middaeg | [ CLOSED ] hunting for love

[ He must've taken a wrong turn somewhere. Killua can't remember where he was trying to go -- home, maybe? Gon's place? -- but he's certain he's never been in this part of Aefenglom before.

The alleys turn narrower and narrower, the cobblestones smoothing out, walls turning from wood, brick and stone to a pale, sickly off-white shade dimly illuminated by fluorescent lights far above that shouldn't exist.

The sharp smell of antiseptic stings his nose. He knows that scent. He knows this place.

Along the linoleum ground, wires and cords spread like an infection. Killua steps over them, feeling colder and more numb with every movement forward toward the inevitability waiting at the end of the hall. ]

Edited 2020-10-06 06:40 (UTC)

[and though Gon is dreaming, he feels asleep even within this scene—heavy, deeper than normal sleep, like sinking into an abyss. there's a feeling, too, that he isn't conscious enough to be fully aware of. a sinking, consuming despair—in the confines of this world constructed by their subconscious thoughts and memories, it's enough to manipulate the environment to make it feel vacuous and ice-cold, like Gon's presence itself on that bed is some ominous, foreboding presence, larger than the bed he's confined to or all the gear that keeps him tenuously, barely alive. a hatred, but still, like dirty water, and cold. nothing like the life-shattering, earth-eating hatred he felt for the creature that killed a person he loved, or for himself. the same voracity, threatening to pull Gon into its darkness to swallow him for his sins; the anguish clings to his every fried cell, and every withered, bloody wrinkle of flesh gnarled on his frail, depleted body.

both consciously and not, Gon awaits it peacefully, but with remorseful resignation. it's not the first time he's had a dream like this, dreaming as he did in that hospital bed, sunk heavy in indescribable despair as he yearns for death to take what it deserves from him. to give Gon what he deserves.

and just like the first time, distantly, in the back of his mind, Gon feels like it's taking a long time. he's vaguely conscious that it hurts to breathe, the rest of him numbed from the pain that keeps him out cold.

every time, Gon feels like it's just taking a long time.

he just wants it to be over. the last step to his penance. selfish, to his very last breath.]

[ Killua can feel it. The feeling permeates the air, growing in his lungs with every breath like a mold-- the hatred, the disgust, the despair, the pain, and worst of all the certainty.

Gon doesn't move. He doesn't seem to want to.

Somehow, Killua knows -- or thinks he knows? -- that if he really wanted to, he could. If he really wanted to, he could have stopped before it got this far.

He could have listened.

Or maybe...

Maybe it's Killua who should have tried harder. ]

I'm sorry, Gon.

[ he whispers, eyes on the blankets and bandages and wires and tubes and Gon somewhere beneath them. ]

I'm sorry I wasn't the person you needed.

Maybe someone better could have--

[ It's too late now. There's no fixing it now. Killua kneels at the side of the bed, arms crossed over the edge, head down. ]

I watched you. All that time. I tried... I watched your back, and that was all.

I couldn't do enough.

[ What is enough? What more can he give when he already gives all of himself?

In the dream, there's no Alluka. There's no miracle cure. There's nothing, and there's no one-- only Gon, and the steady, quiet beep of the machines forcing Gon to breathe when he doesn't even want to anymore.

Quietly, the wires on the ground twitch. The twist and curl, slinking closer like snakes, crawling up Killua's legs, over his arms and neck. He doesn't lift his head. ]

I watched your back, and you never turned to look at me.

[ Even now, it feels selfish to admit. As if he was deserving.

As if things could have turned out any other way. ]

[Killua is seldom this honest or outspoken, but it's with such words and perspective that Gon gets the strange sense he hasn't made it up, either; there's something inside of him that makes Gon aware this isn't some subconscious conjecture, even if one can be surprised by their own mind in these states.

but Gon's always had very good intuition, at the very least; it's not the first time the way he perceives Killua and how he presents in his resting worlds has shifted a bit in a way to garner suspicion.

it's too much to counter—too much at once, too much to be shocked by, too much to argue angrily against... because every point, every word, is so wrong. Gon's hands shift and twitch in the fabric as the titanium shelled chords coil about, the visuals on the machines keeping Gon alive and monitoring his condition having long since become beyond incoherent... his fingers twitch, and the corner of his mouth twitches, a fiery ire twisting within him.

what was Killua saying?

