Sonny does not see the journal entry before he will find out what happened. He had been headed down toward Josef's to discuss something with him. It doesn't really matter what it was, because it completely flies out of his head at the sight that waits in front of him.
There were people running in the other direction, and he should have known, but in Chicago it could mean anything. There could be a monster. There could be something completely harmless that was impossible to explain. It doesn't stop him from walking more quickly in the direction, and he reaches for his gun as he turns the corner and freezes.
Fuck.
There is a lot of blood and two bodies and a torn car that looks almost identical to the car that tried to take on his own team before, and it takes less time than it should to put it all together. Sonny moves forward with purpose despite the dread that has turned into fire in his chest. He shoves it down, artfully aware of shoving down his own emotions, very experienced with seeing dead bodies of people he knows or doesn't know.
After over eighty years, it comes with the life that he lives. It comes with cases like this one. It comes with living in this city where people die frequently, and he lost half of his family already to this group. There would be more losses. He knew it. They knew it getting into this case. People would die. If they didn't get involved, more people including them would die. It doesn't make it any easier at all, something twists inside of himself and he shoves it all back.
Sonny kneels down despite being very aware that they are both dead. He checks anyway, because it is important to check but there is no pulse on either of them. At least they died together. Maybe it's a horrible thing to think, but he doesn't think that it is. It's true.
He remembers hearing Josef's voice over the phone back during the week where people's subconscious made them sick. He knows how much he loves this girl, and Sonny can only assume it is the same one, and there is this sick feeling pitted in his stomach that can't be described. Angel and demon. He has no doubts at all this group would have loved killing them for that alone, but no. No, they did it like this extremely violently and a group like that that works in the background would only do so for anyone-- if Josef was working with anyone.
Sonny doesn't believe they knew that they were after them, but this is a message just in case. He gets to his feet, swallowing back rage and pain that rises up from his chest like fire into his throat. There were very few people that he trusted, that he could work as well with as Josef. He cared about him, and he's dead. Sonny closes his eyes, shoving it back forcefully. He has to make a call to take care of their bodies so they're not left out like this.
But there's the sight of the blood across the pavement trailing toward the apartment. The Society erases people from existence. There could be someone in that apartment now, tearing it apart, finding what they need, and they-- Josef and this girl would have died for nothing. Every emotional reaction is shoved down so deeply in his chest until there is none of it left, there's no room for it now.
Later he'll want to drink but not now. Now he has things to take care of, and he shoves it back, the tightening of his jaw, and moves, following the blood with his gun out, aware that any witnesses will be hiding. Sonny is not surprised where it leads, directly to Josef's apartment, and he opens the door of the apartment, stepping inside with the gun out but he freezes.
That... is not what he expected to see. The sight of her-- she must be an angel, angel of death, her wings are out, she's covered in blood, and she's so young, too young. The second realization hits him slowly but steadily. She looks like Katherine. Sonny lowers his gun as he steps forward.
Are you alright? seems like a stupid question when he can tell that she is not, when she is far from alright.
"It's alright," Sonny says instead even though it's not, and he steps over to her cautiously. The death-- it's stronger, and she's so-- so fucking young. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Sonny."
There is no space to miss anyone. Not at this moment in time. Everything will fade eventually and she will be left with the weight of what has happened, the weight of what is yet to happen, but for the time being, the angel is at the forefront and the angel commands herself fully. The angel within the body is strong even if the body itself must be a terrible sight.
Sarah is tired. She hasn't moved from the street for two days, she has not slept or eaten throughout most of the waiting, with death so close by and the need to cater to it. There's a weary and deeply sad look about her, but it's eclipsed by the wings and the calling and the rest that is stronger, that will always be stronger than her, that will always make the decision.
The angel's decision is to keep going.
"I'm fine," she says after him, an almost dazed look but not quite.
The Calling remains loud and unflinching, the stench of death is still everywhere, on the walls, outside the building, within it, there's distraction and focus all at once. She can feel and see and breathe it. The angel is not scared, even if Sarah sways to the side some. "I led them."
She led them to where they were supposed to be. There is no more pain for them. There is no more fear. Elizabeth doesn't have to worry she will lose her mind, forget the people she loves--loved--or anything else. She is free from the shackles, she has been lifted from this place, and so has Josef and she was the one that had to lead them.
The angel does not wonder how young is too young, and barely seventeen is very young, but her body is only a vehicle, and in times like these, the body isn't hers. There's a certain presence to angels of death that almost sets them apart from the rest, aside from how rare they are in numbers. It may be the Death itself that they are so familiar with, but it's as if one can tell that that is what they are. More than a girl, more than an angel, it's death surrounding her and taking her by the hand.
Sonny. Josef said the name Sonny in between coughing up blood, his blood is now on her hands, he is no longer here.
There's recognition in her face and she steps forward. Only three steps.
Three of them. Under any other circumstance she would find him intimidating. She would know this is a man that should never be trifled with, not that she plans on doing any such thing. This is a different circumstance, and Sarah is only faintly aware of him while the loudness in her head remains.
Sarah opens her mouth to say her name, but her mind goes blank. It's like she knows it, but she can't reach it. "He wanted you to have this," she says instead, lifting up the locket. It dangles from her bloody hand, and it's the first time it trembles as she reaches out to give it to him. She doesn't want it, he needs to take it from her hands, it looks exactly like the one--
Sonny remains where he is standing, and he can tell before she's spoken that the angel is louder than the girl. This does not come from knowing Sarah. It comes from being as experienced as he is. He has seen so many people in their moments when their calling is strongest, and it is not quite human, the expression, always easy for him to pick out.
The angel may be fine but the girl is not, which is why although there is a disbelieving look on his face, he does not question whether or not she is fine. The angel is fine. The girl is not. She doesn't have to say that for him to know.
It's written all over her body like she hasn't slept or ate in days. It's what they do, it's what they do because they can't-- they can't do anything else.
"I know you did," Sonny says softly as he looks at her, and it is rare for him to interact with angels of death but this isn't the first time. This isn't the first time, and each time it hurts, because they're always so fucking young. "You helped them. They wren't alone."
It's important. He knows that it is important for angels of death to believe that no one should be alone when they die, and he can see how that would be, but he would much rather die alone than make some young girl look the way that she does.
He does believe that the both of them are resting now. They are no longer feeling any pain though their bodies hardly look like them anymore, torn apart until so little is left. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with the grief of it though.
He looks at her quietly but calmly. If anyone comes up here again, she'll help more people die and more people will come up here and he will have to kill them. The Society will not have people waiting too long to erase Josef from existence. There has to be a team already in pursuit which means that he has to act fast, but he's momentarily distracted by her.
Sonny sees the recognition, and it is honestly unexpected. Plenty of people know who he is, know of him, but not teenage girls for the most part. He can't believe it-- he can't believe that while he was fucking dying with the girl that he loved, he had presence of mind to do that. Sonny swallows back that feeling again until its shoved into something he can't reach.
He takes it from her, sliding it into his pocket, shutting that pocket up. It is not the best, most protected place to keep that but it is all he has and he can't leave it out. Relief floods in through him. It doesn't have to be for nothing, their dying doesn't have to be for nothing, and there's a sound at the stairs.
