In the garden outside the recovery room, Ren was practicing. Each step measured, each swing precise. He swung too hard and winced, pausing with a hand on his side.
Bastion watched him from his office.
"If you don't trust him," Brianna said, "then why give back his weapons?"
"He has not done anything to dissuade our trust."
"And yet you have not left him unwatched since he woke up."
"Precautions must be taken."
----------------------------------------------
Ren had locked himself away in the gym. One week after getting back and he was still moving too slow. He'd been pushing himself for the past hour, running himself from one side of the room to the other, sword swinging at markers that were set up around the open room.
"REN!"
The voice caused a complete halt in his actions, his sword falling limp from his fingers and he turned around just in time to catch the flying child that jumped at him. Her trust that he would catch her astounded him, but he did.
"Hisoka, there you are. I was beginning to think they'd hied you away somewhere." He told her with a smile as she clung to his neck.
"I was so worried! Brianna brought you back and you were all bloody and wouldn't talk to me and nobody would let me near you!"
"I'm sorry. I had an accident and I needed to get better."
"I thought you died."
Ren smiled to her. "How could I? I promised I'd give you another lesson, didn't I? I never break a promise."
The girl child giggled against him. "You're all wet."
"Yes, well, I was working extra hard to get ready for your lesson." He put her down. Next year she'd be at least as tall as him, but right now he had a head and a half on her. "Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"Where's your practice blade?"
She jumped excitedly and took off across the room. He moved over to his own equipment and replaced his sword with a wooden stick before moving back to the middle of the floor.
--------------------------------
"At it again, Ren?"
Ren paused and lowered his blade, turning towards the door. "I slowed down too much with my injuries; I wanted to get back to where I was before as soon as possible."
"Does that mean that your threat to disarm me was a bluff?" Bastion smiled a little as he walked into the gym.
"With all due respect, you've not trained a single day since I've been here. Lapses in training slow you down. Even injured, I was confident I could take the gun."
Bastion laughed softly and shook his head. "And you make it a habit of knowing who's using the gym?"
"It never hurts to be aware of the skill sets of your friends."
"You never know when you'll have to take them on?"
Ren stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No, sir. You never know when you might need additional help."
-----------------------------
"The messengers you've sent out have returned, Bastion," his secretary told him from the door.
"Send them in."
She did a quick bob and then headed out. A moment later two men came into the office and took up seats across from him.
Bastion waited until the door was closed, then looked at them. "Did you find anything?"
"Everything he told you about the last town he lived in is entirely true. He worked in a dojo, scrubbing floors, lived alone, paid his rent on time..."
"But?"
"We decided to check farther back," the other man piped in. "And beyond the last town, things get messy."
"How so?"
"Ren Kyoko died three years ago in a raid on his hometown. He's buried with his father and mother," the first man said. "We dug up the grave and ran tests to be sure."
Bastion tensed. "So who is it that is working for us?"
"We don't know. Ren Kyoko has not been seen since his death, and it was only six months ago that this boy showed up at the dojo," the first man finished.
"There is one more thing..." the second man said, hesitantly.
"Which is?"
"There were remnants of this symbol," he slid a piece of paper across the desk to his boss, "underneath his bed."
Bastion peered at the paper and suddenly threw back his chair, hurrying to his feet and out the door. "Chesna! Where is Ren right now?"
The secretary blinked a little and looked. "Oh, uh... he's in the gym, with Hisoka.... for her lesson."
"Send Brianna there at once and contact the other general and send him over immediately. Tell them to come armed."
"Y-yes, sir." She watched him nearly run from the room, grabbing his pistol out of its holster and followed closely behind by the two messengers.
Ren's breath caught in his throat and he let out a hiss of pain, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He took several quick, shallow breaths, his eyes shut tightly, before he peeked them open and peered up at the ceiling. This was not his bed, but it wasn't the interrogation room, either.
"You're up."
Ren turned his head to the side and peered at Bastion, who was lounging in a chair in the corner of the room. "Where am I?"
Bastion stood in one fluid motion. "A recovery room at the base. It's quite a bit more comfortable than the barracks, and the hospital wing does get backed up too quickly."
The boy pushed himself up onto his elbows with another hiss of pain.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Yes, sir." He looked up and found the barrel of a gun aimed between his eyes.
"What are you?"
Ren's eyes traced the barrel to Bastion's hand; it was steady, the knuckles weren't white. He looked up at the man's face. "I am a swordsman."
