Your Package Has Arrived!

Of course, nothing Acheron ever planned would go along smoothly. It was his own fault for relying on the services of others. It was stupidity on his part that he had thought to go about this by using an almost honest route. But it wasn’t Sunday yet, he reminded himself. Maybe he could finesse something in the knick of time? He had to reign in his temper and not do anything rash. Easier said than done. It wouldn’t be the first time he had let his anger take the lead, a decision which usually ended with questionable results. Though to the best of his abilities, he had very little control when it came down to it. He could already feel the frustration building within him and if this ended up completely falling apart, someone was surely bound to get hurt. The questions of who was still yet to be revealed, however.

Although, a temporary target for his frustration seemed very likely to fall upon Cadmus tonight. The man was late. Which was unlike him. Usually it was the other way around. Acheron couldn’t recall waiting around for the man ever before. The thought crossed his mind that something bad might have happened to Cadmus, but he quickly shook it. He didn’t need to go and get worried about the likes of him. He had enough trouble as it were without growing attached to a man he was blackmailing. The relation between the two remained a practical one and even the thought of getting sentimental about a man such as Cadmus made Acheron’s skin crawl. Although, it would be a shame if it came to an end, whatever it was they had going on. Cadmus was one of very few people that Acheron saw regularly, however imbalanced the dynamic between the two might be. Besides, he needed Cadmus. He was being blackmailed for a reason.

For a brief moment the dark alley was lit up by a lighter as Acheron lit a cigarette. It was exactly as dirty and littered with trash as it had been a few days ago. Of course, that was to be expected of Erast. He took a drag off his cigarette as his eyes darted across the once again darkened alley, shifting the weight on his feet. He hated how uneasy he felt, standing there waiting. Though the likelihood of anyone deciding to take a walk by the alley this time of night was low, it still made him feel vulnerable for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and his attention shifted towards the source.His hands tensed around the dagger in his pockets and he was immediately on high alert, putting out feelers for any bad intentions, even if he was fairly certain it was only his companion. Though he was armed and more than capable of defending himself against any would-be mugger, it wasn’t until his powers met a familiar wall that his tense shoulders relaxed. He leaned back against the wall behind him and took a drag off the cigarette.

“Took you long enough,” he chastised, exhaling smoke. The harsh tone of his voice made it clear that he was annoyed. Though, Acheron in actuality had no way of knowing the time or how late Cadmus was. He only knew that he was usually not the one waiting for Cadmus. And he himself had never been early before. “You’re late.”

It was a small miracle, thought Cadmus to himself as he made his way through the littered backstreets of Erast, attempting to keep out of the streetlights, that he had managed to get everything from that cursed list. Keeping to the dark did nothing to make him appear less suspicious: Dark coat, dark garment bag, that looked enough like a duffle bag to inspire thoughts of stolen goods or loads of cash. Now the latter was true to some extent, 50.000꩒ was a lot, although stacked somewhat neatly, it barely took up any space. Still, walking around with that amount of cash made him feel vulnerable, and the bag felt like an invisible marker, pointing him out as a potential target. He had almost considered borrowing Dominic’s gun, but there had seemed no good explanation for why he should need a firearm all of a sudden, he had decided against it. Besides, pulling out a gun would be an easy way to convince anyone that the bag contained something worth stealing. If it came down to it, he was sure he could keep both it, and himself safe without resorting to shooting anyone. Nevertheless, he was careful when making his way; avoiding any signs of life, except the occasional nighttime animal digging through some litter.

Obtaining the blueprints had, as expected, turned out to be the biggest challenge. He supposed it might have been possible through the internet, you could access the drawings of some buildings by signing up somewhere with your social security number. Of course, he couldn’t very well do that. If the hotel blueprints were even accessible to the public to begin with. In regards to that, Colton Peterson had turned out to be rather useful. Although the former politician was a hypocritical old swine, who had built most of his career up around hating on, and prosecuting Nachon warlocks, he did not seem to mind them quite as much, when their powers benefited him. No matter how little he liked it, Cadmus could not afford to be nitpicky. Besides: One could only get so far, in a place like this, holding on to strong morals.