"Fuck," Sonny mutters, and he takes her by the hand and moves her into the bathroom attached to the bedroom. His jaw is locked as he moves quickly. "It's not safe." And that commanding tone, and fuck, he can't help it if he sound half-fatherly about it. It's always young girls that remind him of the daughter that he lost. "Stay here."
He starts the shower, urges her into it even with her clothes on but she needs that blood off of her if she's ever going to come back and she needs to not see the deaths, not know they're going on and the best chance of that is with the shower drowning out the sound of it.
Sonny moves the dresser in front of the closed door of the bathroom. No one is getting in or out of there without a fight, and he pulls his gun out again as the first one comes through the door. He fires aiming for the skull and he does not miss.
Sarah drags a sharp breath in, mollified by what he says, and she doesn't know how she remains on her feet. She had never known what it was like to be this way. She's helped people die before. There are too many natural disasters for her not to, but Sarah's father has sheltered her for this very reason--so she doesn't lose her mind too soon, doesn't die as young as other angels of death do.
She'd never been confronted with this kind of violence until tonight.
He understands. They were not supposed to be alone. She was the one to make sure that they were not alone, that they were not in pain, that death alone would not be there while they took their last breath. It's his understanding that brings her back, if only long enough to say, "She was my friend."
Elizabeth was her friend. The first friend she ever made, and she doesn't know how people go about their lives, making so many friends when it can end like this, when it can hurt like this. She was my friend, Sarah whispers, and when she turns once more the not quite human look in her gaze has returned. Drifting in and out of the stage, the loudest stage of all, where the Calling cannot be quieted no matter what. There's no choice.
When it isn't so loud, when it hasn't overpowered you completely, you make yourself believe there is. You want to believe, whether you are angel or demon, when the time comes there is choice and there isn't. There never has been. The choice is not in her hands, and it is not in her mind, and the choice itself is to always keep going, to help the dying, to be there no matter what.
No matter what.
"No, no--please," she says, and the struggle is only half-hearted since she's so tired. She would never be able to overpower him, and her back flattens against the wall within the shower, the cold of the water a slap to the face, an awakening. The panic only begins once more when the door is closed and death is brought closer. She needs to be out there. She needs to be out there, as the Calling doesn't care if the person is good or bad.
If there is dying, she needs to be there, and she screams, her fist banging against the door as her body aches, pulls her toward that direction while she forces herself to remain still. She loses. She could not handle more death tonight without finding the damage beyond repair, and that doesn't seem to matter, either. She tries making her way out of the bathroom only to be dragged back inside, and she's wasting time.
She stumbles back in and falls to the ground, the water slowly cleansing her of the blood on her face. It remains in her clothes, in the tinge of her wings, but for the most part, she comes clean. She lays there, immobile, cheek flattened against the tiled floor as the water pelts at her back.
The distant sound of a gunshot barely registers now.
Her hand starts to shake and she closes her eyes, gripping the key tightly within her palm. She doesn't want to see it. Death is warm and it's good and it's what she is meant to do, she is meant to carry them over, but she doesn't want to see it anymore. Elizabeth would see it. Elizabeth would help them, but Elizabeth was brave and Sarah is not. The part of her that is Sarah is loud enough to be sick and scared and young.
The numbness takes over. She slumps forward and stays in place as the commotion grows outside of the bathroom. The water at her back and on her face, almost as cold as her, doesn't let her hear the oncoming footsteps right away. The shower means someone is in there, and if someone is in there, they need to be terminated. She doesn't hear them until they're directly in front of the door.
Sarah has enough presence of mind to slide the key lower down to her side, palm flattened over it to hide it in place. Sarah is not letting go of this key. She is not giving it to anyone that is not Damon Salvatore. That is what Josef said. Elizabeth loved Josef and they were Josef's dying words.
Sarah barely stirs as the door violently flings open, having been kicked to open it as such. Her eyes lift to meet the gaze of the man and the world stops once again.
The man--Sarah knows this man, he was there at her house for her birthday only weeks ago--seems horrified to see her there. The hand holding the gun drops from his side, the surprise strong enough to keep him immobile long enough for anyone to come and strike. "Sarah? You're not supposed to be here," is all he says, and Sarah doesn't move, the water still falling lightly down her back, wings curling into themselves.
She doesn't move and she doesn't speak, and it doesn't feel like she'll ever say a word again.
Sonny winces. She wouldn't really be able to read it in her current state, but he winces, looking away from her for a moment. Her friend. How many people's friends? How many more will be taken so one group can remain in control, can force their status quo on the world?
He winces, and he feels that rage again, and it is so dangerous especially along with the strength of her emotions which he knows are there the second that the girl comes back. The moment that it does. She is too tired and numb for much else, and it helps because he doesn't want to let the demon out near her and it is already loud enough from his own emotions, the rage, the loss, the sight of this broken girl after it's all over.
Sonny has to shove her into that bathroom to protect her from what comes, and he doesn't give her choice. If she fought him, he would fight her back in the safest way he could, letting her fight him but moving her where she needs to be, where she needs to be. He puts her in the shower and looks at her at the Nos. He looks at her and shakes his head.
"I'm sorry," he says, and it's low but it's firm. It's not I'm sorry this is wrong that I'm doing this to you. It's an I'm sorry but I have to do this to you. Even on the other side of the door, he can hear the screaming, and he has to focus on the feel of the gun in his hand to shut out the rest. It's not hard.
The demon takes over in the rage, in the rage that's added to from the sound of her screams.
They sent a whole fucking team. They sent a whole team, and Sonny half wonders if his efforts to protect that girl are going to be useless since they are all highly trained, all just as fast as he is, and they all have guns. Half of him wonders if he shouldn't have left her out there to get an early death at least, but he couldn't-- There's no part of him that is not going to try to protect some broken girl when he finds himself in the opportunity to do so, and she was with Josef. She helped Josef die, and though there were never words for it and he doesn't know he would qualify it as, he gave a damn about him and he's dead.
It's all of this. It's the girl in the bathroom with the shower rushing down upon her, trying to hold on, trying to break through a Calling that takes over and breaks so many kids. It's the broken, dead bodies of at least two people he gave a damn about, he may have never have met the one but he knows enough to give a damn and she was young too. A kid dead.
It's the screaming and all of it that focuses the demon, and it is all there is. Sonny isn't one that is capable of giving up no matter the odds against him and now there is the demon and the demon calls for blood so he fires once and then twice bringing two down and there are at least four more, and he's getting shot at at the same time. He tries to use furniture to block the shots flying his way. When she tries to push her way out, he pushes her back in and seconds later, he gets grazed in the arm.
Nothing life threatening, but he will not be able to survive unless- There's a crack of a neck snapping from behind. Sonny has met him before, didn't like him, but he recognizes him immediately and never thought he'd be so fucking relieved to see Damon Salvatore.
"We have to try to keep at least one alive."
Damon looks at him but doesn't say anything, just works his way through the remaining people. One he takes, breaks the man's legs and disarms him, leaving him on the floor. Sonny had finished killing another one when he notices that one's made it back to the dresser, and he shoves down the feeling like a boiling-- like rage and pain as he moves forward, grabbing the man back, shoving the bathroom door shut again, and throwing him at Damon who breaks his legs too, knocks both of the two living ones unconscious.
