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Oct 11, 2022

Shine a Little Light||Emilio and Virgil

TIMING: A few days before Sad, Sweaty Man LOCATION: A park PARTIES: @monstersfear and @virgil-achyls SUMMARY: Emilio and Virgil meet up to talk about what happened with Hekakleidi. Emilio makes an offer, and Virgil accepts. The meeting is cut short by a hedgehound, and Emilio, without his powers and with Virgil making things difficult, runs away with the Lampade in tow. CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideation, domestic abuse

Everything was quieter than it used to be. You didn’t realize how much you relied on a thing until it wasn’t there for you to rely on anymore. Emilio was doing his best to work around it, but… It was no easy thing. Distraction, he’d found, was the best medicine. Distraction and… making amends. He was trying to get better at that.

Virgil seemed like a good enough place to start. Emilio carried a lot of guilt for his part in what happened to the kid, for chasing that manufactured ‘happiness’ the demon using Virgil’s body had offered to the point that he’d been willing to help sacrifice people to find it. He owed Virgil plenty, and a conversation seemed like the smallest place to start. Emilio sat on the bench as he waited for the fae to arrive, glancing up when he joined the scene. “Hey,” he greeted. “Thanks for meeting with me. Not always good at the… online shit, you know? Easier to talk in person, sometimes. And I, uh… Wanted to see for myself how you’ve been.” He looked different now. Better, maybe. It was good to see.

Virgil made his slow way to the meeting spot, gait slower and stiffer than normal due to his aching joints. He was better than he had been, but moving still hurt. It pulled at the healing skin, and the bits that stubbornly kept hurting. Keylike marks over his eyelids, the more complex knot in the center of his forehead, and the rest of the prayer marks, none of which seemed to be healing. They’d closed up enough to not bleed, but that was about it. They felt raw despite being months old. Even the acid burns to his skin and the spot on his maw where the demon had split him open from inside were better. But not those cursed marks.

He was still unsettled. The sense of being upside down, of feeling like he was going to fall into the sky, was worse now for some reason. And he was glowing. Not the natural kind which came from his eyes. It was his hair, the prayer marks, and, very faintly, the parts of his skin that’d been burnt worst by the corrupted magic. Hekakleidi’s magic was purged, but he was still feeling the effects. He was used to chronic pain, so his wounds didn’t bother him much when he was focused on other things. It was really just the bright white hair that irritated him; he stuck out like a sore thumb whether he was among humans or in the woods. He no longer felt as connected or protected by the shadows. Not as he had been, before all this.

Virgil took a seat on the bench next to who he assumed was Emilio. He hadn’t been awake for their first meeting, and he wasn’t exactly sure what Emilio looked like. But there were few humans who lingered after dark, and just one who regarded him without fear.

Emilio was a short human with dark hair. Virgil sometimes had a difficult time figuring out what humans were thinking or feeling, but the mixture of cynicism, anger, and regret were clear to even him. It looked like he wasn’t doing well either.

“It’s kind of you to want to check up on me. I am alive. I’ve been spending a lot of time asleep. But I’m bored of sleeping. It’s time for me to get back out into the world, such as I am.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s good to meet you in person. Again.”

He settled into the bench, turning partially so he could meet Emilio’s eyes, and see what he could of the man. Though he was glamoured, it was clear that his humanity was a mere affectation. It was a poorly suited mask, with facial muscles and pulls that were incompatible with his true form. He rarely showed emotion through his face, but that did little to help. He hoped Emilio had a strong constitution.

The shade nearby shifted to point towards him. Shadows curled around him like a blanket, comforting despite his inability to truly be one with them again.

“Are you alright? You look a bit… tense.”

Christ, the kid looked like shit. Emilio was torn between sympathy for someone so obviously in bad shape and quiet relief that, in spite of everything, there was someone out there who looked worse off than he probably did. He knew he looked rough, with the bags under his eyes and the trembling hands, but Virgil seemed to be barely holding on at all. And there was a sense of guilt that came with that relief, sure, but not enough to dispel it entirely. Not enough to make it go away.

It occurred to Emilio, though, that this might be a normal look for me Virgil. Technically speaking, this was the first time he’d met the man instead of the demon. Hekakleidi had been a thing all its own, and the best glimpses Emilio had gotten of Virgil during the demon’s control had been brief at best. A split second when he’d thrown a punch the first time the demon came into his apartment. A moment or two during the sacrifices. Nothing as concrete as this.

