#welsh manor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perseidlion · 2 months ago

Text

The Case of the Marriage Retreat - Payneland Fake Marriage (M, ongoing, regular updates.)

Edwin and Charles go undercover to an Welsh manor house for a week-long couples retreat. They are there to investigate a black market magic auction. While they investigate, they are pretending to be a young married couple. Edwin has accepted that Charles doesn't feel the same way about him. But pretending to be married stirs up feelings he thought he'd learned to live with. And Charles? He's experiencing what it's like to be seen as a bisexual man for the first time. Maybe it suits him better than he thought it would?

Chapter 1

“Are we sure this is the best way to crack this case, mate? I mean, we could just haunt the place and watch them,” said Charles.

The Dead Boy Detectives stood behind a giant old oak by the gate of an old manor house in the Welsh countryside. The building was as imposing as it was beautiful - and more than a little creepy. It was made of washed white stone in a C shape - three storeys high and a presence against the misty rolling hills of the land surrounding it. The building had once been owned by some extremely wealthy lord, and the architecture reflected that storied and wealthy past.

It was late autumn and there was a snap in the air that promised frost. Even with most of its leaves gone, the branches of the oak were close enough together to obscure the pair from the occasional car that rolled up the lane.

“That’s still part of the plan,” said Edwin. “But if we enter as ghosts, we must remain as ghosts. Which means we’d lose the opportunity to question anyone should the need arise. If we enter with disguises in place, we can do both.”

Edwin shifted his weight and clasped his hands firmly in front of him. He stared up at the house and tried to push down nerves. Buildings like the manor house brought back unpleasant memories of his childhood. Although his family was not in possession of a stately home of their own, relations once removed did. That meant he’d spent holidays at a house like that - a perpetual outsider even though he looked like he belonged.

“Right, well, Crystal registered us by posing as our travel agent,” said Charles as he pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket. His endless backpack was draped over one shoulder. Both also had small roller suitcases packed with items one might need for a week-long retreat in the country. “If anyone asks, we took an…” he consulted a note from Crystal, “....Uber from the train station.”

“Well,” said Edwin as he tugged on the front of his jacket. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to begin our investigation. You’ve got the disguises?”

Charles stuck his hand into the backpack and pulled out a ring case. He popped it open and presented it to Edwin. “Should I get down on one knee?” he quipped.

Inside were two wedding bands. One was gold with a strip of silver, and the other was silver with a strip of gold.

Edwin felt his mouth go dry. The reason for the rings was purely practical, but the symbolism was a gut punch given his recent confession on the steps of Hell. “Which…em…which one is mine?”

Charles eyed Edwin. “You alright? It’s not too late to back out.”

“No, no. This is…” Edwin took a deep breath, “...this is far too important. “If this retreat really is a cover for trading in dangerous magical artifacts, someone must put a stop to it.” Then he stuck out his hand at Charles, fingers splayed. He looked away like he was about to get a shot.

Charles eyed him, then shrugged. He picked up the gold ring with the silver stripe down the middle, then slipped it onto Edwin’s ring finger.

Edwin felt the energy of the spell trickling out from the ring the moment it was on. A magical bluish fog enveloped him and twisted around his body.

The first time donning a disguise was always very strange. It was as if the magic was forming itself to his body and coupling with his spiritual essence.

The spell Charles had endowed the rings with was heartier and more solid than their usual disguises. As ‘Aunt Cindy’, Edwin did not feel the world any differently than he did as his real self. He was also incapable of eating or drinking, and the spell would lose power after a time.

The rings weren’t gold and silver by accident. The metals were endowed with alchemical principles that made them their own battery to both power the illusion and make them altogether more real. The inner band could be twisted to activate or deactivate the illusion as needed.

The rings were powered by their ghostly essence, which had the side effect of making them sleepy. While wearing disguises, they’d sleep about seven hours a night to recharge the magic.

For that reason, and for the length of time they’d be spending undercover, they’d opted for faces and bodies not that unlike their own.

When the magical smoke cleared from in front of Edwin’s eyes, he looked down at a larger and thicker pair of hands and a plain navy blue suit with a t-shirt underneath. He was also wearing a faun wool overcoat in a classic and aristocratic cut.

Charles was likewise examining his hands. His disguise was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with curly hair - though not quite as curly as the real thing. He was a little taller, but a fair bit broader. His eyebrows were thick and expressive. He was wearing jeans with a black t-shirt, a plaid overshirt and a black leather jacket.

When he smiled at Edwin, it was all Charles, no matter how different he looked. Edwin would have found his disguise handsome regardless, but knowing it was him provoked a ping of longing.

“Fucking aces,” said Charles. “Blond suits you.” His accent was still his own, but his voice was quite different.

Neither of them knew for sure why it was impossible to craft a disguise that was identical to their ghostly forms. Edwin’s theory was that if it were possible, it would be akin to coming back to life. Which is something Death would obviously not allow. The disguises they were wearing were as close as Charles could make them to their real selves as the magic would let him make them.

Edwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He poked a passcode into it just like Crystal had shown him and opened the camera app. Usually he resisted using technology, but Crystal rightly pointed out that two young men in their twenties who didn’t have phones would stick out. So she’d given them both a crash course in How Not To Look Like An Old Person Using a Phone 101.

Edwin flipped the camera around to selfie mode like Crystal had shown him. The face that was staring back at him was less like himself in some ways than Charles’. He still looked incredibly aristocratic, but his hair was golden blond and his eyes were blue. His features were altogether softer. He touched his cheek and his lips, which were quite full.

Charles stepped up beside him and draped his arm around his shoulders. He leaned into the frame and hit the button to take a photo with a big smile on his face, his cheek pressed against Edwin’s. “We look brilliant. I think this is going to work. C’mon, let’s get inside.” He clapped him on the shoulder and then grabbed the handles of both their suitcases and started to drag them up the lane.

Edwin stared at the photo of two strangers. They looked very different, but the longer he looked, the more he saw the people they truly were.

“Come on, mate!” called Charles. “Or should I say, babe.” He winked. “ I can feel the cold and I don’t much care for it.”

The cold?

Edwin slid his phone away and then rubbed his hands together. He did feel a little cold. “Fascinating,” he murmured to himself. What other sensations had the disguises given them?

“Edwin! Come on!” called Charles from where he’d already engaged a couple making their way up the walk.

Edwin straightened his shoulders, then made his way up the lane to join Charles.

—

The entryway of Llanfair Hall was packed with arriving guests sipping welcome cocktails as they waited to be escorted up to their rooms. Porters moved through the crowd and collected bags from the guests in exchange for a ticket. There was a banner that hung above the great hearth that was crackling with a blazing fire.

WELCOME TO THE LLANFAIR HALL COUPLES RETREAT

By the time Edwin made his way through the hall and past the crowd, Charles was already at the front desk signing paperwork.

“Ah, there you are. Was wondering if you got lost or something,” said Charles. He was brimming with energy and excitement.

Edwin smiled gently. It made him happy to see Charles so excited, even if he was rather uncomfortable. “Here I am,” he replied. He hadn’t spoken since he’d donned the disguise. His voice was quite similar to his own, except deeper and more resonant. He walked stiffly up and stood beside Charles.

“Maria, this is my husband, Edwin,” said Charles as he signed the paperwork.

They’d opted to keep their first names for the same reason the disguises weren’t that different from their real selves - to reduce the chances of slipping up. They’d spent an inordinate amount of time brainstorming surnames until they’d landed on Bond-Holmes.