"You're bleeding," Damon comments almost poisonously in a voice that doesn't sound like him, doesn't sound all that stable, and Sonny shoves down the feeling of danger in his head.
It's not like there's not a dangerous-- a demon in his head, loud and fuck. He releases a breath. "Take care of the bodies," Sonny says lowly as he lifts the phone again to call someone to take care of Josef and Elizabeth's. No one else is going to get into this apartment yet. It is not until Damon has done whatever the fuck he's done with the dead bodies (and normally Damon doesn't take orders but he is in enough of a rage that there's nothing else).
Sonny deals with the two living ones who he literally has shoved unconscious into a closet that Sonny pushes the dresser away, takes in a breath to prepare himself for what he might see, and opens the bathroom door. It's his first move to turn off the shower and then to get a towel from the closet in there, which he drapes across her.
His voice is soft when he speaks, but it's also commanding. "If you can, you should put your wings away."
When Sonny steps into the bathroom, Sarah is covering her eyes.
She doesn't want to look anyone in the eye if they might die, and she doesn't really look at him in the eye either, lifting her head only enough to stare at his mouth as he speaks, read the commanding tone in it enough to not dare say anything in argument. He isn't someone she'd want to make angry, even if she instinctively knows he would not hurt her, is not here to hurt her.
That is what he said.
It's not as if she hasn't been trying, they just won't be put away.
She tries again and again and it only hurts.
Sarah shakes her head. The angel has quieted long enough to let the emotion bleed over, and it's strong; the fear and the grief and the anger are strong enough she has no control over the wings. She's young, it's only been a year since she got them, can barely understand what it all means though tonight she has begun to learn and she thinks she hates it.
"Sorry," she whispers, the key still held tightly in her hand. The man was thrown to the side before he could do anything else, and it hasn't sunk in yet that she knows him, everything is taking so long to sink in and she is grateful for it. She would like to be numb for a very long time. Once she's not it'll only hurt, and she can't go back to being numb anymore.
She nods her head in gratitude when he drapes the towel over her, and her hands move to further wrap it around herself, gripping it tightly enough that her knuckles are white.
"I just want to go home," she says dully, bringing herself to her feet.
"I won't look at your eyes. I promise," Sonny says, seeing that she is covering her eyes. "There's only one other person left here. He won't either."
Damon is far, far too distracted to do so at the moment, and he has completely forgotten that he was written to to come here by someone. He was here just to-- he came to see for certain and he saw the bodies, and there was only rage that has not left yet.
Sonny is quiet as he watches her, and he would not be surprised if she could not get the wings to go in, but he has to mention it in case she can, in case she can and she has forgotten to try in the weight of everything going on.
He shakes his head at that. No. No, don't say sorry. It is the universe that should be saying sorry to you. The sound of it makes him feel sick, but he doesn't say it and doesn't let any of it show though she is not looking at him, not exactly and that's good.
He can feel it-- the waves and waves of emotions coming off of her. Sonny knows how to turn it off or turn it on, but when his own emotions are so strong and when another person's is that intense, there's no shutting it out. There's no stopping himself from feeling it.
"Don't be sorry," Sonny says softly, almost too softly but not quite. He swallows, burying further rage. He slides a hand over his face the concern, the inability to see someone so young, a young girl, a child still looking like this. "You don't have to. You don't have to try again."
He just wanted her to make an attempt if she could, because it would make it easier for her.
"I'm going to get you home," he assures her, reaching helplessly to get her to stay in place. "Sit. On the toilet. I'm going to call my brother to take you home."
Sonny wants to keep her from the apartment which is now covered in blood for as long as he can. Outside, there's blood too. It's everywhere except this bathroom where the blood that was on her has been washed down the drain, and he wants her to stay here for now.
He gets out his phone and moves out of the bathroom for the time being, opening it and calling John via speed dial.
After Sonny steps out, Damon seems to remember the whole reason that he knew to come over in the first place. There was a girl that had written an entry, and he'd followed that here without looking back except when Elena moved to stand in his way as he knew she would have.
There's rage.
Beyond the rage, there's a lot of pain and a lot of grief. Before he came here, he did find Josef's body, and that-- it made it worse. He'd already wanted to tear someone apart, and now the rage- the urge and need to kill is impossible to control.
His whole body is tense as he steps into the doorway of the bathroom. He had forgotten about the entry, about the girl, about why he needed to hurry but he remembers.
"Sarah?"
Words are not going to be his forte when he still feels like ripping living things apart.
But he needs to know what it is he has to have, because Josef was his friend and Damon doesn't get those easily... i.e. never. He trusted him, and he trusted they would end the Society together.
He points at himself, expression dangerous but impossible to read. "Damon Salvatore."
Sonny is RIGHT there and turning to stare at Damon's back. Go ahead Damon, see if Sonny won't kill you right now if you upset her more.
Sarah isn't surprised he knows exactly what to say. He seems like someone that knows, that's probably old enough to have experiences with Callings, and it's helpful in this situation since Sarah doesn't know what to do or say, but her hands fall back down to her lap. The shower cleaned off most of the blood, but she still looks like someone that was put through several ringers.
"It's all I can do," she says to Sonny, almost helplessly.
All she can do is try.
There are dead men outside the bathroom door, and she has failed them as an angel, and she has failed Elizabeth as a friend, and the angel believes differently but Sarah feels that she has failed. She sits on the toilet when she's told to do so, staring down at the tiles on the floor, almost trance-like, until her name is called.
She glances over at Damon, and despite the expression on his face, she is relieved. There was a job to be done and she had to see it through. Sarah saw those men fire bullet after bullet after bullet, ensuring Elizabeth and Josef's bodies were unrecognizable. That was her friend.
That was a girl that she loved and admired and needed to stick around.
There is no way that she would leave this unresolved.
Sarah rises, surprisingly steady, the towel momentarily dropping to the ground. The wings are still out, but she pays no mind to them as she wordlessly walks over to Damon. She drifts between child and angel and she is more angel in this instant, since Josef spoke to the angel last.
The tight grip she'd held on the key lessens, and soon enough she places it on his palm. "There's a safe box. Behind a painting in his office. H-he said you'd know which one. The password is the date you went to see Warren," she says, saying only exactly what she is supposed to say without adding more or taking anything out of it, and then she turns and she walks.
Sarah has no idea who Warren is. She has no idea what Josef and Damon did when they went to visit him, but that's the point. Josef knew only Damon would know the date and only he would be able to open the safe. Inside the safe is a box, and the key Sarah is giving Damon will open it.
Everything Damon will need is in there. Everything that he will want to have that Josef believed important is in there, and if it isn't, there are answers to where the rest is.
It won't take John long before he's outside the apartment, car waiting.
Damon remains unmoved as he stands in the doorway or if he is moved, it is not shown in his expression as he stands there in the doorway. there is too much rage, and he has a very limited number of people that he can care about, but he knows that she was there with Josef at the end of it.
He has studied this universe. He sees the wings, and it is not hard for him to put the pieces together either despite not having lived here as long as Sonny has.
His expression is hard, but he looks down at her without looking away, without turning.
Damon takes the key in his hand, listens to the words. He does know which one he is talking about, but the last thing he wants to do right now is go to the club unless it means getting really drunk and having a few women over. After all, he is getting a lot of fucking use out of his compulsion today.