He leaned back on the bench as Virgil took a seat, nodding absently. “I’d say you look better,” he said, “but I don’t want to lie.” Blunt, as always. Shifting a little under the lampade’s gaze, Emilio tried to shelf his discomfort. It was easy enough to remember that this wasn’t the same person who’d scooped him out of his own head to make room for someone more malleable. The differences in appearance made that clear enough. But the nervousness was there all the same, the quiet discomfort hard to shake.

The shadows moved, and Emilio’s eyes darted towards them despite knowing that it was Virgil who was doing it, despite knowing that there was nothing to flinch away from. He sucked his teeth, frustration flaring up at his own stubborn paranoia. Glancing back to the fae beside him, he shrugged. “Ran into a few issues recently. Kind of… flying blind right now. My hunter shit is shot.” The confession tasted like acid on his tongue, sharp and painful, but… he figured Virgil might actually understand it, in his own kind of way. “I’ll be all right once I get it fixed.”

“What do you mean, your hunter stuff is shot? I thought it was a part of you, like your skin. How did you lose it?” Virgil asked, not liking the implication there. It sounded like how he felt now: out of his element and strange, like something entirely different. He hoped that Emilio’s problem had a solution, something that could be done, besides just waiting to see if things improved on their own. Although, if Emilio was here talking to him and not out getting his powers back, he suspected that there was no simple answer. Virgil was tired of being patient, and he suspected that Emilio likely was too. Still, he had to ask. “Is it something that can be fixed?”

He thought about offering to help, but refrained. He didn’t want to be bound to another promise now, especially when the most he could do at the moment was be a nightlight. He would listen, and that was all.

“I appreciate your honesty. I’ve recovered somewhat. The restlessness is gone. But, as you can see, I have some lingering wounds.” Virgil waved his hand to his entire body, a slight, sardonic smile marring the blankness of his features. “The hair and general glow are what bother me the most. With them, the darkness cannot embrace me as it should.”

Emilio laughed at the question, dry and humorless. “It’s supposed to be,” he confirmed hollowly, closing his eyes for a moment. Virgil’s description was more accurate than he’d care to admit; he had lost a part of himself here. He might as well have lost his skin, a limb, his heart. That was how it felt, at least. “I don’t know. I hope so. I broke a promise.” He wasn’t sure why he offered the explanation. He wouldn’t have, to most people. But… There was a strange sort of connection he felt to Virgil. Maybe it was because of the shit the lampade had gone through that he’d been a part of, or maybe he just felt oddly connected to anyone who had more demon problems than he did.

He looked Virgil over carefully, nodding absently as he did so. He looked like shit, but still better than he had before. And he was himself. That, Emilio knew, counted for something. “Imagine it makes it harder,” he confirmed with a nod. Not just because it prevented him from using his powers properly, but because it was an undeniable physical change. A stark reminder of what Virgil had been through that no one could close their eyes to. That couldn’t be an easy weight to carry. “You think it’ll fade?”

Virgil’s gaze found Emilio’s eyes as he spoke of a broken promise, shocked at the revelation. “I wasn’t aware you were bound to anyone. What were the terms, if you don’t mind me asking? It seems like an overly cruel punishment.” He could see how a promise might cause problems for the human. The alarm faded fast into sympathy. He knew very well what could go wrong from promises made to the wrong person, and more than that, having one’s free will compromised was not enjoyable. The demon had crawled into his mind and made him their own. Even before that, Virgil had spent a very long year in White Crest doing his best to avoid carrying out his mother’s promise. He could only imagine how difficult it must be for one such as Emilio, given how humans faltered under harsh constraints.

“I do not think the marks will fade, no. They have been too well burned into me for them to go away. I will admit, I’m not the best with my glamour, but they will not be covered even by my best efforts.” He trailed off, gaze falling to the human-colored flesh of his wrist sticking out of the edge of his long sleeve, and the knot of runes carved there.

“I have healed from many other things. I recovered from where the demon succeeded in splitting me open from the inside. My burns are fading, if slowly. The restlessness has left me alone, so I no longer turn everything I touch black. If I had hope, I would theorize that the glow will fade like that demon’s poison did, just slower. But I do not think I will live long enough to find out.” At first, he’d hated to look at the marks, and know that they would always mean that he, in body and mind, was for Hekakleidi in the end. Now, he looked, and wanted to replace the marks with those intended for something else. Someone else, who would keep him, but not consume him in the way the demon would. His great and terrible Leshy. Nature would outlast him, and the demon. And he would die in the name of Solomon before he would surrender his mind to Hekakleidi again.