It was laughably easy for Crystal to guess which part of the surname belonged to whom. She warned them people would point it out, but they hadn’t been able to agree on any other combination of names. So Edwin and Charles Bond-Holmes it was.

“Welcome, Edwin,” said Maria, a round-faced woman in her early thirties with braided hair and a lovely Welsh lilt. “Is this your first time at Llanfair Hall?”

“Ah, yes, yes it is. Though my family used to summer not too far from here,” said Edwin. That was the truth. And that was why the architecture of the Hall invoked such strong - and not altogether pleasant - memories.

“Can I just say…” said Maria as she leaned in, “It’s lovely that we’ve got so many couples such as yourself this time around. We’ve really been trying to let folk know that everyone is welcome here.”

Charles was visibly confused for a moment. He blinked, then looked at Edwin and he caught her meaning. “Oh! Oh. Yes. Em, yes. Well, all marriages need a little help sometimes, yeah? That’s what they’ve got in common.” Then he stood there smiling awkwardly.

“Charles,” said Edwin gently. “Perhaps we should let the next guests check in?”

“Right, right! Well, it was lovely to meet you, Maria.” Charles grinned. It was remarkable how much of his real self shone through on his new face.

“Let me know if you need anything, Misters Bond-Holmes. Have a wonderful stay,” said Maria. “We just ask that you wait for a porter to escort you to the room so we don’t get congestion on the stairs. It won’t be but a minute. You’re some of the last to arrive.”

Charles swept a pair of keys off the counter and stepped away. He leaned in to murmur to Edwin. “This might be more difficult than I thought. I know it would’ve been harder for you, but it’d be easier for me if your disguise was a woman.”

“Yes, well,” said Edwin tightly. “I’m not. So you’ll simply have to deal with it.” He reached out and grabbed one of the keys and then started up the steps despite Maria’s instructions. He wasn’t sure why exactly that bothered him so much, as it had been his idea to make his most often-used disguise a woman. But something about it in this context felt like a rejection.

“Edwin!” Charles called after him.

But he didn’t stop.

Edwin made his way through the crowd. He felt anxiety creeping up his spine. It took him a moment to realize that he was anxious because he wasn’t accustomed to being seen by so many people. He’d chosen an older woman as a disguise in part because he did not want to be perceived by the living world as he truly was. In his current form, people saw him very close to his real self, sexuality and all. It made him extremely self-conscious and eager to get out of the public eye.

He climbed the twisting wooden grand staircase up to two levels to the third floor. Edwin kept out of the way of porters carrying bags up and escorting guests to their rooms.

There were thirty rooms at Llanfair Hall, which meant twenty to thirty couples there for the retreat. The majority of them were not likely aware of the dark magic auction and were instead used as cover. But some of them were there expressly to pick up dangerous dark items. The challenge would be to figure out which was which.

There was a healthy mix of same-sex and heterosexual couples he passed on the way to the room, which made Edwin feel less self-conscious. Most were in their late twenties up to early fifties, well-dressed and either stylish or posh. The retreat was not five stars, but the accommodations were luxe enough to attract a more upscale clientele.

It was too early to start building profiles of people and everyone was on their way to where they were going in a bit of a hurry. There would be time for a proper investigation later.

Edwin made his way to their assigned room, which was down a narrow hall in the west wing of the hotel, away from most of the other guests. They had chosen that one on purpose, to make their comings and goings easier.

On instinct, Edwin tried to phase through the door. He bounced off it rather embarrassingly, since the spell made him as solid and as real as a living being. He reached a hand up to touch his stinging nose.

“Well that was an altogether foolish thing to do,” he muttered to himself.

Then Edwin fumbled with the key and turned the lock. He pushed it open to reveal a large and inviting room with exposed wooden beams and high ceilings. The walls were covered in rich wood panelling while opulent carpets covered the floor.

There was a seating area with a small table in front of a fireplace that was warm and inviting. A welcome basket and a schedule for the week sat next to it. Their suitcases were already waiting on a side-by-side pair of folding luggage racks. All the furniture fit in very well with the historic setting while not looking run-down or kitsch. It was the perfect balance between luxury and modernity.

Past the seating area was a large king-sized bed with a beautiful handmade quilt and contrasting throw pillows in shades of red and gold. A large steamer trunk sat at the end that brought back vivid memories of time spent in similar estates as a child. Past the bed was a small balcony that looked out over the back garden and a small pond. There was a giant portrait on the wall of a hunting scene. The painting was dated 1917 in the lower left hand corner.

Edwin closed his eyes and tried to centre himself. As he did, he began to really take stock of all the ways the spell was acting on his body. He could feel a residual chill on his skin from the time spent standing outside. He could smell the wood of the old building, and the faint hint of woodsmoke from the logs in the fireplace. He rubbed his finger over the surface of the wedding band. It felt cold to the touch but was quickly warming up the longer he spent indoors.

When he opened his eyes, Edwin found himself staring at the bed.

The bed. Singular. And one of the things the disguise did was make sleep a necessity.

Edwin’s cheeks burned hot. He turned away to face an old silver mirror with gilded edges. The blond posh young man stared back at him, his aristocratically pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He shifted and looked away.

Edwin found himself hoping against hope that the investigation would take up most of their time. Otherwise it was going to be a very long week.

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

#dead boy detectives #fanfic #dbda #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #dead boy detectives fanfic #ao3 link #payneland #edwin x charles #charles x edwin #fake marriage #fake dating

20 notes · View notes

xticklemeemox · 2 months ago

Text

The Love You Want: III, Part Twenty

Note: annwyl is Welsh, a term of endearment. Based on my research: Annwyl means "dear, darling, beloved, loved, cherished, favourite; precious, choice, chosen, pleasant, lovely; loved one, friend", and anwylyd means dearest. Taken from https://www.omniglot.com/language/endearment/welsh.htm.

As of right now, Four means it as "darling" platonically, and "friend." For now. Ehe.)

word count: 18,780 or thereabouts

ao3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

"Good evening, how can I help you today?"

"Yes, hello, I'd like to fashion these into a pair of earrings if you're able."

"That's doable, sir. Might I ask where you found such detailed pieces?"

There's a pregnant pause, a furrow between brows, the stretching of lips into an unsure smile, "Ah, sorry, I don't really remember.. They just... have a lot of sentimental value. I think."

Time passes, Nick and Sam begin to frequent the manor. Sam is always more welcome than Nick, in Vessel's eyes. The other man is kind, funny, and doesn't make Vessel's skin crawl with discomfort. His touches are friendly, they do not wander where Vessel would only allow II or III to touch him. Vessel has taken to locking his door, knowing that II and III may think it was due to their surprise. He just doesn't want Nick in the last safe space he has within his own home. At least Vessel still has his lovers' rooms. They have never minded his company, welcoming him with open arms that Vessel wishes he could just sink into. Where before, Vessel loved to carry his plushies around, now he is almost afraid to leave his room with one clutched in his arms. Nick's words keep ringing through his ears, and Vessel doesn't want them to get torn up.

Vessel becomes clingy when Nick comes to the manor, shadowing II and III while trying not to feel guilty about that clinginess. He could practically feel Nick's disgusted, disguised judgment being cast upon him as he held on to the hem of III's shirt. He couldn't find it in himself to care enough. Vessel has decided he is going to take whatever love they give with palms cupped to receive it.