When he turned the corner and realised that Acheron was already there –as usually the sight of him was preceded by the familiar feeling of a Nachon warlock, attempting to enter his mind– waiting for him in the alley, he was momentarily perplexed. Walking on, he looked down at his watch, and at the same time Acheron called him out for being late. In the dark, Cadmus had a hard time making out the hands of his watch, the slight glow of the single, burning cigarette provided a poor light source, but it was only just after midnight. If Acheron felt like he had been waiting for long, and it sounded like it by his annoyed tone of voice, he would have had to have been there early. Or just extremely impatient. Not that Cadmus cared much for either scenario. Practising patience would only serve Acheron well. So he shrugged it off, and stopped, at what seemed to be a safe distance from his discontented blackmailer. He did consider coming up with some excuse; that he had to make sure he wasn’t being followed, that he had lost track of time or the way, that he had been otherwise engaged. There was even the brief possibility of apologising. Even if it wasn’t by much, he was still late. Perhaps for the first time ever. But his tiredness won out over any wisdom, Cadmus had, after all, been the one to do all the work this past week, it had been exhausting and yet Acheron had already found something to complain about. “It’s only 12:04.” He remarked, holding out the bag, “You should consider buying yourself a watch.”

He scoffed at Cadmus’ comment, grabbing the bag.
“Watch your tone, pal,” he warned. The threat was already clear, but to make it clearer, he gave the man a pointed look. He supposed it wasn’t entirely fair that Cadmus had to be subjected to whatever whim of emotion Acheron just happened to be feeling at any given time. But life rarely was fair. At the end of the day, Acheron was embarrassingly unstable and he hated himself for it. But anger accumulated in his chest and he had no reigns. It didn’t matter much either way he felt, good or bad. He had been in a good mood the last time they met. But Cadmus had still left on the verge of tears. What was that if not a sign that Acheron had been put on this world only to wreak havoc? He didn’t exactly believe that all Nachons had been put on this planet just to be doer of Tarron’s evil. But he certainly was. He had no control and the outcome was always the same. He was a murderer, a blackmailer. The sort of person who caused hurt just for the sake of it. Cadmus shouldn’t forget that and forget his role in this. His continued life in relative comfort was only possible because Acheron allowed it to be. That was how this worked. He took a drag off his cigarette, exhaling before speaking again.

“Cičo në govozhu, govozhi cičorim në scho.” The Udrilian dialect of Yidsian was second nature to him. In fact, when Acheron had arrived in Ilomar, he had barely spoken any other language. But that was years ago, of course. He knew that the accent was still noticeable, though, it was no secret that he wasn’t from here. “You know what that means, Cad?”

Then, he dropped the cigarette, deciding to focus on the matter at hand as he started inspecting the bag in his hand. While he couldn’t exactly open its contents out in the open, he could certainly check if everything seemed as it should be. Not that he was actually thinking that Cadmus would dare let him down without a damn good excuse. It was as much a way to demonstrate that he wasn’t easily fooled. “I assume you got all the stuff on the list.”

There was really no excuse for having forgotten just how bad Acheron's usual bad mood was. Not that it would ever be possible for Cadmus to forget, not fully at least. But the patheticness of their last encounter, and the reminder of what tied them together, Lucy, had perhaps obscured the impression Cadmus usually held of Acheron as someone lethally unstable, someone you ought to always watch your tongue and own bad mood around. So he had come tonight expecting what? A thank you? Laughable really. This was not the place one went for reassurance. Perhaps it was for the better that things were back to normal. No sentimentality or pretending. How tiring it all was really. Especially now, with everything going on. He remembered the interview a couple of nights ago, the views he had expressed, and supposed even Acheron was some kind of victim. Someone to feel sorry for? In that regard, a violent, unpleasant Acheron was easier to hate. No, not hate, that was too strong of an emotion… Easier to ignore? To accept as one of life's less pleasurable parts, such as mosquitos or stones in shoes. He might be tired, but that was no excuse for forgetting.

