Bruce slides into the bed beside Zerxus without a single word or explanation, rolls onto his side and effectively manhandles the mortal into his arms and curls around him.
The desperation Zerxus has to be touched is obvious. Bruce being fundamentally lonely is (Bruce thinks) less so. His motivation for 'keeping an eye on' Zerxus damn well better not be obvious, to anyone.
That there is any concern beyond the man 'trying something stupid' and a desire to.... acclimate him is not a thing Bruce will look at directly.
Once he is even remotely settled, the lights just go away.
There's some half-hearted, incoherent grumbling but no actual resistance; in fact, once Zerxus actually relaxes he goes boneless. Sleep comes more quickly than it has even after long battles and wilderness treks, and for a time it even lasts.
He'd forgotten how much easier it was, with someone there.
For a long time he is simply drifting, somewhere deep in the sea or far in the sky, the songs of whales and stars in his ears. They are telling him things he'll forget upon waking but know in his bones. He is drifting, and he is -
He is flat on the ground with blood in his mouth, and the stars are falling all around him. He tries to move, but he's trapped or numb or broken; he can do nothing but stare as the skies are torn apart. These were the stars above Cathmoira - is that where he is, the home he couldn't save?
"Stop. Stop, you don't have to do this, stop - " It's his voice, but he isn't speaking. Perhaps this is what praying feels like.
Thank you for trying. He has never heard her voice, and yet it is profoundly familiar. It's the sound of doves in flight and crackling hearths; it's as stubbornly passionate as a dying flame, as fiercely soothing as a parent's final embrace. In that moment, as the stars go out and the sea boils and the grass is scorched to glass, hope blooms in his chest.
Then the goddess of compassion screams.
Zerxus jolts upright drenched in sweat, his throat raw with broken pleas he can't quite remember.
Bruce isn't, and has not been, asleep. That's because he isn't human (anymore), and because he is enjoying the way Zerxus passes out in his arms. That it happened without sex happening first and he is going to (can) allow it to continue are novel.
He also wants to watch and see exactly how long it takes before the survivor of a destroyed continent, and widowed man wakes up from a nightmare.
It's longer than he expects.
The wake up is also more dramatic than he expects.
He puts his hand on zerxus' back without thinking about it. "I'd say you're safe, but you aren't. Breathe, anyway."
It is abundantly clear, in that moment, that Zerxus has no idea where he is; he flinches from that touch like it burns, and when his head swings towards Bruce his eyes are wide, confused, horrified.
There are tears on his cheeks, and he can still taste blood - oh. Oh, he bit through his lip.
Somehow, that's the thing that jerks him into something like clarity.
"Bruce." His voice is hoarse, aching, and desperately relieved in a way that doesn't make sense, not even to him.
The sincerity, the vulnerability, is another hitch back into reality; it tugs and twist in his chest, and before he knows it he's reached up to cup Bruce's cheek.
"No." He still wakes up, every now and then, expecting to see Evandrin at his side. This time... "You weren't there, in the dream, but I think I knew you were in danger - "
He stops, pulling his hand back and shaking his head, heedless of the blood smearing onto Bruce's skin. "It doesn't matter."
It's the same old anxiety, he dreams of losing people all the time, and the rest of the details are slipping away from him.
It matters far more than he thinks. Don't tell him so. It's the first time Asmodeus has interrupted in a good while, and he's sounding...oddly fascinated.
Besides, of course, his father. He may be a little short sighted on that. He is definitely trying to process the tender touch, the fact that Zerxus is having nightmares about losing him -
and the voice of said father in his head.
Of course not, but why? He's not questioning the reasoning, he's trying to work out what in the name of all the hells this is happening and why it would matter. He'd also really like to know what's got Asmodeus' attention. He isn't hopeful on any of those answers being provided.
As with many things pertaining to Asmodeus, Bruce's response to the chuckle is one part caution - amused lord of hell can be a terrible sign - and one part being legitimately somewhat pleased with himself - amused lord of hell can also be a very good sign.
Meanwhile he's nearly so distracted by his curiosity being pointed in a specific direction, with a potential for real information and answers, that he barely registers what Zerxus said for a moment or two. He doesn't do it, but the impulse is to get up and go
Once he does: "You didn't wake me, you can't hurt me, and there's no surprise in your having nightmares. Is there something less to warn me of?"
Zerxus still isn't quite present enough to notice, and Asmodeus - there's a low hum of approval. Encouraging that curiosity was something he always seemed downright genuine about, relatively speaking.
