Blackshot Ghosts [Closed]

[CastoffCaptain]

She'd spent so long perfecting her unfeeling mask that it almost extended inside her, walling her off from her own emotions. It was so perfect that unless someone knew where to look, how to look, one would think that the fear Jaxon revealed in his silence had no effect on her. But Kara ached at the sight of the kicked-dog darkness in his eyes, and anger flared up through her core. Ayden's presence kindled it. That gaping, gore-reddened wound wasn't the entire cause of their troubles, but a symptom of what had led up to this moment. Ayden's life-choices had done this to them. Every muscle in Kara's body groaned with the effort of holding still. She wanted to turn and look at him instead, to spit the question at him she'd so far been too distanced to ask: Why the fuck did you get shot?

Her free hand closed around the reliquary even though she didn't need to touch it to know Bernard was still unraisable. His disappearance was as much her fault as it was Miguel's, and in some tiny portion, Jaxon's, too, but all of her fury lined up with the dead Marine sitting nearby and locked him in its crosshairs. That singular focus left her blind to the fact that, had it not been for Ayden's death, she'd never have met Maverick at all. Or, if she had, she'd have paid him no more mind than any of the other thousands of people still in possession of in a living body.

Forcing herself to fill her lungs, Kara ran the hand Jaxon hadn't kissed through the back of her hair. Grabbing a patch of it, she gave it a gentle tug--a less than subconscious attempt to see exactly what the appeal was in doing it, and watched his facade crumble. It was as if he, too were taking a breath to ready himself for the next step in this hellacious marathon they'd been forced into.

How many shattered family photos had she seen in her life? How many grief-stricken people had shared with her the frozen moments captured before death had disrupted everything? In her experience, there wasn't much more that could drive despair even deeper into a broken heart than the proof that at one time, things had been okay.

At his words, Kara dragged her attention away from the younger Maverick and his baby-smooth cheeks, and peered into the eyes of the world-weary man beside her. She sniffed. Her lids lowered in tandem with a twisting of her lips.

"Jaxon," she stated, leaning in a little. "I've been meaning to tell you: you've got a real purdy mouth. Don't make me threaten it like I did your tits. I mean, not unless you actually want me to leave."

Which he didn't. Even a corpse could read that in his gaze. She dared him to say otherwise, unblinking and silent, pressing her body and her will forward into his personal space.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

It was stupid to doubt her, but it wasn't really her he doubted. Kara wasn't tied to him through obligation, and yet she was by his side, waiting for the downward spiral to begin. She had taken him into her sanctuary after his break, given him shelter after his slip into the past, which was so much more than what it seemed, for both him and her. The fear that hinged on her next words was stupid and ungrounded, yet it still gripped his very core. His experience spoke louder than his sense. Though she had told him (and he knew he shouldn't) not to judge her by the others who had judged him before, that was a battle of rationality, which was hard to fight while tight-walking over the emotional chasm he currently was gazing into.

A heartbeat after her welcomed invasion into his personal territory, he partly settled his somehow raging, yet empty mind through sheer force of willpower, aided by Kara's closeness. He didn't want her to leave. He needed, now of all times, the strength she granted him. He wanted the reminder of life she kept in his vision. More simply, the main drive behind his desire was the powerful, insistent surge of pure emotion, complex and incomprehensible, he felt in her presence.

Inhaling deeply, he gave her a small shake of his head, before lowering his chin, as if asking for forgiveness for his unfinished question. He leaned over, closing the limited space left between them, and placed his forehead against hers.

"Never," he told her softly, and the single word was followed by a small, rumbling exhalation of air. "Hm. And you're the type of woman that gives warnings instead of making threats, so I think it's best if I just shut up now."

The grin that tugged at the edge of his lips was small and just shy of being forced, a struggle to uphold a trace of normalcy against the storm that was already crashing down around the two.

Then he felt it: a subtle change in atmosphere, a prickle down his spine. Anger hidden underneath a mask of stern disappointment. He had felt it before, though that had been through reading of body language. Now it physically made its presence known, mutedly assaulting his senses. Ayden wasn't happy, and the rawness of his emotion made Maverick shift in his seat, barely fighting off the urge to throw a look at the marine.

Distracted in such a way, it made it easy for the second deadman to slip out from under Jaxon's radar. It took only a fraction of a second for the specter to disappear from the pool table. Then, in that same amount of time, he etched himself back into existence directly in front of the two, standing on the opposite side of the bar with his arms crossed upon the countertop. Now lacking the hat, his facial features were fully visible, and his eyes only echoed the roguish smirk upon his lips. "Touching, truly."

Maverick's gaze darted to the ghost, narrowing. Every muscle tensed, ready to pounce. His left hand curled inward, forming a tight enough fist that his knuckles turned white, and pain shot throughout his hand, due to the soreness caused by the bruises.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

A little laugh spilled from her in response to his humor. The crinkling at the edges of her eyes masked any impatience she felt. It wasn't his fault, of course. But just as Jaxon was unused to relying on anyone but himself, she was unused to lending herself out, and she'd be damned if his habit of testing their bonds didn't smack of dismissal. Whether he believed he was playing the gentleman or if he was drilling holes in his own boat to sink it before the storm came, Kara could understand Jaxon's need to shove her away, but that didn't mean it wasn't wearing thin around the frame.

The rational side of her mind quelled her knee-jerk assessment of the situation in a hurry. He was afraid. Terrified, even. The more he poked at her resolve, the more he could prove its strength when she stayed put. I-don't-need-you-please-don't-leave-me. What would Barry have called that learned psychological behavior?

Ah.

Anxious-Ambivalent. Right.

Forced or not, his half-joke was an inroad to keeping him sane.

Between the split-second it took her to process this and the breath that followed, the air in the bar stiffened. She didn't share the link with Ayden that his brother did, but she could sense how brittle the atmosphere had become. Chillier now, it held the stomach-clenching discomfort she'd have avoided in any other situation but this. It was the after-effects of a angry spirit, and this one knew she was here. She wouldn't look at him, but a tiny seedling of worry that had sprouted at the back of her mind began to bud: Ayden was going to be trouble. Bad trouble. Her mouth went dry.

But the other spook in the bar didn't give her a chance to shift gears, helped along by Jaxon. The living man looked directly at the dead one again, making the suspicion of being seen a fact, and in her haste to correct J's behavior, Kara clamped a hand down on his fist.

Inwardly, she groaned. Her own reflexes had been called into question with that one rash movement. Still, it was face him or face Ayden, and only one of the two had outwardly insulted the man whose hand she clung to. If the slender young (dead) thing behind the bar wanted to be acknowledged, Kara would be only too happy to oblige him.

Like onyx in oil, her eyes slid to meet his. It was motion that took a lifetime, conveying just how little she appreciated his disrespect. Her chin dipped, canting her head at an angle so that she glared up at him through hooded lids. Kara said nothing for a long moment, letting her disdain settle like sewage in front of him. Then, exhaling, she lifted a finger off of Jaxon's bruised knuckles and pointed it at the ghost.

"You gonna be a dick all your death, or you gonna cut the guy some slack?"

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Instinct overruled common sense. Staring was something Jaxon knew he shouldn't do, yet he found himself incapable of tearing his vigilant, narrowed eyes away from the threat, and that battle-forged compulsion was only reinforced by the resemblance the deadman shared with the ghost of Jaxon's past. The way these specters appeared suddenly, seemingly blinking into existence, only made it harder for Jaxon to wrestle the invisible wounds left from his past into submission; it screamed ambush, danger, automatically putting him on edge without a chance to rein himself in.