Bastion pressed the barrel against the boy's skin. "How did you heal?"
"I don't know," Ren's voice was slow, even.
"Don't play games with me, child."
"I don't know," he repeated.
"Have you done it before?"
"Yes."
"I've seen you come back with injuries that did not heal near as fast."
"Can we talk without the gun? I am unarmed, as you know."
Bastion considered. He'd never seen Ren fight without a blade, but that didn't mean he couldn't, and Bastion's skills did not lay in hand-to-hand combat. It was hard for him to look on the small, frail-looking boy in the bed and consider him a threat, though. "Tell me why all your injuries don't heal."
"I've only healed like that when I was unconscious. Do not make me take that gun from you, sir. You may be confident, but I am faster than you."
"You would shoot me?"
"No, sir, but I would disarm you."
Bastion smiled a little and took his finger off the trigger, raising the gun so that it wasn't aimed at Ren. "You have some new scars."
Ren gave a nod. "It only fixes things to a certain extent."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"It's not something that's taken well," the boy said, glancing at the gun.
"Finding out like this is better?"
"I wasn't expecting to be hurt quite as bad."
"What are you?" Bastion asked again.
"I am a swordsman." Ren told him again. "Occasionally a thief and spy, but mainly a swordsman."
"You don't know?"
Ren quirked a brow. "I know who I am; what hardly matters."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, sir."
Bastion smiled again. "Very well. Now, for the important matters. Did you tell them anything?"
"Just that you would make quite an entrance, and you did not disappoint." A small smile quirked on the edges of his lips.
Bastion relaxed more fully as he saw the tug at the edges of the boy's lips. Humans smiled; children more often. It made him feel better when Ren wasn't looking so serious. "It was quite spectacular, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir. The parting of the cats was a nice touch. I wish I could have seen his face."
The man laughed and ruffled the black hair, then stood up. "Next time, I'll have Brianna take a photo for you."
"I'm hoping there won't be a next time."
"Too true. Well, rest. Take all the time you need. I'll send in some food and drink for you."
"Sir?" Ren stopped him as he turned around.
"Yes?" Bastion looked back at him.
"May I have my weapons back?"
Bastion grinned. "Indeed. I'll send them in later, after you've eaten. The doctor will have my hide if you don't eat something."
"Thank you."
"Rest. When you're ready, we have another task for you, but it isn't pressing, so take your time."
Ren nodded and watched him leave, shivering as his torturer's words came back to him. You are a tool... Are you loyal to these people only because they've put you to use?
"Why have you pledged your allegiance to these people?" the torturer asked, pressing the flat of his blade against Ren's chest. "You are a tool. A hammer does not pledge to serve only one master; it will work for whoever decides to hold it. Are you loyal to these people only because they've put you to use?"
Ren closed his eyes, head drooping slightly.
"You could make a good living working for both sides..."
"Sir! The cats!" The intercom sparked to life.
Both of them raised their heads to look at it. The man looked to Ren and saw a smile creeping onto the corners of those bruised lips. "Remember what I told you about hope," he told the boy, stabbing the knife into his thigh.
Ren could only manage a whimper; he'd long since lost the strength to scream.
The knife was pulled out and the man stood up and slightly behind Ren, grabbing a handful of hair and jerking his head back, then laying the blade against his throat.
The door burst open and a flood of cats came pouring inside, wave after wave, climbing over each other in their rush to get inside. Then the waves parted and Bastion came strolling just through the middle to survey man and boy.
Bastion looked over Ren and then turned to the other man. "I'd appreciate it if you released Ren."
The man smiled. "I'm afraid Ren has been arrested and is being detained for questioning. You wouldn't want to interrupt a federal investigation."
"I wasn't aware that torture was still legal."
Ren's eyes closed. He was fighting for consciousness.
"The boy resisted arrest. We had to use quite a bit of force."
"Brianna?" Bastion said.
A large tigress strode into the room and looked up at him.
"Get Ren and take him home; I'll join you shortly."
The knife pressed more firmly into Ren's throat. "I think you misunderstood. Ren will not be leaving."
Bastion smiled. "Actually, he will. Ladies, if you will?"
Two dozen cats leapt at the man, claws extended and attached themselves to him. He gave a his of pain and then the tigress leapt at him. Other cats scattered as Brianna took the man down. The knife skidded across the floor.