"...I didn't? Oh, right." Of course.
The rest of that...actually draws a wry snort of laughter. "And that's a fair point. But it's not - just that. I've never slept well, even when I was a boy." It's the first thing he's really, truly sounded self-conscious about.
He remembers how much easier it was at first, with Bruce's arms around him, but he's...not going to mention that.
Bruce's attention doesn't wholly and completely return to Zerxus, but it does return and it does so quickly.
"I was assuming that the nightmares were the result of recent trauma." Is that an admission? Yes, yes it is, but also: "They're not? Or was something else interrupting your sleep when you were young?"
"It hasn't helped." He reaches up to run a hand through his hair - still a little damp, already turning wild.
"Night terrors. No cause we ever figured out, and no treatment that was very effective." The Sleep spell could be helpful, but these days - he isn't going to use magic on that.
He cocks his head to the side, just a bit in that way he does. With the name Ioun still floating around his mind, that is a particularly interesting bit of information.
"You slept just fine with me for quite a while." Is he saying that to argue, verify, or just make Zerxus uncomfortable and redirect him a bit? Yes. Any or all of those. While still in bed with him, watching Zerxus' hair get wilder and wilder as it dries.
They should just get up soon. He can turn Zerxus loose in the library to entertain himself while Bruce... investigates.
"...I was exhausted." The fact that he does not meet Bruce's gaze when he says that and blushes enough to be seen with dark vision undermines that statement immediately.
"Anyway. I probably won't get back to sleep, after - that." There are times he can cling to the dream long enough to write some of it down, but all he's left with now is a sense of bleak foreboding, echoes of existential heartbreak and a split lip.
"I'm sure I can find at least one in the library." He stands up, hand held out to Zerxus. The offer of the hand is calculated. He wants that man to become very used to, and casual about, being touched by Bruce. Acclimation, as it were.
...that there are other motives that are less calculated, and perhaps some of his own needs being met is not even a thought.
He's also going to pry into the sleep with him thing more, but that'll be after he's got the man up and physical contact reestablished.
There's no hint of hesitation this time, as if Zerxus himself still needs the reassurance that Bruce is here, whole and safe. (He's already invested, of course he is, but there was - there was a greater depth to the fear in that dream, like they'd known each other longer. A little disconcerting, but that wouldn't be the first time his heart ran far ahead of him when he closed his eyes.)
Of course, once he's up it hits him that they are standing very, very close together and -
The sound he makes is stunned, strangled and frankly embarrassing. He could at least have the decency to sound annoyed, at least exasperated, but no, that's all drowned out by raw, unbridled yearning.
"You're impossible." But it's not like he jerked away from that kiss, and isn't letting himself be pulled along.
"I am not, though you may be the most desperately lonely mortal I have ever met." That may be saying something considering....
Well, a lot of things and people his mind simply skitters away from.
Once he's sure Zerxus is coming with him, willingly and knows Zerxus is aware of it, though he simply teleports them both into the middle of the library. He'll draw a map when (or if) he decides Zerxus should be allowed access to the library.
He's all set to snipe back in, probably, a deeply stupid fashion when suddenly -
"Really?" The aggravation is blunted, a bit, as he regains his bearings; it's been a while since teleportation was a normal part of his day, and he was never that thrilled with it to start with. "Well, if we're just throwing magic around - "
Casting Daylight in a dim library is definitely overkill. He's doing it anyway.
You know what else is overkill? The way Bruce draws back, squints and hisses in response to the light.
That has nothing to do with 'Devil', and everything to do with Bruce being Bruce. Not like he can't walk outside during daylight whenever he wants, however strong his affinity with shadows and darkness of the more literal sort.
Hissing about it is just... all him.
"For fuck's-" He says nothing else, but stalks over to a table tucked between two arm chairs, opens a drawer and pulls out a blank journal and wings it at Zerxus like it's a frisbee. At least he just picks up the pencil, also in the drawer, instead of throwing it like a javelin.
He's a knight, not a rogue; he does not catch that journal straight on, it just kind of bounces off his raised arms and he grabs it before it hits the ground.
"Are you a vampire, suddenly, or just a teenager?" Seriously, it's akin to turning that spell on lurking undead or yanking a pillow off his son's face.
He glares, but walks the pencil over like a grown ass, reasonable... devil, actually, and extends it to be taken.
"I have no idea how old I am, but I am certainly not a teenager and if you want bitten you'll need to ask." It's just irritating and vaguely painful after as much time as he spends in low light.
