twisted, but he pays it no mind aside from the dull throbbing of his heartbeat as if frantically runs. He scans Nate’s face and jaw where the muzzle had been, and then his throat, before he presses his forehead against Nate’s chest. It was the only way I could find you. He knows his train of thought isn’t making sense, but no matter how desperately he tries, he can’t get it to go in a straight line. I had to.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

No matter how he still aches, how every motion seems to take a toll, Nate simply can't keep his arms still. He's a touch gentler now, but only by virtue of the glacial pace his hands move up and down his husband's back, trying to hold everywhere all at once. The absolutely ridiculous, absolutely sensible sounding thought of If I had more arms gets the chance to drift through his mind, a hiccup in the density of everything else he's feeling. And, stupidly, the thing that finally has tears flowing from him.

That flinch will come one day, he's sure, but for the moment, Nate looks up into steel eyes and sees only Sunjata. Both hands move now to cup the attuned's jaw, fingers fanning over the new scar carved into his cheek. We match now. Sorrow has coloured his voice this whole time, but it's more evident with these words than it has been before. It isn't as if he'd escaped unscathed either. Smooth, shiny featureless scars dapple over his side now, made worse where the sun had been magnified by the remnants of the tides on him. At least the dozens of smaller cuts and scrapes had healed already, barely a remnant of them left on his cool skin.

As Sunjata moves closer again, hands move to cup his head instead, pulling him painfully close again. You did it. They're beyond sense at the moment, two different conversations happening, all wrapped up in emotions that would be paralyzing alone, let alone reverberating through the pair of them. Now I've got you again. Silent as his voice is, it's all too easy to see the I'm sorry, I'm so sorry behind his words.

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

There’s fluid that drips from Nate’s eyes and Sunjata’s are glossy with a sheen of his own tears when he finally peers down at Nate, the hand at his jaw soft and trembling just as the Attuned’s arms are as he curls up against his husband. The hand drifts along the scar and Sunjata’s lip quivers slightly, pressing into the touch gingerly as he can. We do. He agrees through the bond, but even there it sounds choked, sounds hiccuped and sorrowful.

But he can’t press his face into Nate’s chest to hide himself away when Nate cups his face, Sunjata’s steel swimming in tears still as he listens to the words, tries to let them burn through him. It wasn’t quick enough. He rumbles mentally, casting a glance to the shiny scars that litter Nate’s skin, the ones that pick and pull at tattoos that sat there. He huffs a shuddering breath, eyes crinkling slightly as he tries to overcome his feelings and swallow them down.

“I’ve got you too.” He manages, aloud, soft and hoarse and choked up still with as tight as his throat is. His hands lift, trembling and bruised, cut along the knuckles but cleaned up and healing as he goes to pull some of Nate’s tangle of hair out of his face and his eyes, letting his thumb run along the sharp jawline. “Vai found me. She put me together the best she could.” He explains hoarsely again, nuzzling his head gingerly into the hands there, more so on the right side to not aggravate the left where the scar still sits, pulsing and painful.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

Nate hadn’t meant to incite the sorrow he had. He remembers how he’d felt, how much of himself was tied into his face. He knows it isn’t the same, knows it’s probably worse, and he holds his proverbial tongue. Somehow, batting away his husbands emotions are easier than his own, a thumb lifting to wipe away tears from Sunjata’s eyes. But you did it. He had been starving, feral, and it had been Sunjata who had brought him back.

It’s more of a struggle for Nate to use his voice. He know that out of anyone, Sunjata is the one person he can least guarded around, the one person to whom he can open up completely, and yet he’s still worried about his voice cracking, about the words crumbling away under the weight of the emotions they carry. ”I love you.” He’s nearly silent, voice a breathless tremble, but it’s better than he’d thought.

The best she could has bells going off in Nate’s head, a fresh surge of worry washing up his throat. Are you still hurt? Is there anything he can do, anything to fix or treat, anything to busy his useless shaking hands with?

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

I did. He agrees weakly, nuzzling his head into the thumbs that wipe away his tears. He heaved a shuddering sigh, peering back at Nate when he tells him he loves him, a soft smile wanting to form through the tears as he fights all the sorrow and pain around him to send nothing but unconditional love through the bond to Nate, lips quivering as he goes to respond. “I love you too.” And he means every word of it, every bit and piece of the words that fall from his mouth, laid there before Nate in far more open of a way than he’s ever been.

As for the rest of it? His wounds and bruises, pains and hurt? He moves slightly to sit up, dragging Nate with him as he settles in his husband’s lap, wrapping his bruised arms around Nate. “My face still hurts. It’s still healing inside. She couldn’t completely close the wound to my side but she bandaged it up.” A bandage that had become slightly loose in their shuffle and fall. “Just… small scrapes and bruises after that.” He wouldn’t deny Nate’s eyes over it, though, just to be sure if that’s what he wanted.

For now, though, he goes to tangle his bruised and scraped hand with Nate’s to pull the Ascended’s arm into view, sniffling away his tears the best he can to see what other wounds might have left scars on his lover.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

I know you do. I know, I promise I do. For a breath, everything is perfect, bright. For a breath, he can forget everything that’s happened in the last two weeks, and he can simply be here. Unlike every other breath he takes though, Nate has to let this one go, has to let his mind slip to injuries instead.

Nate hums, let’s his fingers drift over Sunjata’s lips. Considers, for a moment, opening his mouth to look anyway, and decides in the same moment that that would be a little bit much. Maybe when they go upstairs. I’m glad she took care of you. His other hand drifts down along his husbands side, fingers sneaking up his shirt to press gently against the bandage there. An examination is not usually based on tocuh only, but in the interest of not pulling away from Sunjata any more, Nate makes an exception.