“I am exhausted with worrying about my body. It will keep hurting, as it always has. I wish to be embraced by the shadows. When the demon was in me, the shadows wouldn’t touch me, and I am glad they didn’t. Doubtless the demon would’ve corrupted them too. But despite the demon’s absence, their light still remains, and the shadows still keep a distance.”

Emilio laughed, dry and hollow and empty. “I was,” he replied, thinking of the two separate fae he’d been bound to, of Regan’s bodyguard job and Marina’s words tying him to Levi. Technically, Marina still had him bound, though they’d changed the terms of the agreement so that he only had to worry about keeping himself from killing the demon. Still, it felt like too much. It felt like freedoms being taken away, like sacrifices he’d never wanted to make. “I promised to protect someone,” he replied, “and I didn’t. Best I figure, the promise twisted me up so I can’t protect anyone now, even if I want to.” He wasn’t an expert on promise binds. He might ask Rhett if he wasn’t half convinced the warden would punch him in the face for getting himself into this mess to begin with.

But… his mess might not be the worst one on this park bench. Emilio knew all too well the weight that came with having a physical reminder of a trauma you’d gone through. His bad leg ached faintly, a quiet pulse reminding him that it was there, a graveyard to all he’d lost. People might not be able to tell it by just looking at him the way they could with Virgil, but it became clear enough when he walked. It wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone.

“It’s good,” he offered, “that some of it’s fading. At least there’s that.” But… the tail end of Virgil’s statement struck him, and his brow furrowed. “You think it’s coming back for you? The demon.” Virgil had mentioned it before, but the thought ticked Emilio’s heart up at the reminder. If Hekakleidi returned now, he’d be in no shape to fight them. Even with his abilities fully functional, he’d been bested on that first night in his apartment. He wasn’t exactly excited at the idea of a repeat performance.

He sucked his teeth thoughtfully, nodding at Virgil’s words with a hint of understanding. “Maybe you need to talk to another lampade,” he offered. “See if any might have some advice.” It wasn’t his best idea, but it probably also wasn’t his worst. He figured that stood for something.

Clarity washed over Virgil, and he nodded at the revelation of a promise to protect someone. That seemed like exactly the kind of binding Emilio would make, whether it was forced upon him or made willingly. But promises to protect were so nonspecific that it was almost impossible not to break them. Virgil had heard many a tale of the elder fae back home talking of bindings or loving vows which always ended with broken promises and disastrous results. Still, he nodded sympathetically at the human. “That sort of binding always goes wrong. Do not think yourself any less for breaking the promise. And… well, I hope you can get your hunter stuff back. I understand that you must be feeling empty. Not like yourself. But you are still a capable protetor.”

Emilio’s question nearly made Virgil laugh. Think. No, he didn’t think they were coming back. He knew that they weren’t done with him. It was one of the few things in life he was certain of. A joyless smile broke out over his face.

“The demon will come back, yes. I’m actually surprised they’ve let me go this long without retaliating. They told me I was their chosen, after all. I cannot just walk away from that, especially not after how things ended last time.” Virgil didn’t know if all demons had monumental egos, or if it was just Hekakleidi. But the way they’d gone out of their way to display that they’d chosen him, that they loved him, and wanted to stay in him forever, to anyone who would listen, and then be rejected in front of their following, was surely grounds for a painful retaliation. Perhaps they’d found a new body, but they would still want something from him. Whether it was to try again to make him an angel, or make him suffer, he wasn’t sure. But there would be something. Even at full strength, Virgil would not be able to do anything against them. And as broken as he was now, the demon could have him with zero effort. He sighed, folding his hands in his lap so he could press a thumb over the prayer mark, feeling it sting. He hated to go on knowing that he was helpless to something that would be the end of him, only he didn’t know how or when. The very least he could do was ruin Hekakleidi’s fun, even if that itself was false hope. “But I will not make it easy on them. Perhaps Solomon can cover them with his own marks. I’ll scratch them out of my flesh myself if I have to. And if it comes down to it, I would sooner sacrifice myself to him- to the forest- rather than allow the demon to touch me again.”