Gon was the one who wasn't good enough. it's the second time Gon's deserved to die. Gon wanted to take that death alone, because unlike Gon, Killua deserved to live; he embarked on a cleaner life, with a heart that had been pure all along. not like Gon, with something sick and monstrous inside him, hiding quietly in biding time until he'd left home. apple, tree.

but he understands it, too—maybe from feeling Killua's feelings in part, but Gon understands the coldness of his own back then, suddenly... or maybe he's been aware for months, honestly. he's had a lot to think about since the anxiety of having ruined everything with Killua first set in, every moment that Gon wasn't struggling over his studies. every day he could no longer take comfort in the forest. through every fat, ugly tear.

Gon's dry, withered hand snatches a handful of those chords snaking up Killua's legs suddenly, and he harshly yanks them—they shift, and some break, but Killua's not fully freed from the grasp.

though Gon doesn't speak, his voice rings softly and somehow soundlessly.]

Sorry?

[the beeping on the monitors are distorted; too loud but also incomprehensibly, auditorily blurry.]

Not good enough?

[the transparent tubes—the thinner ones—hooked into Gon writhe in his skin.]

There's no one better than you, Killua.

You're the person I need, but not the person I deserve.

[Gon's hand twists in a harsh grip, and his brittle arm trembles. the chords of the wires begin to shift unnaturally, growing dark, gradually becoming like a dark mosiac.]

How could I look at you?

[all the machinery—even that that's deep in Gon's trachea, or trying to wrap itself around Killua... all tiny insects. ants.

Gon's the one who's insignificant.]

Edited 2020-10-15 07:25 (UTC)

[ Killua's aware of his movement. Somehow, he's aware of everything-- the room, the noise, the wires and tubes that twist in and out of different shapes and configurations dizzyingly crawling over and under his skin. Like a spiderweb, and he's the fly, and Gon is the sticky coating.

Gon's fragile, shivering horror of a hand somehow holds back the strangling cords.

His voice swims in Killua's mind, drowning out the erratic beeping.

Killua shakes his head. ]

You should have tried.

[ Suddenly, he pulls away, tugging free of the cords trying to envelop him into the dark mosaic Gon is trapped in. ]

What about what I deserve?

[ The words spill out, a feeling as much as a sound, thick with despair and anger and fear. The tears spill over.

Killua's hand reaches through the dark, writhing mass Gon is sinking into in the void that used to be a bed. ]

You don't get to just say that and disappear! You don't get to leave me behind again because you decided for me, dammit!

Gon!!

Edited 2020-10-15 08:49 (UTC)

[Gon's not aware that he's sinking until he feels Killua's hand—it doesn't touch him, because Gon's form is becoming steadily obscured, hard to place.

and Gon realizes it's frightening—through Killua's memories forming the landscape of this dream, he realizes how appeared to Killua, then; how frail and sucked dry his corpse of a body was, and how much was required to keep Gon breathing. and all the buzzing and ringing—it's so loud, and Gon doesn't know where it's coming from.

Gon can hear the tears in Killua's voice, and it kicks a sudden feeling of fitfulness within him. he feels like he's suffocating, but Killua's voice makes him try to force a breath through all of the ants that have completely covered him by now as Gon clumsily tries to find Killua's hand—and when he does, he grasps his hand around his wrist too hard, with soft, supple flesh. the movement of the insects covering Gon and the bed stills, and slouches, becoming then like runny tar—it all falls away with Gon, sloughing his bandages with it, and Gon is choking, spitting up black ichor.

Gon's flesh looks slick and ashy, making him look sickly—but so much better than the horrific state he was previously in. he's still laying on his back, feeling weak, but his breathing has stabilized—and his head is turned, his other hand moving to struggle the oxygen mask off of his face as he still holds strong to Killua.

once he gets it off, he looks to Killua with eyes that are much darker than usual—a sinking, depthless pitch, like the slick black substance that's now all around them, still dripping from Gon's arm and hand.]

Killua...