He can't help but cringe away out of embarrassment when Nick catches sight of all the little bruised, lingering teeth marks on II's exposed biceps during practice. Vessel revels in the sight of them usually, but the look on Nick's face has him wanting to hide.

Watching II run his fingers over them with a shadow of a smile when he thinks Vessel isn't looking is slowly weeding out that embarrassment, though. Vessel wishes he didn't feel embarrassed at all.

One sunny morning finds the vessels all gathered in the kitchen, an off day for them unless they have any sudden musical inspiration. II's injury still bothers him, but the days it is bad are fewer and farther between now. Many of Vessel's nights are spent in dreams with Four. Not all of them begin as nightmares, but most do. For the most part, Four tries to keep their conversations light, easy, far from Vessel's tumultuous past that he still has the misfortune of bearing witness to. Vessel doesn't mind, soaking up the little tidbits he is learning about the other man like a sponge, and sharing little facts about the scenery he conjures up. Four seems content to listen, never asking Vessel to quiet down, and it reminds him of the clemency his lovers often show him when he gets too into whatever historical or biological fact he is going off on a tangent about. Regardless, this is all to say that Vessel is tired, but it is a good sort of tiredness, borne of testing out the lengths his magic can go within dreams, exercising it like a muscle.

A bit lost in thought, he doesn't notice III watching him, pretty blue eyes flicking up now and then from their given task. Vessel has been noticeably distracted of late, though based on the bond, it is not due to anything negative. He doesn't notice as III's attention returns entirely to their task of whisking eggs, humming gently, along with II, the song he had written for the shorter man, tentatively titled Drag Me Under. Vessel finds himself reliving the memory, something fond and warm filling up the empty cavity of his chest, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

After they'd all awoken from the night of loving sex that Vessel's mind had wandered back to for days, Vessel had played the song on his piano for both II and III, going red at III's teasing 'I told you so.' II had been confused until being informed that III had known all about the song Vessel was writing, having known exactly how II would react.

II was oddly pleased that III clearly knew him so well, pressing a kiss into III's back where they had sat in his lap so all three of them could fit on the piano bench. Vessel was already starting on another song, a slightly slower rendition of Victor's piano solo from Corpse Bride, which they had watched recently. The film had resonated with him in a way Vessel could not properly describe, but the tune had been in his head, itching to be played by his own fingers.

"Why don't we bring your piano out into the foyer, Ves? There's a good spot for it near the staircase."

III had lit up, nodding along in agreement with what II was suggesting, though Vessel seems to retreat into himself, anxiety and fear making ripples in the previously calm bond.

"Is that not... too much noise?" Vessel had asked, voice as suddenly stiff as his shoulders.

II's brow had furrowed when Vessel chanced a glance over at him with his top set of eyes, just barely turning his head. "Of course not, you play so beautifully. I would love to be able to hear it properly without the muffle from the practice room."

"You will not break it...? You'll tell me if I'm being too loud, won't you? Please, tell me you will not smash it." Vessel turned his head to them fully, finally revealing the tears gathered in his eyes.

II and III had shared a surprised, concerned glance, unsure as to what exactly brought this reaction forth. "Why would we smash your piano Vessel?" III had asked, voice so soft that it had Vessel ready to spill exactly what happened, hand moving to rest on Vessel's thigh.

He wanted to tell them how his third partner had smashed his electric keyboard to pieces in the middle of him playing it. He wanted to tell them that she had taken the only thing he had left, that Vessel had never wanted to die more in those following days and that he had tried, and tried, desperate to rid the world of himself, until finally, Sleep found him.

So, Vessel shares the story, leaving out his attempts and just how badly it had destroyed him, though he could not hide his agony if he tried. She took his music, and with it, snuffed out what little life he had left within. The piano had been the first instrument he'd been allowed to learn, and the one he could not live without. He recalled the way her small fists had struck him until he was so beaten down by her hits and withered under her harsh words that it had been easy for her to drag him to the bedroom once she considered him sufficiently punished for all the noise he'd made with the instrument.

"If she wanted you to be quieter, she could have fucking asked." II hissed once Vessel was done, burying his face into III's back to hide the truly awful thing that must have been his expression.

"She never asked me anything that truly mattered, and even if I responded, it didn't matter. She'd force my mouth shut in one way or another as- as though it were not her fault I was speaking." Vessel had whispered, a part of him beginning to accept that his treatment may not have been right, "I was always too loud, never enough. At least, with my parents, they didn't mind my music so much."

Vessel's brow had furrowed in uncertainty, "Well, I think anyway. I don't... remember much of my parents."

"From what you've shared previously, it doesn't seem like they were worth remembering." II muttered bitterly, apologizing when Vessel's expression had crumbled even further.

"Sleep left all of the bad within me, so they must not have been terrible if there are things I cannot remember. They gave me music, the ability to create it. I moved away to escape how they isolated me, but if that is all I can recall, how bad could they have been. Sometimes, I think I miss my mother." Vessel refuted softly, something strangely delicate in the bond.

II had let it go, then, replying softly, "I miss my moms too, Ves, even if I don't remember them well either."

He moved on purely to comforting Vessel with peppering kisses all over his face and soft assurances just to bring out those small giggles that II adored. III just held his hands, offering support that way, occasionally pulling them up to press soft lips to blackened knuckles. There was nothing he could offer except his own depressing thoughts on parents, or the lack thereof. III had a family now, though, and was content to pluck the longing and the heartache from their chest and release them. He'd go a million lifetimes without parents so long as he still ended up right here.

Vessel was left emotionally drained, listless and distant in the bond the rest of the day, long after his lovers comforts and gentle kisses had petered out into as close to contentment as things could get and he abandoned his piano playing. Their anger on his behalf was still so strange to Vessel, but he supposes this is what it was like to love and be loved. His agonies, no matter how he tried to hide or mitigate them, were theirs as theirs were his. A give and take in equal measure. They did eventually end up moving the piano out into the foyer with some difficulty, more so due to the strength needed that II was having a hard time lending still. Though, it certainly helped when the doorframe stretched to accommodate the piano's large frame as though this were merely one of Vessel's dreams and nothing was truly under the same laws as reality. He supposed it was due to the need of his lovers, the house always accommodating them to the best of its ability. He finds himself lacking much of an appetite when dinner rolls around, pushing his food around on his plate.

"Just half honey, then you can go rest, alright?" II tries to coerce, almost desperate to put some healthy weight on Vessel's bones but scared to push it.

It was a concern II had always harbored, always lingering in the back of his mind ever since that first time Vessel had gotten sick and II had to help him into the bath when needed. Even now, just the thought of Vessel in the bath leaves II's fingertips tingling with the want to touch, to caress, to love. To feel his skin beneath II's palm, to feel.

"Don't need it." Vessel murmurs with a tight smile, his top pair of eyes sliding up to meet II's beseeching gaze.

"Two more bites, Sugar? For me?" III asks lightly, making their eyes wide and innocent, puppy eyes, so to speak, stuffing a forkful of meatloaf in their mouth.

Vessel grimaces, well aware of his own weaknesses, startling as III's gangly elbow knocks a glass off the table. With little more than a thought, it stops midair before it can shatter against the ground, most of its contents still within. It floats back up, settling down on the table gently, far from the edge.

"Thanks, Sugar, would have sucked to clean all of that up." III expresses, getting up to grab a washcloth from the kitchen in a few long strides.

Vessel takes two more bites before pushing the plate away, smiling slightly at the notes of pride in the bond, muttering a soft, "You're welcome."