He stands there, chest burning and takes the key in hand before he turns from her and walks back into the apartment. There are two living men in the closet, and he'll soon get to take one out and have a little fun. Normally, he wouldn't worry about waiting, but he knows now even before he's read Josef's letter that Sonny is all he has now, Sonny and the Crowbar are all he has in terms of an ally.
And he can't beat the Society by himself and he has too because they threaten the one thing, one person that matters over all the rest.
Damon slides the key into his pocket and searches the cupboards for alcohol. When he finds it, he'll drink straight from the bottle without looking up again until he can satisfy more of his blood lust.
Sonny is quiet as he stands there in the doorway, looking in on her and giving her space but staying close enough that he can still help if she looks shaky. She still does look like she has been through the ringer, and he hates it more than he can say.
He hates this city, this universe.
It's all I can do. He closes his eyes and then he opens them again, looking at her. Sonny rests a hand on her shoulder though he knows there is nothing that he can say that will ever make this better.
She helped her friend die today, and it was a terrible death. There are many violent deaths, and that one ranks up there. People shooting down people on the street, one bullet isn't enough to make certain that it does the job. People trying to send a message by making an example, by tearing people to pieces with their bullets.
"It's all any of us can do."
All they can do is try.
It still feels like failing.
Time and again.
"It was not your job to save your friend. It was not your responsibility." It doesn't help but he has to say it anyway. "You helped her. She wasn't alone, and I know it still... feels like shit, but you're not responsible for other people's decisions and if you'd tried to stop it, you would have died too."
Sometimes it feels like that would be better.
And he understands that too.
Better to die trying to save someone than to stand back and do nothing.
So he says nothing else, but when John gives him the call that he's here, he urges Sarah up from her seated position. "He's here. He'll take you home." And watch over her house while she goes inside, because he's not about to leave her alone but he knows that he can't force her to the Crowbar and it would be worse for her there than somewhere familiar.
But still.
She shouldn't be alone, and he hates that there's not more he can do.
Sonny leads her down the stairs, steering her clear of what blood might be there on the walls, on the floor until they reach the sidewalk where the car is waiting.
"If you need anything, call me." He has placed his number in her hand. "Write to me."
Sarah looks down at the number placed in her hand.
"I will. Thank you," she says quietly. There's a certainty there, not so much because she'll need anything for herself, but this--there is something so much greater than her. She can't not be involved, and for so many more reasons than one would suspect, but once the shock fades, she'll piece everything together.
"She wanted me to have the painting," Sarah says, that numb, distant tone still coloring her voice. Sarah wants nothing to do with it, the thought of looking at it makes her ill, and if Elizabeth hadn't written on the back she'd have torn it apart since she wants no memory of anything that she has done before tonight.
She doesn't want to have memories at all.
She would rather be angel, all purpose and nothing, nothing else.
Elizabeth asked, and so Sarah moves forward, removing the painting from where it'd been hanging in the living room. It's splattered in blood. The sunflowers are covered in blood.
Sarah turns and finally steps out of the bathroom, and she is hit with another wave of sickness, the strength of it nearly moving her backward. Part of it has to do with all the death she wasn't there for. Part of it has to do with the girl that is horrified and knows how wrong this is. The world, the apartment building, everything is wrong. She wills her face not to crumple and starts to move quickly past so much blood.
Except.
She bends down, aware of the lengths that have been gone to, aware that this person is involved in whatever got Elizabeth killed, aware that without those lengths she would not be alive--but she is an angel and she is a girl, and so she kneels down beside him. Her hand darts out, pressing over the man's eyelids until his eyes are closed. She should've been here. She should've been out here, not in the bathroom, not scared and weak and stupid.
Sarah bites the insides of her cheeks as she stands back up again. The pounding in her head is so loud. The apartment is a bloodbath. The outside of the building is a bloodbath. Death is everywhere and it's so overwhelming, she can't think again, can't move until she forces her legs to, forcing herself not to notice the odd angles the bodies have been left in.
She stumbles out of the apartment, taking two steps at a time, and she forces herself not to look at where the bodies were, the white and black blood still swirling in the pavement and on the wall and--she looks anyway, and it's the first time her face crumples, and she is barely aware a hand is tugging her forward, tugging her into a car, moving her away from where she's been for nearly three days now.
She doesn't say a word as John drives and her heart begins to beat wilder, faster, the ache coming in waves and she bites down harder on the insides of her cheeks.
"I'll be here if--"
The man is being kind to her, she knows, but Sarah doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence before she all but jumps out of the car, shutting the door. She clutches the painting in her hand as she walks down the familiar cobblestone path. Her father is away on a business trip--or so he said, and Sarah no longer knows if it's true. She doesn't know if anything is true.
Sarah quickens her steps until she's running, the canvas falling from her hands once she's inside, and she only makes it as far as the staircase before she starts to cry, sitting on the step. Death she understands when the angel takes over. Death she can accept. It's the loneliness and the hurt she does not understand, does not want, and in the darkness of the foyer, she understands this place is not a great comfort the way many would think, but it's all she knows, and it has to be true.
She doesn't know how long she sits there. Long enough to remember she forgot her bag and it has--it has things that no one else can see and she needs to go get it. Sarah doesn't know if she can go back but at least Damon and Sonny will have been long gone by now. If not she wouldn't go back into the apartment, it's just hidden behind the dumpster in the alleyway beside it.
Her wings will not push back in, much as she tries for them to, and it's with slow steps she opens the door and stumbles back out.
Jeremy was worried when he didn't see Sarah in school. He wrote to her when he got back to his room, but it had been a couple of days and there was no response. Jeremy has no phone number for her. He has no idea where she lives, and he has no way of contacting her except for the journal entries.
He is worried. He is worried, and the day before Elizabeth Jules and Josef Soltini die (not that he knows that that is where she is or what she is waiting to help with), he breaks into the school at night to gain access to their records so he can figure out where she lives and find her that way. In Chicago, it is impossible to take chances.
People die all the time, and the city is so big that he's afraid, terrified that his friends would just die and he would never know, because they would just disappear. So for him, it was necessary to break into the school and find those records, no matter what. Jeremy did find them. He wore dark clothes, a hoodie, and carried a flashlight, searching through the records until he found the one with her name on it, her address.
It took him longer to get directions, because he still doesn't know this city all that well but when he did, he was on his way over especially after reading that journal entry. Elizabeth. Sarah said she had a friend named Elizabeth who showed her that pizza place, and he-- it may be a huge assumption, but at the same time, he knows she is an angel of death, knows people call her grim because they associate those deaths with her.
Jeremy's afraid. He's worried about her, and he walks down the street on the way to her house. It's luck-- it's luck or something else that brings him to her house at the same moment that she's leaving it, and the sight of her-- the sight of her drives something painful through his chest. He can't breathe at first, and he doesn't know that he has ever seen anyone look the way that she looks right now.
He walks to her without looking back. He walks to her, and he has never seen her wings out before, but that doesn't matter. Jeremy reaches for her. His hand reaches for her arm. "Sarah?"
Jeremy doesn't ask if she's okay, and he slides his arms around her, mindful of the wings, but tightening his hold on her.