The hand that did its best to engulf his acted as an anchor, and after a heartbeat of strained silence, grounded the sailor's raging mind. His fist, though it didn't lose its form, loosened, releasing the tightness within his knuckles. His shoulders slumped, free of tension, but heavy with an ancient exhaustion. The only verbal acknowledgement he'd offer their uninvited visitor was a grunt. Following that forced sound, his lids closed over his weary green gaze, and his free hand lifted to run fingers through his hair.

The ghost's chin tilted just slightly in Kara's direction, his dulled gaze drifting between the two, before settling on the woman who had taken notice of him. With a click of his tongue, the conceded expression that sat upon his lips widened, and he stated simply, "Slack, my dear, was not my business." He let that ring for a moment, before giving her a slight shake of his head and shrug of a shoulder, "But I haven't been in business for quite some time now."

Maverick's hand dropped. His eyes snapped open. The slender man's words had been spoken so pleasantly, it would've been easy to overlook the darker implication behind them. Not quite a threat, but...Moving his jaw to the side, he eyed up the specter, trying to exactly place the deadman's intentions.

"Now that I know you're paying attention," the ghost continued, standing up straight to straighten his jacket and adjust his tie, as if readying himself for a speech. "Let's start again. My name is Alessandro Capitani-" He spoke like he expected them both to know the name, and was clearly watching for a reaction to it. "-and I was the owner of this fine establishment back in the day, when it was still a fine establishment." His eyes narrowed to give Maverick an accusing glare, which the former SEAL met without falter, stone behind his returning stare.

Posturing. The man was posturing. And Maverick would have none of it.

"Even with all your glaring, I must say, it's quite refreshing to have some other company besides our uptight friend over there." And with that last sentence, Jimmy Olsen finally stopped talking.

Maverick couldn't help it, but the mention of his brother compelled him to turn his head ever so slightly, just enough so that he could place the marine within his peripheral vision; Ayden was leaning against the pool table, arms crossed, and watching the three with a clenched jaw and blackened, steel gaze.

His own jaw set rigidly for the briefest of moments, and what he didn't see-no, what he couldn't read-within the faded green of his brother's eyes was more disconcerting than the anger that rolled from his form.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Even Kara's walls had limits. She wanted to keep the amusement from her face. She wanted to stay steeled and angry at the interrupting pest, mostly for Jaxon's sake, even if only on the exterior, but Capitani's outright verbal strutting was... well. Charming certainly wasn't the word. Endearing inched closer, but only in the manner one might find a crowing bantam such. He was attractive for a dead man, and somehow his arrogance made him moreso, if only because he tried so very, very hard at it... the poor sap. Not for the first time, she was grateful for having met Jaxon when she did.

If nothing else, the specter was entertaining without intending to be, and that pressed the laugh she struggled against further toward the surface.

Calm.

Guffawing at him wouldn't help. The urge arose in part from her frazzled nerves, a broken side-effect of the anguish she'd felt earlier. All sides of the situation were sticky, from Bernard's disappearance to the ghosts surrounding Jaxon, actual and remembered. Despite his fragility, the SEAL at her side had just readied for battle with the ghost--a reaction she should have anticipated-- and that made for a powder keg just waiting to be lit. Kara took a deep breath, stretching her lungs to the fullest. She let it go, carefully keeping it from easing into a sigh, and sat back just enough to allow herself to relax.

"First," she said as evenly as she could muster, "don't call me 'dear', Jimmy-O. It makes you sound like an old lady. Second, I'm guessing you were a man who was used to attention," or used to demanding it without response, she'd wager, "and being dead? You don't get that much anymore. At all. Must get lonely."

Kara scrubbed a knuckle under her nose, watching Capitani with a close eye before nodding. "I see you. I hear you. But you keep being rude to my friend here, and that'll stop. I'll drop you back into oblivion again just by taking J and walking out that front door. And trust me, he's happy enough staying at my place."

She had no idea how far the ghost's traveling range in the bar was. He'd either eavesdropped on their lovemaking or he hadn't, but if Leo had guessed their relationship, then Jimmy-O might've done the same just as easily. That meant he might just realize she could drag Jaxon away to her apartment if she tried, rather than calling her bluff. If, of course, she'd read him right.

Since J seemed just as surprised by the ghost's materialization as she was, she doubted he'd ever known the bar was haunted. Until he decided to speak directly to the ghost himself, she'd let the dead man assume what he liked about J's preternatural senses, and attempted to steer the ghost's attention away from him and onto herself.

Loneliness was an easy enough switch to flip. A little prodding, and she might just nudge him into playing nice for a bit.

Or exploding. Whichever came first.

"So let's start again," she continued, spreading her ring-adorned hand flat on the bar, "without the insults. I'm Kara. I'm sure you already know Rosencrantz and Guildenstern here. You're Alessandro, and I'm sure you've got one hell of a story to tell."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

No matter how long he stared out of the corner of his eye, the answer he was searching for in what remained of his brother was no more clearer to Jaxon than it had been when this uneasy feeling first washed over him; he didn't even know what question he was supposed to be asking, perhaps because he was blinded by old rules, old securities. But his skin was crawling, and his amygdala was racing, yet he couldn't tell what was real and what was not, due to how many times the trigger on his senses had already been pulled in the last few hours.

His attention had hardly been on their talkative visitor. Jaxon was adamant about not feeding the man, but when Kara did it instead, his head tilted in her direction, one of his brows arched, and his lips parted just slightly, as if to silently say 'really?'.

And Captain Crunch was all too eager to take a bite, the man's dead eyes seemingly sparking back to life. Dipping his head, his trademarked smirk danced upon his lips, and he folded his arms upon the counter, leaning in toward Kara just shy of a hair from too close for comfort. With his gaze focused on her, he stated matter-of-factly, "I have stories they wouldn't even tell in hell, darling."

Maverick's eyes cut to Alessandro, narrowing into a iron-forged glare that would've shaken a living being, but what could he do against the dead? The specter seemed to have the same thought, or was just so entertained by the one person who'd deigned to indulge him during his death that he paid no mind to the former SEAL.

"I was a legend back in the day," the ghost went on. "A smuggler of God's liquid gift to mankind. My family ran this city, and we did it from this very bar. You should've seen the place when I was in charge; it was a gem. We actually had matching stools."

Jaxon's brow furrowed, his teeth pressing against one another. Again he was reminded of a phantom not quite dead, but better left that way. He wondered-The thought was stopped before it could form; that part of his life was over, and the people in it buried in his past. And more importantly, he felt a need to bare his teeth at the gangster.

A mixture of things contributed to the way Maverick bristled at Alessandro's brazenness. First, he was intruding into Kara's personal space, which only further fueled his disdain for the man. Then, with how the dark rage radiating from his brother was already seeping into his gut, he had little patience for his posturing; some buried instinct compelled him to posture back, only in such a way that would quell the specter through force.

Yet again, the well-dressed phantom seemed not to notice the look that could kill aimed directly at him as he finished, "Some of the scuffs left on the brick? My doing. I was considered the best shot around these parts."

Maverick couldn't keep back the snort that escaped from his mouth, or the sneer that followed it, "And yet you hit brick."