"Brianna, Ren is your first priority." Bastion pointed out when Brianna lingered too long with the man.
The tigress hesitated, then climbed off of him, slashing through the boy's ropes. Ren slumped towards the ground, Bastion grabbing his arms. Brianna shifted back to her human form and slid her arm around him. "It'll be easier for me to carry him tis way," she told Bastion.
He nodded to her. "Go. Take entrance four. I'll follow shortly." He stepped on the man's chest to keep him from getting up. "I'm just going to finish up here."
She gave a quick nod and headed out the door, supporting the boy against her side.
-----------------------------------------
The doctor hovered nervously near the door of Bastion's office, biting his lip and wringing his hands together.
"Doctor." Bastion looked up and smiled to him. "Good. How is he?"
The doctor took a few tentative steps into the room. "Oh, he's fine.... fine."
Bastion raised a brow. "What is it?"
"There's... something unusual."
"Let's not beat around the bush. What's going on?"
"His wounds are healing..."
"That's a good thing."
"...without our help."
Bastion looked up and stared at the doctor. "What?"
"The bruising is almost gone and most of his cuts are healing... in a matter of hours. The deeper ones are leaving scars, but the tissue is knitting itself together at an amazing rate."
"He's a healer?"
"Well, no. As a general rule, healers can't heal themselves, but just in case, I called in an aura reader just to be sure, and she said that there wasn't the slightest trace of healer on his aura."
"I want to see him. Immediately." Bastion said, standing.
"He's still unconscious, sir."
"Take me to him, doctor."
The doctor nodded and turned, heading out the door and back towards the infirmary with Bastion.
Ren was laying on the bed, wrapped in bandages and breathing calmly. He had a new scar above his eye that had already been uncovered.
"Show me." Bastion ordered.
The doctor moved to one side of the bed and started unwrapping one of the boy's arms. Almost all of the small cuts that'd been inflicted on him were gone and there were two or three fading red areas where slightly deeper cuts had been.
Bastion's eyes slid over the skin, watching the redness fading from the last few cuts. "What exactly are you, kid?" he muttered to himself.
The actual rescue will have to wait until after work, because I have to leave... right now. Bwhahaha. Later.
-------------------------------------------------
Bastion stood outside the complex, watching the men shooting at his cats and sighed. "Lackeys. I hate lackeys. You always have to hurt them to get them to listen."
He looked at a cat that walked up to him. "He's in there?"
The cat mewed.
"All right. We're going in, get everyone ready."
The cat padded away and he sighed.
"Intelligence says he's been in there for almost eight hours, Bastion," the woman beside him said. "He's just a kid. He'll have told them everything by now."
"It doesn't matter. We can't leave him in there."
"We shouldn't have taken him in."
"If we hadn't, they would have. You can't let skills like that go to waste. I'd rather have him on our side."
She sighed softly. "What are we doing, then?"
"I'll go in the front. Can you get to the room they're holding him in?"
She closed her eyes for a minute, looking thoughtful, then nodded. "Yes. He's not alone, though."
"Is he alive?"
"Barely."
Bastion nodded. "All right, then let's go. Meet me in the room, I'm probably going to need your help in there." He picked up one of the kittens off the ground by his feet. "Go back to base, tell them to have a doctor waiting."
The cat mewed and when he put it down, it trotted off in the other direction.
Tybalt stayed after again on the last day of class, walking up to Dr. Evelinne's desk and setting down a six pack of the strawberry tea on the desk. "Merry Christmas, Doc."
Alice looked up at the tea and then past it at Tybalt and smiled to him. "Thank you. Do you have plans for Christmas?"
Ty smiled and adjusted his backpack, shaking his head a little. "Not really. I'll probably curl up with some hot chocolate and a decent book or something." He smiled teasingly. "Or, now that I don't have to concentrate on mentality anymore, I could follow up on some of this mafia business..."
"Tybalt, there is no such thing as the Irish mafia."
"Does that mean I didn't get a good grade on my paper?"
Alice put her hands on her hips and gave him a Look. "The paper is graded objectively, not subjectively. But honestly, it's a dangerous little obsession to have."
"I am not obsessed. I just think it's fascinating. Did you know their head guy, Alabaster, died the same day they found you in Africa after your car accident?" He smiled mildly at her.
Alice tensed a little. "Nonsense, that was over thirty years ago. Are you saying I look old?"
Ty laughed a little. "Never. Well, I better get going."