Little things seem to please them so easily when it comes to Vessel, and he still struggles to understand it. Remaining at the table while the other two finish eating, Vessel hums a new song he was writing into his pillowed arms, pensive. Vessel has had plenty of time to think since they've gotten home, and he has a suggestion to make, more of a request perhaps. He worries over the others' reactions even into bed, crawling in after II and III long after the other two have gone to sleep. They're curled up together, II spooning III as they both face the wall, Vessel slipping under the covers next to them and curling up just the same, pressed up to II's back with his shark between them. One hand tentatively lands on a hip, sliding up to hold II by the waist, his forehead coming to rest in the middle of II's back. II shuffles, nearly startling Vessel into retracting his hand, but settles down, though not completely. It's then that Vessel notices the hints of a nightmare forming within, that same magical intuition pinging around in his skull.

Curiously, he wonders what it is, a thumb stroking over II's naked side ever so gently, already half-used to his minimal clothing in bed. Vessel supposes he feels a bit too warm, but the others always do when compared to himself. Tired but unable to quiet his racing mind, Vessel waits for the nightmare to take root so he can properly change it into something different. Recalling II's comment on the moth that had been in his dream while he was unconscious, Vessel works his magic to conjure one back up. A faint light catches Vessel's eye, two set of eyes flicking up as he turns his head, finding a tiny, translucent white luna moth fluttering away above their laid out forms. It's wings are phosphorescent, glowing a gentle red, fur on it's back resembling Sleep's sigil. It's large black eyes watch Vessel closely, landing on II's messy head of hair right as the nightmare finally forms. There's a faint echo of burning heat and agonized screaming as Vessel pulls the nightmare from II's temple, the blackened orb swirling in Vessel's palm. The moth flies up, merging into the nightmare as Vessel urges it to, finding less magic to be required. It's a curious thing, maybe by focusing it into a form before it ever enters II's head helps lessen the magical strain. Vessel isn't sure. It could purely be for embellishment rather than practicality.

Even knowing that it is better this way, that Vessel cannot keep eating the nightmares for fear of purposefully giving his lovers more, he still yearns for the taste. Can picture a nightmare orb sliding down his throat and settling in his stomach, the taste absolutely divine.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Vessel presses himself to II tighter, hoping the scene of a full moon shining down on a black-sanded beach, blue, phosphorescent waves crashing against the shore, will soothe him as it would Vessel. Four would certainly enjoy it, Vessel knows. Already tired, the use of magic turns that into exhaustion, sleep finally claiming him. He hopes to see Four again.

Vessel opens his eyes to his electric keyboard, playing a gentle tune as softly as he can manage. His single set of eyes are downcast, half-lidded with exhaustion, muscles stiffened in constant alertness.

Fuck. Not again. It's been so long since he's had this dream. He doesn't want to be here, remembers intimately what happens next. Is this because he shared the experience with his lovers? Quickly, Vessel tries to scrounge up some magic to change this before it can begin, but finds the well nearly empty, having used much of it to turn II's nightmare into a restful dream. Vessel doesn't regret it, only wishes he had a higher magic capacity. In time, with more rituals, perhaps, but not now. Not when he needs it.

This time, unlike when it happened, Vessel expects the hammer swinging down towards his hands. He still isn't fast enough, feeling the force of it's face against his pinky. His hand yanks back on instinct, cradling the already swelling appendage close to his chest. Hesitantly, Vessel looks up, finding his girlfriend glaring at him fiercely as she holds the hammer up threateningly, pointing it's face right at his own. Her face is blurred out except for her eyes, just as Four's had been, but Vessel feels no urge to return her features to her.

"What have I told you about being too fucking loud, _? I'm sick of all this noise you make constantly."

"I'm so-" Vessel goes to apologize, regretting it when she slaps him with her other hand, his head jerking to the side.

His cheek stings, fingers tenderly touching the soft flesh.

"Shut up. I warned you, now you're going to deal with the consequences." Raising her hammer up for emphasis, Vessel knows exactly what she will do next.

He cannot stop himself from repeating what he had said that day, stuck in this nightmare until it is over. Tears spill over his cheeks as she looks at him with a gleam of malice in her eyes, uncaring of how his breath leaves him in short, panicked gasps.

"Please- Not my piano. I'm begging you, it's all I have." Vessel cries, uncaring of the consequences.

She shoves him back, sending him crashing back into the wall and onto the electric keyboard, nearly taking it down with him. He moves to try and block it with his body but one command has him stilling, "Sit and stay or I won't just tap your hand this time."

The throbbing pain in his pinky finger seems to become more prominent once she acknowledges what she did. She did more than tap his hand.

"It's all I have, please. It's all I have. It's all I have, don't take my music from me." Vessel tries again, sobbing silently, curled up around his knees, head buried between them with his hands cradled to his chest.

He doesn't want to watch.

She doesn't listen to him, she never does, and so when that first slam of the hammer against hard plastic hits Vessel's ears, he flinches back as though it were he who was struck. It may as well have been with how a dark void opens up within himself, his racing heart pounding against his ribs with every hit of the hammer. A stray key flies off and hits him in the head once or twice, but Vessel barely registers the pain. He isn't even really there anymore, mind somewhere far from his body. Anywhere but here.

On autopilot, trembling fingers reach out and pick up the stray keys that fall nearby, cradling them to his chest with his now bloodied pinky finger. Tears track a path down his sunken cheeks, but that too goes unnoticed. Her cursing and insults fall on deaf ears, the ringing in his ears far louder. He wants to wake up from this terrible reality.

There is no amount of time given to him to mourn his instrument as she turns her sights on him, and then Vessel is intimately reacquainted with the agony of being hurt by someone who was supposed to love him. The piano keys fall to the floor with every crumbled bit of his heart as she hurts him. He wants to go home, but knows he will not find one here. He's never had one.

____ opens his eyes to a dingy kitchen, an incandescent lightbulb flickering overhead. His palms, flat against the counter, are chilled, a shiver wracking through his body. There's a knife missing from the knife block he stands in front of, and for some reason, ____ feels uneasy at the sight.

Moving away from the cold counter, ___ does a slow circle to take in the rest of the apartment's main room, finding the rest of it equally dingy and filthy. Faint mutterings reach ____'s ears as he slowly traverses the eerily empty apartment. There's a smashed keyboard off in a corner, trash and dirty clothes piled high around it. Blood splotches and a hammer lay discarded on the floor in front of it. Nausea makes itself known in his stomach, taking in the destroyed keys and the blood.

One of the bedroom doors is open, a floorboard creaking under ____'s foot as he steps through the threshold. Stopping, ____ waits to see if whoever is muttering heard him. The utterances continue, and so does ____. A quick look around the room finds mostly feminine clothing haphazardly shoved into a suitcase, makeup abandoned on the dresser. There's a few long sleeve shirts in a laundry hamper, in a masculine cut, and a pair of jeans laid over the bed, but otherwise this place looks to be mostly inhabited by a woman. Moving on, ____'s gaze catches on the bathroom door, cracked open with light spilling out. Walking closer, ____ can finally make out what is being said.

"She's leaving. They always leave. 'M never good enough. Never."

The door creaks open when ____ pushes on it, hinges squeaking sharply. There's a gasp of horror, a hand coming to cup a gaping mouth. Vessel's head lolls to the side, blank eyes meeting the terror in Four's ocean eyes, the fog of the dream lifting slowly. A knife slips from Vessel's hands, clattering off the floor just next to the tub.