His voice had gone hard at the topic, chest tightening as he spoke for the first time of being helpless. He hated to feel like this, living in fear for the other shoe to drop, and for Hekakleidi to appear again. Solomon would likely not enjoy being asked to hurt him, or possibly kill him if the demon came back for him. But Virgil could only stomach the thought of his own death if it was Solomon doing it.

He swallowed, taking a few deep breaths before continuing in a more normal tone (though he couldn’t quite make himself stop pressing his fingers into the runes). Emilio had asked if it might help to ask another Lampade, and while it likely would, Virgil was more concerned with his life possibly ending rather than his issues with the shadows. “Perhaps it would help to talk to another Lampade. But the only one I’ve met here is… very different to me. I think it has to do with being from different dimensions. But maybe I will ask. It can’t hurt, I suppose.”

Did he think less of himself for breaking the promise? In all honesty, Emilio wasn’t sure. In the end, Regan was herself again even if the path to getting there hadn’t been something she’d wanted when she’d bound him. Plenty of people probably hated him for his part in it — he was certain Kaden did, and he didn’t think the librarian was his biggest fan either — but he wasn’t sure that this was something to be added to the list of reasons why he hated himself. The aftermath, certainly, was something he despised. The uselessness he felt without his strength or senses was unparalleled, something he was so desperate to fix that he’d nearly broken everything else in his attempts to do so, but the events that led him there? It had been a best case scenario for everyone but Emilio himself. Maybe that was part of what made it sting so badly. “Appreciate it,” he offered with a nod. “I’ll get it back.” He had to. If he didn’t… He knew he couldn’t keep going like this. A shadow of himself, a thing that needed protecting instead of a person capable of providing said protection to everyone else. Regardless of what Teddy said, he knew he wasn’t worth anything the way he was now. He had to get back to himself. Otherwise, he was no one at all.

Maybe there was no one who could understand that better than Virgil. Hekakleidi hung over the fae’s head the same way this sudden loss hung over Emilio’s. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ignored, wasn’t the kind of thing you could close your eyes to. The demon had taken a piece of Virgil with them when they left, held it even now with a promise to return. It wasn’t the sort of thing the slayer would wish on anyone.

That determination, too, was a thing Emilio understood. That stubborn sense of choosing what killed you, that way of knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that you’d rather be slain on your own terms than survive on someone else’s. It was something Emilio had held onto for years now. Some days, it was the only reason he was alive at all. It was why he fought back against everything the world threw at him, why he refused to let Levi kill him that first night or any night that followed, why he intentionally bit off more than he could chew but still threw everything he had into surviving it in spite of that quiet desire not to that lived in his chest. When you’d had everything you cared about taken from you, there was a sense of feral pride in being your own destruction. Tearing yourself to pieces so that no one else could, taking yourself out of the equation just to spite someone who wanted to use you… Emilio could relate to that.

But even so… “He won’t like it.” Emilio knew that from his own experience, from Teddy tracking him down in that graveyard to stop him from letting a bunch of spawn tear him apart, from Ari camping out on his living room after Silas died, from Rhett looking at him with a critical eye any time he said something a little too off-putting. Even if it was the only path forward you had, the people who cared about you wouldn’t like the idea of you tearing yourself to pieces to win an impossible game. Solomon would be no different. “He might not do it.” Emilio’s friends wouldn’t, if he asked them to. But… “If you need a last resort, you can call me. I can’t… sacrifice you to the forest, but I can make sure the demon doesn’t get their claws into you again. I can do that.” He was damned anyway. What was one more unforgivable act, one more awful thing? He’d want someone to do the same for him, were his and Virgil’s roles reversed here. And… giving Hekakleidi the finger in the process wouldn’t be the worst feeling in the world, even if it’d probably blow back on him.

Nodding as Virgil mulled over his suggestion, not sure what else to say. If he knew more about fae, he could offer better advice. The fact that he’d found himself bound to two of them over the last few months seemed like proof enough that he was well out of his depth here. Virgil would probably be better off listening to just about anyone else. “Can’t hurt,” he agreed. “Librarian might know something, too.” She seemed to know something about the goings on in town, given the way she’d reacted when Emilio showed up to retrieve Regan’s bones. “Might have some… books, or whatever.”

I hope you get it back, Virgil thought, but didn’t say. This was no place for hope, or other nonsense. He found that it helped to be realistic about the situation that he found himself in, and deal with how he was now. Whether or not Emilio got his hunting ability back, he was still himself. That didn’t change, even if the human might feel like the lowest scum who barely deserved the air he breathed. “Until you do, try to be patient with yourself. I know it can feel like a death sentence. You might hate to be around the people who know you because you don’t want them to see how little you can do. But just try to work with what you have. You’re still a capable person, you just have to figure out how to do what you want in a way that works for you now.”