Now it was Alessandro's turn to shoot a glare in Maverick's direction, his brows lowering to shadow his eyes. He talked to Kara instead, yet his eyes remained put on their current target, "I think I preferred it when he didn't talk."

Jaxon's mouth opened to retort, but then his stomach suddenly dropped. Where rage had gnawed at his gut, an emptiness was left in its place, hollowed and cold. He realized, suddenly, that he was feeling nothing, and jerked his head toward the pool table.

Ayden was gone.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

God, but the air was getting close. Kara's stomach tightened. The laughter she tried to box in was getting nearer and nearer to erupting. On one hand, this Capitani was an unknown factor, just as likely to be a harmless blusterer as he might be a ticking time bomb. On the other hand, Ayden's anger was palpable, gaining momentum, and it pressed against her inner ears with a force she'd have rather avoided, and would have, if it hadn't been for Jaxon. When had this shit gotten so difficult?

The lump in her throat answered that question.

When B had disappeared.

Like it or not, he'd been her anchor. His presence was a security against the unknown, a constant she could rely on, and without it, she was sailing blind into a storm she was now no longer confident she could navigate without sinking. Although she was far from helpless, it left Kara feeling exposed, and that was a pile of bullshit she wasn't about to accept.

Her chin lifted. Thoughts lined up to be turned over, examined, and brushed aside for her response to Capitani, when Jaxon plowed them over with his answer to the ghost. Where she was frazzled, he would be utterly frayed. His earlier, brief mention of his past didn't surface in Kara's mind to connect the gangster leaning in like a Brylcreem Lothario to the drug-running Jaxon had done before, fueling his unease. What did connect was the fact that the SEAL was none too pleased with the intrusion on his turf--both his home and herself, most likely--and the longer she let the both of them wave their cocks around, the sooner something stupid would happen.

Kara squeezed her reliquary tight. Her nails bit into her palm, the pain centering her only a fraction. Of the three men in the room, both the quick and the dead, it was Alessandro she'd hedge her bets on right now to stay the calmest. Something had to give. She opened her mouth to speak...

And one of the walls fell in. Ayden was gone. Kara was too well-trained in the art of don't-look to whip a glance past Jaxon to confirm the feeling, but she knew within seconds that it was true.

Shit.

"Jaxon," she murmured, squeezing his hand tight enough to grind his knuckles together, determined to drive home her message. "You gotta do something about him. He's gonna redline if you don't talk to him, calm him down." Kara sought his eyes, leaning so that she'd force him to look at her if he refused. "And I mean talk to him. Not like you talked to him at my place. They're not like us," she whispered in an echo of their earlier conversation. "You didn't see B, don't know how they can change, but you did see what can happen when they get angry. You don't need that right now. Your friends don't need that right now." Human, but not. Loved ones, but changed. She tilted her head at Alessandro without bothering to look at him. "He's the least of our worries right now. Go on, J. Go somewhere quiet, call to Ayden, and try to smooth things over. And I mean try. Don't make it worse. I'll be fine. I promise. I'm in shouting distance."

Kara didn't shrink from her next words. "My coat's up there if you need it."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Kara had spoken Jaxon's name, calling for his attention, but it was the pressure agitating the battered skin on his knuckles that drew it, breaking the hold that seeing the empty space his brother had once occupied had put him in. Yet her message was something he hardly wanted to hear, and if it weren't for her adamant demand that he do so, his gaze would've been far from hers. Without any other option, he stared into her eyes with a guarded expression, as he tried to find his footing in the barren wasteland of emotion Ayden's departure had left him in.

Curling his fingers inward, he tightened his fist. What was echoing throughout his mind was something he doubted she wanted to hear, but she dealt with this enough to know it. Decades of resentment, hurt, repression couldn't be erased with a few words. Death changed nothing but the present and future, only coloring the past in a shade of distorted what you should feel. It was the same story, same stalemate. Stubbornness aside, Jaxon was as equipped to handle Ayden as the marine had prepared him to be; both were incapable of giving the other what was needed, wanted. How talking could solve that wasn't something the SEAL could-didn't want to-understand.

Then there was the thought of leaving her alone, back exposed. Even forcing himself to push the gangster aside as a boastful smooth-talker with nothing to back up his claims, he was concerned about Ayden's intentions, wondering if his brother had been planning something behind that dark gaze. She had reminded him of her coat, because she had the same doubts he did about the marine's resolve.

Looping through these thoughts, he came to the realization that he didn't really have a choice, and that made his gaze hardened, his mouth twitch at the edges as if he wanted to snarl. It sat as well with him as the scar on his chest, but Ayden had to be dealt with, or shit was going to hit the fan, and Leo's presence in the bar would complicate things to another level, all of which Kara had already pointed out.

He inhaled deeply, and held the breath once his lungs were filled. After a heartbeat of steadying himself, he let it go, and relaxed the tension in his hand; the bottom joint of his pointer finger rapped against the surface of the counter, and his gaze shot to Alessandro, narrowing to give the specter a silent warning.

The time he took to stand told of his reluctance to leave. Sliding his hand out from under hers, he gently brushed his thumb across her palm, quietly stating, "We should've stayed in bed." His voice was strained, and he was too coiled to force the humor he had intended; however, his tone didn't lack for affection, dimmed as it might be by their current circumstances. His jaw flinched in the next moment of hesitation, and he would allow himself no more. Focusing his gaze on the exit, his heavy feet finally lifted to carry him out of the bar.

In the SEAL's absence, Alessandro clipped his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Don't think he can fit in your coat, darling. Might just tear the seams."

 

[CastoffCaptain]

She was taking an enormous gamble. Blood was no guarantee for safety. Just because Jaxon was Ayden's brother, that didn't mean the specter wouldn't hurt him. She was sending J upstairs under two ugly conditions: he was both green and blind. The man possessed muscle memory that wouldn't serve him if Ayden turned dark and should he need the weapons in her coat, he still might not get to them in time. Love, even as twisted and controlling as Ayden's, wasn't supposed to lash out.

"Be careful," she murmured, feeling stupid for saying it. It was no charm against danger. But the longer she hung around Jaxon, the more likely his brother was to slide into anger he couldn't come back from, and that wasn't something she stomached well. Kara stared after him well after he vanished up the stairs. Quietly, heart thumping hard against her ribs, she closed her eyes and called for Bernard.

Nothing.

Not yet--nothing beyond her own hope, the thrum of existence Jimmy Olsen put off, and the absolute certainty that the monk was still here though not here, buried under shame, burned out from exertion, or just simply hiding. One long, soft grunt of frustration slipped out of her control and peppered the air.

Fingers curled tight around the barstool, her jaw clenched shut, Kara couldn't quite force herself into nonchalance when she faced the newcomer throwing another cog into machine. Her necklace clattered against the bartop, uncomfortably loud in the ensuing silence.

"Well, babyface," she countered his darling with a flat stare, "if you're half of who you say you are, then you know it's not the size of the coat that counts, it's what you're packing. Listen," she said, watching the door to the kitchen behind him for life before leaning her elbows on the bar, "I need a favor. No," Kara paused and bit her lip, assessing the ghost's demeanor before continuing "how 'bout a deal?"

Again, she was gambling, but the odds were better on this gambit; that Alessandro had been stuck here for a long time was fact. That he was still sharp, savvy, and willing to talk was obvious. Whether or not he'd be willing to crow as much as he strutted was a little less sure.