He's not... getting rid of the daylight though. Recognizes Zerxus is going to need to see in order to write. And that Asmodeus will probably benefit from the focused thought involved in writing whatever down.
"...Thank you." There's a hint of wryness, there, but the annoyance is fading as quickly as it flared; he doesn't even rise to the bait.
It's hard for anyone to keep solid, consistent track of time anymore, between the scale of destruction and the nature of divine war, but -Zerxus knows for certain how many years he had before the world changed. Bruce was a child when his own was torn apart.
There's a low, soft growl in the back of Bruce's mind. He's pitying you.
It's subtle and quickly turned into an exasperated eyeroll as Bruce hands over the pencil, but Bruce's eyes track up and off to the left in response to his father's voice.
Admodeus interjecting is very familiar, but the growl and softness of it are...surprising -- and somewhat touching. Enough so that he wants to relax into it.
"You need to stop feeling 'bad' for me. Now sit down and do what you wanted to do. I need to find a book." He points at one of the chairs and starts looking in the direction he was pointed, but. That's asinine. Why?
Edited (I had a half thought.) 2024-12-26 17:02 (UTC)
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The desperation Zerxus has to be touched is obvious. Bruce being fundamentally lonely is (Bruce thinks) less so. His motivation for 'keeping an eye on' Zerxus damn well better not be obvious, to anyone.
That there is any concern beyond the man 'trying something stupid' and a desire to.... acclimate him is not a thing Bruce will look at directly.
Once he is even remotely settled, the lights just go away.
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He'd forgotten how much easier it was, with someone there.
For a long time he is simply drifting, somewhere deep in the sea or far in the sky, the songs of whales and stars in his ears. They are telling him things he'll forget upon waking but know in his bones. He is drifting, and he is -
He is flat on the ground with blood in his mouth, and the stars are falling all around him. He tries to move, but he's trapped or numb or broken; he can do nothing but stare as the skies are torn apart. These were the stars above Cathmoira - is that where he is, the home he couldn't save?
"Stop. Stop, you don't have to do this, stop - " It's his voice, but he isn't speaking. Perhaps this is what praying feels like.
Thank you for trying. He has never heard her voice, and yet it is profoundly familiar. It's the sound of doves in flight and crackling hearths; it's as stubbornly passionate as a dying flame, as fiercely soothing as a parent's final embrace. In that moment, as the stars go out and the sea boils and the grass is scorched to glass, hope blooms in his chest.
Then the goddess of compassion screams.
Zerxus jolts upright drenched in sweat, his throat raw with broken pleas he can't quite remember.
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He also wants to watch and see exactly how long it takes before the survivor of a destroyed continent, and widowed man wakes up from a nightmare.
It's longer than he expects.
The wake up is also more dramatic than he expects.
He puts his hand on zerxus' back without thinking about it. "I'd say you're safe, but you aren't. Breathe, anyway."
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There are tears on his cheeks, and he can still taste blood - oh. Oh, he bit through his lip.
Somehow, that's the thing that jerks him into something like clarity.
"Bruce." His voice is hoarse, aching, and desperately relieved in a way that doesn't make sense, not even to him.
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Then there's naked, raw, relief, that makes no sense. No one should, has ever, sounded that way saying his name.
He's confused, touched, alarmed.
All right there on his face for a moment.
Then just reaches up and drags his thumb through the blood on Zerxus' chin. "Were you expecting someone else?" He still sounds too gentle.
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"No." He still wakes up, every now and then, expecting to see Evandrin at his side. This time... "You weren't there, in the dream, but I think I knew you were in danger - "
He stops, pulling his hand back and shaking his head, heedless of the blood smearing onto Bruce's skin. "It doesn't matter."
It's the same old anxiety, he dreams of losing people all the time, and the rest of the details are slipping away from him.
It matters far more than he thinks. Don't tell him so. It's the first time Asmodeus has interrupted in a good while, and he's sounding...oddly fascinated.
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Besides, of course, his father. He may be a little short sighted on that. He is definitely trying to process the tender touch, the fact that Zerxus is having nightmares about losing him -
and the voice of said father in his head.
Of course not, but why? He's not questioning the reasoning, he's trying to work out what in the name of all the hells this is happening and why it would matter. He'd also really like to know what's got Asmodeus' attention. He isn't hopeful on any of those answers being provided.
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There's a soft, rumbling chuckle in Bruce's head.
