[ delta tells himself he's seen a lot because he has, every day of his life for as long as he can remember. sky-cities that float like balloons above white rolling clouds speckled in black shapes, not birds but fucking dragons. a faerie, once, when he was a boy. a younger boy. nightmare hellscapes, infinitely worse than the one he's blinked himself into now. humans aren't bumps under the bed, or formless monsters in the dark. for all their potential trauma and baggage, humans are uncomplicated. simple. easy to understand. easier to navigate.
so maybe it's the blood loss, then. that would make sense, he thinks deliriously, as fires explodes from ashe's hand not once but twice. he sags away from the pillar, instinctively stamping the switchblade into the rock before the wind can whip burgeoning flame toward his ankles. did he do that? how did he do that?
blood streams down his palm to the tip of his middle finger, splattering his chucks in a rapid drip. as he kneels, he shrugs off his jacket and rips a strip of fabric from his henley. he wraps his hand quickly, staring at the blade. the fire stained the green vines etched into the metal black. he thinks of the dead man in ashe's apartment and on the beach, his burnt skin cracked in blood. i will fucking burn you alive, he'd said.
and delta had thought he was just posturing. ]
Don't panic. We're fine. [ his teeth catch one half of his makeshift bandage, tightening the knot around his hand. he looks up and sees ashe's turned back, disappearing into the graveyard of stone columns. ] Fuck. Ashe!
[ even with ashe's head start, delta closes the distance in a handful of seconds. four years of track combined with a lifetime of throwing himself into high-contact sports and high-tailing it from aggravated cops in the woods, he's fit and healthy. his fingers fist ashe's shirt, and he uses the momentum to propel himself into him, tumbling to the ground with delta on his back. ]
Stop. Stop it, jesus — [ delta is more out of breath from pure adrenaline than he is from exerting himself, rolling ashe on his back and pinning his arms with his knees. his hands grip his shoulders, holding him down. ] You fucking idiot, what is wrong with you? Where the fuck do you think you're gonna go, Ashe?
[ fucking delta is faster than him — he knows it from the sound of his nearing footfalls, and yet it still fills him with an unconscionable rage when he's tackled and pinned. delta doesn't fucking get it. he'll never get it. ]
Get the fuck off me! [ he struggles beneath his weight but it's impossible for him to break free like this, nearly in a blind panic and his sudden view of the sky doing little to help. he shuts his eyes, breathing hard as he drops his hands and keeps them flat against the stone floor. don't touch delta. everything will be fine if he just doesn't touch delta.
nothing is fine, because he still doesn't know where the fuck they are or what the plan is to get back to the beach. he still doesn't know why he's suddenly seeing the man he killed when he was fourteen. and he doesn't fucking know how to make the fire stop despite having kept it mostly under control for the last several years. he wants to fucking disappear. he wants his goddamn mom. ]
Get off me. [ this time it's choked out through sobs, sudden tears tracking down his cheeks. the fight goes out of him as he looks away, trying to catch his unsteady breath. fuck, he's crying. he wishes he could smack this memory right out of delta's stupid fucking head. ] Get off me. I'm not going to run.
[ because delta makes a very good point that he has no idea where he's going. for all he knows there are giant black holes in the ground waiting to shoot him into fucking space. ]
Explain. [ he swallows, drawing in a sharply wet breath. ] Can you fix this? I swear to fucking god, Delta, you better fucking fix this.
no subject
so maybe it's the blood loss, then. that would make sense, he thinks deliriously, as fires explodes from ashe's hand not once but twice. he sags away from the pillar, instinctively stamping the switchblade into the rock before the wind can whip burgeoning flame toward his ankles. did he do that? how did he do that?
blood streams down his palm to the tip of his middle finger, splattering his chucks in a rapid drip. as he kneels, he shrugs off his jacket and rips a strip of fabric from his henley. he wraps his hand quickly, staring at the blade. the fire stained the green vines etched into the metal black. he thinks of the dead man in ashe's apartment and on the beach, his burnt skin cracked in blood. i will fucking burn you alive, he'd said.
and delta had thought he was just posturing. ]
Don't panic. We're fine. [ his teeth catch one half of his makeshift bandage, tightening the knot around his hand. he looks up and sees ashe's turned back, disappearing into the graveyard of stone columns. ] Fuck. Ashe!
[ even with ashe's head start, delta closes the distance in a handful of seconds. four years of track combined with a lifetime of throwing himself into high-contact sports and high-tailing it from aggravated cops in the woods, he's fit and healthy. his fingers fist ashe's shirt, and he uses the momentum to propel himself into him, tumbling to the ground with delta on his back. ]
Stop. Stop it, jesus — [ delta is more out of breath from pure adrenaline than he is from exerting himself, rolling ashe on his back and pinning his arms with his knees. his hands grip his shoulders, holding him down. ] You fucking idiot, what is wrong with you? Where the fuck do you think you're gonna go, Ashe?
no subject
Get the fuck off me! [ he struggles beneath his weight but it's impossible for him to break free like this, nearly in a blind panic and his sudden view of the sky doing little to help. he shuts his eyes, breathing hard as he drops his hands and keeps them flat against the stone floor. don't touch delta. everything will be fine if he just doesn't touch delta.
nothing is fine, because he still doesn't know where the fuck they are or what the plan is to get back to the beach. he still doesn't know why he's suddenly seeing the man he killed when he was fourteen. and he doesn't fucking know how to make the fire stop despite having kept it mostly under control for the last several years. he wants to fucking disappear. he wants his goddamn mom. ]
Get off me. [ this time it's choked out through sobs, sudden tears tracking down his cheeks. the fight goes out of him as he looks away, trying to catch his unsteady breath. fuck, he's crying. he wishes he could smack this memory right out of delta's stupid fucking head. ] Get off me. I'm not going to run.
[ because delta makes a very good point that he has no idea where he's going. for all he knows there are giant black holes in the ground waiting to shoot him into fucking space. ]
Explain. [ he swallows, drawing in a sharply wet breath. ] Can you fix this? I swear to fucking god, Delta, you better fucking fix this.