"I need to know about those two. More specifically Ayden," she pointed to her forehead in case he had any doubt as to which brother she was referring. "I don't know a thing about him, who killed him, what I might be dealing with soon, or how to calm him down. I need information and I need it fast, and I figure you're about the best set of eyes anyone could ask for around here."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Alessandro's brow quirked at Kara's mention of a favor, yet it wasn't until she offered him a deal that interest flickered within his dead eyes, accented by the smirk that tugged at his lips and slight tilt of his head in her direction. He let her wait for a few moments of silence as he considered her situation, taking no offense at her prickly responses, because something far more captivating earned his attention. Had it not been for her last statement, her stab at his ego might've knocked him off his game, but she had just told him she needed the answers he could possibly provide.

He broke the stillness in the air with a chuckle, and shook his head in disappointment, clicking his tongue in a rebuking manner. "Darling, in the same breath you just dealt the cards and showed your hand." His words were flippant, and smugness settled upon the gangster's face, as if he were absolutely confident he had the upper hand. "While I do enjoy your company, I only have that to lose, boredom to face. But it sounds like your stakes are a lot higher. Never bring desperation to the negotiating table."

Straightening his back, Alessandro waved his hand to the side, making the fedora he had been wearing minutes before appear cradled between his fingers. He smiled at the hat, obviously taking pride in his little parlor trick, before setting it upon his head tilted so that part of his face was shadowed by the brim. "But everyone has a price. I might know some things. Quid pro quo. If I give you the information you desire, what shall you offer in return?"

---

The walk upstairs felt as if Maverick was climbing a mountain. Even the air was unnaturally cold, and the atmosphere paper thin. The trek down the hallway seemed to take longer than it should have, and outside the door to his apartment, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Tightening a jaw muscle, he turned the lock, stepped inside, and let the still silence fall over him like a shadow.

But he wasn't alone. He always knew when he was being watched; the primordial, animalistic part of his mind whispered 'danger', and he felt it like a dim fire within his veins, yet to fully spark to life. While he had been reluctant to even do this before, he now knew he had to. And he had to be careful about where he chose to tread.

Call to him.

He was already there, somewhere. Whispering his name felt wrong, as if kicking a rock into a motionless pond, disturbing the quiet. Instead, Maverick tapped the top of the piano once, barely causing a sound. His lips formed a thin line as he then slid back the top, and ran a hand over the aged keys, pressing one down gently to fill the apartment with the ring of a slightly out-of-tune note.

The song he started was simple, yet didn't lack for heart or beauty, even if he tripped over the keys a few times, having not touched them before now for a stretch of time too long for him to give a number. A minute or two into the melody, the tension in the air lessened. Tossing a look over his shoulder, Jaxon saw that Ayden had appeared, having once again claimed the seat by the guitars.

"We need to talk," the SEAL stated simply, taking a step back from the piano, and turning to face the marine.

"And do you plan on barking in my face this time, telling me what I will and will not say?" The anger was there in his brother's voice, but at least for the moment, it seemed maintained.

Jaxon's jaw clenched, yet he forced it to loosen. A heartbeat passed before he answered, "I'm here now, talking. Isn't that what matters?"

The marine's eyes narrowed for a moment, before he leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. "First, you will listen, and for the first time in your fucking life, what I say to you won't go in one ear and out the other."

Maverick began walking, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. The soles of his boots pressed hard against the flooring, and should one be listening and paying attention downstairs, they would be able to track his progress to the kitchen counter, where he dragged a barstool, the one home to Kara's coat, before Ayden. Taking a seat, the SEAL rested an arm against the back, planting a foot firmly on the stool's bottom rail. Lifting his chin, he responded simply, "All right."

 

[CastoffCaptain]

She could have forgiven the smirk, could have let the darling go and played his game, teasing both his ego and the answers from him with a little word-play and some negotiation, but the disapproval he conveyed in just a shake of his head and that look cut the thread he'd begun to weave between himself and Kara. Her jaw seized at the slimy-slick condescension he slathered onto his tsk-tsk, sealing a mouthful of fury behind it. And of course, Alessandro just had to keep talking.

Although her days of Catholic school were long behind her, the wounds still bled-- tension-filled days when Barry and Isabel did their damndest to keep her on the straight and narrow with a sit-down in the parlor and a good, stern talking-to that always ended in a yes, but we know best, sweetheart. She no longer was forced to face the headmaster after detention who, with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head that the deceased man in front of her now recalled with deadly accuracy, called both her intelligence and her sanity into question. But the visceral reaction to that tone, that fucking look, kicked her hard in the guts and with her toes curling in her boots, Kara

simply

shut

down.

His mini feat of prestidigitation didn't faze her. She neither glanced at the hat nor took her eyes from his when he half-veiled them behind its brim. Kara watched Alessandro, unblinking, conveying a world of condemnation with a stare just as lifeless as any ghost she'd brushed by in the past. In no hurry to respond, she angled an arm resting on the bar top so that she could slip her chin into her cupped palm, her pinky vanishing into the corner of her mouth.

A muffled piano note insinuated itself into the silence, barely audible through the ceiling overhead.

Her boot creaked against the rung of the stool.

When she finally moved, pulling her finger from her lips with the tiniest of sucking sounds, a sigh accompanied her shift from her perch to the floor. Kara didn't hurry--her steps toward the kitchen door weren't a retreat; rather, a casual removal of herself from a situation she no longer found agreeable.

"Do you," ever actually hear yourself talk, "know why I don't play poker, Al?" Halting at the end of the bar, she spoke quietly, listening both for signs of Leo and for any hint of activity above. "Because it's boring."

Four more strides and she'd be standing at the threshold. She took the first.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Alessandro didn’t follow after Kara, yet his head tilted to allow him vision of her progress toward the door that would close off any further contact between the two. This was a game, like everything was a game, and the gangster was not accustomed to losing, nor did he appreciate it. At least all cards were on the table now; he could work with that.

He waited, giving her time to take another step. The bar was silent in that moment, save for the shuffling and quiet humming of the blonde giant within the kitchen. Splaying his hands upon the countertop, Alessandro leaned forward, and finally broke the silence, “Your man had a set schedule, and religiously kept to it. Interestingly enough, he began breaking that schedule a few weeks before he disappeared.”

Turning his head in her direction, he focused his gaze upon hers, setting his hat back upon his head so she’d have full vision of his mischief-filled eyes. The smirk upon his lips said that he knew things, the way his brow raised upwards declared that it was her move. “The way a man or woman plays poker tells a lot about who they are, just how capable they are, which makes it one of the most interesting games in the world, my dear. Besides, it never hurts to separate the bad liars from the good ones.”

----

Maverick knew what was going to spill out of his brother’s mouth, and had it been any other day, under any other circumstances, he would’ve stopped Ayden before the marine could get a single word of the sewage out. Yet the SEAL didn’t want to push things too far, didn’t want to use the weapon at his back against the man who shared his blood, so he let him speak uninterrupted.

“You’re blind,” the marine started lowly; his voice was strained, just short of a growl. “And when you’re not blind, you’re short-sighted. The woman you’re fucking? You’ve known her for a day, and already you’re shaking down her exes for her. It feels like we’ve been here before, doesn’t it? With you all too willing to shut your damn brain off for a pretty face.”

