[ he doesn't know the details, doesn't think he'll every really know anything where Badou himself is concerned
But he knows what loss looks like
He knows what it feels like
And he knows he'll regret not trying for decades to come.
So, wordlessly, he drags himself closer, a madman kneeling by a rabid, wild dog. And like a madman, like the idiot they call him and know him by, he settles arms around the sharp angles of Badou's shouders
And he embraces him.
And he does the only thing he's ever truly excelled at:
[the dog fights, of course; he shudders and fights the touch, busted stitches clawing and shoving (feeling like a busted stitch himself, all unhealed and frayed at the seams)]
[when he gives in, lets Sakamoto hold him, it's not like it was at the shore's edge, when he'd been starved for hope and affection, where the cool breeze off the ocean and the man at his shoulders comforted him; here, in the dark and the blood, he just gives in, submits to greater strength like an animal, feeling hot and hurt inside like he'd swallowed burning lead]
[I fucked up he suddenly thinks blearily through the haze of it; he ain't gonna smile at me like he used to]
[ his grip is iron and unyielding, arms heavy and steady despite the occasional shudder, adrenaline or pain or emotion, even he can't tell. He could crush this boy like an egg, break him like so much tinder and twigs and all it would take is a little effort, a little intent.
With a shaky breath, he lowers his head, pressing a bruised cheek against tangled matted hair.
I messed up he thinks, through the stacatto pulse beating loud in his ears. He won't trust in me like he used to. ]
[the hold is likely not meant to be a trap, but the effect is just the same; Badou breathes shallowly, waiting to be released back into the world (far from domesticated, far from placated, but gone still even so)]
[it's not a conscious thought, because his mind is a dull buzz of adrenaline pumping and dissipating into nowhereeverywhere, like sewage into a sea]
[ he stays for a second more, maybe two, before he lets go. Sways back onto his heels and then, slowly, miraculously, back to his feet. His body groans and grumbles and complains in protest; he tells it very firmly to suck it up and shove off. ]
Go back to the house.
[ he tries to soften it, but his throat makes the words catch, come out gravel and sandpaper. It makes him thankful for the night that hides the worst of the veritable deathmask that is his face. ]
[but his teeth snap on it, tear it apart before it can get out, that naked vulnerability too easily preyed on (besides, what difference does it make? you'll still be you when you get there)]
[Badou wipes an oozing arm on his shirt, picks a direction -- it isn't the way he came -- and starts to walk off]
[ he could go after badou, chase him, bodily haul him back to 1470 and toushirou and carol or he could take him back to heart-attack manor and pray the world didn't implode from the force of two different monsters in the same general space.
he could, and he doesn't. tired and weary and smarting every which way, he limps back to the car.
the first time in a decade he feels closest to defeat. ]
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Re: action
But he knows what loss looks like
He knows what it feels like
And he knows he'll regret not trying for decades to come.
So, wordlessly, he drags himself closer, a madman kneeling by a rabid, wild dog. And like a madman, like the idiot they call him and know him by, he settles arms around the sharp angles of Badou's shouders
And he embraces him.
And he does the only thing he's ever truly excelled at:
he hopes. ]
Re: action
[when he gives in, lets Sakamoto hold him, it's not like it was at the shore's edge, when he'd been starved for hope and affection, where the cool breeze off the ocean and the man at his shoulders comforted him; here, in the dark and the blood, he just gives in, submits to greater strength like an animal, feeling hot and hurt inside like he'd swallowed burning lead]
[I fucked up he suddenly thinks blearily through the haze of it; he ain't gonna smile at me like he used to]
[and anticipates the next bridge gone bonfire]
Re: action
With a shaky breath, he lowers his head, pressing a bruised cheek against tangled matted hair.
I messed up he thinks, through the stacatto pulse beating loud in his ears. He won't trust in me like he used to. ]
Re: action
[it's not a conscious thought, because his mind is a dull buzz of adrenaline pumping and dissipating into nowhereeverywhere, like sewage into a sea]
Re: action
Go back to the house.
[ he tries to soften it, but his throat makes the words catch, come out gravel and sandpaper. It makes him thankful for the night that hides the worst of the veritable deathmask that is his face. ]
Don't tell Carol.
Re: action
Re: action
[Badou wipes an oozing arm on his shirt, picks a direction -- it isn't the way he came -- and starts to walk off]
Re: action
he could, and he doesn't. tired and weary and smarting every which way, he limps back to the car.
the first time in a decade he feels closest to defeat. ]