[closed/complete]
Characters: War [valoured]& Pestilence [yourbane]
Date/Time: Sunday.
Location: Hospital, Pestilence's room.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing.
Summary: War comes check on her brother.
Pestilence wanted to crush Samael's skull with a mallet. Over and over again, until his beautiful face bore no resemblance to a human. With nothing else but his textbooks to amuse himself in the hospital room, the fantasy was replaying in his head quite vividly. It stopped when he heard the door open. Something in his dark eyes softened when he saw his sister walk in.
"Hey," he mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse.
Most people didn't know War (and at times, War doesn't even know herself, doesn't understand the certain displays of emotion people do) but it is evident in her face that she is happy to see Pestilence. "Hey there."
She's carrying with her a Starbucks paper bag, two cups inside. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows caffeine may not be the best thing for Pestilence (but let's face it, War doesn't give a shit- after a broken leg, a little bit of coffee seems trivial). "Brought you something."
His eyes landed on the bag. “Coffee?” Pestilence didn’t have to force a smile. It was weak, but it showed up by itself. He doesn’t give a shit either. Caffeine and acetaminophen aren’t dangerous to mix.
And there’s something more important on his mind. He’s surprised to see War standing. His gaze is searching, examining her closely. “How’re your ribs?”
"The coffee here is shit." And she moved to his left side, depositing the bag on the table and pulling out his cup. Well, good thing there was nothing dangerous in this mix, but then, War knew nothing of medicine and chemicals and... well, shit.
The question causes War to pause, she lifts the shirt she is wearing- the areas are a sickly shade of purple from the bruising. "I heal faster than most. They hurt, but it is manageable." Of course she had raided the house for strong painkillers, but her mind was preoccupied with her siblings, not her own injuries.
She sits down, and finally hands over Pestilence's coffee to him.
Pestilence reaches over and brushes his fingertips over an ugly patch of mauve. Against War’s pale skin, the contrasting color is stark. The touch isn’t meant to be diagnostic, it’s too brief and too soft to feel her actual ribs.
“Thanks.” The cup warms his hands but does nothing for the hard frown on his face. “I assume they gave you painkillers?” If they didn’t, Pestilence has some to spare and ways of persuading the doctor to give him a different prescription.
War doesn't mind being touched by Pestilence, if anything, she seems to enjoy the touch (indicated by how she half-closed her eyes for that brief moment). "Shitty ones." War admits, "I don't even recall the name, I resolved it by raiding my brother's medicine cabinet, but even then." A shrug, "It'll be fine," What War meant was- she was more concerned with Pestilence's injuries than her own. Her own were under her control (so to speak) but his? His she had no idea.
"It fucking pisses me off to see you like this."
“I know.” Pestilence smiles mirthlessly. He knows that’s War’s way of saying she cares about him, even if it doesn’t need to be said. He appreciates it all the same.
“208 bones, and that fucker had to pick the one that was already broken.” The horseman pauses to take a sip of coffee. “I don’t think it was Samael, though...” he murmurs, as if half lost in thought.
"It looked like him, sounded like him, felt like him." War looks thoughtfully at Pestilence, this isn't really her area of expertise. She's more for the punch in the face, then let someone else work the plan or logic behind it. (Not that she's incapable of planning, she just prefers not to). Without second thoughts War allows herself to get physically closer to Pestilence, hand resting against him, head dipping slightly in his direction. It is easy for her to display the concern and affection like that.
After all, she does love her siblings.
“It did, but after Samael made that video - I checked the hospitals for a Blackwell. Dante Blackwell was admitted to the ITU of this hospital, War.” Pestilence isn’t prone to self doubt, but now he’s questioning himself. With his bloodstream thrumming with painkillers, it’s easy to feel like he needs some reassurance. His hand idly finds hers. “He was in there. I saw.”
Had there been Death or Famine about, War would not have so easily lifted Pestilence's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. She would've not done it with that incredible hint of affection behind it, lips lingering as she met his eyes. "I believe you." She trusted what her brother was telling her now; he had not given her a reason to doubt him in a long time. War needed to trust someone after all, Famine's sudden lack of... coherency made it impossible for her to cope with him and his actions.
It was easier to cling to Pestilence and Death for anchors and guidance. "His double?" Evidently War doesn't feel this is an excuse for what has been done to them, but at this point, only the other horsemen (or perhaps Michael and Metatron) can reign her in and keep her from killing. everyone. in her way.
And that’s why he’s glad War is back. More than a vote of confidence, he needs his sister. His eyes fall shut for a moment, enjoying the simple but meaningful affection. It’s never the same when she wanders away... but he knows, every time she goes, she’ll come back for them. In reply to her question, Pestilence nods. “Yes,” he murmurs, “but I don’t know what this means for the balance.”
Even if it was Samael’s double... the balance has been tipped way off scale.
"This is where I want to say fuck balance and put all the bastards six feet under." War muttered, leaning closer to whisper those words across Pestilence's cheek. They come out as a slight jest, trying to keep the atmosphere light, because War knows that she cannot give into her urge to literally start a war. She clings to Pestilence because he'll keep her grounded for now. "Michael wasn't very helpful." War noted, "I spoke to him." A shrug.
"We'll see, right now what matters is you." She was completely sincere there, but also realistic, first they needed to heal before they could set the scales right again.
It makes Pestilence smile, albeit weakly. “And this is where I say fuck the non-fallens,” he mutters back, before leaning in and chastely kissing the corner of her mouth. He knows he has to be careful. Famine already got pneumonia, thanks to him. War doesn’t need to get it too. Broken bones and cracked ribs are enough. “You're right, though. We need to stop being cripples. Then we can decide how to restore the balance.”