Handing over the bag, he was once again reminded that he had no clue why Acheron would need its contents, and more importantly he remembered that neither was it his job to know nor to ask any questions. Very well then, he thought, putting his now empty hands in his pockets. This was not a friendly midnight gettogether, and should he ever, Iosta forbid it, forget at much, even just for a moment, he could always count on seeing some sort of unpleasant emotion displayed in Acheron’s face. Like a look such as the one then sent to him, and it would be enough to remind him of where he stood. They were not ‘pals’, not equals. But here was the man responsible for keeping Lucy safe. Of billions of people in the world, she had somehow managed to come up with this guy as the one she trusted? Someone who threatened to make yet another of his promises to ring empty. What a wonderful way to spend your Friday night.

When Acheron spoke, what Cadmus assumed to be Ydisian, although it sounded somewhat off, he shook his head: He did not understand a word. “Another way of telling me how I ought to behave?” He asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall. The foreign tongue had thrown him out a bit, and he realised he had never considered where Acheron was from. It didn’t matter much, and after all, this was Erast, the melting pot of Ilomar. Somewhere you could easily hide, where no one asked questions. One day, you just came into existing.

He followed the cigarette Acheron dropped with his eyes, staring at the orange glow in the dark. Looking back up at Acheron when he spoke again. “I did.” He wanted to comment on how difficult it had been, but decided against it complaining, for safety reasons. “There’s a card. In the bag.” He hesitated, toying with the carton in his pocket. “It’s for a tailor. In case the suit doesn’t fit.” He pulled the pack out and lit a cigarette. “He knows me, you wouldn't have to pay anything, just show him the card.”

"Mhm. Something like that.” The phrase was one parents would use to chastise misbehaving children, one his own mother had used back when he still had a real home. She had always used it with fondness, though, contrary to the current dynamics at play. Acheron knew she wouldn’t be looking at him fondly, was she still alive. In a literal sense, it meant ‘to do as I say, not say what I do.’ But the nuances of such phrases always got lost in translation. And Cadmus of course didn’t need to know the exact translation to understand the actual message. He was a smart man, he could probably figure out the exact meaning if he truly wished to.

Then he confirmed that he indeed managed to gather all the items. Which was impressive in itself, he supposed. Part of him almost hadn’t expected him to, he knew it had been a tall order. But it was also annoying as it gave him little reason to lash out on the man.  He had gathered all the items on the list, even including the card for a tailor if the suit didn’t fit right. Which it most likely wouldn’t, but Acheron still doubted he’d make use of such a service. As long as the suit sat on his body, he didn’t complain. It didn’t have to be perfect. Still, it was a nice touch, he had to give him that. The man didn’t even complain. So as much as he wanted to tell Cadmus off again, he had to give credit where it was due. As much as he’d rather just flat out insult him.
He nodded. “Good job, then. I guess.” His tone wasn’t exactly one of praise, but rather one of feigned neutrality. He hung the bag over his shoulder. He’d double check when he got home if everything really truly was there as he said it’d be. If Cadmus was lying to him, he’d  make sure he’d regret it. He doubted it, though, because Cadmus had never actually let him down before. Irritating as that was.

Then, he finally took a good look at the man in front of him,  now that the official business was done. Or, well, as good a look one could get in the dark. From the bags under his eyes, the way the shadows lining his face and the tone of his voice, it was clear that the man was exhausted, inside and out.  Acheron almost took pity on him. He once again found himself thinking about the display of emotion the man had shown the last time the two had met. It had been humanizing in a way that was truly disturbing. For the briefest of moments, Acheron almost wanted to soften up a bit, give the man a break. But no such luxury would ever be extended to the likes of Acheron, so why should he to someone else? So to balance out his almost compliment he added: “You still look like shit.”