"Hey, Ty?" Alice said as he turned his back.
"Hm?" He looked back at her.
"You're not really going to be alone for Christmas, are you?"
Ty smiled. "Of course not, my roommates are sticking around, too."
"You don't have any roommates," Alice said before she remembered that Alice hadn't ever been to Tybalt's apartment. "You never mentioned any roommates before."
Ty quirked a brow to her. "Oh, haven't I? I do. I share my apartment with a male and a female. We'll probably all curl up together to wait for Santa."
Alice smiled a little. "Nobody should be alone on Christmas, Tybalt, remember that, okay?"
"I will. Have a good Christmas, Dr. Evelinne. And make sure you take your own advice." He waved and hurried out the door.
WARNING: CONTAINS SCENES OF TORTURE TO CHILDREN. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED, PLEASE LEAVE NOW.
EXTRA WARNING FOR ANYONE THAT MIGHT STUMBLE ON THIS BY ACCIDENT: ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS OR EVENTS IS PURELY COINCIDENCE. AND IT'S VERY VIOLENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
---------------------------------
"Sir?" the intercom crackled to life in the room and the man turned away from the boy with a sigh.
He pushed the button and gave a weary sigh. "What is it? I asked not to be interrupted." He looked at Ren, tied to the chair, bleeding and nearly doubled-over, blood soaking through all of his clothes. He turned his eyes to the red-hot poker in his hand, turning it slowly. He had to put it back in the fire soon.
"Yes, sir, I know, sir. But... there's... some commotion... outside."
"Commotion?"
"Yes, sir."
"What sort of commotion?"
"There are cats gathering."
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the boy tense, but when he looked, he was still hunched over. "Cats?"
"Yes, sir. About thirty right now, but more are arriving."
The man quirked a brow and watched the boy panting for a moment. "Shoot them. Then dispose of them. We can't have attention being drawn here. I'm not done yet."
"Shoot them, sir?"
"Did I stutter?"
"No, sir. We'll begin immediately." The intercom cracked and went silent.
The man moved over and knelt in front of the boy, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up. He examined the cuts and bruises, then looked into the boy's eyes. "Summoning kittens, are we?"
"I can't summon any animals," he said weakly, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"But you know who can."
"Can't say I do," he muttered with a smirk.
"Oh?" The poker found its way against the boy's side and elicited another cry of pain from the teen. "Would you like to try a bit harder to remember?"
"I'm going to kill you," Ren said between clenched teeth.
The man smiled. "Hope is a dangerous thing, Ren. Do you think..." the man's finger's traced their way through blood that was flowing down the boy's arm, up to the gash it was leaking from, "that the cats will keep coming after you die?" He shoved the tips of his fingers into the wound and Ren screamed, his whole body trembling.
Ren gasped, tightening his hands into fists as the fingers were withdrawn. He felt the tears at his eyes and breathed raggedly.
The man stood, tangling his fingers in the black hair and jerking the boy's head back. "Who is calling the cats?"
"If I die," Ren told him hoarsely, "the cats will come until every last one of you bastards is dead."
The man tightened his hand in the boy's hair, giving it a violent yank. "Who is it?"
The boy winced, then closed his eyes. "He'll be here soon. I don't want to spoil his entrance."
The man shoved the boy's hand down again. "Fucking children. This assignment is Hell." He threw his poker back into the flames and smiled when he saw Ren's eyes widen. "Oh, don't worry, dear boy, we're not done quite yet. By the time your little friend gets here, I will know what I want to know, and you will be quite dead."
Ren was thrown back from the larger man, clutching his sword tightly as his feet skidded through the gravel. This wasn't good. He was out of breath, bleeding, and his arms were shaking ever so slightly.
He held the sword in front of him, staring out of the eye that did not have blood leaking into it at the other man, his chest heaving.
"Why do you continue?" the man asked, smiling. He wasn't out of breath, but did sport several cuts where the boy had managed to get through his defenses.
"Why do you talk so much?" Ren asked, adjusting his stance and readying for another attack.
"I figured I'd give you a minute to breath, but if you're ready for me..." The man nearly flew at him, sword raised, bringing it down towards the boy's shoulder.
Ren pivoted to the side, bringing his blade up to deflect the blow and swinging his leg at the other's torso.
The man shoved off, bouncing a step back and laughing. "Ooh, quick. You almost had me. But you're hurt and you can't finish this. If you stop this foolishness, I won't kill you."