Virgil knew he was being hypocritical, and that being marked as useless and weak was not something you could just get over, especially not when it turned out to be true. White Crest just made his chronic pain worse, saddled him with a lightheadedness and a general sickliness. In some ways, it made it easier to deal with here, where nobody knew that he used to be: a farming boy who toiled for long hours to care for his humans and plants, used to hard work and long hours in his efforts to help the other fae. Now, he could barely go up stairs without his joints aching and popping, and the lasting feeling that he was going to black out. But Emilio was used to having a functional body, one that didn’t cause him pain, as far as Virgil knew. It did what it was meant to. Now, without the hunting ability, it was probably more jarring than it’d been for Virgil. “That might mean you pause on doing dangerous shit for a while. Don’t push yourself so hard. Maybe catch up on sleep. But you’re still normal, and you need to figure out what gives you purpose now. Just feel things out.”

It struck Virgil as oddly sweet that Emilio would offer to kill him if Solomon didn’t like the idea. Unexpectedly, the smile turned more genuine, and he allowed himself to let go of the mark, hands stilling.

“No, I guess he won’t like it,” he said after a long pause, undeterred, but slightly less sure of himself. He didn’t consider that Solomon might not understand that it was for the best. Possibly the only way to escape the demon for good. And… he wouldn’t truly be gone if Solomon kept loving him. Whether the Leshy just killed him, or turned him into a mindless plant creature, like he’d confessed to doing while under the Tree’s sway, it mattered little to Virgil. Solomon and him protected each other (not that Virgil was much good at it), but there was no protection from Hekakleidi. There was only making sure the demon couldn’t use him. Perhaps Solomon would take some part of his, such as his antlers (if they even grew back after this), or skull to keep with him.

But Solomon might not realize that it was a good thing right away. He might want to try other things, not realizing that there was no hope for anything except a loving death. But Virgil knew that nothing would stop the demon from using him again, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. They had his mother, and the minds of their fae in the Mirror, and the strength of being a greater demon. If there was a way to kill them, it was lost to him. Virgil’s sacrifice was the only option. And it wasn’t a certainty. Just something that they could talk about, which might give Virgil some peace of mind. A failsafe. He knew that Solomon would be gentle with him. So would Emilio.

“Thank you, Emilio. It means a great deal that you’re willing to do this for me. I know it won’t be pleasant, killing someone you know. But this will put me greatly at ease. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to ask this of anyone, but I don’t think I could do it myself.” He did hate to go against what Solomon would doubtlessly think was best, or make him unhappy. And he wasn’t sure if Solomon would even consider it. But he thought that covering up the marks was a good first step. Solomon would understand that, at least.

“I am in your debt. If you find yourself in need of anything I can provide, just say so.” Virgil wasn’t sure if this counted as a promise. He didn’t feel any different. Just less tight around the chest. “An iron weapon should do the trick. And… if I faint and lose my form from the pain, shine a bright light on me. That should make me solid enough to keep going.”

It is a death sentence, Emilio wanted to insist, because he felt it might as well be. Even with their enhancements, most hunters didn’t live to be the age he was now. Without them, it seemed unlikely he’d survive the week. His best chance at making it through this, he knew, was to stop hunting altogether, but the notion was so strange that it was almost laughable. Emilio couldn’t stop hunting any more than he could stop breathing. He knew that. With a sigh, he shook his head. “Patience has never really been my strong suit.” Especially not when it was a kindness he was meant to extend towards himself.

Still, he knew that Virgil’s advice came from a place of experience. They were quite the pair on this bench — two men who’d been one thing all their lives only to find themselves twisted into something else by a force they didn’t entirely understand. Emilio didn’t think anyone else in his life could relate to this particular feeling better than the man sat next to him now, as much as they might try to. He’d lost a piece of himself. A good piece. Maybe the best piece. And he didn’t know who he was without it. Something strange, something unnatural. Something utterly useless. Something he’d never wanted to be. “That’s easier said than done,” he replied, wringing his hands together if only to give himself something to do. “Follows me sometimes, you know. Plenty of people who’d jump at the chance to kill me while I’m easier to kill. And the sleeping…” He trailed off, thinking of the nightmares that made it difficult to sleep for even the few hours needed with his slayer abilities intact. “I just need to get it fixed. That’s all.” He couldn’t stomach the thought of being this shadow of himself for any longer.