Still not knowing what to make of the Ydisian quote, whilst also not wanting to show his surprise at Acheron not correcting what had been a half-hearted guess, Cadmus just shrugged it off and took a drag from his cigarette. If it had meant he had better play nice tonight, well so he would. Not just Acheron’s comical definition of the word, but real nice. Or at least as kind as anyone could be in a place such as this. Dark alleyways, any part of Erast really, were suitable for nice people. Here kindness was more often than not, but another layer of armour worn by sick pretenders, luring you into a sense of false security and trust. Nor could anyone withstand the corruption that spread through the streets at night, of uncertainty and ever-present danger. On the bright side, Cadmus thought, exhaling a trail of smoke, he was great at pretending. Better at least than Acheron. Which did not say much. That man would die before managing to keep a calm head.

This weakness of Acheron’s rendered him unable to hide his surprise, his reluctant impressedness? Small hints in his expression, of everything but the neutrality with which Cadmus supposed he was trying to pull the compliment off with. It might have been funny, a moment of victory– and indeed he did smile; a tired, self-satisfied smile as he added a: “Thank you – although this surprise made him wonder whether he had needed going to as much trouble as he had. But thinking about what had and had not been necessary would not help brighten his mood, and so he shut them down, only too grateful for having learned to keep others –Acheron included– out of his thoughts. Still, wasn’t it nice to get some recognition for once? He had emptied out his savings for this, and letting go of that safetynet had to be worth something.

The appreciation did not last long. Thankfully, Cadmus would not have known what to do if it had. Continuing on with the cigarette, he watched Acheron watch him, knowing very well that the sight was far from impressive. As always, whilst he could not claim not to care about his appearance, it mattered very little what Acheron thought. Impressing the man had never been very high on his to-do list. Besides: how was one supposed to look after days of next to no sleep? All this to the credit of someone, who now returned to his old scornful self by pointing out how awful he looked.

“Too bad,” Cadmus said with a sigh, unable to help himself or the sarcasm, “I was really aiming to impress you tonight.”

When Cadmus responded with sarcasm, Acheron almost felt relieved to have something to actually be annoyed about. Did it make him a bad blackmailer that he didn’t always want Cadmus to just be nice and play along? Maybe. But it kept things interesting, not that Acheron would actually ever admit to that. He hated the fact that even if Cadmus annoyed him to no end, there was still a reason he hadn’t relented and just left the man alone. Their dynamic was odd and he knew that. He didn’t let it show. Instead, he took on a face of aloof indifference as he adjusted the bag resting on his shoulder. “I bet you think you’re real clever, huh?” he asked, cocking a brow. “It’s my least favorite trait of yours.”

For a moment, Acheron regretted that he had already thrown away his cigarette, as he now had no real reason to stick around as he had gotten what he came here for. As much as he disliked Cadmus – and he did – this had actually been his only plan for tonight. And now there was only one thing left to do, and that was to crawl back to his hole and be alone with his sour mood. Lest he stuck around, just in order to insult Cadmus some more, just for the hell of it. Inconveniencing the man had become something of a favorite hobby of his, waste of time that might be. He did it for Lucy’s sake, he told himself. She no longer wished to see Cadmus for a reason, and as the person watching over her, Acheron took it upon himself to make Cadmus feel bad. Although, it seemed like life did a good enough job at that. It wasn’t just a snide comment that Cadmus looked to be in a bad shape lately. Not that Acheron cared to figure out why. He fished a new cigarette out of his pocket, because why shouldn’t he? He lit it up and took a drag before speaking again.

“But come one. Shock me. Say something actually intelligent.” He exhaled smoke as his eyes searched Cadmus for a reaction. Part of him knew this was petty. That this was just bullying him for the sake of it. But another part of him found it mildly entertaining to poke at him. It certainly beat whatever else he had to kill time with.

Acheron said:
He did. Or rather. He was being clever.


Well, that wasn’t Cad’s problem.