[Gon stares at Killua's tear stricken face, and it wells a wetness to his own eyes, his chin dimpling. his voice is weak and dry.]

I hurt you. You deserve better.

I didn't take you from your old life for this.

[Gon's voice is caught in a tense pause that's like a lump in his throat, before he pushes his next words out.]

I'm sorry I did that... I can't forgive myself.

[but he's here, because he can't leave Killua. the fact that Gon survived at all was because Gon loves him.]

Edited 2020-10-15 16:31 (UTC)

[ Killua clutches at him, dragging him closer as soon as he frees himself from the oxygen mask. They're both kneeling on the bed now, and Killua's hands restlessly, anxiously move over Gon's body to wipe away the pitch even if it gets on his own hands and arms and clothes.

Until he just grabs Gon by the shoulders suddenly and yanks him against himself, arms wrapping tight around his body. Relieved to find him solid, warm, alive. ]

N-no.

[ Killua whispers, voice catching on his tears. His throat hurts. ]

No, you stupid idiot. Don't say things like that.

[ That was what brought him to this point to begin with. Killua can't let him find a new way to start the cycle again. ]

You're not the one who gets to forgive yourself.

Don't you get it?

[Gon's startled, making a jostled little sound when he's crushed into a desperate hug—Killua's not the one to often instigate affection, much less any this emotional. but this is a dream, right? but Gon doesn't think he's ever seen it like this. he's also never seen himself in that hospital bed, and wonders if it's his mind's eye conjecture...

but Gon doesn't really have an amazing visual imagination.

Gon wraps his arms around Killua, always vying for this kind of contact—there's nothing he wants more than close, intimate contact like this, but has be careful with how often he instigates things like that. so suffice to say, Gon tucks into it, distantly aware of how he has no horns to prevent him from doing as much, which seems like an odd thought. horns??

Killua's words make Gon tense a little and he grits his teeth, sniffling, and lifts his head, using a bit of force against Killua's strength to peer at him. he extends a hand, wiping another gathering of tears beneath Killua's eyes with a stroke of his thumb. he feels a little guilty to find them beautiful, but Gon doesn't want them there. his brows slant back in mired confusion, head tilting with confusion. subtly, Gon shakes his head.]

Nuh uh...

[Gon not understanding something? what a surprise. but didn't people forgive themselves (or not forgive themselves) all the time? wasn't that a normal part of life?]

If you can't forgive yourself...

[ Killua wants to pull away just as strongly as he wants to crush himself against Gon. He wants to lean into the hand against his cheek and slap it away. He wants to punch Gon in his stupid, selfish face and then--

Killua turns his head as Gon wipes way his tears, pressing his lips to the soft inside of Gon's wrist. ]

...then let me.

Stop making decisions for me.

Edited 2020-10-16 06:18 (UTC)

Killua...

[Gon watches as Killua moves through those feelings; the conflict is almost palpable, and while he can't place what exactly Killua is feeling, he recognizes his distress.

normally, Gon would insist that in this case, it's not Killua's decision to make. it's Gon's, to forgive himself... unless Killua means that Gon is withholding certain things, behaving a certain way, based on how he perceives Killua might handle it. maybe in that way, Gon is making decisions for Killua.

but Gon doesn't get to those thoughts, right away, because Killua's kissing the inside of his wrist. his eyes widen a bit, and his heart beats hard; it echoes throughout the black, now too-large room, as if amplified by the disengaged life support machine.

Gon's frozen, staring, and he cups the swell of Killua's cheek in his palm once he recovers from the shock of the little kiss, shy but earnest. Gon thinks about explaining it, wondering if he even can. how death was his penance]

I just felt like I was the one who deserved to die, that's all. You didn't mess up—I did. I know it's not that simple, but...

[of course Gon wasn't thinking clearly. Killua knows that.]

I'm happy you forgive me, but forgiving myself isn't something you can do for me... I regret hurting you just as bad. It's hard to forgive myself when I love someone so much.

Do you know what I mean?

[this was a bad dream. of course Killua wouldn't know what he meant. in the back of his mind, Gon's finally aware this is a nightmare. but he can't help what the little kiss does to him.]

I wanted to see you so badly, when I woke up...

[ Doesn't he hear himself?

