hadriel_logs | As Much As It Hurts

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As Much As It Hurts

Who: Cal and Flick. Guest starring Lor later
What: Cal has some not-so-nice questions. Flick is the only one with answers
Where: The Hara House
When: Beginning of March-ish
Warnings: There will be talk and possibly descriptions of gore and violence, and potential discussions of sex.

Cal actually did have something to talk about—he’d been trying to before Flick had interrupted. And while it hadn’t exactly been an unpleasant diversion, he still needed the answers, as unpleasant as he knew they were going to be. He had a future, apparently, that had destroyed people. Beyond himself. He certainly believed it could happen. He knew what he was capable of.

He’d been chain smoking outside for an hour, trying to gear himself up for this discussion. He might have been drinking except he knew he’d need to be sober to deal with the aftermath. He could save the drinking for later when he was ready to forget. Maybe that defeated the entire purpose of asking in the first place, but he could already tell it wasn’t going to be easy, and that was just going on the one thing Flick had already said, when he was flailing and trying to hurt so Cal would leave him alone.

Doubtless he had even more that he’d saved to defend himself with. It was Cal’s future too, though. Was that even enough to justify a right for him to know it?

There was only so long he could delay, though. And he’d certainly done his best. He was about to spend all of the good will he’d earned with Flick. He just hoped that it would be enough. He had all sorts of considerations to make now after their…encounter in the shops. Things he might not have cared about so much before they’d half-agreed on some kind of wary peace. That he was about to break apart. But wasn’t that what he did just by existing?

Once he made it inside the house, he found Flick in the kitchen. Of course. Half the time it seemed he lived in there. Cal took a deep breath—more stalling when he found he was terrified of the answers Flick would have.

“I need you to tell me something. You aren’t going to like it.”

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Flick already didn't like it. He didn't like Cal's tone and how he smelled like he'd been smoking. A lot. Seel did that when he was nervous. A habit he seemed to have shared with Cal. Figured. They shared a lot. He'd been chopping something, fruit that he was making into a salad. Flick was tempted to put Cal to work but he did not want him handling knives. And he also didn't want him in his kitchen. Sighing, he cleaned off his knife and put what he'd chopped away for later.

"Alright. Let's sit down then." He flopped down on the nearby couch and looked up at him. "What is it you want me to tell you?"

And it was already starting off so well. But Flick was right--sitting down was probably a good idea. He very carefully didn't sit too close to Flick. Not so much because he believed either of them would hurt each other, but because he knew Flick wasn't going to want to be near him once he started talking.

He already didn't blame him for that. What he had to ask wasn't an easy question.

"Tell me about Orien. Tell me what I did."

"No." Flick said simply, refusing. He wasn't going there. It was a bad story and they'd made so much progress recently. He didn't want to go back there, he didn't want to relive the horrible things that happened and led up to that moment.

"I don't want too." Flick dug his metaphorical heals in, choosing this moment of all moments to grow a backbone.

"I know you don't." That much was obvious. Of course it wasn't a pleasant memory, soaked in blood no doubt twisted and tangled and cut apart until only the worst of it remained behind.

"I need to know. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Where do you want me to start?" Flick asked dejectedly, already feeling haunted. "When you came into town and looked like you were dead? Or how we had a nice dinner with Orien and Seel and Garis and everyone and you acted practically autistic? How about when you choke Orien during dinner? Or did you want to hear what happened after all that?"

Flick sat, caught between anger, frustration and sorrow, as well as the desire to run back into the kitchen and hide.

So it was so much worse than he'd imagined. He should have kept a cigarette. He closed his eyes and leaned back, taking a deep breath. He already had nightmares, why not keep adding on to them?

"All of it." If Flick could manage it. He had his doubts about that. "I need to know. You're the only one who has the answers."

"I dont want to be. I wish I hadn't woken up that night..." Flick took a deep breath to steady himself, steel himself for the bad story he was about to tell. It would taint him again he was sure of it.

"You came to me, you saw how Seel was treating me and made me feel special. Taller. It was like you were trying to erase Pell, wanting to take aruna in all the places you'd been with him." Flick smiled softly, remembering. He'd been good. So very good. "I made the mistake of suggesting the Nayati. It was like you were waiting for it, for confirmation, for permission, something. Only it wouldn't be with me that time. You left. I went to bed with Seel that night."

Flick had to pause again, collect his shaking voice as the story grew to its conclusion.

Fuck. The longer he listened the worse it got. And it had to be a thousand times worse for Flick. He'd actually lived it. It was still just a story for Cal. At least until all of this was over and his dream ended. He hadn't earned this. He'd done terrible things in the past, and apparently he hadn't learned any better in the future. While that was unsurprising--monsters never changed, really--it was still a regret. Even monsters could have those sometimes.

He shouldn't have asked. He should have just kept to the guessing, the wondering, the imagining.