He was far more interested in the cigarette in his hand, than he was the man in front of him. And why wouldn’t he. Now, that Acheron had gotten what he had come for, one might expect their meeting to end. And Possibly, Cad thought, with another drag, he might even get home at a somewhat reasonable time.
But Acheron didn’t leave. Neither did he say anything that made Cadmus feel like he could leave. The man just looked, lost? Hesitant. Before he brought forth a new cigarette and lit it. This Cad eyed with suspicion. What else was there to discuss? His heart sank, Lucy? Had something happened? Was she okay? Then it dawned on him that it might just be that Acheron did not have anywhere to go, nothing better to do. Which was almost as disturbing. Sad too. Although it was frankly not Cadmus’ problem. How was he to feel about this? Did he have to care? He did not, he decided. If this was what the man wanted, then sure, he could entertain him. Even if Acheron’s bad mood was still ominous, and sleep would almost have been preferable to a night of being insulted.

Something actually intelligent? “You think too lowly of me,” He yawned, unable to help himself “If you think me capable of saying anything that could shock you.” Well aware that Acheron’s goal was to mock him, and unsure of how to respond, this was the best he could muster. Besides, what was in this for him, that he should care? He had somewhere to go, somewhere to be. If Acheron did not? He sometimes forgot, or chose to forget, that he too had been in a similar situation once, and so perhaps he should not judge all too harshly. “I do pity you,” He said coolly, and shifted his weight so he no longer leaned against the wall, “being so dependent on one whom you hold in so little regard. At least I know that this–” He nodded towards Acheron, “Is beneath me.”

Cadmus yawned, saying something that was meant to brush off Acheron's rude remarks. It was a reaction he had expected from Cadmus – who always seemed to disengage or answer with cool neutrality towards Acheron’s attempt to taunt him. What Acheron hadn’t expected, however, was what the man said next. I do pity you. For a moment he watched Cadmus, completely perplexed. He had been called many things in his lifetime, most of which he would agree with. But pitiful? Pitiful was pathetic. Pity was something reserved for the helpless, the sickly and the weak. His brows furrowed and his fists balled up at his sides  as anger bubbled to the surface. It was a small miracle that he didn’t punch Cadmus in the face right then and there. Then, Cadmus spoke again. Being so dependent on one whom you hold in so little regard. At least I know that this is beneath me.

For a moment, Acheron simply stood, processing what the man had just said. Calling him dependent. Beneath him, even. Acheron exhaled through his nose, clenching his teeth together. Had Acheron been in a better mindspace, he might’ve recognized that Cadmus was exhausted and wasn’t thinking right, talking to him like that. But anger already clouded his mind and he knew he had gotten that fight that part of him couldn’t help but crave. That unsightly, destructive part of him, that meant he would do harm. Perhaps it was time Cadmus was reminded who it was he was dealing with?

“Who exactly do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He asked, stalking closer. “No, really, who are you, Cadmus? Do you even remember your actual name?” He stopped, uncomfortably close, cornering Cadmus. “Beneath you, you say. You fucking hypocrite.” Acheron laughed, low and humorless. “Remind me again why you’re on the run. If you even dare saying it out loud. Then, you can tell me-” though he smiled, there was only bitter hatred and anger in his eyes. “How it is you pity me.”

Cadmus knew he had fucked up the moment the words had left him. And he must have looked as stunned as Acheron, taking in what he had just said. No one wanted to be pitied. Least of all someone like Acheron. Fuck. What had he been thinking? Well, of course, he hadn’t. And now, for once, he found himself… afraid? Muscles tense with apprehension, dropping the cigarette and clenching his fist. But the hit wasn’t physical, like he had anticipated. It was verbal.

Somehow the adrenaline that was kicking in was accompanied with a perverse rush of excitement. Was this it? The walls crashing down around him, allowing justice to be served? Who did he think he was, Acheron asked. Cadmus didn’t move, didn’t answer. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to flinch away, pretending like he didn’t deserve it. No, really, who are you? A great question indeed. Do you even remember your actual name? There was something so evasive about the situation, not just Acheron's overstepping of physical boundaries, but about the fact that this was the only other man who knew. Cadmus had been cornered, and he didn’t even have that. The name hallowed by the last person who spoke it to him, and probably buried shortly after. Who was he then, if he could not be that person?