There’s a pulse of betrayal when his hand is grabbed, lifted, hiding a deep, mental flinch. It’s a small mercy that his wrists are the only place that show the actual marks of his captivity. If the muzzle had left something, Nate isn’t sure he’d be able to show his face ever again. Just because they’re preferable doesn’t mean they’re better though, Nate glancing away and letting a soft It’s fine. rush from him. The scars themselves tell a different story, thick and uneven, biting in where he’d pulled with all his strength, when he’d had it.

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

The confirmation from Nate means everything to him and it loosens that bit of worry that’s snuck itself into his heart for having disappeared and drowned in the last couple of days. It means little, all things considered, that he’d gone and left given the fact that he’d fought to get Nate back, fought to get his home back, fought to get his leadership back. And so, with it, Sunjata focuses on the here and now, the wounds that Nate focuses on and the way his fingers drift along his skin.

Me too. He sends over, gently, before he’s watching Nate’s face for any signs of a grimace of what he finds. My lungs are still sore, as well. I swallowed a lot of water. He pauses, mentally, as if Nate might be able to hear the gears spinning. Also threw up a lot of it. This causes his lips to twitch briefly as he aims to try and keep his emotions in check, seeking out Nate’s wrist to lift it to inspect.

And the wounds there remind him of Lusea’s scarred throat upon her arrival to Caido, and it clenches something hopeless and painful in his chest as he runs his thumb along the rugged skin. Nate’s rushed response is met with a quick glance from Sunjata, his free hand lifting to Nate’s hair to cup the side of his face. You fought too. It’s more of a statement, something that breaks within Sunjata with emotion at the fact that they had both fought for their life together, their family together, each other. So he lets Nate’s wrist go, lets him do what he wishes with it and not drawing attention to it, in order to pull Nate in for a kiss – one that’s both apologetic and proud.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

There’s no shift on his face at all, a poker face that he’s perfected in the last few days settled over him perfectly. Honestly though, he’s not concerned. Vai knows what she’s doing, she wouldn’t leave Sunjata to suffer. A more thorough exam can come later, after the elation of their reunion.As long as it’s out of you. Nate tries to make it joking, tries to lighten the heavy miasma surrounding them, but it doesn’t leave him right, it sticks in his mouth in all the wrong ways and comes out sad.

Nate doesn’t know the memories his new scars stir up, though if he spared a moment of thought to it, instead of his own prideful self consciousness, he might be able to figure it out. He leans into the hand on his face instead, fighting the urge to let his eyes flutter shut. Obviously. Takes more than... Actually, that’s not a sentence he wants to finish, not a path he wants to follow in the least.

Have you eaten? The words come so suddenly they seem to surprise even Nate. It’s perfect though, a practical distraction, an excuse to enter the kitchen and settle in together. An excuse to return a spark of warmth back to the home. I’ll make... something.

NATE

// the killer in me is the killer in you, my love, i send this smile over to you
disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here //

I think it is. He assures Nate, trying to fall into that joking tone and failing just as spectacularly as his husband. But it’s fine, because the inspection of the wrist and the hand on Nate’s cheek are more than enough for distractions. He presses a kiss to Nate, pulls away when his husband’s words reach him and Sunjata can’t help the way his stomach drops with it – but he manages to block out much of the sensation from traveling over. Instead, simply focusing on Nate and the fact that he was here and alive.

They both would have scars both internally and externally, but that didn’t mean he had to dwell on it now. He could focus on the here and now and with it, Nate’s question. Sunjata’s head is already bobbing despite Nate’s conviction to making something, moving to shift out of his husband’s lap to try and pull himself up and then Nate. “I have… Bread and soup.” He offers with a soft smile. “I could eat some more, though.” His voice is still hoarse but given the fact he hadn’t eaten for days now, adrift and lost at sea, well, it’s the least he can do to try and give Nate something familiar, something easy.

A hand is outstretched toward his husband, to pull him up in tandem despite both their shaky and trembling limbs, but once Nate’s up Sunjata wraps an arm around Nate, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go it’d all have been a dream.

to wither in denial, the bitterness of one who's left alone

SUNJATA

there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

With his hands released Nate let’s his fingers press through salt-softened curls, an unsteady smile tugging at his lips. They’re so broken in so many ways, cracks spreading across the mirrors and masks they throw up so easily, and yet Nate hasn’t felt so whole in... well, truthfully days, but it already feels like a lifetime. He leans into the kiss with everything he has, threatening to topple them over the opposite direction.

Nate is distracted by his own question, all of his focus pouring into this new distraction immediately. The hand is accepted, more for contact than for support as the ascended heaves himself up, slower than he would otherwise. Leaning bodily into the hug, Nate throws both arms around Sunjata and begins pulling him into the kitchen, unhurried and not at all worried about walking backwards.

Are you very hungry? The first of a bombardment of overlapping questions - do you want something heavy? Hot? Something sweet maybe? - all of which are rendered suddenly unnecessary by Nate deciding he knows exactly what he’s going to make.

First things first though, he has to set up the kitchen. With his arms still around the attuned, Nate makes his way to the kitchen table, grabbing a chair with one hand and dragging it close to the stove. Sitting Sunjata down and presse just a few more kisses to the unscarred half of his face, Nate begins to step around the kitchen, gathering this and that. Potatoes, garlic and onion and peppers, cheese and cured meat and creamy which seems to be the hardest to find. And last, but not least, a pan and apron. He’d come downstairs dressed in only pants, some flicker of distraction stopping him when he’d meant to get dressed, and no motivation rising to drag him back to the task.

NATE