Killua closes his eyes briefly, taking a shaky breath. His hand covers Gon's at his face, and gently pulls it down. ]

I'm sorry. That I couldn't be there.

[ No. He could have. He could have lingered a little longer; he could have taken care of Alluka still and also stayed, just long enough for Gon to see him. But--

Something snags, painfully, in his swirling thoughts. The thought of Alluka.

And then, the words Gon chose just now.

Killua grips his hand with both of his, head bowed; his tears fall on their overlapping fingers. ]

...I do. Know what you mean.

I know how it feels to realize you've betrayed someone so terribly. Hurt someone you love.

[ He'd said it. Gon had said that word. ...hadn't he?

It's difficult to focus. The darkness around them feels like it's closing in, suffocating, the very air pulsing with his frantic heartbeat. He feels sick. ]

But when you realize that, you stay with them.

You don't get to say you can't forgive yourself. You try to earn it.

[Gon's lip quivers a little bit when he feels Killua's tears, but strangely, he's able to reign it in because of them. Gon's an emotional boy, and he tends to cave to his emotional whims... but he can also steel up; it's a little easier if it means supporting Killua, not to totally lose it.]

I've been trying! I've never wanted to leave your side in the first place, [Gon implores with some urgency, his voice a mite higher, exasperated—but not with Killua. not really.

Gon's aware of the deepening dark, and how stifling it is; it's heightening Gon's nerves, and he's almost feeling an irrational panic, his heart racing, limbs still feeling weak and frail, shaken by the cold.]

But I didn't want to take you down with me; you didn't do anything to deserve that.

[but he knows now—when he isn't dreaming, that Gon shouldn't have reacted so extremely in the first place. he only shut Killua out because of the consequences of his own bad decisions, and his inability to regulate his strong feelings.

Gon's expression falls, eyes clouding. he moves his hand away from Killua's face, taking Killua's wet hand with him, wondering if all this darkness is just gonna eat them both alive, and they're both gonna stupidly, pointlessly die here. but together, instead of Gon alone, as he originally wanted.

Gon rolls his thumb across the ridges of Killua's fingers, across the backs of them, feeling how the air bites at the wet left behind from his tears.]

I'm trying my best because I really do love you. It's just hard to do that when you can't get out of this room when you don't wanna breathe anymore and you can't move anyway.

[Gon says this like that's a normal thing everyone experiences, because, y'know, dreams. like Killua, Gon is stuck in how he felt at that moment, but oscillating between that and his current self. and as he says this, Gon leans forward again, this time putting his arms around Killua. it's not as urgently tight as Killua's previous embrace, but strong enough to draw him close; Gon tucks subtly against the side of Killua's neck, resting his hand on the back of his head.]

I hate that I've made you feel this way.

Edited 2020-10-16 18:16 (UTC)

You... you keep saying that.

[ Killua buries his face in Gon's neck in turn. He's scared to look up. Scared it won't be real.

He knows it can't be real. ]

That word... that you lo--

[ He's scared to repeat it.

Gon's admission he doesn't want to breathe anymore chills him to the marrow of his bone, even if, in a strange way, it doesn't surprise him at the same time. ]

If you really love me, then you can't keep saying it's okay if you die and I don't.

How is that fair?

[ Twisted, convoluted logic. The darkness pressed own, suffocating and cold. Killua's grip tightens around Gon, painfully hard. ]

Don't... you can't say things like that. Please.

Don't you understand how much it hurts me?

[ Maybe he's just selfish too. ]

[Gon's impressed by the might of Killua's hold, and is vindicated by it more than inconvenienced, despite how it really makes Gon realize his own frailty in his hold. Gon doesn't move from where he's resting his head against Killua, finding it strange, a little bit, that he still feels so cold with Killua so close. it makes Gon want to melt in against him, and it brings him a bit of lucidity—as does Killua's pained tone.

that's what has Gon finally lift his head again, letting go of Killua to stroke his face with both of his hands, this time, drying his eyes. it feels strange—Gon can see his tears, but he almost doesn't feel them.

come to think of it, with the way the light is growing more and more dim, Gon can't see Killua as well in general as he could what felt like minutes before.]