He remained silent, observing Acheron as he spoke. For what? What did he expect to find, except the truth? You fucking hypocrite Acheron laughed in his face, yet it didn’t anger him. Was he still afraid? Or had he settled on a quiet resolution? Even had he wanted, he would not have been able to defend himself. So he stood there and took it. Relieved almost, to hear his sins thus spoken aloud, delighted perhaps? No. That would be sick. Even he thought so. Acheron hated him. Truely, deeply hated him. Cadmus could see it in his eyes as he spoke, as he smiled–Remind me again why you’re on the run–They had that in common. If you even dare saying it out loud. He did not. It was another name untainted by the filth of this, his new life. Then, you can tell me how it is you pity me.

He almost laughed, although there was nothing to laugh about. “Oh I know what I did.” Crossing his arms he continued: “Don’t pity me, we both know I don’t deserve that. But you?” He shook his head, “You are only this way because no one loves you.”

You are only this way, because no one loves you.

Acheron unclenched his fists, long forgotten cigarette falling to the ground as the world seemed to stop around him. Pain suddenly crippled him to the core. Being a motherless child in a foreign country with a bunch of strangers. And institutionalization over powers he didn’t even understand. The running away. The abandonment. The exploitation of his powers and the memories that haunted him to this day. Go on. Tell me you deserve it. The voice of a man long dead still sent shivers down his spine. Panic, seeping into his bones, making it difficult to breathe. Just like that time he–

He didn’t even fully register what was happening until his fist had already collided with Cadmus’ skull. The dull throbbing in his fist and the current state of Cadmus was enough to bring him back into reality. You are only this way, because no one loves you. How absolute dared he. His blood boiled and he would punch him again, if it didn't so obviously look like he had done a well enough job with the first one. He adjusted the garment bag back over his shoulder, as it had fallen to hang on his elbow, then he grabbed Cadmus by the collar and pushed him back up against the wall.

“If you ever talk to me like that ever again, I swear to Tarron-” he scolded, putrid hatred shining in eyes. He held him there for a second, giving him one last harsh shove into the wall before letting go and stepping back. “You're only living the life you do, because I allow you to,” he warned. “Do you really think you’d survive on the streets again after all this? I don’t think you would.” He looked Cadmus up and down with disdain. “If you keep testing me, we’ll find out. Do you understand me, Cadmus?” His chest heaved with barely contained anger and Acheron knew that if Cadmus opened his mouth, just tried to come back with another clever come-back, then he’d do something that they both would sorely regret.

Something hard hit the side of his head and the world went fuzzy. He realised then, eyes watering and the dizziness slowly replacing itself with pain, that he had just been punched in the head for the first time. And it hurts like hell. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, too stunned to speak. It was embarrassing. And before he got the chance to reorient himself, or even see clearly, someone, presumably Acheron, grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall. Cadmus was not really sure why or what was happening. He heard the words, but they did not seem to register. Some threat perhaps? He was shoved again, then let go off, and this almost took him off his feet. Somehow he managed to keep upright, at least he thought so. You’re only living the life you do, because I allow you to. This he understood. This was a threat. And it worked. Of course, he would not survive on his own again, but it had never been about survival, and Acheron would not, could not understand it.

Do you understand me? Cadmus wanted to nod, but the motion made him sick. How pathetic he must seem, how he seemed, even to himself. He did not want to give Acheron a reason to hit him again. But the weirdest part, he thought, as his eyes once more could focus upon the anger of the man in front of him, was that he was not angry. Ashamed, hurt, humiliated? Yes. But angry? Perhaps he was too shocked. Perhaps he didn’t understand. And then they hit, like a second punch, his own words: You are only this way, because no one loves you. He had really said that? It was a miracle he was still alive.