"Go to Hell!" Ren growled, shifting his footing again. He could give up. And the man might actually not kill him. But there were quite a few things worse than death, and he was certain he'd be subjected to at least one of them. He needed an opening: either on the man or as an escape route. He knew the area fairly well, he could find a place to hide.
The man gave an exaggerated sigh. "Children. Always so foolish." He shook his head regretfully, then charged Ren again, swinging fast and driving the boy back.
Ren swung his sword to deflect the blows, moving it quickly to each one, but he didn't have time to counter, and he was running out of room. The wall was approaching too fast.
And then they were there. Ren's back pushed into the wall and the man's sword swinging down at him. He was staggering under the fury of the blows. His leg came up to kick the other back from him.
"Ah!" Ren fell onto the floor, grabbing his sliced thigh with one hand. The man could have stabbed him right then; he'd never be able to get his sword up in time.
"You shouldn't try to use the same move twice." The man's grinning face was in Ren's peripheral vision. He reached a hand out and grabbed a handful of the boy's black locks, yanking them back and eliciting another hiss of pain from Ren. "Take your hand off your sword. Now is not the time to act courageously."
Ren's fist tightened on the hilt. It was suicide to swing it and he knew it, but if he relinquished his weapon...
The boy couldn't bring himself to do it. Death was a better option, but it wasn't one he'd fully been able to embrace. His fingers let go of the blade.
The man smiled to him. "Good boy. Don't feel too bad, you were out-classed. The fact that you even managed to hit me at all speaks of your talent. If only it weren't so... misplaced." He stood, dragging Ren to his feet by his hair.
"Come along, we have quite a walk ahead of us." He smiled, pulling Ren towards the street.
Ren limped along as close to beside the man as he could get, because falling behind meant another yank to his hair and moving too much made his leg wobbly. The amount of blood that was leaking down his pants was startling and with each step a new fount erupted.
"You've caused quite a bit of trouble for us, you know..." the man was saying. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to the trail of blood-laced footprints his captive was leaving behind. "Creeping around on rooftops, fighting guards, stealing horses... attacking a federal agent is grounds for a death sentence, but don't worry, I have other plans for you..."
People were stopping in the street. Cars had stopped in the middle of the road. People were crowding in doorways and windows to watch the two of them pass. Silence fell wherever they walked. Bloody swords and a pair of jeans soaked through with blood had that affect on people.
Ren nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, grabbing the man's arm to keep from collapsing fully. The man paused and smiled at the sight of Ren clinging to the arm that was dragging him through town.
"I must have cut you slightly deeper than I'd anticipated. You seem to be losing quite a lot of blood."
Nobody moved even though there were several people hovering in a doorway not even three feet from the pair. Ren closed his eyes and steadied himself on his good leg, letting go of the man's arm.
The man turned to the doorway. "You and you," he pointed with the swords, "come over here. You'll be helping me escort my young friend to our destination."
Ren looked up sharply and shook his head. "No. They don't need to come."
The man gave the boy an amused smile. "I don't think you're in any position to say that. You can barely stand."
The two men looked uneasy and Ren felt sick because he knew if they came, they wouldn't be coming back. "I can make it," he said, more confident than he felt.
The hand on the back of his head tightened suddenly and pushed down. Ren gave a cry and collapsed to his knees, whimpering as tears invaded the corners of his eyes.
The man smiled. "Oh, I don't think so." He turned back to the two helpers he'd selected. "Now would be a good time, gentlemen, you're holding up official business."
The two men came forward, each of them grabbing one of Ren's arms and heaving him back to his feet. They fell into step behind the other man.
"I'm sorry," Ren murmured to them.
"Collin Webster. Aged 15. Parents both deceased. Bounced around in the system till you were ten. Fostered by Mr. and Mrs. Bernard until age 12 when you mysteriously disappeared." He turned slitted eyes to the boy in the corner.
Collin pressed his hands to the wall behind himself, glancing to see if there were any way past the man in front of him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly.
The man smiled. "The Bernards are quite anxious to get you back. They hired me to find you. I don't usually accept commissions to bring back my prey alive, but it seemed like such a special case."
Collin looked at the man, swallowing slightly and glaring at him. "You've got the wrong guy. I don't know anyone named Collin."
"No? You fit the description. But there is one way I can check..." The smile on his face became slightly sadistic. "Mr. Bernard said that just before you ran away he gave you something; a token, if you will."