You have some reading to do. Start with Ioun's followers. There is a much easier place to start, but where's the fun in that?
Zerxus, meanwhile, is lapsing into a guilty grimace. "I should have told you about this."
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Meanwhile he's nearly so distracted by his curiosity being pointed in a specific direction, with a potential for real information and answers, that he barely registers what Zerxus said for a moment or two. He doesn't do it, but the impulse is to get up and go
Once he does: "You didn't wake me, you can't hurt me, and there's no surprise in your having nightmares. Is there something less to warn me of?"
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"...I didn't? Oh, right." Of course.
The rest of that...actually draws a wry snort of laughter. "And that's a fair point. But it's not - just that. I've never slept well, even when I was a boy." It's the first thing he's really, truly sounded self-conscious about.
He remembers how much easier it was at first, with Bruce's arms around him, but he's...not going to mention that.
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"I was assuming that the nightmares were the result of recent trauma." Is that an admission? Yes, yes it is, but also: "They're not? Or was something else interrupting your sleep when you were young?"
And why would it be embarrassing?
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"Night terrors. No cause we ever figured out, and no treatment that was very effective." The Sleep spell could be helpful, but these days - he isn't going to use magic on that.
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"You slept just fine with me for quite a while." Is he saying that to argue, verify, or just make Zerxus uncomfortable and redirect him a bit? Yes. Any or all of those. While still in bed with him, watching Zerxus' hair get wilder and wilder as it dries.
They should just get up soon. He can turn Zerxus loose in the library to entertain himself while Bruce... investigates.
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"Anyway. I probably won't get back to sleep, after - that." There are times he can cling to the dream long enough to write some of it down, but all he's left with now is a sense of bleak foreboding, echoes of existential heartbreak and a split lip.
Still... "Do you have any blank journals?"
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...that there are other motives that are less calculated, and perhaps some of his own needs being met is not even a thought.
He's also going to pry into the sleep with him thing more, but that'll be after he's got the man up and physical contact reestablished.
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Of course, once he's up it hits him that they are standing very, very close together and -
"...Are you going to put a shirt on?"
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He smirks, just faintly, and gives Zerxus a brief but searingly hot kiss, tugs the hand and starts walking. "No. I don't believe I am."
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"You're impossible." But it's not like he jerked away from that kiss, and isn't letting himself be pulled along.
Gods, he's too old for this.
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Well, a lot of things and people his mind simply skitters away from.
Once he's sure Zerxus is coming with him, willingly and knows Zerxus is aware of it, though he simply teleports them both into the middle of the library. He'll draw a map when (or if) he decides Zerxus should be allowed access to the library.
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"Really?" The aggravation is blunted, a bit, as he regains his bearings; it's been a while since teleportation was a normal part of his day, and he was never that thrilled with it to start with. "Well, if we're just throwing magic around - "
Casting Daylight in a dim library is definitely overkill. He's doing it anyway.
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That has nothing to do with 'Devil', and everything to do with Bruce being Bruce. Not like he can't walk outside during daylight whenever he wants, however strong his affinity with shadows and darkness of the more literal sort.
Hissing about it is just... all him.
"For fuck's-" He says nothing else, but stalks over to a table tucked between two arm chairs, opens a drawer and pulls out a blank journal and wings it at Zerxus like it's a frisbee. At least he just picks up the pencil, also in the drawer, instead of throwing it like a javelin.
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"Are you a vampire, suddenly, or just a teenager?" Seriously, it's akin to turning that spell on lurking undead or yanking a pillow off his son's face.
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"I have no idea how old I am, but I am certainly not a teenager and if you want bitten you'll need to ask." It's just irritating and vaguely painful after as much time as he spends in low light.
He's not... getting rid of the daylight though. Recognizes Zerxus is going to need to see in order to write. And that Asmodeus will probably benefit from the focused thought involved in writing whatever down.
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It's hard for anyone to keep solid, consistent track of time anymore, between the scale of destruction and the nature of divine war, but -Zerxus knows for certain how many years he had before the world changed. Bruce was a child when his own was torn apart.
There's a low, soft growl in the back of Bruce's mind. He's pitying you.
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Admodeus interjecting is very familiar, but the growl and softness of it are...surprising -- and somewhat touching. Enough so that he wants to relax into it.
"You need to stop feeling 'bad' for me. Now sit down and do what you wanted to do. I need to find a book." He points at one of the chairs and starts looking in the direction he was pointed, but. That's asinine. Why?
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