As Virgil admitted that Solomon would not, in fact, enjoy the concept of being asked to kill someone he clearly cared about, Emilio thought of the sea cave where Teddy had asked the same of him. He thought of Silas asking him for it in Metzli’s apartment just after Andreas’s death, thought of how often the people he loved asked him for impossible things that he couldn’t deny them. He wouldn’t deny Virgil, either. The relationship might not be quite as tight-knit as the one he had with Teddy or Silas, or the one Virgil had with Solomon, but Emilio still respected the lampade enough to acknowledge that he deserved to go out on his own terms, deserved not to be forced to endure whatever Hekakleidi might have in store for him.

“I’ve done more unpleasant things for less,” he replied. His life, it seemed, was often little more than a series of unpleasant choices, a long line of terrible things to stain his hands red. Adding one more to the list would hardly make much of a difference. “You don’t have to thank me. Not for this. It’s fine. I release you, or whatever I’m supposed to say.” He waved a hand, dismissing the bind as best he could. Even if he was on the other side of it this time, he wasn’t keen on making another fae bind while the one he’d had with Regan was still twisting him up like this. He nodded at the instructions. “I’ll make it quick, if it comes to it. You won’t have to —”

He broke off at a sudden sound from the nearby woods. Twigs snapping in a way he would have heard earlier if not for his powers being shot. He tensed immediately, on his feet before he realized he was standing, knife already in hand. A lumbering shape melted out from the shadows — large, leafy, walking on all fours. Christ. A fucking hedgehound. With his abilities intact, it would have been simple to dispatch. Without them, it would be a little more of a challenge. Emilio positioned himself between the beast and Virgil, knife clutched uselessly in one hand while the other dug in his pocket for his cigarette lighter. “Might want to make a run for it here, wey.”

Something that moved on all fours and had a plantlike hide slid out of the foliage. Virgil thought at first that it might be Alti, come to find him again to let him know that Solomon was in danger. But it was quite a bit smaller than Alti, nor did it act like him. A hedghound, not a cu-sith, judging by the vines encircling its body and the heavy smell of rot. This new creature must’ve come after Virgil. For the second time in as many trips out, his weakness and lack of ability to hide was going to come back to bite him. He didn’t regret coming to talk to Emilio, but maybe he should just take the long road through town from now on to avoid being attacked.

Emilio was in between him and the hound before he could so much as stand. Despite what the hunter had just said about not having the necessary abilities to deal with a threat like a hedgehound, Emilio drew a knife and a lighter, as if he thought he could fight this thing without it consuming him. Virgil found his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness combined with a throbbing, poppy grind to the sockets in his hips and knees. Darkness coalesced around the three of them until it was thick enough to drink from, hopefully breaking the sight lines between the hound and the vulnerable human. Before the demon, Virgil would’ve insisted that Emilio leave, since this creature was fae, and Virgil would rather just deal with it instead of having to risk Emilio getting his guts ripped open and consumed by the creature. But now, he knew that he was in no shape to elude this thing on his own.

“I cannot run. And I won’t leave you alone to deal with this. We both need to get out of here, now.”

But… wasn’t this what Virgil had wanted? For Solomon to sacrifice him to the forest, so he could live without pain? Solomon had spoken briefly of turning a few living creatures into things like this hound. Made of plants, and able to take orders from the Leshy. It didn’t look like a pleasant existence, but at least it was without pain. Virgil wouldn’t be miserable if Solomon was around to make sure he was happy. He could be a hedge-lampade. It would save Solomon the trouble of doing this himself.

Virgil turned to the hound, letting the shadows dissipate ever so slightly. He made no move to run, nor shrink back, even when the eyes of the creature landed solely on him once again, and it snarled hungirly, coiling back into itself in preparation to strike. “Do you think it’s happy like that?” He asked to nobody in particular, having forgotten that Emilio was there. He extended a hand to the beast.

Virgil wasn’t running and, if he was being entirely honest, Emilio wasn’t surprised. This town, he was learning, was filled to the brim with self-sacrificing people who’d gladly give up their own lives just to keep someone else from dying alone. It was, he’d decided, pretty goddamn infuriating. Normally, he might have added insulting to the list, too, because normally, Emilio could take down a fucking hedgehound in his goddamn sleep. But… he wasn’t exactly in full form right now. And Virgil knew it, because Emilio had told him.