Jaxon had wondered how long it’d take Ayden to rub his nose into the dirt of his past, to use his involvement with Kara as an excuse to chide him for decade old sins once more. Because he couldn’t let go. Couldn’t forgive. But more than that, Ayden wanted control, and Jaxon was realizing that, slowly, but surely. The resentment the SEAL had built up in his subconsciousness was knocking at the forefront of his mind, making the anger sparking in his blood harder to contain.

His eyes dimmed with a quiet, sinking rage. Clenching a fist, he spoke a drop lower than his brother had, “Her name is Kara, and this is not about her, no matter how hard you try to make it. It’s about you and me, and your inability to let me move on. Because you can’t stand the thought of me making a decision without your fucking approval.”

“And that’s because you’re incapable of making good decisions.” The air was becoming thicker once again. Ayden’s eyes were blackening, hollowing. “If it weren’t for-“

“I owe you nothing, Ayden,” Jaxon stated firmly, bringing the specter to a halt. He knew he shouldn’t say it, but he had to. Years spent trying to prove his worth to his brother had left him empty. It was time to break free. “This is my life. Yours is already over.”

Dead eyes stared into steeled ones. A cold crept across Jaxon’s spine. His body tensed.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Kara stopped a hair shy of swinging the door open. Her fingers curled beneath the plexiglass window that spilled light from the kitchen, her skin cooled by the battered wood. Alessandro seemed to have barely stopped her; a hitch forward in her body might have been a delayed attempt by her subconscious to keep going, despite the tidbit of information he'd just relinquished. What her expression might have revealed had she not inclined her head away from him was another story.

A peek at Leo through the window gave her an idea of how much time she had left before he returned with breakfast. Another located a container of Morton's salt on a shelf, but not the second weapon she'd rather have in her arsenal, should the situation call for it.

And Kara feared it might. Dread pressed down from above, growing steadily thicker by the second. She couldn't help but cast a glance at the ceiling, her teeth squeezing her bottom lip white. Leo would most likely not be able to feel the effects of Jaxon's Rider yet-- he might never detect it-- but Ayden was broadcasting his anger clearly enough for it to write worry across her face.

There was no point in panicking. Either Ayden would turn or he wouldn't. The only thing she could do in the meantime was prepare herself, and there was precious little she could do on that front save to wait, listen, and take advantage of the spook smirking at the other end of the bar.

"Come on, B," Kara whispered, and then strode over to Al, where she halted half an arm's length away.

In another life, he'd have presented a problem for her with that baby-smooth face and his laughable charming annoyance. Had he not deigned to patronize, she might have discovered a soft spot for him behind her carefully barricaded heart, but the circumstances left little room for anything but Jaxon and the danger he didn't know he faced.

Kara met the former gangster's eyes with a frank stare. That she stood so close was a clear indication that his deadness didn't impact her courage. That she held his gaze for for longer than was comfortable spoke to not only her willingness to see him, but that the aversion to his kind which was so ingrained in the living was completely absent from her body. Kara's attention simply was, natural enough to her that she didn't marvel at the strangeness of it all.

"I play chess, pal, not poker," she murmured, her pinna piercings gleaming in the bar's soft light, "and while this might be a game to you, it's getting really fucking serious for me."

She took a breath and continued. "So, yes, I just showed my hand," she dismissed his gaming reference with a flap of fingers and an eyeroll. "I can listen to you, if that's what you want. You can tell me your stories, cry on my shoulder, brag until the cows come home. I can do more than that if you give me a chance, but I can't and I won't do a damned thing for you if anything happens to that man upstairs. Help me," she spoke those two words slowly. "A name, a date, anything to stop Ayden from exploding. I don't meet many people I give a damn about in this world, but I'll bet you don't meet anybody, Al, not anymore."

A swing of her arm indicated the width and breadth of his world, narrowed to a few brick walls and the tether death had placed around his neck.

"So be the good guy for once. You know--someone worth being seen."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

A flicker of amusement filled Alessandro's eyes as Kara walked back toward him, and his smirk only became more smug, if such a thing were even possible. He seemed assured that he had won, that her retreat back into his shadow was a surrender. Yet it was anything but, and his self-confidence dimmed as she went on in her speech; while the humor was gone from his gaze, he held her own with something less than moral goodness, yet more than pure self-interest. Tilting his fedora forward, he considered his options.

"The days blend together," he offered at last with a shrug of his shoulders. "And I'm bad with names, darling, particularly when I don't care to remember them. But I do remember faces." He paused, tapped a finger against his chin. "Buzz cut, red beard. About this tall." His hand raised a few inches above his own head. "Hazel eyes. Didn't start coming around here 'til about a week before your uptight friend took the bullet. Stopped showing up after he did."

He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, turning his gaze towards the ceiling. Placing a hand on the brim of his hat, he pulled it over his eyes. "We can talk more later, darling."

Then the spot above them on the ceiling thudded loudly, as several pounds of pure muscle hit the top floor like thunder. Not a heartbeat later, the sound was followed by the clambering of metal, and the rolling of a chair. Both were echoed by a questioning grumble from Leo, the shuffling behind the door suggesting that the Viking was coming to investigate.

---

Deep down in his mind, Jaxon had seen it coming. Alarms had blared through his mind, and his body had prepared itself, even if he had wanted to belief that Ayden wasn't capable of such a thing. But every human was capable of becoming a monster, and what Kara had been trying to tell him finally clicked home: that fact was especially true for ghosts. His chin had tilted downward to protect his neck, one hand busy jerking a packet free from Kara's jacket, the other lifting to guard part of his face, when the smack of pure energy collided with his torso.

He had never been hit as hard as that in his life, and he'd been on the wrong end of a bullet. Air knocked out of his lungs, pain resonating throughout his body, he had just enough time to knock the chair back with a kick of his leg to prevent it from falling on top of him; it landed a few feet away with enough force that it rolled until it hit the opposing wall.

Tearing at the bag with his teeth, he ripped it open in desperation. His heart pounded in his chest, working overtime to pump adrenaline throughout his bloodstream. Across the room, the remnants of his brother, changed into a shadow of what he once was, was approaching, silent and tall, rage radiating off his body in waves. Darkened blood ran down his face, pouring from the hole in the center of his forehead, above the black, soulless eyes that stared him down.

He looked like Maxson, head blown out from the back, meat and blood spilling from the wound.

The brick-colored dust tasted foul on Jaxon's tongue.

His breathing became erratic, memories flashing through his mind like a iron-hot brand burnt into his skin.

On his back, he saw a flicker of a demon, vile and twisted, like the reaper come to claim his soul.
The pistol was heavy in his hand. Blood spilling from his chest, he pulled the trigger.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
The thing kept coming.
So he kept shooting.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Men were coming.
Breathing heavily, he changed targets.
Bam. Bam.
One went down screaming.
Bam.
His aim was getting worse now, his vision dimming.
Bam.
Another.
Bam.
The slide of the sig shot back.
He was going die. In that moment, he knew he was going to die.

On his back, he spat the material in his mouth at Ayden, throwing what was in the bag towards him. He coughed in the cloud that was left behind, pants and shirt dusted with red.

Ayden growled, his form flickering as the spray hit him. Then he was gone, but not truly. Jaxon still felt him, like a weight tied to his gut.