Date/Time: Sunday.
Location: Hospital, Pestilence's room.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing.
Summary: War comes check on her brother.
Pestilence wanted to crush Samael's skull with a mallet. Over and over again, until his beautiful face bore no resemblance to a human. With nothing else but his textbooks to amuse himself in the hospital room, the fantasy was replaying in his head quite vividly. It stopped when he heard the door open. Something in his dark eyes softened when he saw his sister walk in.
"Hey," he mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse.
Most people didn't know War (and at times, War doesn't even know herself, doesn't understand the certain displays of emotion people do) but it is evident in her face that she is happy to see Pestilence. "Hey there."
She's carrying with her a Starbucks paper bag, two cups inside. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows caffeine may not be the best thing for Pestilence (but let's face it, War doesn't give a shit- after a broken leg, a little bit of coffee seems trivial). "Brought you something."
His eyes landed on the bag. “Coffee?” Pestilence didn’t have to force a smile. It was weak, but it showed up by itself. He doesn’t give a shit either. Caffeine and acetaminophen aren’t dangerous to mix.
And there’s something more important on his mind. He’s surprised to see War standing. His gaze is searching, examining her closely. “How’re your ribs?”
"The coffee here is shit." And she moved to his left side, depositing the bag on the table and pulling out his cup. Well, good thing there was nothing dangerous in this mix, but then, War knew nothing of medicine and chemicals and... well, shit.
The question causes War to pause, she lifts the shirt she is wearing- the areas are a sickly shade of purple from the bruising. "I heal faster than most. They hurt, but it is manageable." Of course she had raided the house for strong painkillers, but her mind was preoccupied with her siblings, not her own injuries.
She sits down, and finally hands over Pestilence's coffee to him.
Pestilence reaches over and brushes his fingertips over an ugly patch of mauve. Against War’s pale skin, the contrasting color is stark. The touch isn’t meant to be diagnostic, it’s too brief and too soft to feel her actual ribs.
“Thanks.” The cup warms his hands but does nothing for the hard frown on his face. “I assume they gave you painkillers?” If they didn’t, Pestilence has some to spare and ways of persuading the doctor to give him a different prescription.
War doesn't mind being touched by Pestilence, if anything, she seems to enjoy the touch (indicated by how she half-closed her eyes for that brief moment). "Shitty ones." War admits, "I don't even recall the name, I resolved it by raiding my brother's medicine cabinet, but even then." A shrug, "It'll be fine," What War meant was- she was more concerned with Pestilence's injuries than her own. Her own were under her control (so to speak) but his? His she had no idea.
"It fucking pisses me off to see you like this."
“I know.” Pestilence smiles mirthlessly. He knows that’s War’s way of saying she cares about him, even if it doesn’t need to be said. He appreciates it all the same.
“208 bones, and that fucker had to pick the one that was already broken.” The horseman pauses to take a sip of coffee. “I don’t think it was Samael, though...” he murmurs, as if half lost in thought.
"It looked like him, sounded like him, felt like him." War looks thoughtfully at Pestilence, this isn't really her area of expertise. She's more for the punch in the face, then let someone else work the plan or logic behind it. (Not that she's incapable of planning, she just prefers not to). Without second thoughts War allows herself to get physically closer to Pestilence, hand resting against him, head dipping slightly in his direction. It is easy for her to display the concern and affection like that.
After all, she does love her siblings.
“It did, but after Samael made that video - I checked the hospitals for a Blackwell. Dante Blackwell was admitted to the ITU of this hospital, War.” Pestilence isn’t prone to self doubt, but now he’s questioning himself. With his bloodstream thrumming with painkillers, it’s easy to feel like he needs some reassurance. His hand idly finds hers. “He was in there. I saw.”
Had there been Death or Famine about, War would not have so easily lifted Pestilence's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. She would've not done it with that incredible hint of affection behind it, lips lingering as she met his eyes. "I believe you." She trusted what her brother was telling her now; he had not given her a reason to doubt him in a long time. War needed to trust someone after all, Famine's sudden lack of... coherency made it impossible for her to cope with him and his actions.
It was easier to cling to Pestilence and Death for anchors and guidance. "His double?" Evidently War doesn't feel this is an excuse for what has been done to them, but at this point, only the other horsemen (or perhaps Michael and Metatron) can reign her in and keep her from killing. everyone. in her way.
And that’s why he’s glad War is back. More than a vote of confidence, he needs his sister. His eyes fall shut for a moment, enjoying the simple but meaningful affection. It’s never the same when she wanders away... but he knows, every time she goes, she’ll come back for them. In reply to her question, Pestilence nods. “Yes,” he murmurs, “but I don’t know what this means for the balance.”
Even if it was Samael’s double... the balance has been tipped way off scale.
"This is where I want to say fuck balance and put all the bastards six feet under." War muttered, leaning closer to whisper those words across Pestilence's cheek. They come out as a slight jest, trying to keep the atmosphere light, because War knows that she cannot give into her urge to literally start a war. She clings to Pestilence because he'll keep her grounded for now. "Michael wasn't very helpful." War noted, "I spoke to him." A shrug.
"We'll see, right now what matters is you." She was completely sincere there, but also realistic, first they needed to heal before they could set the scales right again.
It makes Pestilence smile, albeit weakly. “And this is where I say fuck the non-fallens,” he mutters back, before leaning in and chastely kissing the corner of her mouth. He knows he has to be careful. Famine already got pneumonia, thanks to him. War doesn’t need to get it too. Broken bones and cracked ribs are enough. “You're right, though. We need to stop being cripples. Then we can decide how to restore the balance.”