Sarah slows down her steps until she comes to an abrupt halt, and almost sways to the side as she drags in another breath. She is not expecting to see anyone, much less Jeremy. She never told him where she lived, nor did she give him a phone number, and this wasn't a coincidence. Sarah very deliberately kept this information from him, and would keep this information from any of her friends that were Wanderers.
It would be safer that way, but she's not really thinking about that.
She's not even thinking about the fact she would've much rather he never saw her like this. It's something that she cannot control, the mess of her clothes and the push of her wings and that air about her that is more than human, more angel than anything else. She blinks to rid herself of the haze and almost stiffens initially when she is reached for, her body inhumanly cold, colder than it usually is.
This is Jeremy, and he's her friend, and she knows the last thing he would want to do is hurt her. But the shots still ring in her ears and the blood is still everywhere even if it isn't and he is someone that could die, anyone can die as everyoen will, and she would know, and she would rather not know again.
Not if it's him.
She shuts her eyes so she doesn't look into his but she doesn't pull away. Her fingers latch onto the sleeve of his shirt until they almost curl into it, as if tugging. A faint shudder pulses through her and she thinks she might cry but she doesn't, her voice is just small and tired and resigned.
"Jeremy, I really don't want to be here anymore."
She doesn't know if she meants here in this house or here in this city or here at all, and it's entirely possible she means all three. Isn't that what Elizabeth said? It helped to get away and that's why she went to Italy and that's why she'd always try to get away if she could even if it always meant coming back. It helped her to get away, but Sarah knows that isn't the case for her, not this time, and it wouldn't matter how far she went.
There were people running in the other direction, and he should have known, but in Chicago it could mean anything. There could be a monster. There could be something completely harmless that was impossible to explain. It doesn't stop him from walking more quickly in the direction, and he reaches for his gun as he turns the corner and freezes.
Fuck.
There is a lot of blood and two bodies and a torn car that looks almost identical to the car that tried to take on his own team before, and it takes less time than it should to put it all together. Sonny moves forward with purpose despite the dread that has turned into fire in his chest. He shoves it down, artfully aware of shoving down his own emotions, very experienced with seeing dead bodies of people he knows or doesn't know.
After over eighty years, it comes with the life that he lives. It comes with cases like this one. It comes with living in this city where people die frequently, and he lost half of his family already to this group. There would be more losses. He knew it. They knew it getting into this case. People would die. If they didn't get involved, more people including them would die. It doesn't make it any easier at all, something twists inside of himself and he shoves it all back.
Sonny kneels down despite being very aware that they are both dead. He checks anyway, because it is important to check but there is no pulse on either of them. At least they died together. Maybe it's a horrible thing to think, but he doesn't think that it is. It's true.
He remembers hearing Josef's voice over the phone back during the week where people's subconscious made them sick. He knows how much he loves this girl, and Sonny can only assume it is the same one, and there is this sick feeling pitted in his stomach that can't be described. Angel and demon. He has no doubts at all this group would have loved killing them for that alone, but no. No, they did it like this extremely violently and a group like that that works in the background would only do so for anyone-- if Josef was working with anyone.
Sonny doesn't believe they knew that they were after them, but this is a message just in case. He gets to his feet, swallowing back rage and pain that rises up from his chest like fire into his throat. There were very few people that he trusted, that he could work as well with as Josef. He cared about him, and he's dead. Sonny closes his eyes, shoving it back forcefully. He has to make a call to take care of their bodies so they're not left out like this.
But there's the sight of the blood across the pavement trailing toward the apartment. The Society erases people from existence. There could be someone in that apartment now, tearing it apart, finding what they need, and they-- Josef and this girl would have died for nothing. Every emotional reaction is shoved down so deeply in his chest until there is none of it left, there's no room for it now.
Later he'll want to drink but not now. Now he has things to take care of, and he shoves it back, the tightening of his jaw, and moves, following the blood with his gun out, aware that any witnesses will be hiding. Sonny is not surprised where it leads, directly to Josef's apartment, and he opens the door of the apartment, stepping inside with the gun out but he freezes.
That... is not what he expected to see. The sight of her-- she must be an angel, angel of death, her wings are out, she's covered in blood, and she's so young, too young. The second realization hits him slowly but steadily. She looks like Katherine. Sonny lowers his gun as he steps forward.
Are you alright? seems like a stupid question when he can tell that she is not, when she is far from alright.
"It's alright," Sonny says instead even though it's not, and he steps over to her cautiously. The death-- it's stronger, and she's so-- so fucking young. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Sonny."
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Sarah is tired. She hasn't moved from the street for two days, she has not slept or eaten throughout most of the waiting, with death so close by and the need to cater to it. There's a weary and deeply sad look about her, but it's eclipsed by the wings and the calling and the rest that is stronger, that will always be stronger than her, that will always make the decision.
The angel's decision is to keep going.
"I'm fine," she says after him, an almost dazed look but not quite.
The Calling remains loud and unflinching, the stench of death is still everywhere, on the walls, outside the building, within it, there's distraction and focus all at once. She can feel and see and breathe it. The angel is not scared, even if Sarah sways to the side some. "I led them."
She led them to where they were supposed to be. There is no more pain for them. There is no more fear. Elizabeth doesn't have to worry she will lose her mind, forget the people she loves--loved--or anything else. She is free from the shackles, she has been lifted from this place, and so has Josef and she was the one that had to lead them.
The angel does not wonder how young is too young, and barely seventeen is very young, but her body is only a vehicle, and in times like these, the body isn't hers. There's a certain presence to angels of death that almost sets them apart from the rest, aside from how rare they are in numbers. It may be the Death itself that they are so familiar with, but it's as if one can tell that that is what they are. More than a girl, more than an angel, it's death surrounding her and taking her by the hand.
Sonny. Josef said the name Sonny in between coughing up blood, his blood is now on her hands, he is no longer here.
There's recognition in her face and she steps forward. Only three steps.
Three of them. Under any other circumstance she would find him intimidating. She would know this is a man that should never be trifled with, not that she plans on doing any such thing. This is a different circumstance, and Sarah is only faintly aware of him while the loudness in her head remains.
Sarah opens her mouth to say her name, but her mind goes blank. It's like she knows it, but she can't reach it. "He wanted you to have this," she says instead, lifting up the locket. It dangles from her bloody hand, and it's the first time it trembles as she reaches out to give it to him. She doesn't want it, he needs to take it from her hands, it looks exactly like the one--
He just needs to take it.
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The angel may be fine but the girl is not, which is why although there is a disbelieving look on his face, he does not question whether or not she is fine. The angel is fine. The girl is not. She doesn't have to say that for him to know.
It's written all over her body like she hasn't slept or ate in days. It's what they do, it's what they do because they can't-- they can't do anything else.
"I know you did," Sonny says softly as he looks at her, and it is rare for him to interact with angels of death but this isn't the first time. This isn't the first time, and each time it hurts, because they're always so fucking young. "You helped them. They wren't alone."
It's important. He knows that it is important for angels of death to believe that no one should be alone when they die, and he can see how that would be, but he would much rather die alone than make some young girl look the way that she does.
He does believe that the both of them are resting now. They are no longer feeling any pain though their bodies hardly look like them anymore, torn apart until so little is left. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with the grief of it though.