Goddamn it.

Emilio let out a half-frustrated, half-anxious sound from low in his throat, trying not to snap at Virgil to just go. He could hold the damn thing off long enough for the lampade to escape, might even be able to kill it without suffering any serious injury himself if he focused up. But he’d seen the look on Virgil’s face on too many others in this town to know that the fae wasn’t going to leave him there, no matter how much he might want him to.

And then, the look shifted into something else. Something just as familiar, though not necessarily because Emilio had seen it on other people. No, this expression was more like the one he caught sight of when he happened passed a mirror. The look of someone facing their own potential death and… not quite hating the idea of it as much as they ought to. Emilio grit his teeth. He might not have his usual strength or speed, but his hand still shot out to catch Virgil’s arm at lightning speed before the fae could touch the hedgehound, yanking the offending limb backwards. “Nothing happy about an end like that,” he warned lowly. He might have promised to take Virgil out if necessary, but… it wasn’t necessary yet. And dying to this wasn’t the sort of thing the slayer would wish on anyone.

There was a moment of conflict still, a moment where Emilio was caught between taking out the hedgehound and getting Virgil to safety. Both, he figured, wasn’t a solid option. Not when Virgil was in danger of either throwing himself between the beast and the hunter to protect the latter or letting the hedgehound at him to stop from fulfilling whatever purpose the mad god who’d taken him over before had in mind for him. Running away left a sour taste in his mouth, reminded him too much of Etla, of the burning warehouse, of all the worst things he’d ever done.

But sometimes, it was just about the only thing you could do.

With a frustrated groan, Emilio crouched down and threw Virgil over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The position allowed him to lift the lampade easily enough even without his enhanced strength, and though his bad leg protested the added weight, Emilio was in good enough shape to maneuver away faster than the hedgehound could manage. “Come on, wey,” he muttered, “I guess we’re running.”

Virgil flinched when Emilio’s hand shot out, and he found himself automatically going completely still, face and body turning blank, mind jumping from distractedly ruminating over the hedgehound to whether or not he’d crossed some sort of line with the hunter. Was Emilio angry with him? He didn’t look any angrier than usual, but Virgil knew that he wasn’t really the best judge about that sort of thing. Despite the self destructive impulses, and the fact that he was offering a parasitic vine creature his hand, he still instinctively went into survival mode, doing his best not to look like prey, or someone who would give any satisfaction if Emilio did hurt him.

But Emilio wasn’t touching him to hurt him, he was doing it to separate him from the real threat, at least in Emilio’s eyes. He batted Virgil’s hand out of reach of the hound, the motion too fast for Virgil to really track, or feel. Emilio seemed to waver for a moment, as if making a decision. Then, with a bit of grumbling, he crouched down and picked Virgil up.

Virgil didn’t try to move away, or put up a fuss despite the fresh flood of stinging pain to his skin. Rather, he trusted Emilio to take his weight. He was suddenly tired again, and somehow sad, though he didn’t know why.

Despite a sickening rush of vertigo, Virgil managed to stay solid as Emilio hefted him up, stiffly curling around the much shorter human’s shoulders. He briefly saw the hound skitter back a step at the motion before his vision blurred out.

He was used to being carried on the hips of either his brother or Solomon, which didn’t require him to shift his head too much. For times when it was necessary to move quicker, Solomon usually let him hide as a formless wisp within the numerous cracks of his true form. He stuck to the shadows even if he fainted, so he was relatively safe from falling off while intangible. And while it wasn’t pleasant for him, he knew that it was necessary at certain times to move faster than he could handle.

Emilio was not Solomon, though. It wasn’t as simple as just willing himself to follow the beating of the Leshy’s great heart to find shelter before it became impossible to move, or stay conscious. Humans didn’t have natural places where the shadows pooled, where a lampade to hide, at least not normally. But despite that, and despite Virgil’s irritating brightness, the night afforded enough darkness for him to sink into.

Virgil dissolved first from his limbs, and then through his body. His physical form, which had always been more of a concentration of smoke dense enough to be tangible, spiraled back into the nothing it so enjoyed being these days. He shut his eyes, trying to breathe, and block out the motion of Emilio running, but it was impossible. Every jolt of his feet made Virgil disappear further.

But it was not enough to shake him loose. He was still with the hunter, just in the form of a mass of tendrils.

