[Fic] The Wheel
Title: The Wheel (3/3)
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 5,400
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase, now in another school, meets a young witch and learns that his actions have a price that has nothing to do with his power, and everything to do with how the wheel turns. ( Part One || Part Two)
VII.
Senior Prom came with a surge of excitement that passed around them both. She seemed almost untouchable by the fluttering of all the other girls, what they would wear, who they were going with, as though such decisions had been made a long time ago and she was only now carrying them out. It was a bit disconcerting. He didn't want to be responsible for her hopes and dreams, or hear about it if he shattered them.
She laughed, once, when he looked at her with that thought in his mind and told her that she wasn't as concerned about the details as the rest of her year. She just wanted to have a good time, whether or not her dress was in the latest fashion and what sort of hairpiece to wear or what kind of corsage he would get her. It was a little uncanny how she had anticipated his thought. Nonsense, she said, he had that same terrified look that a lot of boys got when their girlfriends made unreasonable demands. Just because she was different didn't mean she didn't watch.
Underneath that was a warning. Too long with her and he was becoming complacent, becoming at ease. Just because she was different didn't mean she was stupid. He'd have to watch out for himself.
They went to the Prom arm in arm, traditional, like a real couple. She looked beautiful in her dress, white, cut like something classic from the turn of the century. He'd said so when he'd picked her up at her door, after everyone had already left, before they'd gotten there. He'd take her out for sushi later. He knew where there was a place open late.
No one had expected her to show up, from the expressions on their faces. No one expected her to have a high chin and a posture that said she was enjoying herself, and to hell with whatever anyone else thought. To have a smile that was bright and genuinely cheerful. He almost admired her a little for that, for being the subtle class pariah or at least the quiet weirdo and not caring. Maybe it helped that she was in love with him. He didn't know, couldn't understand that part of it. It didn't make much different to him. They were all sheep.
He took her out to the floor and danced with her to the songs they could dance to, spinning and whirling on the floor, caught in their own little bubble in time. She had a pretty smile and her hair fell golden over her shoulders. He wanted to bunch it up in his fists.
Afterwards they went to that little restaurant she knew and talked about it, laughing. She didn't make fun of the other kids, the way some of the guys had gotten trashed or some of the comments the other girls had made. He'd caught a couple guys staring at her in ways that would make their girlfriends take revenge later. She either hadn't noticed or didn't comment.
He asked her about that, if it was an ugly duckling moment. She said it was kind of like a charitable act, her being so confident in herself that most of high school couldn't touch her, acting how she wanted to and being unrestrained so that the rest of the school had someone to look down on. She had her eyes towards her sushi at that point, making sure none of the soy sauce or ginger got on her dress, so she didn't see the look on his face. It was better that way.
It was past her bedtime, but he convinced her to come with him out to the gazebo on the campus. Just to hang out for a bit, because he didn't want the evening to end. True, as far as that went. He had plans for her on this night of all nights.
VIII.
It started with a kiss. It suited him to start with a kiss, wasn't that usually the way fairy stories and all that bullshit went? Always a kiss.
She was warm in his arms, a nice contrast to the cooler spring air, and her dress was as soft as her skin. His hands cupped her face, cupped her shoulders, and slid downwards.
"Mm…" she stopped, turning her head a moment with a small smile. He'd never really pushed before this, only indicated once or twice. "No, please. Not tonight."
It was a casual kind of brush-off. The kind that had gotten used to him being a gentleman. Idiot.
"Aww, why not?" Now the underneath-Chase was out, the dark Chase, the little bastard who'd killed his father and his step-father and threatened to rape her doppelganger. Maybe not that close, but still. "You can't be that shy."
She did draw back, startled at his voice. Something in her eyes looked like hurt, pain, surprise. "Chase…"
"Come on," he grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed his way down her neck. "You've been panting for it since…"
Since when? He didn't get to say, not when her pointed fingers came up and sharply into his throat, making him choke on his words. The hell? Where had she learned that, some martial arts movie? It startled him enough to let go, and they both drew back from each other.