He looks at her quietly but calmly. If anyone comes up here again, she'll help more people die and more people will come up here and he will have to kill them. The Society will not have people waiting too long to erase Josef from existence. There has to be a team already in pursuit which means that he has to act fast, but he's momentarily distracted by her.
Sonny sees the recognition, and it is honestly unexpected. Plenty of people know who he is, know of him, but not teenage girls for the most part. He can't believe it-- he can't believe that while he was fucking dying with the girl that he loved, he had presence of mind to do that. Sonny swallows back that feeling again until its shoved into something he can't reach.
He takes it from her, sliding it into his pocket, shutting that pocket up. It is not the best, most protected place to keep that but it is all he has and he can't leave it out. Relief floods in through him. It doesn't have to be for nothing, their dying doesn't have to be for nothing, and there's a sound at the stairs.
"Fuck," Sonny mutters, and he takes her by the hand and moves her into the bathroom attached to the bedroom. His jaw is locked as he moves quickly. "It's not safe." And that commanding tone, and fuck, he can't help it if he sound half-fatherly about it. It's always young girls that remind him of the daughter that he lost. "Stay here."
He starts the shower, urges her into it even with her clothes on but she needs that blood off of her if she's ever going to come back and she needs to not see the deaths, not know they're going on and the best chance of that is with the shower drowning out the sound of it.
Sonny moves the dresser in front of the closed door of the bathroom. No one is getting in or out of there without a fight, and he pulls his gun out again as the first one comes through the door. He fires aiming for the skull and he does not miss.
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She'd never been confronted with this kind of violence until tonight.
He understands. They were not supposed to be alone. She was the one to make sure that they were not alone, that they were not in pain, that death alone would not be there while they took their last breath. It's his understanding that brings her back, if only long enough to say, "She was my friend."
Elizabeth was her friend. The first friend she ever made, and she doesn't know how people go about their lives, making so many friends when it can end like this, when it can hurt like this. She was my friend, Sarah whispers, and when she turns once more the not quite human look in her gaze has returned. Drifting in and out of the stage, the loudest stage of all, where the Calling cannot be quieted no matter what. There's no choice.
When it isn't so loud, when it hasn't overpowered you completely, you make yourself believe there is. You want to believe, whether you are angel or demon, when the time comes there is choice and there isn't. There never has been. The choice is not in her hands, and it is not in her mind, and the choice itself is to always keep going, to help the dying, to be there no matter what.
No matter what.
"No, no--please," she says, and the struggle is only half-hearted since she's so tired. She would never be able to overpower him, and her back flattens against the wall within the shower, the cold of the water a slap to the face, an awakening. The panic only begins once more when the door is closed and death is brought closer. She needs to be out there. She needs to be out there, as the Calling doesn't care if the person is good or bad.
If there is dying, she needs to be there, and she screams, her fist banging against the door as her body aches, pulls her toward that direction while she forces herself to remain still. She loses. She could not handle more death tonight without finding the damage beyond repair, and that doesn't seem to matter, either. She tries making her way out of the bathroom only to be dragged back inside, and she's wasting time.
She stumbles back in and falls to the ground, the water slowly cleansing her of the blood on her face. It remains in her clothes, in the tinge of her wings, but for the most part, she comes clean. She lays there, immobile, cheek flattened against the tiled floor as the water pelts at her back.
The distant sound of a gunshot barely registers now.
Her hand starts to shake and she closes her eyes, gripping the key tightly within her palm. She doesn't want to see it. Death is warm and it's good and it's what she is meant to do, she is meant to carry them over, but she doesn't want to see it anymore. Elizabeth would see it. Elizabeth would help them, but Elizabeth was brave and Sarah is not. The part of her that is Sarah is loud enough to be sick and scared and young.
And she doesn't want to be here anymore.
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Sarah has enough presence of mind to slide the key lower down to her side, palm flattened over it to hide it in place. Sarah is not letting go of this key. She is not giving it to anyone that is not Damon Salvatore. That is what Josef said. Elizabeth loved Josef and they were Josef's dying words.
Sarah barely stirs as the door violently flings open, having been kicked to open it as such. Her eyes lift to meet the gaze of the man and the world stops once again.
The man--Sarah knows this man, he was there at her house for her birthday only weeks ago--seems horrified to see her there. The hand holding the gun drops from his side, the surprise strong enough to keep him immobile long enough for anyone to come and strike. "Sarah? You're not supposed to be here," is all he says, and Sarah doesn't move, the water still falling lightly down her back, wings curling into themselves.
She doesn't move and she doesn't speak, and it doesn't feel like she'll ever say a word again.
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He winces, and he feels that rage again, and it is so dangerous especially along with the strength of her emotions which he knows are there the second that the girl comes back. The moment that it does. She is too tired and numb for much else, and it helps because he doesn't want to let the demon out near her and it is already loud enough from his own emotions, the rage, the loss, the sight of this broken girl after it's all over.
Sonny has to shove her into that bathroom to protect her from what comes, and he doesn't give her choice. If she fought him, he would fight her back in the safest way he could, letting her fight him but moving her where she needs to be, where she needs to be. He puts her in the shower and looks at her at the Nos. He looks at her and shakes his head.
"I'm sorry," he says, and it's low but it's firm. It's not I'm sorry this is wrong that I'm doing this to you. It's an I'm sorry but I have to do this to you. Even on the other side of the door, he can hear the screaming, and he has to focus on the feel of the gun in his hand to shut out the rest. It's not hard.
The demon takes over in the rage, in the rage that's added to from the sound of her screams.
They sent a whole fucking team. They sent a whole team, and Sonny half wonders if his efforts to protect that girl are going to be useless since they are all highly trained, all just as fast as he is, and they all have guns. Half of him wonders if he shouldn't have left her out there to get an early death at least, but he couldn't-- There's no part of him that is not going to try to protect some broken girl when he finds himself in the opportunity to do so, and she was with Josef. She helped Josef die, and though there were never words for it and he doesn't know he would qualify it as, he gave a damn about him and he's dead.
It's all of this. It's the girl in the bathroom with the shower rushing down upon her, trying to hold on, trying to break through a Calling that takes over and breaks so many kids. It's the broken, dead bodies of at least two people he gave a damn about, he may have never have met the one but he knows enough to give a damn and she was young too. A kid dead.
It's the screaming and all of it that focuses the demon, and it is all there is. Sonny isn't one that is capable of giving up no matter the odds against him and now there is the demon and the demon calls for blood so he fires once and then twice bringing two down and there are at least four more, and he's getting shot at at the same time. He tries to use furniture to block the shots flying his way. When she tries to push her way out, he pushes her back in and seconds later, he gets grazed in the arm.
Nothing life threatening, but he will not be able to survive unless- There's a crack of a neck snapping from behind. Sonny has met him before, didn't like him, but he recognizes him immediately and never thought he'd be so fucking relieved to see Damon Salvatore.
"We have to try to keep at least one alive."
Damon looks at him but doesn't say anything, just works his way through the remaining people. One he takes, breaks the man's legs and disarms him, leaving him on the floor. Sonny had finished killing another one when he notices that one's made it back to the dresser, and he shoves down the feeling like a boiling-- like rage and pain as he moves forward, grabbing the man back, shoving the bathroom door shut again, and throwing him at Damon who breaks his legs too, knocks both of the two living ones unconscious.