His body shaking, he fought, trying his best to regain himself, trying to stay in the present. With Ayden out of his sight, worry took ahold of his mind.

He stumbled as he stood, pain stabbing at his chest, but he had to move. Had to get downstairs. Had to warn her.

"Kara," sputtering out more colored spittle, he wasn't able to get her name above a whisper. He tried again, this time with a hoarse yell that made his throat raw, "KARA!"

 

[CastoffCaptain]

So he probably knew his killer, Kara nodded. Grateful for what little information she could glean, she opened her mouth to say as much, but the thought never left her tongue.

She felt it the blow before it landed. Ayden dispersed energy like an earthquake, and Jaxon's landing was the aftershock. Her stomach slammed into her boots even as the chair crashed into the wall upstairs.

"No," she murmured, the sound ending on a hiss. Staring at the ceiling, alarm rooted her to the spot, shifting rapidly into fear --fear not for herself but for the man who she'd sent untested and alone into a room with a wraith who knew nothing now but hate and anger and the desperate, ravenous need to hurt. And he would. Blood meant nothing at this point. She'd suspected that tie to be unraveling from the beginning, and had known Ayden for a Rider from the get-go rather than a companion, a friend, a loved one like Bernard. She hadn't needed Jaxon's recollections to cement that theory. What she'd seen pass between the two had solidified that belief harder than steel.

The sound of her name spurred her into action. Kara leapt toward the kitchen, Alessandro forgotten. She shouldered through the door at full tilt, barely missing the mass of blonde and grumble behind it. Her hand fisted into Leo's shirt as she ran, shoving him backwards and dragging her with him all at once, or at least as far as her momentum would carry the two of them.

"J's in trouble!" She rammed past Leo and vaulted onto the counter top to reach the container of salt on the shelf. On the way down, she snapped at him, her tone feral, demanding. "I need a bowl, a lighter, and sage--dried-- upstairs! NOW!"

She didn't wait for an answer. Fuck him if he didn't follow.

Banging through the exit, she hurried around the bar, screaming internally for Bernard while she whispered two words over and over again like a magic spell that could raise the dead.

"Te absolvo, te absolvo, te absolvo, te absolvo, B, te absolvo-"

Bernard wouldn't leave her on her own. He couldn't. And even if he did through no fault of his own, her stride wouldn't falter any more than her resolve. She'd made Jaxon's brother a promise. Clutching the salt tight in her hands, she flung herself at the stairwell on a tide of rising fury, fully intent on keeping it.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Jaxon's heart pounded like thunder within his chest, his muscles tensed to ready for the next attack, and his mind was working overtime, processing his overloaded, danger-heightened senses. This primitive state was one he knew well; he'd been taken into it a thousand times before, and it had been honed to keep him alive through experience and training. He was forged to fight, readied for battle. But how could he fight something that was already dead?

Grinding his teeth together, he moved toward the door. His first priority was to haul ass downstairs, make sure Ayden-no, it wasn't Ayden, but some faint echo of what the marine had once been-hadn't decided to change targets. Right on the heels of the opening of an old wound, the thought, the soul-shaking fear of losing someone plagued his mind, adding a level of desperate, yet determined vigor to his motions.

It wasn't until he was a distance away from the mess of goofer dust on the floor that he felt the air spark once more, and a distinct lowering of temperature on his left side. Hand on the knob, he had begun to push the door open, and had just enough time to once again lower his chin, compact his body to protect his vitals, before the second blow connected. Landing against the back of his shoulder, the momentum from the hit sent him flying forward and down; the door slammed against the outer wall, as Jaxon crashed into the ground in the hallway.

The SEAL could take a punch and far much more, but the sheer brutality behind the assault was pushing his constitution to its limits. Grounded. Trapped. There was little he could do but try to outlast the storm.

Helpless. He was utterly helpless, like the kid from a lifetime ago, hiding in the dark to escape the fury of the man he refused to call father.

Rage answered rage. With his hands still covered in the dust that had been in Kara's coat, he shoved a portion in the direction of the wraith that had been charging for another attack. A hiss filled the air, and the shadowy mass of blood and hate redirected, slamming into the brick wall instead. Jaxon used the opportunity to regain his footing, though pain jolted throughout his shoulder and chest, and he was keenly aware of how difficult breathing was becoming. But he wouldn't have to hold out for much longer.

Kara was on her way, followed by Leo, who had stopped in his trek up the stairs, materials the frightening little woman had requested in hand. Eyes wide, the Viking was stunned and lost; even with all the shit he had seen in his life, nothing could prepare him for this life-altering shitshow. Yet he couldn't do nothing, and with a shake of his head, a grumble in his native tongue under his breath, he made an assumption about what Kara had been planning to do with what he was carrying, and lit the dried sage within the bowl.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

She reached the door to the stairwell in four strides, skidding into the wall. Rebounding, Kara took the stairs two at a time, breath forgotten, no path but forward.

Anger.

Hate.

Clarity.

Action displaced thought in this moment, hollowing out fear, tossing aside confusion. Leo followed; she felt him at her back just as surely as she felt the gathering turbulence above her. Halfway up and she spotted Jaxon, wounded but standing, healthy enough for now, and raced past without a word. The next heartbeat awakened muscle memory stretching back a hundred generations. It surged through her blood, unblocking senses clogged by the mundanity of everyday life.

Jaxon.

Jaxon was.

Jaxon was three feet behind her, angled to the left. She could smell his bruises spreading. Leo--six steps down, already lighting the sage, the heartbeat thundering in his massive chest getting faster, faster. Bernard coming, weak but near, a storm on the horizon. Mortar crumbling in the brickwork by the doorjamb, a spider scuttling behind the bed, and Ayden... there.

Salt was such a simple thing. Once a king among spices, it now graced every dinner table, done and dusted in both price and significance, but one thing had never changed: its purity. It sanctified and protected, preserved the holy, and tore down evil. Long before the psalter and the Benediction, it had cleansed the darkest spirits from daylight's inverse and ripped apart demons in their lairs.

It was a weapon.

Kara raised her voice in a scream she didn't hear and leapt for Ayden, her handful of salt flung across the pristine, white arc unleashed from the canister held in the other.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Battle was chaotic. Always had been, always would be. A confusion of foes coming to blows, stripping down layer after layer of higher-consciousness until nothing was left but the need for survival. Yet the world became simple. Bare-skinned, priorities fell easily into line. Even with his heart racing, rage hazing his mind, Jaxon's focus was razor-edged sharp. He knew what needed to be done; the separation between himself and the other had already happened. The pain that would come from the wounds, both the physical and deeper ones, incurred during these moments would have to be processed in the aftermath.

But in this second, he was in the here and now.

Kara's scream, which he knew held not a hint of terror, but was instead a howling war cry, assaulted his ear drums, jerking a portion of his attention in her direction. The salt collided with Ayden's form, and the wraith let out a low, rumbling, inhuman hiss. His translucent skin seemed to dissolve in places due to the white grains. Either dark smoke or pure shadow flickered from his brother's hollowed body; Jaxon couldn't tell. He assumed the former, due to the taste of ash on his tongue, the smell of burnt flesh.

And then Ayden was gone, leaving nothing but a mess of salt outside the doorway behind him. But the threads that connected him to Jaxon thrummed with existence and pure fury, so intense it could've grounded the SEAL were it not for his steeled will. And fear.