Cadmus looked stunned. Too shocked to form a proper response. As if the man had never been hit before – and perhaps he hadn’t. Well, there was a first for everything.  Taking another step back, Acheron finally caught his breath as the adrenaline subsided.

A deep shame started to replace the burning anger, deep in Acheron’s gut. Not for having punched Cadmus, that had very much been deserved. But for losing his shit in front of him like that and for letting that stupid comment get to him. You are only this way, because no one ever loved you. What did Cadmus know about that? Shockingly enough, more than Acheron dared to admit to himself, because the words had already seemed to have carved their way into his psyche. But they shouldn’t make him feel so profoundly lonely. He was the type of man who blackmailed, who threatened and reacted with violence whenever necessary. A monster who would selfishly take whatever he needed in order to survive, no matter the consequences. He had long since accepted that along with the solitude. So, why had Cadmus’ words so easily seeped under his skin?  It made him feel pathetic. Pitiful as the man had said.  Acheron was alone in this world. Perhaps even pitiful. But instead of letting it cripple him and take away his control, he let it fuel his hatred. Towards Cadmus. Towards everything.

Seemingly realizing he had gotten lost in his thoughts, he started glared daggers at Cadmus, balling his fists together at his sides. Most of all, he wanted to crawl back to where he was alone with the pain, to lick his wounded ego. But he had already lost face in front of his enemy.
“I asked, do you understand me, Cadmus?” He repeated. “Or do you need another fucking reality check?”

His vision had returned to normal, so he saw as Acheron backed away, which made Cadmus wonder just how bad he looked, but also; how the fuck he was going to explain this to Dom. The adrenaline and the suspense that had filled him with the courage, or perhaps just idiocy, to talk back, had vanished. Instead he felt numb; tired and with might evolve into a throbbing headache if he was unlucky enough. At least, he thought touching his face tryingly, he himself had managed to land a hit. Knowing how to hurt others was not a skill Cadmus valued highly, and he was ashamed to take delight in the knowledge of having hurt his blackmailer. Even know, could he really say he hated Acheron? That he wanted to hurt him? If he did, it was not something he admitted to himself. He stopped poking around his sore face, comforted by the lack of blood or broken bones.

And so there he was, in the alley, back against the wall still very much needed for its support, trying to get a read on his assaulter. What was going through his mind right now? Was he ashamed of his violence? He ought to be. It was almost as embarrassing to hit someone as it was to be hit, or at least Cadmus told himself as much. It turned out he had been right to pity Acheron after all.

But this was his only way of keeping an eye on Lucy. He needed Acheron, as much as he hated it. Which meant that he had to be worth blackmailing. That he should not be this much trouble. And so he sank, staring back into a set of hateful eyes. It hurt, but so did everything else right then. And his nose kept running. Pathetic, really. Both of them. Yet not so pathetic, as to make Cadmus fail to keep an eye on the clenched fists of the other. Those were dangerous. ”I understand, alright,” He managed to croak out, and somehow never the wiser: “Besides, I won’t be of much use to you if you kill me.”

When the man stopped poking around the area he had been hit, the first signs of swelling already showed Acheron exactly how hard it was that he had punched Cadmus. And he stood there, back against the wall for support and with his running nose, looking even more exhausted than he had before. It almost made Acheron feel sorry for him, if the hurtful words hadn’t still been ringing in his ears, filling him to the brim with unease. The man had deserved it, he told himself. For a moment, it honestly seemed like the man wouldn’t respond at all, perhaps too shocked by the whole situation to process what was going on. But then he sank and spoke; then Acheron seriously started to doubt Cadmus’ sanity. Talking back to him, even now, when Cadmus should fear him more than anything. Did he actually have a deathwish? Did he want to be hurt?