And then there's space.
And then there's nothing.
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It's not like there's not a dangerous-- a demon in his head, loud and fuck. He releases a breath. "Take care of the bodies," Sonny says lowly as he lifts the phone again to call someone to take care of Josef and Elizabeth's. No one else is going to get into this apartment yet. It is not until Damon has done whatever the fuck he's done with the dead bodies (and normally Damon doesn't take orders but he is in enough of a rage that there's nothing else).
Sonny deals with the two living ones who he literally has shoved unconscious into a closet that Sonny pushes the dresser away, takes in a breath to prepare himself for what he might see, and opens the bathroom door. It's his first move to turn off the shower and then to get a towel from the closet in there, which he drapes across her.
His voice is soft when he speaks, but it's also commanding. "If you can, you should put your wings away."
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She doesn't want to look anyone in the eye if they might die, and she doesn't really look at him in the eye either, lifting her head only enough to stare at his mouth as he speaks, read the commanding tone in it enough to not dare say anything in argument. He isn't someone she'd want to make angry, even if she instinctively knows he would not hurt her, is not here to hurt her.
That is what he said.
It's not as if she hasn't been trying, they just won't be put away.
She tries again and again and it only hurts.
Sarah shakes her head. The angel has quieted long enough to let the emotion bleed over, and it's strong; the fear and the grief and the anger are strong enough she has no control over the wings. She's young, it's only been a year since she got them, can barely understand what it all means though tonight she has begun to learn and she thinks she hates it.
"Sorry," she whispers, the key still held tightly in her hand. The man was thrown to the side before he could do anything else, and it hasn't sunk in yet that she knows him, everything is taking so long to sink in and she is grateful for it. She would like to be numb for a very long time. Once she's not it'll only hurt, and she can't go back to being numb anymore.
She nods her head in gratitude when he drapes the towel over her, and her hands move to further wrap it around herself, gripping it tightly enough that her knuckles are white.
"I just want to go home," she says dully, bringing herself to her feet.
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Damon is far, far too distracted to do so at the moment, and he has completely forgotten that he was written to to come here by someone. He was here just to-- he came to see for certain and he saw the bodies, and there was only rage that has not left yet.
Sonny is quiet as he watches her, and he would not be surprised if she could not get the wings to go in, but he has to mention it in case she can, in case she can and she has forgotten to try in the weight of everything going on.
He shakes his head at that. No. No, don't say sorry. It is the universe that should be saying sorry to you. The sound of it makes him feel sick, but he doesn't say it and doesn't let any of it show though she is not looking at him, not exactly and that's good.
He can feel it-- the waves and waves of emotions coming off of her. Sonny knows how to turn it off or turn it on, but when his own emotions are so strong and when another person's is that intense, there's no shutting it out. There's no stopping himself from feeling it.
"Don't be sorry," Sonny says softly, almost too softly but not quite. He swallows, burying further rage. He slides a hand over his face the concern, the inability to see someone so young, a young girl, a child still looking like this. "You don't have to. You don't have to try again."
He just wanted her to make an attempt if she could, because it would make it easier for her.
"I'm going to get you home," he assures her, reaching helplessly to get her to stay in place. "Sit. On the toilet. I'm going to call my brother to take you home."
Sonny wants to keep her from the apartment which is now covered in blood for as long as he can. Outside, there's blood too. It's everywhere except this bathroom where the blood that was on her has been washed down the drain, and he wants her to stay here for now.
He gets out his phone and moves out of the bathroom for the time being, opening it and calling John via speed dial.
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There's rage.
Beyond the rage, there's a lot of pain and a lot of grief. Before he came here, he did find Josef's body, and that-- it made it worse. He'd already wanted to tear someone apart, and now the rage- the urge and need to kill is impossible to control.
His whole body is tense as he steps into the doorway of the bathroom. He had forgotten about the entry, about the girl, about why he needed to hurry but he remembers.
"Sarah?"
Words are not going to be his forte when he still feels like ripping living things apart.
But he needs to know what it is he has to have, because Josef was his friend and Damon doesn't get those easily... i.e. never. He trusted him, and he trusted they would end the Society together.
He points at himself, expression dangerous but impossible to read. "Damon Salvatore."
Sonny is RIGHT there and turning to stare at Damon's back. Go ahead Damon, see if Sonny won't kill you right now if you upset her more.
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"It's all I can do," she says to Sonny, almost helplessly.
All she can do is try.
There are dead men outside the bathroom door, and she has failed them as an angel, and she has failed Elizabeth as a friend, and the angel believes differently but Sarah feels that she has failed. She sits on the toilet when she's told to do so, staring down at the tiles on the floor, almost trance-like, until her name is called.
She glances over at Damon, and despite the expression on his face, she is relieved. There was a job to be done and she had to see it through. Sarah saw those men fire bullet after bullet after bullet, ensuring Elizabeth and Josef's bodies were unrecognizable. That was her friend.
That was a girl that she loved and admired and needed to stick around.
There is no way that she would leave this unresolved.
Sarah rises, surprisingly steady, the towel momentarily dropping to the ground. The wings are still out, but she pays no mind to them as she wordlessly walks over to Damon. She drifts between child and angel and she is more angel in this instant, since Josef spoke to the angel last.
The tight grip she'd held on the key lessens, and soon enough she places it on his palm. "There's a safe box. Behind a painting in his office. H-he said you'd know which one. The password is the date you went to see Warren," she says, saying only exactly what she is supposed to say without adding more or taking anything out of it, and then she turns and she walks.
Sarah has no idea who Warren is. She has no idea what Josef and Damon did when they went to visit him, but that's the point. Josef knew only Damon would know the date and only he would be able to open the safe. Inside the safe is a box, and the key Sarah is giving Damon will open it.
Everything Damon will need is in there. Everything that he will want to have that Josef believed important is in there, and if it isn't, there are answers to where the rest is.
It won't take John long before he's outside the apartment, car waiting.
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He has studied this universe. He sees the wings, and it is not hard for him to put the pieces together either despite not having lived here as long as Sonny has.
His expression is hard, but he looks down at her without looking away, without turning.
Damon takes the key in his hand, listens to the words. He does know which one he is talking about, but the last thing he wants to do right now is go to the club unless it means getting really drunk and having a few women over. After all, he is getting a lot of fucking use out of his compulsion today.
He stands there, chest burning and takes the key in hand before he turns from her and walks back into the apartment. There are two living men in the closet, and he'll soon get to take one out and have a little fun. Normally, he wouldn't worry about waiting, but he knows now even before he's read Josef's letter that Sonny is all he has now, Sonny and the Crowbar are all he has in terms of an ally.
And he can't beat the Society by himself and he has too because they threaten the one thing, one person that matters over all the rest.
Damon slides the key into his pocket and searches the cupboards for alcohol. When he finds it, he'll drink straight from the bottle without looking up again until he can satisfy more of his blood lust.
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He hates this city, this universe.
It's all I can do. He closes his eyes and then he opens them again, looking at her. Sonny rests a hand on her shoulder though he knows there is nothing that he can say that will ever make this better.