I'm sorry. You're right. I do know that now. I didn't understand, before...

[even though Gon hated it when Killua said the same kind of thing.]

I won't say stuff like that ever again, no matter how I'm feeling. I'll do better. So let's stay together, Killua... [Gon feels like this is a hopeless plea, considering that Gon's probably messed things up beyond repair. this is actually a fear Gon's gotten over, in recent months—but Gon's memory and feelings are sort of spliced, once again, between the week following his near death experience and his week in Aefenglom before he went to sleep to have this terrible nightmare.]

We can leave this place and we can stay by each other's side...

If that's really how you feel...

[ If all he does is not say it aloud, then maybe Killua's the one in the wrong here after all. He's just telling Gon not to say what he really feels for his own selfish reasons, while Gon suffers. ]

I want to stay by your side too, Gon. But you have to let me.

[ He still hasn't let go, though his grip loosens slightly, the strength starting to leave his body. He suddenly feels so very tired. ]

Why can't I be enough? [ this time, the question isn't directed at Gon. it's simply whispered into his shoulder, in the darkness, sad and quiet. ]

Why can't I ever do enough to help? I've always been weak... when it really mattered.

I'm sorry.

[Gon blinks, tilting his head in confusion, his forehead wrinkled by how his brows slant back.

does he not let Killua stay by his side?? does he mean the palace?

then he feels Killua slacken a bit, and he hears Killua's question—he leans back, holding Killua's shoulders again, propping him up.]

Killua—!

[the darkness is so dense, suddenly, it's almost like a black smoke, nearly corporeal—and Gon panics, feeling like he can't see Killua. he can't feel him. like they're both disappearing respectively, unable to redeem themselves in their own eyes, hung on apologies that neither of them truly owe. not that Gon thinks of it that way.]

Killua, that's not true—

[and suddenly, Gon's gut drops; it's like the two of them plunge into an icy, suffocating darkness, like they've been dropped into the depthy center of an ocean's belly. all the wind is knocked out from him, and then Gon suddenly comes to, eyes snapping open, chest heaving.

Gon rolls to his side, body awash with a cold sweat, eyes wide as his heart races; his hand knots in the fabric of his shirt, breath an unsteady staccato. he feels the uncomfortable way his ear sort of bends as he lays on his side, and as he curls up, Gon sees the dark fur that covers his knees—it grounds him, reminds him, he's in Aefenglom, he's a Faun, all of that was a dream. just a nightmare.

but he's never seen it like that, before. he's never had a vision of what he looked like in that hospital... and he's never heard Killua say things like that. the distress that Gon feels from his dream, being unable to dispute Killua's unworthy feelings, makes his chest hurt.

tears welling, breath shaky, Gon scrambles to grab his watch. Gon sits himself up, and his hands are shaking, so he tries to go slow as he unsteadily writes Killua a message.]

I know its late, sorry if this seems random !

But I just wanted to tell you that you mean a lot to me, Killua. You're more than enough, and I'm so lucky that I have you in this place, and that we're still friends, and that we're Bonded, and everything! To be honest, I still don't even really think I deserve it, but I'm happy every day that you gave me another chance, so I'm not going to waste your kindness! I wish I could say it better, but you really amaze me. I think you're so strong.

I know that some of that sounds obvious but I justfelt like I had to tell you, I had a bad feeling

Ok goodnight!!

[Gon hopes his tone in his text doesn't betray how weirdly devastated he feels, and how the guilt twists hard inside him; Killua's always taking care of him, even in this place. he has to do better. he wants Killua to feel appreciated and cared for.

Gon tosses his watch, then curls back up on his side. the bristles of his tail curl by his chin, which dimples as his dense, thick eyelashes well with fat tears, Gon pulling on his ears in distress as he begins to cry. and it's not the usual empty weeping he does after a nightmare—soon, he shakes with guttural sobs, now clutching his face, gone red from his distress.

it was just a dream, but for some reason, it's really painful.]

Edited (FORGOT A LINE and didnt realize until like 12h later) 2020-10-23 10:36 (UTC)

They come out of the alleys. From within the pitch-dark shadows between the crooked buildings sticking jagged edges into the dizzying night sky, pale hands reach long fingers out toward him as Killua passes. They tug at his sleeves, at the hem of his shirt, grope at his shoes and ankles and wrists. They drip blood onto the street, which runs in tiny rivers between the cobblestones.