God.

He didn't say anything at first--what was he supposed to say? Eventually he managed to find a few words. They weren't much.

"And then I destroyed everything."

"You destroyed everything. You used me and you destroyed Saltrock."

He didn't want to continue the story, but he couldn't leave it half finished. It was too horrible, lingering there like a slow, poisoned death. It was out now, he needed to bring it to it's conclusion. Cal heard it so far, he brought this own, he'd hear the rest.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. I don't know why. I didn't notice the blood at first. Just that the floor was wet and one of my kitchen knives was missing. I wandered around outside and I found myself at the Nayati. You were there, covered, holding my knife." The story had a mind of its own now, was Flick just telling it? Could he get through it? Purge it again.

"You told me I was dreaming, that you'd left an offering and I should just go back to sleep. I took the knife, and went back to Seel's house. I washed the knife, put it back and went to sleep. Seel thought you had cut your wrists you know, when he woke up and saw the blood. He was the one that found the body, and had to take it down. You hung Orien from the rafters by his guts, Cal. Who does that? He'd been trying to help!He must have come back to try and talk some sense into you or something. And you killed him! In the house and dragged his body over. I tried to clean the floor...."

He couldn't finish, the tears that had threatened to fall before finally becoming undone.

Flick was very much right: who does that? Cal, apparently. Or whatever broken pieces of him were left. He'd managed to find most of them again here, but when every morning he woke up terrified, something was wrong. Terrified that it was over, terrified that Pell's blood was on his hands this time...

And yet, even now he was making excuses. Orien was involved. He'd called Thiede, showed him Pell, and then Thiede had killed him. If not for Orien, Pell would still be alive--

--that was exactly the kind of thinking that had caused all of this in the first place, wasn't it? But he'd asked to know. And probably destroyed Flick all over again in the process. That was what he did to people. Why Pell chose to stay was a mystery.

It hadn't even happened yet--not for him--and he could still smell the blood. He half wanted to reach out to try and comfort Flick but he knew he didn't want Cal touching him right now. Not after that. Maybe never again.

"I'm not going to make excuses. I can't even begin to. And I know you think this was pointless, but this was something I needed to know."

Yes, that was exactly the type of thinking that got Orien killed. Blame. Vengeance. Insanity. Cal had been broken and they'd been fools to let him into their house. Seel was too sentimental. Flick was too scared. Orien had been too helpful. He'd seen a har in pain and tried to help, despite the fear of what he saw.

"Orien knew, I think. He knew you were going to kill him. He kept going to you anyway. That's the kind of har you killed." Why couldn't it have been Cal? Why couldn't he have just slit his wrists in the bedroom? Flick shuddered, tears streaming down his face with that horrible thought. Now he was as bad as Cal, wasn't he? Horrible deeds start with horrible thoughts.

"Why? You didn't. You kept telling me you're a different har." He shook his head. "Now you're on the same path as him. You can't help it."

Of course he knew. Of course he wanted to try and make it go differently. What other purpose could Cal have had in Saltrock? It was the start of a beginning and the beginning of an end he'd tried hard not to dream about at night, when even with Pell against him he felt so very alone.

"Why? Because I'm terrified. Every day. Every time I wake up and see him next to me. Because knowing means I have a chance to try and hold together whatever broke in me. Because secrets don't help anything." Any of a dozen dozen reasons, more or less important than each other. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't help it. If only for his sake, I have to try." But it was for more than that, too.

He sighed and stood up, not looking at Flick. It was easier when he didn't have to see how much he'd broken the people around him.

"Thank you." There weren't enough words that would make any apology mean anything. "I'm leaving. I'll call Ulaume. Surely you could use his comfort now."

"Then I hope you succeed." Flick really did. He hoped Cal could fight it if they went back, that maybe this time he wouldn't kill Orien. Pell's death was the epicenter of something big. That couldn't be stopped. But maybe some of the reverberations could. He didn't about fate and destiny, that was left to somehar more powerful than him. He was just Flick.

He didn't know if Cal and Pell weren't meant to be together, he didn't know if Pell was happy where he was as Tigron or if he wished his life had gone differently too. Was he happy? Or if he wasn't was it worth the sacrifice?

Flick leaned down, his head in his hands, trying not to remember spreading the blood around with a bloody mop Seel's house, and the har he used to be. He didn't see if Cal was still there or not. Did it really matter anymore?

He didn't say anything--there wasn't anything to say. He'd gotten exactly what he asked for, and it was more than he'd been prepared for. So he just... left. He'd tried to fix one thing and broken everything else. Was he really that fixated on one goal that he ignored everything else?

Outside he paused long enough to send a message to Ulaume that wherever he was he'd better be here now, Flick needed him. It was the least he could do to make sure he had somehar to comfort him.

He was long gone before Ulaume arrived.