She helped her friend die today, and it was a terrible death. There are many violent deaths, and that one ranks up there. People shooting down people on the street, one bullet isn't enough to make certain that it does the job. People trying to send a message by making an example, by tearing people to pieces with their bullets.
"It's all any of us can do."
All they can do is try.
It still feels like failing.
Time and again.
"It was not your job to save your friend. It was not your responsibility." It doesn't help but he has to say it anyway. "You helped her. She wasn't alone, and I know it still... feels like shit, but you're not responsible for other people's decisions and if you'd tried to stop it, you would have died too."
Sometimes it feels like that would be better.
And he understands that too.
Better to die trying to save someone than to stand back and do nothing.
So he says nothing else, but when John gives him the call that he's here, he urges Sarah up from her seated position. "He's here. He'll take you home." And watch over her house while she goes inside, because he's not about to leave her alone but he knows that he can't force her to the Crowbar and it would be worse for her there than somewhere familiar.
But still.
She shouldn't be alone, and he hates that there's not more he can do.
Sonny leads her down the stairs, steering her clear of what blood might be there on the walls, on the floor until they reach the sidewalk where the car is waiting.
"If you need anything, call me." He has placed his number in her hand. "Write to me."
And he means anything.
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"I will. Thank you," she says quietly. There's a certainty there, not so much because she'll need anything for herself, but this--there is something so much greater than her. She can't not be involved, and for so many more reasons than one would suspect, but once the shock fades, she'll piece everything together.
"She wanted me to have the painting," Sarah says, that numb, distant tone still coloring her voice. Sarah wants nothing to do with it, the thought of looking at it makes her ill, and if Elizabeth hadn't written on the back she'd have torn it apart since she wants no memory of anything that she has done before tonight.
She doesn't want to have memories at all.
She would rather be angel, all purpose and nothing, nothing else.
Elizabeth asked, and so Sarah moves forward, removing the painting from where it'd been hanging in the living room. It's splattered in blood. The sunflowers are covered in blood.
Sarah turns and finally steps out of the bathroom, and she is hit with another wave of sickness, the strength of it nearly moving her backward. Part of it has to do with all the death she wasn't there for. Part of it has to do with the girl that is horrified and knows how wrong this is. The world, the apartment building, everything is wrong. She wills her face not to crumple and starts to move quickly past so much blood.
Except.
She bends down, aware of the lengths that have been gone to, aware that this person is involved in whatever got Elizabeth killed, aware that without those lengths she would not be alive--but she is an angel and she is a girl, and so she kneels down beside him. Her hand darts out, pressing over the man's eyelids until his eyes are closed. She should've been here. She should've been out here, not in the bathroom, not scared and weak and stupid.
Sarah bites the insides of her cheeks as she stands back up again. The pounding in her head is so loud. The apartment is a bloodbath. The outside of the building is a bloodbath. Death is everywhere and it's so overwhelming, she can't think again, can't move until she forces her legs to, forcing herself not to notice the odd angles the bodies have been left in.
She stumbles out of the apartment, taking two steps at a time, and she forces herself not to look at where the bodies were, the white and black blood still swirling in the pavement and on the wall and--she looks anyway, and it's the first time her face crumples, and she is barely aware a hand is tugging her forward, tugging her into a car, moving her away from where she's been for nearly three days now.
She doesn't say a word as John drives and her heart begins to beat wilder, faster, the ache coming in waves and she bites down harder on the insides of her cheeks.
"I'll be here if--"
The man is being kind to her, she knows, but Sarah doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence before she all but jumps out of the car, shutting the door. She clutches the painting in her hand as she walks down the familiar cobblestone path. Her father is away on a business trip--or so he said, and Sarah no longer knows if it's true. She doesn't know if anything is true.
Sarah quickens her steps until she's running, the canvas falling from her hands once she's inside, and she only makes it as far as the staircase before she starts to cry, sitting on the step. Death she understands when the angel takes over. Death she can accept. It's the loneliness and the hurt she does not understand, does not want, and in the darkness of the foyer, she understands this place is not a great comfort the way many would think, but it's all she knows, and it has to be true.
She doesn't know how long she sits there. Long enough to remember she forgot her bag and it has--it has things that no one else can see and she needs to go get it. Sarah doesn't know if she can go back but at least Damon and Sonny will have been long gone by now. If not she wouldn't go back into the apartment, it's just hidden behind the dumpster in the alleyway beside it.
Her wings will not push back in, much as she tries for them to, and it's with slow steps she opens the door and stumbles back out.
Death she understands.
But looking at her now, one would never know.
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He is worried. He is worried, and the day before Elizabeth Jules and Josef Soltini die (not that he knows that that is where she is or what she is waiting to help with), he breaks into the school at night to gain access to their records so he can figure out where she lives and find her that way. In Chicago, it is impossible to take chances.
People die all the time, and the city is so big that he's afraid, terrified that his friends would just die and he would never know, because they would just disappear. So for him, it was necessary to break into the school and find those records, no matter what. Jeremy did find them. He wore dark clothes, a hoodie, and carried a flashlight, searching through the records until he found the one with her name on it, her address.
It took him longer to get directions, because he still doesn't know this city all that well but when he did, he was on his way over especially after reading that journal entry. Elizabeth. Sarah said she had a friend named Elizabeth who showed her that pizza place, and he-- it may be a huge assumption, but at the same time, he knows she is an angel of death, knows people call her grim because they associate those deaths with her.
Jeremy's afraid. He's worried about her, and he walks down the street on the way to her house. It's luck-- it's luck or something else that brings him to her house at the same moment that she's leaving it, and the sight of her-- the sight of her drives something painful through his chest. He can't breathe at first, and he doesn't know that he has ever seen anyone look the way that she looks right now.
He walks to her without looking back. He walks to her, and he has never seen her wings out before, but that doesn't matter. Jeremy reaches for her. His hand reaches for her arm. "Sarah?"
Jeremy doesn't ask if she's okay, and he slides his arms around her, mindful of the wings, but tightening his hold on her.
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It would be safer that way, but she's not really thinking about that.
She's not even thinking about the fact she would've much rather he never saw her like this. It's something that she cannot control, the mess of her clothes and the push of her wings and that air about her that is more than human, more angel than anything else. She blinks to rid herself of the haze and almost stiffens initially when she is reached for, her body inhumanly cold, colder than it usually is.
This is Jeremy, and he's her friend, and she knows the last thing he would want to do is hurt her. But the shots still ring in her ears and the blood is still everywhere even if it isn't and he is someone that could die, anyone can die as everyoen will, and she would know, and she would rather not know again.
Not if it's him.
She shuts her eyes so she doesn't look into his but she doesn't pull away. Her fingers latch onto the sleeve of his shirt until they almost curl into it, as if tugging. A faint shudder pulses through her and she thinks she might cry but she doesn't, her voice is just small and tired and resigned.
"Jeremy, I really don't want to be here anymore."
She doesn't know if she meants here in this house or here in this city or here at all, and it's entirely possible she means all three. Isn't that what Elizabeth said? It helped to get away and that's why she went to Italy and that's why she'd always try to get away if she could even if it always meant coming back. It helped her to get away, but Sarah knows that isn't the case for her, not this time, and it wouldn't matter how far she went.
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