Murderer.

Monster.

The whispers slide around him, but there is no breeze. Thick with the stench of gore, the air is deathly still.

your work all your work are you proud?

Did you keep track?

Did you lose count?
no no please i want to live
i want i want

Killua doesn't even try to strike them away. It's a dream. It's only a dream. He just has to keep walking. He only has to look ahead. Keep looking ahead. Keep thinking forward. The sunlight always breaks through eventually.

But the street keeps winding farther and farther away, the lampposts flickering. The cobblestones are slippery. There's blood and tissue under his nails. His sleeves are soaked in it.

"Kil."

A tall, pale man stands at the end of the street, and no matter how fast Killua tries to run -- toward or away -- he's always there. He's always there, standing just out of reach, with empty black eyes and a blank, somber look on his sharp-featured face. He always raises a hand and beckons. He always sees.

"Abandon this nonsense, Kil. You know what you are meant to be."

"You're wrong!" Killua's shout breaks the stillness. He finally stops, and stands there with shoulders and chest heaving, as though he'd been running for hours.

That's when that familiar, flat voice comes again from right behind him now, so close he can feel the breath against his ear, and suddenly Killua's not sure where he is.

"You're always just pretending. Poor little Kil. Wake up from this delusion. The only thing you're good for is--"

When he spins on his heel, it's lightning-fast and furious, bloody claws sharp, his whole body a honed weapon.

With which Killua lashes out, blindly, at whoever is really standing there. It's not his brother.

Edited 2020-09-30 08:40 (UTC)

The hazy, shadowy shifting of the city makes walking through it a headache. He's not one to easily lose direction; in here, though, he's stepped out of one street into another that he knows is on the opposite end of the city. At this point, he's given up trying to go anywhere specific.

He's getting used to the faint, indistinct whispers, the eyes that seem to linger no matter where he turns. Whatever's lurking, it seems it's biding its time. Waiting. But the voice -- from a real person -- catches his attention immediately. Especially once he realizes who it belongs to.

Geralt strays off the road he'd been walking on. Or he means to. Apparently, there's no need: the street twists and turns, and leads him right to where Killua is.

His gaze is lingering on the tall figure (who is that?) when movement comes out of the corner of his eye. He catches Killua's wrist a split second before the claws sink into him. They miss scraping over his eye by a hair. This close, he can see the blood dripping from the nails. He can sure as hell smell it soaking into the air.

"Hey." Damn it. "It's me. Geralt."

If that even means anything right now. They barely know each other.

It's been a long time since Killua's felt like this. It's like a switch somewhere deep inside him, a safeguard suddenly ripped away. The bloodthirst emanates from him in a nightmarish, physical representation within this twisted world, like a black shroud hanging over him, dulling his senses and sharpening reflexes.

He doesn't seem to hear. The world around is like static, and the voices fill his head, drowning out Geralt's words and face.

Killua twists around instantly in his grip, yanking his arm down to free himself at the same time as he brings his opposite knee up in a savage kick around Geralt's other side.

"Kill him," echoes the voice in the alley, the nightmare real and present. The order is calm; it holds no anger, no passion, no emotion at all. And expects Killua to do the same.

Ah, fuck. He knows that look. Geralt brings his arm down; it blocks the kick, but it also leaves him with a hell of a bruise along his forearm.

He spins around, not drawing his sword yet. Instead, he reaches out to try and grab hold of Killua to wrestle him to the ground and pin him there. The boy is fast, but Geralt's bigger. He has every intention of using it to his advantage.

He'll deal with the whispering voice later. Whatever it means, he doesn't know: if Killua is being mind controlled or trapped in a past version of himself or what. Or what it'll take to snap him out of it. It must be possible. He'd been a little shit of a kid, and that underlying edge of violence, but not a cold-blooded killer.

It's lucky he ran into someone actually equipped to fight him when he's like this. Perhaps later, Killua will be relieved and appreciate that. Right now, he has no sense of any of that.