He has the barest bits of clarity to speak before Four can start screaming for help that will not come. The terror in his eyes makes it clear that is what he will do. Seeing him here clues Vessel's magic-muddled mind into this being a dream, and he is grateful in a muted sort of way. It's hard to feel much of anything past the despair.

"Hello Four, my name is Vessel. I'm sorry you have to see me like this." His voice is a harsh croak, all of the sobbing he had done prior to taking a blade to his skin evident.

As realization clears the cloud of ignorance from Four's eyes, Vessel continues, blue eyes sliding down to the mess of his arms. He didn't die during this attempt, didn't even lose consciousness. It was a complete failure, just like he was. Stupid, so stupid, for not going deep enough. Vessel just wanted to hurt. He needed it, to be punished for existing. It is all he has ever known.

"You aren't supposed to be here. No one was here. I was alone, and I was cold. This only made it worse. And still, I did not die." Vessel feels as though he shouldn't be saying any of this, but Four knows things, so Vessel thinks it should be okay.

He couldn't stop himself if he tried, inhibitions weak from the stress of the day and then this. He'd woken in the dream to her coming at him with a hammer and it felt quite suddenly like Vessel was no more and all that was left was the him of Before.

Four is kneeling before the bathtub within a slow blink's time, pressing a hand towel to one of Vessel's arms. His expression is soft, downturned eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiles in gentle reassurance. Sad, caring eyes take in the amassment of bruises littering Vessel's shirtless form; the hickies sucked into his neck and pecks, finger shaped rings around his wrists, the large bruises over his ribs and stomach, welts from nails over his shoulders and down his chest.

"I wanted to disappear. She took what she wanted, and then she left, like everyone does. No one ever stays. I wanted her to stay even though she hurt me, I want someone to stay."

"I'm right here Vessel, and I'll stay as long as I can. You didn't deserve any of this." Four assures, desperate to go find some bandages to wrap Vessel's arms.

The blood won't stop, Four notices, sluggish as it is when he picks up the towel to check. It's worrying.

"I'll be right back, I promise. I'm just going to go look for a med kit. Hold this here." Four instructs, taking Vessel's hands and pressing them to each forearm over the hand towels Four had grabbed in a rush.

Patting Vessel's hand with utmost care to try and ease the frown pulling his lips down, Four stands and upon looking in the cabinets, finds no med kit.

"You won't find one. She never kept one around and I never cared. This doesn't matter. I'm going to wake up, and you'll be gone." Vessel mumbles hopelessly, watching Four's back as he goes out the bathroom door, then finding himself back to staring in morbid fascination at the lines on his arms.

Some part of him missed this, the pain and the blood. III, and especially II, would be so sad if they knew how badly Vessel enjoyed the knowledge that at least in this dream, he could still hurt himself. Frowning, Vessel's mind conjures up the image of the fear on III's face when confronted with blood, or even just the color red. He's made some progress on his fear, just as II has, but they still go pale as a sheet, body beginning to tremble subconsciously.

Pressing the towels to his arms with more force, Vessel suddenly wants to stop bleeding. He can't get the crestfallen expressions his lovers would wear, should they see him like this, out of his head. They'd both smile at him, try to hide the distress and how Vessel hurting himself hurts them, too, but Vessel would know. The punishment being dealt to himself would feel like merely a scrape compared to the agony of hurting them in such a way.

Four comes back empty handed, dejected and so worried its palpable. There's a frown tugging at his lips, "I couldn't find anything. Will your magic dream stuff fix this if you try?"

"I- I can't. I don't have enough." Vessel admits, but there is no regret on his face, "I changed my partners' nightmare into a good dream. That matters more to me than suffering through all this."

"You are good to them. Even if it is at your own expense." There's a gentle expression on his face, something like admiration and longing.

"I love them, both of them. They mean the world to me. I feel as though I don't deserve them, but by some miracle, they love me too. I would lay the world at their feet if only they'd ask it of me."

"I get the feeling they would do the same for you, you're a sweetheart. Let's get you into some proper clothes, annywl." Four says, his accent thick in Vessel's ears with the foreign word, hands reaching out to take Vessel's own, hanging off of every word.

"Shit, what happened to your hand?" Four swears, hearing Vessel's pained hiss at the same time he sees the bruised mess of his pinky finger.

"Hammer." Vessel mutters simply, not wanting to talk about it.

"We'll have to wrap that with something." Four says, noting Vessel's simple answer.

"There is no need. It won't matter when I wake." Vessel refuses as Four pulls him up and out of the tub, careful of his messed up pinky.

The veil of magic slides off Vessel's head, freeing him entirely from the constraints of his nightmare. They both stumble, Vessel practically falling into Four, clinging to the back of his pajama shirt tightly. He's warm beneath Vessel's weight, and despite his better judgement, Vessel allows himself to sink into it. Four doesn't comment, merely wraps his arms around Vessel in a hug. He doesn't seem to care about the blood leaking from Vessel's arms or the First's near nakedness. Vessel clutches at the back of Four's stretched out band shirt tighter, breathing him in though no scent truly meets Vessel's nose.

Fresh tears spill from Vessel's eyes, clear and salty. Hugging Four is what Vessel imagines hugging II or III would feel like, warm and safe. It feels somehow different than when he had hugged Terzo. That was warm, too, but it just didn't feel the same as this. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Vessel apologizes, though he doesn't quite know what for.

Is it for forcing this hug on Four? For being unable to spare the other man these nightmares of Vessel's?

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Vessel. Tell me more about them, your Two and Three. You said they're good to you?" Four inquires gently, brushing off the apologies.

Pulling back and cupping his cheeks, Four rubs a thumb under Vessel's eyes, wiping away the tears that keep gathering. Four has a boyfriend, but surely he'd understand giving comfort to a friend in need? That is all this is, Four is sure. Merely a friend seeking comfort. Platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones, his mom has always said.

So why does it feel like he's trying to convince himself that these touches are platonic?

"They don't hit me. They don't ignore me or tell me to be quiet when I cry. I'm encouraged to- To feel things. That it's okay to be sad, that I don't need to hide it." Vessel mutters, that faraway look in his eyes beginning to clear up now that the magic trapping him begins to lose it's sway.

"Go on, annwyl." Four soothes, once more using that same strange nickname Vessel has never heard before.

He wants to ask what it means, but refrains, almost afraid Four will stop using it. Does he even realize he is using a nickname for Vessel at all?

"When I hurt myself, they don't laugh in my face and tell me I deserve them, that I should make more as my punishment. My... my father always did that." Vessel continues, letting Four lead him out into the bedroom.

Vessel sits at the edge of the bed, holding the towels to his arms as instructed still, wising for the wounds to disappear. Bits of his magic have returned since giving II a good dream, if he tries hard enough maybe he can fix the mess he has made of himself. The wounds very, very slowly begin to stitch themselves shut at a snails pace, just as Four is coming back with a shirt and a pair of sleep pants from Vessel's only drawer.

"If he wakes before us, Two makes me and Three coffees, fixed up just the way we like them, even though he prefers tea. His hands are gentle when he touches me, like I am a precious gem, something to be cherished and not shattered against the ground like a useless, decorative vase that is no longer pretty in the eyes of its beholder. He touches me like I am worth something."