Jaxon felt the chill his brother left in his wake, the sickening energy that was built in his short-lived absence, and it made his heart drop. Because he knew the target; had their roles been reversed, it was the same one he would've put in his crosshairs.

Not again. It was still fresh in his eyes: the relived image of dirt mixed with Maxson's brain matter, the overwhelming smell of blood and death.

Not to Kara.

He moved without thought. After a few quick strides forward, he reached out to grab Kara, hurriedly trying to pull her down into the floor, so that his body could be used to cover hers. Behind them the air grew stiffer, colder, and the frantic clambering of a giant trying to make his way up the stairs could be heard.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

In another body, another life, Kara would have buckled under the weight of the supernatural entity flooding the room. Her hind-brain would have rebelled, just as desperate to incite escape as to deny Ayden's existence. Even the most well-adjusted, least-sensitive person would have been able to sense the malignancy embedded in the walls; she'd seen it happen once before, years ago in the basement of a library opened for the first time. Nausea, dizziness, and sheer terror had swept over the construction workers who scrambled from the scene, fleeing the thing Kara could only later describe as rot and teeth and insatiable hunger.

But there was a peculiar peace in her awakening. Her limbs hadn't strengthened, her speed hadn't increased, but the ancient caveman panic that should have shoved her into a fetal position down onto the floor was simply gone. Fear hummed in the distance as a spectator. Anger melted into righteousness. There was glory in her clarity and she would destroy the aberration blackening the atmosphere and be joyful in its demise.

Kara drew her arm back to lash out again, legs bent on a swivel, when movement displaced air behind her.

Jaxon. Moving in to protect her. Moving in to block her from her target.

Alarm flared. "No!" Rage and betrayal filled the word. Kara dodged; Jaxon's grab caught cloth and jewelry at her chest, throwing her off-balance. Ripping herself out of his grip, she righted herself in the next breath, sending the shattered shrapnel of her choker spinning through the air. She twisted around, one leg angled behind her, the other right bent low at the knee. With the first two fingers of her free hand poised on either side of her mouth, readying to spit, Kara leaned into the oncoming hellstorm like a firebreather.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

In the heat of battle it only took a millisecond for everything to change. Yet the adrenaline flooding through Jaxon's veins slowed the world down to crawl; the sand falling inside the hourglass felt like centuries instead of short-lived moments.

His heart thundered in his chest. With his fingers slipping from the fabric of Kara's shirt, there was nothing more he could do to guard her from his brother's wrath. A frustrated growl tinted with desperation escaped from his clenched jaw. His momentum barreled him forward. Jerking out his hands, he was able to catch himself before he crashed into the ground.

The air smelled of electricity and smoke, thrummed with dark energy. An ear-splitting screech shredded the atmosphere, as Ayden charged back into existence. The shapeless wraith of hatred and anger stormed into Kara: a full attack of pure force aimed at her torso.

Panic turned into rage. Rage fueled Jaxon's leashed violence, threatening to break the chains that held his savagery in place. Even with his blood humming in his ears, fury blocking out his basic self-preservation instincts, the world became simply clear.

Dead or not, Jaxon was going to make his brother bleed.

Sliding forward to the mess of salt left on the floor from Kara's first attack, he clenched a fist around what residue grains he could gather, catching a look of Leo out of the corner of his eye. The Viking was frozen in place, feet planted against the last two stairs, eyes widened with fear and confusion, and the bowl of sage burning between his palms.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Kara knew Ayden would strike. She knew the where, the how, and the speed, but it meant nothing. With just enough time to half-turn her shoulder into it, she took the blow in its entirety. White heat exploded through her. Vision cracked, blanked by the sunburst behind her eyelids. Thrown airborne, momentum curled her around the salt canister, saving her from broken limbs as she tucked and rolled through no effort of her own. A wall stopped her. Blood roared in her veins, deafening her to everything but the breath whickering through her nostrils.

At least she could still breathe.

Drawing her knees up under her, her cheek pressed to the floor, Kara groaned. The sound began as a weak, shallow thing that faltered, then paused. It returned, hitched, hitched again, grinding its way into a crimson-toothed and winded chuckle.

"Fucker," Kara wheezed, staggering to her feet. She swayed, her legs bent, a blossoming pink mark across her temple evidence of a coming bruise. "'Bout time you picked on someone your own size."

Kara dropped the canister, its cardboard walls crumpled and leaking. Salt coated her hands; she lifted her right one as if to ward Ayden off out of fear, palm facing the stain of his energy. Slowly, her ring and pinky fingers curled to meet her thumb.

"Sancte Míchael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto præsidium."

She could sense him, just as she could sense Bernard gathering behind her.

she didn't have permission

"Tuque, princeps milítiæ cælestis, Satanam aliosque spíritus malígnos," Kara traced out the sign of the Benediction, grains of salt tumbling from her fingertips. "Qui ad perditionem animarum pervagántur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude." Kara had no need for an amen.

she didn't have permission

One step toward Ayden--both a dare and a threat--and she gestured with her other hand for Leo to come forward. She couldn't look at Jaxon. She wouldn't. Ayden had crossed a line he couldn't come back from, not without drawing blood, and she'd be damned if it would be J's. But they were still brothers, and kinship made people stupid. If either of them realized what she was doing before she got much further--

but she didn't. have. permission.

Bernard flickered into her field of vision to her right, blurred and undulating. He was stripped of the former darkness which had dampened his frame before he'd disappeared, as if his rage had burned it away. Strong enough to return, too weak to solidify much, his blue eyes flared out of an alabaster countenance hovering several feet above the floor. Kara's grin was vicious.

fuck permission.

She'd warned them both.

Stepping forward again, her voice raw and brutal, she spat the next words at Jaxon's brother in a rush.

"Deus caeli, Deus terre, humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate, laqueo, et deceptione nequitia, omnis fallaciae, libera nos--"

The beginning of Ayden's exorcism.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

It called to him: the sins of the his father, the lifetime he'd spent dealing in blood and death and pain, the chill of excitement every time he pulled the trigger. Violence answered violence. It would be simple and freeing to just let go all control, to stop denying his own nature. Was it really slipping if he wanted it? In the end, the result was the only thing that mattered.

He watched Kara hit the wall.

And
Went
Berserk.

Nothing else mattered. His existence narrowed down to a single purpose. His senses closed off the world, instead focusing sharply on his target. Breathing rapidly like a wild animal, his eyes darkened with hate and rage. His blood blazed red hot. Fear was forgotten, a distant memory. Baring his teeth, he clenched his fists around the salt.

Ayden's back was turned, darkness radiating from his form. The man Jaxon once called brother was intensely focused on Kara and her chanting, and answered it with another inhuman, low hiss that filled the small hallway. Anger rolled from his form like a tempest. And that anger was met with Jaxon's own. Like a shark drawn to blood, he took advantage of Ayden's exposure. Salt in hand, he leapt toward the specter, flinging a white cascade down as if he were throwing a punch.

The wraith could not move as easily as he had before, did not have free reign over his own existence. With a shriek, he resorted to throwing a hit toward Jaxon's stomach, sending the SEAL flying back.

Leo had answered Kara's beckoning, and the Viking was standing at her side. Though fear had taken root in his beating heart, his body tensed, as if he wanted to join the fight.