Ulaume rarely leaves the household if Flick is around, of course, although he's been gone more in the last few weeks. Naturally, the one time he does wander out for a change of scenery...

He's back as soon as he can be, marked by the door slamming shut behind him. With no idea what happened--Cal hadn't bothered to say that much, not what or who did it--he doesn't have a goddamn clue what he's walking into. And if there's one thing he hates, it's being uninformed.

There's no blood on the floor or walls, at least. Not in this room.

"Flick?"

Flick had retreated to the safety of the bedroom. He didn't know if Cal was coming back, or if Pell was, but he didn't want to talk to them. He certainly wasn't up to dealing with Cal any time soon, and Pell would want more of an explanation that he was capable of giving. Lor, he felt come in, a welcoming warmth and comfort.

"In here," his voice was broken, his body contorted on the bed, trying to find reassurance in bedsheets and blankets.

He has the decency not to slam the bedroom door, somehow, and thanks whatever dehara are watching over them that there's a lock on the door. Can't trust the 'gods' of this shitty cave, after all.

He's leaning over Flick, not quite on the bed. "What the hell happened? What did he do?"

Flick didn't look up, but felt at least a little better with Ulaume there over him. His hands felt around the covers, squeezing them.

"He made me tell him. What happened. With Orien."

He wished the other har would come over and hold him, the bed sheets were not enough, but he couldn't quite pull himself together to ask. Of all the things to talk about, why did that have to hurt so much?

Cal's done it. Finally snapped, as Ulaume knew he would. Snapped and hurt one of the har who was starting to trust him. Stupid, stupid Flick--you were warned.

But who was the idiot who went out for a stroll, leaving Flick and Cal alone to talk? He's clenching the sheets with a fist, feeling rage rising inside him without any help from the gods.

"...Where did he hurt you?"

"He didn't touch me. He just told me he needed to know." And Flick had stupidly told him. "I told him I didn't want too but, you know Cal."

Flick lay on the bed, and yanked the covers over his body. "If it was you, wouldn't you want to know?" Flick would. Thats why he had told him. He could see the other side.

"Are you sure he didn't touch you?" It would be just like him. More like Cal than not laying hands on Flick because he wanted to know...

The way Flick is covering himself up is damn suspicious in itself. So, Ulaume will be yanking the sheets off him, naturally. Expecting blood. Bruising. Something.

(He wants to snap Cal's neck either way.)

Thanks for trusting, Lor. Flick tried to grab the sheets but Ulaume was faster. There was nothing. Cal had been a perfect fallen angel, all the torture had been mental. Proof he didn't always need blood on his hands in order to make hara hate him.

"See, he didn't touch me." Flick shrugged from his fetal position. "Come with me. On the bed."

No trust. What sort of fool trusts the enemy? The enemy who has been living with them? It's a relief that it isn't as bad as he thought... he eases himself down next to Flick now that he knows he's not going to be making some unseen injuries worse.

"I know he's not in the house... where did he go?"

"I don't know. He said out. That he was leaving." Flick wrapped his arms around Ulaume, holding him and burying his head in his hair. Lor smelled nice, why did he always smell so good? Comforting, familiar.

"I don't really care." Cal could go where ever he wanted, as long as it wasn't near Flick. Stupid, stupid Flick. Trusting him.

Very good, now that he's been taking regular baths and not deliberately making himself filthy, for months now. Isn't that nice?

"He'll never do this again." he says, flatly, as the hair with a mind of its own finds its way everywhere. (Though it isn't as long as it once was.)

It was quite nice, not being filthy all the time. Flick quite liked it. He wasn't crazy about being scared all the time, but it was getting better. Or had been up until a few minutes ago. Thanks Cal.

Flick found Ulaume's hair comforting. "I hope he's gone for a while." At the very least Cal wasn't getting served food. He could eat somewhere else. Flick was not cooking for him.

Thanks, Cal.

Part of him wants to get up, tear through the city, find the har and throttle him, maybe smash a few more windows while it's his own choice... but he's needed here. However fucking hard it is to lie still and be here.

"If he comes back, we're leaving."

Flick nodded. He didn't want to be there with Cal. " Okay. I don't want to see him." He nuzzled Lor, his arms wrapped around him and pressed his lips to the har's neck.

"I just want to feel something else, Lor."

"Alright." he says, simply, whispering it into Flick's ear. Understandable. Something to wash the darkness away.

A sharing of breath should do it. He tries to push down his own rage and worries. Stuff them in a box, and think of the good. Love. Warmth. Family.

Flick leaned into Lor, pressing his mouth into his and accepting all the love and joy and warmth that Ulaume had to offer. The feeling swept through him, pushing away the horror and sadness he had felt until there was just Lor.

He pulled him closer until Flick couldn't pull anymore and there was just Ulaume. He dragged a hand across his cheek and whispered, "Thank you."

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As Much As It Hurts

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