As Vessel slips the pants on, Four sits next to him, smile encouraging, "Three is... He is like a splash of sunlight on a cloudy day. He and II can talk so much if the topic tickles their fancy, but Three is something else. Rarely do they flounder for something to say. There's always a smile on their face, always talking our ears off about this and that. It's when he goes quiet that II knows to worry, whether for his own safety or to prepare for something mischievous." Nearly rambling now, Vessel does not catch the particular fondness Four's face has softened into, that longing only rooting itself deeper. "He can't cook. He tries, Sleep does he try, but they could manage to burn water. There's always a risk of fire whenever they're in the kitchen, especially alone. He burnt two batches of cooki-"

"Do you cook?" Four asks, interrupting Vessel.

When he realizes, he blushes sheepishly, but Vessel doesn't mind, that twitching smile on his face blooming into something proper. He does not feel as if he isn't being listened to, even though he's been interrupted.

"Some. Small things that Two has taught me. I never learned from my parents, and none of my partners ever offered to teach me or made much themselves. It was always takeout if I remember correctly."

"Didn't have much by the way of sweets then?" Four comments, almost offhandedly.

"Ah, no. I was never allowed, and then that just... stuck with me. My partners have encouraged me to try new things, though, like chocolate. I- I love discovering how much I enjoy reading or watching different genres of media. There is so much I didn't know about, so much still to learn, and their patience seems boundless no matter how many questions I ask or the mistakes I make."

"I used to bake with my mother before I moved out. It was always just... something we did together. I could, well, I could show you how sometime. You could probably conjure up an oven and ingredients, right?"

The thought of learning how to bake within a dream is absurd enough to startle a laugh out of Vessel, the force of it nearly knocking him over into Four's side. "We could certainly attempt it. No danger of me burning down our manor, then." Vessel laughs, feeling oddly warm and fuzzy inside.

He turns to look at Four properly, then, taking in his visible features for the first time, eyes no longer instinctually downcast and weary. Two widened blue eyes catch on Four's stretched out lobes, the holes maybe the size of his pinky finger around, and the small little studs further up, just next to the black tunnels.

"Those earrings... You had the star fossils fashioned into earrings?" Vessel asks, lips pulled into the brightest smile Four has seen since he arrived.

Four reaches up and touches one of the studs, feeling the tiny details against his fingertips. "Yes, though I couldn't recall where I'd gotten them from at the time. I never seem to remember you after I wake up."

Vessel's face falls, smile slipping for the briefest of seconds before it returns, dimmer. "Whatever magic keeps us from knowing each other's names must also be at play when you wake."

Desperate to bring back that pretty smile, Four sticks his tongue out, pointing at it deliberately.

"I got this recently, too. Healing's a bitch, but my boyfriend thought it was a good pick. I like it more than I thought I would."

Vessel stares at Four's tongue and the silver barbell stuck through it with wide eyes before it is safely tucked away behind crooked teeth that stretched into an eager smile. Panicking at Four having just watched Vessel stare directly at him and trying to will away his blush, Vessel blurts, "My angel bites were my second girlfriends idea. She thought they'd look nice, even though I didn't really want them. I'm... glad though. I ended up really liking them, and now I'm very happy with them."

Feeling his chest tighten with the sad look that has remained on Vessel's face, Four comes to a quick, easy decision. He wants to remember Vessel, too. The other man never seems to forget him. It feels wrong to not be able to recall his name, so...

"Here, why don't you take one? Then we'll match." Already reaching up to take one earring off, Four ignores the way Vessel tries to weakly protest.

Vessel flinches when Four's hands come up beside his head, relaxing when he only inserts the earring into the hole in Vessel's lobe, hands returning to his side when he's done. His fingers had been warm, too.

"There we go, annwyl. Two halves of a whole." Grinning now, Four's smile only widens at the wonder on Vessel's face, sadness banished.

Slender fingers move to run over the small star fossil stud, Four quite pleased with himself for the idea.

"With us each having an earring of the set, I'll have to remember you somehow. When I touch it, I'll know its other half is out there somewhere."

Four hadn't stayed long, after that. But Vessel remembers his smile, mirroring his own, another tiny bud in his chest blooming into something Vessel doesn't dare name.

"Ves, honey, are you okay?" II asks, without turning away from the stovetop.

Shaking his head, Vessel tries to pull himself from the memory of the dream he had shared with Four recently, finding himself staring down at the bend in his pinky finger. He couldn't stop thinking about it, about how gentle Four's hands had been, how soft his voice. It had helped calm him so much when he had been stuck in that tub, still trapped in the magic of the dream.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something." Replying, Vessel reaches up to touch the earring adorning his ear.

His face feels warm, does it look it, too?

"Quite heavily, too, I'd say. Almost thought you'd floated right away again." II says, finally letting some of his carefully controlled concern peak through, noting the action.

II has never seen that earring before, though it suits Vessel well.

"I'm fine, I swear it." Vessel smiles, moving away from III to II's side instead, bending down to rub his cheek on II's messy head of hair.

Back presently once his wandering mind returns, Vessel finds himself still indecisive, unsure how the others will take his request as he goes back to III's side. For a few short moments, he worries his lip between his teeth and then finally reaches out and takes III's shirt in hand, tugging on it gently to gain their attention. III pauses his task of beating the eggs, turning pretty blues to Vessel curiously. "Need something, beautiful?"

Blushing, Vessel averts his gaze before settling it back on the question mark freckle by III's mouth. Quickly growing distracted, Vessel wants to kiss the mark, so he leans forward to do so. III smiles, turning his head to kiss Vessel properly, a short thing that has Vessel smiling too, some of his nerves abated.

"Can we go outside after breakfast?" Vessel asks, waiting for a staunch refusal.

"Sure, Sugar. Anything you want. Wanna take a walk?" III hums, going back to whisking the eggs when II asks over his shoulder if they're done yet.

Embarrassment leaves Vessel clutching III's shirt tighter, "No, I- I want to play tag."

III's eyebrows raise in surprise, and even II pauses in the middle of flipping over an omelet. "Yeah, okay, Ves. I didn't expect you to want to after, well, after Hate."

Biting his lip, Vessel wonders if they're going to be mad for what he's about to say. They promised they wouldn't hurt him. He wants to believe that. If they do, maybe they'll apologize again. As weird as it was, being apologized to felt... nice, after he had time to think about it.

"You both need to learn to move quieter. To... to hide. If something ever comes here again, I need you both to know how to get back to the manor where it's safer and not draw attention while you do so."

"That's more like hide and seek, Ves." II comments, plating an omelet for III and taking the bowl of whisked eggs from the taller man.

"We can do both then? You are... too loud. Too easy to hear. It's not safe when you're in danger."

Vessel expects one of them to hit him for his gall, but they agree easily enough, not an ounce of annoyance in their words or the bond. Tension drains from his shoulders, and his smiles come easier, happily reciprocating the kisses III keeps giving him. It keeps Vessel from hovering behind II as he cooks, and is merely a simple pleasure to be had.

In a good mood after the continued ease of the morning, Vessel eats nearly all of his omelet before passing off the rest to III. II smiles, but there is concern in the slight furrow of his brow. Vessel has never eaten enough, always unhealthily skinny. He hopes that what little weight Vessel has gained since III got here won't diminish once they start touring. It's far harder to eat healthily on the road, II is sure.

Once everyone is finished with their breakfast and drank the last of their respective beverages, they go to change into clothes fit for traipsing around outside. Vessel cannot quite contain the threads of excitement flowing freely through the bond. The day II got hurt had been fun, running around after III trying to tag him had been fun. Vessel has no memories of playing with other children as a child himself, and to have the opportunity to do so now, with no judgement from his others... It feels special in a way Vessel cannot articulate.