Back hitting the ground, Jaxon did not stay down. Pain was repressed by the chemicals burning through his veins, and his better instincts that told him to stay put were ignored, replaced by his desire, his need, to cause harm. He rolled onto his side, hopped back to his feet, and charged once more with the salt in his offhand.

The marine's form was weakening, his foothold in the world being ripped from his grasp. His need for self-preservation told him to change targets, but he wasn't given the chance. He answered Jaxon's blow with his own, sending his brother back into the floor.

It was getting weaker, however, the hits Ayden was dishing out, some part of Jaxon's mind whispered. With his mind hazed, clarity all but forgotten, he couldn't decipher exactly what that meant.

He just knew he had to get back onto his feet, and with a snarl, he started to rise.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

This was purpose. This was real. All that had come before had been a dream, all that would follow would be life. Her blood sang a chorus through her veins, driving her into Ayden's horrible sphere... when Jaxon charged. Somewhere in a remote corner of her brain, fear for J's safety interjected itself, retreated, then flared again when Jaxon got up and did it again. Even as the Latin cascaded from her tongue, her new preternatural sense screamed at the next hit she knew he was going to take.

Too late.

She lunged forward and around Ayden, crouched low like a cat, Bernard following. He had begun his own prayer, his voice hard and honed to an edge that would have chilled her had it been any other moment than this. Kara had never heard the prayer before, but managed to translate it even as she continued with hers.

In the name of the most Holy Trinity,
Of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
Get thee hence, Ayden,
Bringer of strife, destroyer of families!
Trouble not your brother,
Nor those he holds dear,
By the intercession of the immaculate heart of Mary--

She would have grinned at him if she could, but had time for little more than a peek at him out of the corner of her eye. The half of him visible was radiant, beautiful, and terrifying, strong enough now that even Leo might see him.

One more stride placed her in front of Jaxon with her back turned to him, blocking him from Ayden's wrath. Focusing on the wraith, her left hand whipped behind her, signaling a demand for J to halt. Pointing at the floor, she ordered him to stay put with a snap of her fingers.

"--terribilis Deus sanctuario suo. Benedictus Deus," she continued. This was her heritage. This was her birthright. Every cell had been created for the fight, and she reveled in it. The air keened around her, visibly fluctuating with each spoken word. Without fear, Kara paused to stare at the wreck of emotion that had once been Ayden. Her brows furrowed. Pity flickered across her face.

"Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum."

She nodded at him, took a breath, and shoved her salt-coated fist into the darkness that had been his heart. "Amen."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Jaxon would not stay down. Pride overruled common sense. His heart beat with the rhythm of a war drum, and he would answer it with the last breath he took. Blinded by his rage, he did not stop to think about the circumstances. The consequences. This was his battle: an explosion of repression and anger and hurt and every other nasty emotion tied to the name Ayden Franklin Asher. He paid no heed to Kara's demand for him to heel, and he would've shoved past her for another charge-

-Had it not been for the strong arms that constricted around his torso, pulling him back. Leo's weight brought Jaxon down onto his knees, and the Viking wrestled to keep him there. The SEAL thrashed, growled, and as he watched the final moments of Ayden's existence, let out a rumbling howl that drowned out the soft words of the man above him, spoken in an attempt to soothe him.

The lighters within the building thrummed, before flickering in and out. It was hard to tell if the screech was from the strained, buzzing electricity or Ayden himself, but with Kara's last assault, Jaxon's brother disappeared, the shadows around the wraith's body consuming themselves until he simply wasn't anything at all.

And it felt like having a part of him ripped from his very being and a weight lifted from his shoulders at the same time. Ayden Asher was gone. His brother had died a second time; he finally realized, the cloud of his own fury lifting, what Kara had been doing, the purpose behind the Latin that served as a conduit between her and B's God. He wanted to laugh bitterly, but the only sounds he choked out were a series of low grumbles made between hurried, harsh inhalations of air.

"Get the fuck off," he snarled at Leo.

The Viking waited a moment, as if Jaxon's words took time to register, but after the SEAL jerked around within his gasp, he finally let go. "What...What the hell just happened?"

Jaxon didn't answer, even if it was a question that warranted a response. Leo had just unwittingly, unwilling been drug into Kara's world, one Jaxon had founded himself tossed into just only a step before his friend, and deserved an explanation. Yet Jaxon didn't have the energy to give the man one. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind pain in its wake, spreading like an infection from the discolored skin littering his torso. With it went came exhaustion, battle-worn and world-weary. It was an effort to stand, and it was sheer willpower that kept him on his feet.

He was tired, so very fucking tired. And it wasn't even over yet.

The smell of sage was making him sick, the smoke that filled the small space made the air that filled his lungs feel too thin, and he couldn't get enough to just breathe. And it felt crowed, the small space, with his own massive frame, Leo's, Kara's, B's, even the asshole gangster downstairs.

He tugged at the chain around his neck, lips forming a hard line, as he made his way to Kara. Boots falling heavily against the flooring, he tilted his head slightly in B's direction in a half-hearted greeting, and came to a halt. Hollowed eyes examined the mark on Kara's forehead, yet avoided her own.

It wasn't her fault. She acted. She did what needed to be done. She even proved loyalty, coming to his defense like a storm. Any other circumstances, he would've felt a spark in his blood in response to the fight in her. But even in the absence of his existence, Ayden never let things be simple.

And Jaxon just felt empty.

"You all right?" He asked softly. "Anything broken?" He made his gaze lower, seeking her own.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

As the last wisps of Adyen's being faded into nothing, Bernard slipped over to Kara. His approach was like sunrise over snow, warm and welcome, stabilizing her where she stood. She reached out to the monk with her palm toward him as she'd done the day before, unable to bring into words the emotions that shoved aside both her physical pain and the burgeoning understanding of what had just transpired. He was forgiven, and that was all that mattered. Bernard mirrored her gesture, still only strong enough to manifest as a cloudy half-figure with a few details sharpened to outline his face and the hand he reached toward Kara.

She exhaled, tears threatening. The extension of herself she'd barely had time to acknowledge, much less come to terms with, was ebbing, but not so much yet that it couldn't affect the monk's touch. Startled, Bernard's gaze snapped from her fingers to her face, his eyes wide and disbelieving. Jaxon's approach prompted Kara to withdraw and cradle her hand to her chest with a single nod and a stripped-down smile that said:

yes. i felt you, too.

But the hard-won joy was short-lived. J's howl had been heard beneath the rush of adrenaline and her own form of battle-lust. Kara knew that, despite the madness he'd succumbed to, Jaxon understood his brother's disappearance was permanent. This loss would be forever. Anxiety tightened her stomach muscles while her fading hyper-senses left her with watery legs. The latter carved a hole in her heart, the former was fueled by the fear of losing the man she'd become so close to, so fast.

He was going to blame her. He was going to tell her to get out. He was going to--

"What?" Kara blinked. Jaxon's inqueries came on the heels of her return to normality. She put a hand to her ear, stunned by the dullness of the sounds around her. Color had drained from the world. She could no longer judge distances by the thrum of an object's mass, its weight, its energy.

"No," she whispered, not in response to him, but to the loss of what she'd so briefly had and been. She was vaguely aware that she should have been focused on Jaxon and the destruction Ayden had left in his wake, should have turned to give him comfort, but the deprivation was complete.

Her legs buckled. The pain her supernatural side had been forestalling came rushing in, and she crumpled to the floor on her knees.