Her stare was flat, and unfriendly.
"What the hell, Gin?" he rasped, his voice still struggling to be heard.
"I was wondering when you'd try something," she said. "I didn't think it would be so soon. Chase Collins, Chase Godwin, Chase the hunter. The great white hunter. You're a fool, Chase."
Godwin?
"What are you talking about?" Except he kind of worried that if she knew about that then she knew about the other, and if she knew about the other and she called herself a witch.
No way.
"Catching on, are you? I heard about you, but not from your brethren. Corrupted bloodlines. That's why they were thrown out, you know, why they had to keep quiet. Not because of any superstition. They were corrupted and cursed and no one wanted that kind of thing rubbing off."
This was a piece of history that he would have paid for with a great deal, especially if he could go back and throw it in Caleb's face. He knew more than the bastard did. If it was true. If it was telling the truth, and he wasn't sure she was. He was on his guard now, scooted back against one of the posts, staring at her like he was just meeting her for the first time. In the space of two minutes they'd gone from cute dating couple to warrior witches on opposite sides.
And she'd stopped talking. She was watching him.
"You don't know a damn thing about it," he said, and he sounded angry, but it was all a trick to get her to talk. She smiled, and it wasn't mean, it was sad.
"I doubt you do. It's been a few hundred years, and you were kicked out of the outcasts. That has to sting, doesn't it, Chase?"
He watched her slip off the bench, move towards the gate as though she would leave. She didn't look like she had leaving on her mind, though.
"It won't rub off, people make their own choices. I don't believe it passes down in the blood, either. But you've made some very bad choices, Chase. And you're going to have to stand for them, whether you like it or not."
There. Those words. Those were dangerous words and he called energy to match them, feeling his eyes burn to black as his fists clench. "You don't know what you're talking about."
One stomp of a tiny foot flattened him to the floor, chest down.
"I do. Sadly."
She crouched down by him. He could see her white-clad knee, her slippered foot. Her chin. Her fingers, as they reached towards his face, and he bit at them.
"You've broken a lot of rules, Chase. That's going to come around to haunt you in the end. Always does."
The pain started with burning. With the world closing in on him and the sound of metal shrieking against metal, tires exploding. There was screaming and a sensation of panic, not for him, but for those around him. The protective instinct of a true father. He burned to death, not once, but twice. And then he kept on burning.
IX.
When he woke up he was alone, and there was moisture on his face and he was staring at the blurry roof of the gazebo.
Every muscle, joint, and bone in his body ached. His toenails ached. His hair ached. He had the taste of bile in his mouth and half-digested sushi. He could feel dried tears on his cheeks. His fingers curled, clenched, and flexed again, and curled back to an at-rest position, fascinated in a detached and angry way with how the muscles worked in his hands. It was also an expenditure of the only energy he had left. So he lay there for about an hour more.
Why hadn't anyone come looking for him? Hell, no one cared, who was he kidding. After a little he was able to roll over and push himself to his knees. He couldn't remember what had happened to him.
No, that wasn't true either. He remembered everything.
He had been screaming, and she had screamed too. Not as much. Whatever she'd done hadn't been as painful for her. All his past sins coming back to haunt him, she'd said. That's the way the wheel turns. And the wheel keeps on turning, so remember this for next time. It had hurt her, not as much as it was hurting him, but because she'd done it. But she had had enough energy to limp away, to walk away. And he couldn't.
He would have screamed if he'd had the strength. That was the difference between them, between whatever kind of witch she was (he wasn't laughing now) and what he did. She could walk away. She could walk towards, and he couldn't. There was no going towards anything for him. He was dying and she'd probably carved away a few more years of his life with that little stunt.
A few minutes or hours later and he did scream, pushing himself to his knees. And screaming, hoarsely and weakly, because he didn't know what she had done to him. Because he didn't know what he wanted, except to live. It hurt, everything hurt, and she'd carved off more pieces of him that didn't know about the consequences and didn't care to, rubbed his nose in it like a bad puppy. And then left him. In the rain, in the mud. Screaming.