They let Vessel take the lead, following him away from where II had gotten hurt before and carefully avoiding any of the smaller sections of the forest that have turned crimson, for III's sake. Once Vessel deems a particular clearing suitable enough for their needs, he stops, turning to face his lovers with an unsure smile.

"Who's 'it' first?" III asks, tilting their head in a manner similar to Vessel when the First shakes his head.

"First, I'm going to show you how to walk quieter." Vessel's first order of business is teaching them, playtime is for later.

Dutifully, II and III both nod, Vessel wringing his hands nervously, fingers twitching with the want to pick at his skin. Sucking in a deep breath and standing up to his full height, he starts to explain, stumbling nervously over his words, "You just... Um, walk on the outer edges of your feet? I can't explain- Heels down first, then the rest of your foot slowly til you get to your toes?"

II nods again, slipping off his shoes and then his socks, stuffing the socks into the shoes and then placing them by a nearby tree. III looks mildly confused, so Vessel tries to show him. With a visual, III understands better, copying II's motions and removing their shoes and socks as well. Vessel let's them test it out, keen ears catching every little noise they make, a set of eyes dedicated to each of his two lovers.

"That's a good start. Now, you're going to try and sneak up on me. Practice makes perfect. And Two, don't push yourself. You've got a minute, I'll be within fifty feet, keep your eyes closed. No using the bond either. Five minutes to find me. And put your shoes back on, you'll get hurt."

II and III share a weighted glance, both agreeing that this bit of control Vessel is exercising is hot. He does it so little, always letting them take the lead on things, that to see him like this has the other vessels craving more of the sight.

"You're barefoot, though." III teases, to which Vessel smiles almost wryly, responding, "And I also happen to know what I'm doing."

II and III turn to face each other entirely once Vessel says to, III trying and failing to stifle his chuckles, closing their eyes as instructed. Neither of them hear Vessel wander off, II counting off a minute under his breath. When the time is up, he and III split up, each doing their best to keep quiet. The tree trunks are wide in this section of the forest, moss and twigs abundant. II steps on a twig, sending a loud crack echoing through the air. Noting that stepping on the moss makes less noise, II still attempts to making his footfalls quieter. He wonders how III is handling this task, knowing how loud the other can be, even without meaning to. The clock ticks, II having given up on counting, and when the five minutes are up, Vessel appears behind him, startling II a foot into the air.

There's a smile on his face, proud and lopsided, "Good idea stepping on the moss, it softens your steps and makes less sound. You'll have to learn to step lighter though to not break twigs so loudly, which shouldn't be much of a problem for you, as a drummer. You have amazing control over your feet as it is. Three on the other hand, well, they tried their best."

It's completely teasing, the tone Vessel has taken on. He reaches out a hand, offering a lift up, and II takes it with a playful smile of his own. If he watches the way Vessel's forearms flex with the minor show of strength, well, that's his own business. Just another thing to catalogue into a mental file of the many ways his lovers make II weak in the knees in only the best ways.

"How did they do, by the way?" II asks, swinging their hands back and forth lightly as Vessel leads him to where the bond points in III's direction.

"Well enough for their first attempt. He tripped over his own feet though after getting distracted by some of the flora. Almost went sprawling if I hadn't conjured up some vines to catch him."

"A little scraping might help them learn better." II says, though his own frown must not be very convincing.

"None of us like seeing the others hurt. If I can prevent something, I will." Vessel replies softly right as III bounces up from their place sat on the ground, having been muttering over one of the plants in front of him.

II plucks a leaf out of their hair absentmindedly, brushing a hand over the pale blonde curls currently pulled back into a bun, up on his toes to reach properly. It stretches his side, but the pain has been far lesser as the scar finally settles. The creamy ointment Omega had given him has worked wonders, and he still regularly applies it. II wonders if there's a way to get more, and if it would be difficult to convince Vessel to use it on the worst of his own scarring. "Are we going to go again?" He asks, turning his attention back to Vessel as III pouts.

"We still have plenty of sunlight left if you both are up for it. I would like you both to make some progress today, if possible."

And so, much of the morning and well into the afternoon is spent with the Second and Third vessels of Sleep trying their hardest to sneak up on the First. II gets the closest, though it is only by luck. Vessel had let himself get distracted by one of the crow's that had come down to visit him, and so had barely noticed II creeping up over the sound of the bird's gentle caws.

Vessel had been proud of him regardless, and had made sure to say so, the crow hopping up to perch on his shoulder. III, at least, learned to step on the moss to quiet their steps, but everything about him was so exuberant, and this was only his first day of learning, that barely any progress had been made. Vessel couldn't fault them for being just as they are, since he loves III so, but Vessel needed them to be safe.

"You did good." Vessel says as they all sit curled under a rather large trunked tree, head leant over onto III's shoulder.

"Not really, but I'll learn." III refutes, smiling wide and rubbing his sweaty cheek all over Vessel's hair.

II's head was lain on Vessel's lap, a grimace threatening to overtake his joyous smile, a hand held over his side. He'd tripped earlier, and while Vessel's vines had shot up from the ground and caught him as they did III earlier in the day, it had still pulled his scar just right to shoot pain through his ribs. Now, the healed wound ached something fierce.

It had been quite amusing to watch Vessel glare daggers into the spot he had tripped though, the stray root visibly shrinking down and away in apology. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the forest itself was alive in a similar way to themselves.

"Why don't we go back home for some refreshments. You both look like you need it." Vessel offers, noting the warming weather as the days pass.

The others agree readily, whispers in the wind following them back to the manor. Birds echo the song Vessel hums under his breath, something he was working on, II supposes. He's just happy to hear him making noise so freely, something that is becoming more and more common in recent days.

III's garden, flourishing even in colder weather due to Vessel's magic, greets them. Some of the flowers reach out towards Vessel's legs as he passes on the stone walkway they have been steadily adding on to. Elvira greets them at the door, indignant as she is held in III's arms after having been stopped from escaping through their legs upon entry.

II gets to work making them all tea, making sure Vessel and III's are both far sweeter than his own. He refuses his lovers offer of help, shooing them off with an amiable smile. Vessel goes upstairs to ditch his t-shirt to keep up appearances, the sun having heated up the back of his neck on the way back to the manor. He exchanges it for a black tank top, lingering at his door for a few minutes, unreasonably nervous about going out in so little. His others have seen him in less, and he's been doing better about showing his scars. Sucking in a steadying breath, he readjusts the belt keeping his skinny jeans in place and leaves his room, mask abandoned on his nightstand.

III audibly gasps when Vessel comes down the stairs, Elvira trailing after him meowing insistently. There's a wide smile on their face, pretty blues tracing over the exposed branches and blossoms over his collarbones and shoulders. At the same time, the bond comes to a screeching halt, III seeming to do a visible double take, and then it is flooded with overwhelming desire. Vessel blushes up to the tips of his pointed ears, just as III's hair goes a pink the same shade all in one go.

Vessel hasn't ever seen his hair do that before.

The tent in III's jeans is a bit more obvious, a clear physical reaction only made more noticeable with everything else alongside it.

"First it was the lack of shirt during our first ritual and now this." III whimpers, trying to adjust themselves in their jeans.

The blush on his face is pretty, and while Vessel still can't believe he incites this sort of reaction from his lovers by merely wearing less layers, there's something pleasing about it.