It was usually impossible for anyone except perhaps another Lampade to make out the shape of him like this. But the demon’s glow made him visible to Emilio’s eyes, should the hunter peer back. There wasn’t much to see, just a shiny, irregular, greyish blob no bigger than the palm of a hand. He supposed he looked like a will’o’the’wisp, or like the kind of laser that cats so loved to chase, except with him it was strange creatures who seemed to love to chase him. First the exploding not-bear, and now this hedgehound. He missed the times when he could just walk around in the forest and not be seen or bothered by any living thing. Animals, monsters, all used to give him distance, and turn away from him in fear, knowing somewhere in their minds that he should be avoided. Now, they just saw him as something to be followed.

He had purchase on the hunter’s shoulder, in any case. The hound let out an eerie yip, giving chase.

Even with his senses muted like this, the swaying was too much. He felt out of control, dizzy, as if with every lurch he was going to fall into the sky and never be heard from again. He wouldn’t. But somehow, every time he went too fast, it was beyond his ability to keep his composure. Like if he truly gave in and blacked out, he might wake to find himself adrift in the upside down sky, and never find his way back to solid ground.

The only thing that kept him struggling to stay conscious was the fact that Emilio needed him to tell him to keep going. Emilio might think that he’d fallen, and he didn’t want him to stop and allow the hound to catch up. Despite his lack of a desire to keep living, and his curiosity about what it might be like to be consumed, he didn’t want Emilio to be caught up in it. And with him currently untouchable, the human had likely become the hound’s target. He could hear it behind them, its panting mixed with snarls, the padding of four feet through the grass, doggedly pursuing them. Emilio likely didn’t want to know what it was like to be a hedge-human.

“Don’t stop,” Virgil breathed in the lungless tone of a hanged man. It was difficult to speak loudly when he was like this. He was thankful to be perched on the human’s shoulder, and easier to hear. “I might faint. But I’m still with you.”

With his task done, Virgil faded into the comforting nothing of unconsciousness, knowing nothing except the rocking of the hunter’s strides.

The weight in his arms shifted in a way that felt strange. Not like it was moving, but like it was changing. Not for the first time, Emilio wished he knew a little more about fae, wished he’d listened to all of Rhett’s drunken ramblings over the years. He’d always assumed he wouldn’t need it, always figured that Rhett could take out the fae while he took out the undead. But… at the moment, Rhett wasn’t here and Emilio wasn’t capable of taking out either. All he could do was carry on and hope that Virgil wasn’t going to disappear, hope that the hedgehound wasn’t going to catch up to them.

He glanced at the shape on his shoulder, the willowy, shadowy thing that breathed in Virgil’s voice and told him to keep going. He wasn’t sure, if he was being honest, if the encouragement was one he needed or not. For all of Emilio’s self-destructive tendencies, he’d never been the sort of person who could stand the idea of someone else being caught up in his carnage. This hedgehound had more of an interest in the lampade than it did in the hunter, and while Virgil seemed safely intangible now, Emilio didn’t know how long that would be the case. If he stopped, the hedgehound would consume him. If Virgil happened to fade back into solid form when that happened, it would consume him, too. And one of those outcomes was the kind Emilio couldn’t live with.

So he ran. Virgil’s less solid form made it easier, made the extra weight less noticeable in a way that had his bad leg’s protests shifting from blaringly painful to mostly bearable. He couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop. The hedgehound was bound and determined to catch up, and Emilio was just barely faster than it. This would have been a breeze with his usual abilities, enhanced agility and better stamina and all, but as he was? It was a goddamn challenge.

But it was a challenge he managed. Eventually, the hellhound lost interest. There was easier prey to chase, easier things to kill. Emilio didn’t stop until long after the sound of the creature’s footfalls behind him faded, didn’t slow until he was certain it had given up. When he was finally sure it was safe, he slowed to a walk, limping to the closest building and sliding down against it, shifting the vaguely Virgil-shaped shadow off his back and onto the ground beside him. His lungs ached, his leg throbbed, and he let his head fall back against the bricks with a sigh. “Don’t know where you live,” he muttered to Virgil’s unconscious, shadowy form, “but I’ll drag you back to my place when I catch my breath. My couch smells like shit, but it’s comfortable enough. You can sleep there until you’re ready to go home. I don’t mind it.” He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into his knee absently in an attempt to chase away the worst of the pain. “Just gotta catch my breath.”

#monstersfear #wickedswriting #shine a little light

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