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 5,400
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase, now in another school, meets a young witch and learns that his actions have a price that has nothing to do with his power, and everything to do with how the wheel turns. ( Part One || Part Two)
VII.
Senior Prom came with a surge of excitement that passed around them both. She seemed almost untouchable by the fluttering of all the other girls, what they would wear, who they were going with, as though such decisions had been made a long time ago and she was only now carrying them out. It was a bit disconcerting. He didn't want to be responsible for her hopes and dreams, or hear about it if he shattered them.
She laughed, once, when he looked at her with that thought in his mind and told her that she wasn't as concerned about the details as the rest of her year. She just wanted to have a good time, whether or not her dress was in the latest fashion and what sort of hairpiece to wear or what kind of corsage he would get her. It was a little uncanny how she had anticipated his thought. Nonsense, she said, he had that same terrified look that a lot of boys got when their girlfriends made unreasonable demands. Just because she was different didn't mean she didn't watch.
Underneath that was a warning. Too long with her and he was becoming complacent, becoming at ease. Just because she was different didn't mean she was stupid. He'd have to watch out for himself.
They went to the Prom arm in arm, traditional, like a real couple. She looked beautiful in her dress, white, cut like something classic from the turn of the century. He'd said so when he'd picked her up at her door, after everyone had already left, before they'd gotten there. He'd take her out for sushi later. He knew where there was a place open late.
No one had expected her to show up, from the expressions on their faces. No one expected her to have a high chin and a posture that said she was enjoying herself, and to hell with whatever anyone else thought. To have a smile that was bright and genuinely cheerful. He almost admired her a little for that, for being the subtle class pariah or at least the quiet weirdo and not caring. Maybe it helped that she was in love with him. He didn't know, couldn't understand that part of it. It didn't make much different to him. They were all sheep.
He took her out to the floor and danced with her to the songs they could dance to, spinning and whirling on the floor, caught in their own little bubble in time. She had a pretty smile and her hair fell golden over her shoulders. He wanted to bunch it up in his fists.
Afterwards they went to that little restaurant she knew and talked about it, laughing. She didn't make fun of the other kids, the way some of the guys had gotten trashed or some of the comments the other girls had made. He'd caught a couple guys staring at her in ways that would make their girlfriends take revenge later. She either hadn't noticed or didn't comment.
He asked her about that, if it was an ugly duckling moment. She said it was kind of like a charitable act, her being so confident in herself that most of high school couldn't touch her, acting how she wanted to and being unrestrained so that the rest of the school had someone to look down on. She had her eyes towards her sushi at that point, making sure none of the soy sauce or ginger got on her dress, so she didn't see the look on his face. It was better that way.
It was past her bedtime, but he convinced her to come with him out to the gazebo on the campus. Just to hang out for a bit, because he didn't want the evening to end. True, as far as that went. He had plans for her on this night of all nights.
VIII.
It started with a kiss. It suited him to start with a kiss, wasn't that usually the way fairy stories and all that bullshit went? Always a kiss.
She was warm in his arms, a nice contrast to the cooler spring air, and her dress was as soft as her skin. His hands cupped her face, cupped her shoulders, and slid downwards.
"Mm…" she stopped, turning her head a moment with a small smile. He'd never really pushed before this, only indicated once or twice. "No, please. Not tonight."
It was a casual kind of brush-off. The kind that had gotten used to him being a gentleman. Idiot.
"Aww, why not?" Now the underneath-Chase was out, the dark Chase, the little bastard who'd killed his father and his step-father and threatened to rape her doppelganger. Maybe not that close, but still. "You can't be that shy."
She did draw back, startled at his voice. Something in her eyes looked like hurt, pain, surprise. "Chase…"
"Come on," he grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed his way down her neck. "You've been panting for it since…"
Since when? He didn't get to say, not when her pointed fingers came up and sharply into his throat, making him choke on his words. The hell? Where had she learned that, some martial arts movie? It startled him enough to let go, and they both drew back from each other.