Besides, I won’t be of much use to you if you kill me. Sad as it was, it was true. Acheron depended upon Cadmus. For what exactly? It was conflicting, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, it wasn’t just the material goods he got out of it. The hatred he held for Cadmus, it sparked a different kind of rage than the one he was used to. Challenged him. Whatever it was, it had made him stick around – which had led to this situation. Acheron, with a hurt ego and Cadmus, with what would most likely develop into an angry bruise. And as it usually went, they both ended up miserable. It made Acheron wonder if getting updates about Lucy really was worth it in the long run for Cadmus. Acheron was dangerous – this time it was only a punch, who knew what he’d do if provoked even further?

But Acheron, too, was tired. They both were, standing there in their sad little alley, watching the other watch themselves. That was the thing with anger. It ran its course and left you exhausted. And he no longer had the energy to sustain it, despite how he should probably scold Cadmus for his words. There was no more room for anger and now, there was only sadness left. Having no more threats left in him, he send only a disapproving gaze – which, all things considered, probably came across as more of a are you being fucking serious right now? than watch your tongue.

“Sometimes I wonder how the actual fuck you’ve survived this long,” Acheron deadpanned, before adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He sighed, placing his free hand in his pocket. “Go home, Cadmus.”

A mercy, at last, as Acheron turned to leave, stopping only briefly, to look at Cadmus over his shoulder and reminding him. “I’ll be in touch.” Then, he left into the night to return to that miserable slab of concrete he was expected to call his home for the time being.

Tw: A contemplation of being, more pain and I am sorry, I did not intend for it to get so dark.

Go home. Acheron said, leaving Cadmus alone in the alley. He remained where he was. A silent, motionless shadow in the dark. Then, when he was sure Acheron was gone for good, he let his legs give way and slid down the wall, resting his forearms on his knees, his head against the wall. The ground was filthy, and he ought to have cared about what he might possibly be sitting in. He did not. Did not care about the ground, or the I’ll be in touch, or the pain from the swelling of his face. No. His thoughts were clouded by three other, to him far more important matters:

Go home
Sometimes I wonder how the actual fuck you’ve survived this long
You are only this way because no one loves you

Home was the first problem. It was a lie. Cad thought Acheron should have known as much. He had, after all, threatened to take it away from him. Could you even call it a home when it was built upon lies? Sure, it was better than whatever Acheron had going on, and it far surpassed park benches or beds of strangers. It was better than makeshift shelters in snow covered woods or–well, at least he was no longer a naive child. Home was not Erast, not Dominic’s house with the people and the memories and the guilt. If he called it so it was only as a testament to his insincerity. Ignoring the pain he buried his face in his hands. By Iosta, how ungrateful did one have to be? The home he longed for was not the one that had gone up in flames, but the one that, although it still stood, had ceased to exist that day almost ten years ago. Go home. How he wanted to. Like he wanted to cry, to scream, to feel. Instead he let the pressure against his bruised cheekbone do its job. Who was he to feel sorry for himself?

Sometimes I wonder how the actual fuck you’ve survived this long. So did he. Regrettingly, hopefully? Not fully sure what survival even meant, or what it meant that he sat here, feeling the cold of the brickwall and the ground. Feeling and therefore living. Perhaps a part of him wanted to make sure he had suffered, in case there was no such thing as hell. Or maybe that was just an excuse. He should not, by all accounts, have been alive. And then. Even if they had gotten him, back then, they would not have been able to torture him any more than he had tortured himself these past ten years. Perhaps that was why he had survived. Because there was indeed such a thing as divine intervention and he had yet to see the worst of this world. That had to be it. Although it did not explain–

You are only this way because no one loves you. When the pain grew dull he shifted the pressure. It would have been better if no one had ever loved him. What good had ever come of it? He could not even die without hurting someone. Perhaps Acheron had understood something he had not, by not getting too attached to anyone. Now he felt the weight of time; standing in the bottom of an hourglass, slowly suffocating as time was running out. What he was anticipating he knew not. Only that it was lethal and while it would not be his death, somehow, somehow it would be his fault, he knew it. Someone would trust him, and he would mess it up. Lucy too, seemed to understand, she was right not to want anything to do with him. If he let her go, then what? What else did he have?

Go home. He dragged himself up and went home.