He reacts on pure instinct and adrenaline, obeying the memory of all his training. When Geralt grabs him, Killua instantly fights back, trying to yank free and roll away, kicking at him even as Geralt manages to bear his weight down onto him and finally get Killua on the ground. For all his insistence on being just a normal human, his strength is monstrous, and not at all correlated to what one might expect from his petite size.

Teeth bared in a silent snarl, Killua tries to push off the ground for leverage to throw the Witcher off his back.

For a split second, he thinks the kid might actually break free. They flip onto the ground together, landing hard on the cobblestone. The only upside to Killua showing his inhuman strength is that it lets him know how much he needs to hold back.

Not much. Apparently.

He shoves his knee against Killua's back, bruising grip around his wrist. Sharpened, claw-like nails dig in. It's a struggle to hold him down when he's trying not to snap his arm or his neck. Between the bloodstained street that have slicked up his palms, his grip starts to slip. He lets go before he loses ground entirely, rolling to his feet -- waiting for Killua to make the next move. His gaze roams the shadowy city, searching for something blunt he can use as a weapon.

The way Killua yanks against his grip, it's like he doesn't even care if he breaks his own arm. The moment he gets any leeway, he springs backward, almost catlike, into a defensive crouch a few feet away. The sharp blue eyes that watch Geralt now are unnervingly empty of personality, cold and calculating, gauging him only as an opponent and nothing more.

There's a fleeting shadow behind Killua, the whisper of that long-haired man again, blinking into existence one moment to lean low and whisper into Killua's ear before he vanishes again.

"Shut up!" Killua screams again, making a swipe for where the figure had been. There's nothing there now-- but it's a distraction. Geralt has an opening. If he moves fast.

His attention is briefly diverted by the flickering shadow. Unlike the moths, he's learned the hard way these visions are tangible. They've left their share of cuts and scrapes on him. But it takes no interest in him. Just Killua.

The moment Killua turns to the dark shape, Geralt moves. Drawing his sword is usually something he's avoids when he has no intention of following through a fight to the end -- but he only has a second to make his move and few options. So he does.

His fingers curl around the grip. It flips in his hand at the last moment, the blunt end of the pommel aimed at the boy's temple. Knock him out, or at least stun him. The former, ideally.

It's best that Geralt doesn't hold back too much. Killua's not nearly as fragile as one might assume given his petite stature; but by now, given the way he moves and fights, Geralt's surely gathered that.

If it weren't for the distraction taking up most of Killua's attention and distorting his reality so far that he doesn't even recognize Geralt, he probably could have dodged. He could have tried to block.

As it is, everything is happening in such a disjointed, nonsensical fashion, Killua doesn't even turn back to Geralt, all of his focus suddenly honed in on the shadow he's screaming at. It's lucky, in a way. It means Geralt is able to move in quickly and carry out his plan just as he'd hoped.

Killua reacts belatedly, hissing through his teeth and stumbling, badly stunned if not yet unconscious. He tries to drop to the ground, to roll away and make a run for it, staggering when his vision swims.

That Killua's still conscious after a blow like that tells him everything he needs to know about what the boy can withstand. (A fucking lot, apparently.)

He takes the opening without hesitation. As soon as Killua tries to stumble away, Geralt darts to the left to try to intercept and tackle him to the ground. No way he's letting the kid run off while he's practically feral -- not just for his sake but in case he bumps into someone who can't fight him off.

He reaches for Killua at the same time, in an attempt to wrap his arm around his neck and choke him out. Maybe some time knocked out will snap him free of whatever's got its hold on him.

He can withstand a whole fucking lot. But this time, after the barrage from earlier, the blow to the head and now Geralt steadily cutting off his air, even Killua can't cling to consciousness without being able to breathe.

It takes a bit longer than it probably should have, by any normal estimate. He's been trained for this too; he can hold his breath longer than most people, even as he tries to fight back. In the end though, despite his ~~stupid shounen protag strength~~ training, he really is only human.

He goes limp under Geralt's grip.

Since this is a dream, though, the consequence of him no longer being aware in it has his body suddenly starting to just sort of... fizzle out in Geralt's arm, slowly losing consistency.

[ CLOSED ] hunting for love

for gon.

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for geralt.

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