Her stare was flat, and unfriendly.
"What the hell, Gin?" he rasped, his voice still struggling to be heard.
"I was wondering when you'd try something," she said. "I didn't think it would be so soon. Chase Collins, Chase Godwin, Chase the hunter. The great white hunter. You're a fool, Chase."
Godwin?
"What are you talking about?" Except he kind of worried that if she knew about that then she knew about the other, and if she knew about the other and she called herself a witch.
No way.
"Catching on, are you? I heard about you, but not from your brethren. Corrupted bloodlines. That's why they were thrown out, you know, why they had to keep quiet. Not because of any superstition. They were corrupted and cursed and no one wanted that kind of thing rubbing off."
This was a piece of history that he would have paid for with a great deal, especially if he could go back and throw it in Caleb's face. He knew more than the bastard did. If it was true. If it was telling the truth, and he wasn't sure she was. He was on his guard now, scooted back against one of the posts, staring at her like he was just meeting her for the first time. In the space of two minutes they'd gone from cute dating couple to warrior witches on opposite sides.
And she'd stopped talking. She was watching him.
"You don't know a damn thing about it," he said, and he sounded angry, but it was all a trick to get her to talk. She smiled, and it wasn't mean, it was sad.
"I doubt you do. It's been a few hundred years, and you were kicked out of the outcasts. That has to sting, doesn't it, Chase?"
He watched her slip off the bench, move towards the gate as though she would leave. She didn't look like she had leaving on her mind, though.
"It won't rub off, people make their own choices. I don't believe it passes down in the blood, either. But you've made some very bad choices, Chase. And you're going to have to stand for them, whether you like it or not."
There. Those words. Those were dangerous words and he called energy to match them, feeling his eyes burn to black as his fists clench. "You don't know what you're talking about."
One stomp of a tiny foot flattened him to the floor, chest down.
"I do. Sadly."
She crouched down by him. He could see her white-clad knee, her slippered foot. Her chin. Her fingers, as they reached towards his face, and he bit at them.
"You've broken a lot of rules, Chase. That's going to come around to haunt you in the end. Always does."
The pain started with burning. With the world closing in on him and the sound of metal shrieking against metal, tires exploding. There was screaming and a sensation of panic, not for him, but for those around him. The protective instinct of a true father. He burned to death, not once, but twice. And then he kept on burning.
IX.
When he woke up he was alone, and there was moisture on his face and he was staring at the blurry roof of the gazebo.
Every muscle, joint, and bone in his body ached. His toenails ached. His hair ached. He had the taste of bile in his mouth and half-digested sushi. He could feel dried tears on his cheeks. His fingers curled, clenched, and flexed again, and curled back to an at-rest position, fascinated in a detached and angry way with how the muscles worked in his hands. It was also an expenditure of the only energy he had left. So he lay there for about an hour more.
Why hadn't anyone come looking for him? Hell, no one cared, who was he kidding. After a little he was able to roll over and push himself to his knees. He couldn't remember what had happened to him.
No, that wasn't true either. He remembered everything.
He had been screaming, and she had screamed too. Not as much. Whatever she'd done hadn't been as painful for her. All his past sins coming back to haunt him, she'd said. That's the way the wheel turns. And the wheel keeps on turning, so remember this for next time. It had hurt her, not as much as it was hurting him, but because she'd done it. But she had had enough energy to limp away, to walk away. And he couldn't.
He would have screamed if he'd had the strength. That was the difference between them, between whatever kind of witch she was (he wasn't laughing now) and what he did. She could walk away. She could walk towards, and he couldn't. There was no going towards anything for him. He was dying and she'd probably carved away a few more years of his life with that little stunt.
A few minutes or hours later and he did scream, pushing himself to his knees. And screaming, hoarsely and weakly, because he didn't know what she had done to him. Because he didn't know what he wanted, except to live. It hurt, everything hurt, and she'd carved off more pieces of him that didn't know about the consequences and didn't care to, rubbed his nose in it like a bad puppy. And then left him. In the rain, in the mud. Screaming.