The boy did not reach for the scar on his back; he kept his hands planted firmly against the wall. "I'm afraid I don't own all that much, but if you wanna search through it, it's in the main room, by the fireplace."
"It's time to go home, Collin. I have a bounty to collect."
Collin shook his head a little. "Sorry, can't do it. I've got an appointment tomorrow."
"Oh?" The man pulled out a five-inch knife from his belt. "You'll have to cancel."
Collin's eyes darted around. He needed an exit. Gods only knew what those horrible people had told the man about him. He eased slowly out of the corner, moving along the wall. "Well, see, I would, but it's one of those life or death things..."
The man laughed. "Cute. Don't make me hurt you, kid. I get a bonus if you're entirely unharmed."
On this day in 1888, Vincent van Gough cut off his left ear. In keeping with that spirit, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?
Am I the only one bothered by the fact that the asker of this question spelled the artist's name wrong? It's Gogh.
ANYWAY. Craziest thing... I threw an empty pop bottle at two drunk guys in a car that was circling round the school block at 4 a.m. I got in a car with a strange man who said he was from Turkey and needed directions (I seriously don't recommend this). I was involved in a high speed chase through heavy traffic with my older brother and his friends (they were chasing me, I was incredibly lucky). I cussed out a drunk marine.
"Please, not again!"
The anguished wail echoed in the darkness, stretching out all through the void and then wrapping back around Tyler. He was crying, his face in his hands.
Every time, he thought miserably, again!
He looked blearily through his tears at Purgatory, just the wide, empty void that stretched out around him. He'd been Tybalt this time. He'd liked being Tybalt, though he could have done without the curls; well, you couldn't really say much about genetics.
Tybalt had done all right, really. Relatively normal home life, even if it had been a foster home. He was in college, wasn't insanely unpopular, but more than that, he'd had...
Al. Again. Gods, how many times over the centuries have I run into him? And every time, I'm head over heels.H
And every time it hurts. He gave a pathetic moan and wrapped his arms around himself. Twenty six was about his cut-off limit. He couldn't seem to get past it. Tyler did. But just the once. It didn't really bother him that he died early: he never had to worry about losing his sight or memory or hair. Dying early might be considered a good thing, after all. But his deaths were always so damn violent.
He'd died 3 times in different wars. At least twice of cancer: and not the kind of cancer that let you drift peacefully away in your sleep; it was the kind of cancer that made you want to stab yourself just to ease the pain. Then he'd been killed with a sword. Suicided a couple times.
And then the car accident. It was a bloody angel! Damn it! If it was Haniel, I swear I'll tear every feather from his body!
He'd been alive when the car burst into flames, and he could swear someone had been holding the seatbelt so that he couldn't unbuckle it.
He shuddered. Burning to death was not a way he wanted to go again.
"I CAN'T KEEP DYING LIKE THIS!" he yelled at the void as he shivered and looked at his arms to make sure the burn scars weren't there anymore.
Why? Why can't things ever just work out? It's not fair! "It's not fair!" he yelled to anyone that might be able to hear him. He doubted anyone else was here. Most people moved on. But he couldn't. He couldn't go anywhere but here or back to the human world, where he'd just meet Al and die all over again.... painfully.
"I can't," he told himself, folding himself into a sitting position on the nothingness around him, his arms wrapping tightly around his knees. "Not yet. Please not yet."
If he sat here long enough, he was sure he could go back, and would. If, for nothing else, to check on Al. Ever since he'd first seen the demon over two hundred years ago, he'd crossed paths with him at least once every lifetime. Sometimes that's the only reason he kept going back, though he was sure that after a time they'd send him back anyway, but he usually went back to see Al again before it got to that point.
I ought to stop that. I feel like some weird stalker every time I get back here after seeing him again. I doubt he's even noticed. I mean, I'm sure a part of him has. When I was Tybalt, I think he knew it was me, but he probably hasn't caught on that I see him every time.
This is some punishment. I'm doing something wrong. And I must be doing something so terrible that I can't even finish doing it, so I die again and have to start over.
"Can you at least give me a hint?" Well, maybe he didn't want a hint. If it turned out he wasn't supposed to see Al every time, then too bad, he'd keep making that mistake. It was a mistake he liked. Loved, even. And even when it was nothing more than a cursury glance on a subway, it let him come back here knowing that Al was still alive. Still well. And still Al.