He did this to III, just by baring a bit of his own pale skin and Sleep's given changes. Still blushing, Vessel's lips twist into a smirk, or at least as close to one as III has ever seen. It's just as teasing as Vessel has been all day, a new side of him beginning to bloom. III hopes to continue to see it, to nurture this playful attitude into something commonplace.

II chooses that moment to come out of the kitchen, sipping at a glass of American sweetened iced tea, the bond lightly curious. He, too, stops dead in his tracks when he sees just how much skin Vessel is showing.

"It is not as though I'm naked." Vessel practically whines, a flush of embarrassment crawling up his neck even as the attention is welcome.

"I fear I become a lonely Victorian man getting his first glimpse of a woman's ankle when you wear something more revealing than a long sleeve." III states with all the seriousness of a man giving a death's notice.

Vessel really does whine then, suddenly wishing he'd brought his mask down with him after all so he could hide.

II has still yet to say anything, content to watch every small movement of Vessel's muscles as he finally descends the staircase proper. That isn't to imply Vessel is ripped by any means, rather he is quite skinny, barely any muscles clinging to his bones. II doesn't mind either way, Vessel is himself regardless of muscle mass.

Leaning into the kiss III places on his lips, Vessel's attention is caught by the hands settling on his hips. He misses how II's gaze darkens with desire, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his tea.

"Come on boys, get your drinks. Take a break."

Doing his best to calm down, III avoids staring at Vessel too much for fear of their erection making a quick comeback, quite interested in the swirl of the ice in their own far too sweet tea. II seems to find it quite amusing, under no qualms of keeping his eyes off of Vessel. He does do far better at hiding his own desire, though, to III's visible petulance. Vessel is only halfway through his own tea by the time III is done with his, bouncing on the balls of their feet to get back outside. He seems more excited than Vessel does to get back out their and play tag like they're children. In reality, III is just excited for Vessel to have asked for this.

The afternoon sun is warm on their backs as they go back outside on the same path, hand in hand while II fiddles with a drum pad on the couch, headphones over his ears. He'd said something about just playing around with it for fun while he let's his side rest from such strenuous activities. it's III who starts them off on their game of tag, loudly deeming a small glade as a perfect starting point. Suggesting a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who's 'it' first, III goes through the simple rules and then they play.

Vessel wins, to III's delight simply because of the adorably confused expression he wears the entire time they play. at III's word, he's off and Vessel finds himself running after him. There's something in the way Vessel feels chasing and being chased by III in this large forest. There's a certain thrill to be found in it, like a tug of war between being predator or prey.

Vessel finds he enjoys it, gaze sharpening as III runs from him. He's still a little gangly, awkward in his movements, but as he catches III and then it is his turn to be chased, things grow easier. Things grow fun as they go back and forth tagging and being tagged. Vessel is having fun, even as III stops to catch their breath, leaning over onto a tree trunk heavily.

"Damn, Ves, are you not tired?" III laughs, smile growing wider when Vessel giggles in amusement.

What III wouldn't give to hear that happy, childish sound for the rest of his life. "No, this is fun." Vessel readily admits, coming up to his side and growing a little yellow oxalis flower on the ground.

He plucks it then tucks it into the little braid III keeps by his ear that's pulled back into the bun they wear. Vessel then lifts III's hand to press a lingering kiss onto the center of his palm, right over the large red question mark. With a grin, Vessel turns, disappearing between the trees. III stands there, and then remembers the game they're playing, taking off after him. A bit more settled in his own skin thanks to the last time they'd played around, Vessel evades III with far more ease as they chase him around the forest. III pouts when Vessel purposefully slows down to let him win, so obvious about some of his feints that it almost hurts to witness. Vessel's happy grin as he chases III around the forest in turn most definitely makes up for the sting of a given win.

At some point, they come to a standstill, a large dead tree trunk laid out over the ground between them, moss and mushrooms growing abundantly over it.

Vessel lets out a startled yelp when III is suddenly launching themselves at him, knocking them both to the ground. They roll, and while it reminds Vessel of that one time with Four, the moment is set apart by the joyous laugh spilling from III's lips freely. He'd won fair and square this time, despite the scrapes on both of their arms and the twigs caught in their hair.

"Got you, Sugar!" III says when they stop rolling, moving off when he notices he's straddling Vessel.

There isn't even any time for Vessel to panic, and he finds himself not wanting the distance between them to widen. He follows after III in quick actions, using momentum and his weight to send them both toppling over again with Vessel on top this time, leaning down to nip at III's shoulder through their clothes. One day, he hopes to not panic when his lover's are atop him. The occasional instance where he can feel their weight over him is few, far between, but gives Vessel hope regardless. Maybe he isn't completely ruined.

"A penny for your thoughts, pretty?" III asks, watching Vessel carefully.

His hands move from his face, reaching up instead to cup one of Vessel's cheeks. He leans into that tender touch, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as he responds, "I was thinking about Before, and how much it has affected me. Can I- Would you mind if I steal a kiss?"

"You say steal as though it is not something I give you willingly." Smile softening into something as sweet as the coffee they drink, III takes Vessel by the shoulder, still cupping his cheek, and pulls him down into a kiss.

When they part, Vessel takes time to properly gather his thoughts. Once he finds them, he speaks, "I do not always panic when someone straddles me. If I am already stressed, then it just makes things worse. When you did my makeup for our date, I was trepidatious but otherwise fine. When Two had straddled me a few days ago, I felt... uncomfortable. All I could think of was my girlfriend above me, how powerless I felt below her. Two has never made me feel that way, neither have you. I don't... I don't want to never be able to enjoy the sight of either of you above me like that."

III listens with rapt attention to every word, putting in considerable thought towards their answer. Vessel appreciates that more than he could ever say, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek into III's while he waits.

"We can work on it, if you want, just like Two and I have been working on our own fears." III's hot breath fans against Vessel's ear, no more than a whisper.

"I'd- I'd like that." Vessel replies quietly, pulling back a little to see their face properly, "Can I have another kiss? Please?"

It's easy for III to lift up his head and slot their lips together, kissing Vessel slow and soft. They only part when III needs to breathe. Vessel doesn't feel as though it's enough, so greedy in his need for affection.

"Another, please? Just one more?"

"As many as you want." Smiling, they kiss again, a tender slide of tongues against each other.

Vessel feels himself growing hard from the attention, feeling III's own length stiffening up from his place on the other's lap. He's so pretty, Vessel thinks, when they part again. He goes back in for another, desperate to feel the softness of III's mouth locked with the bitten, chapped skin of his own. III grinds their hips up into Vessel's, the material of their jeans doing surprisingly little by way of lessening the friction the action brings. Vessel grinds down too, breathing out a sigh into their kiss at the pleasure. It's a slow build up towards that now familiar precipice, III taking a page out of II's book and keeping an eye on the bond. Once they're both nearing that edge from clothed grinding and languid kissing alone, does III stop all movement, hands settled on Vessel's hips.

"Do you think Two would be mad if I purposefully let him know what we're doing?" III grins, light blonde hair dappled with sunlight.

It looks like spun gold between Vessel's fingers as he threads them through the curly strands, tucking a stray wave behind a lightly pointed ear. He moves to sit up on III properly, daring to shift his hips just so, just enough to garner a bit more of that delicious friction against his clothed cock.

"You know he'll just revoke kissing rights for being so cheeky. Can you truly bear the weight of those consequences?" Vessel asks, grinning, too, wide and lopsided and happy.

III groans in dismay, hiding their face in their hands. After a moment, their fingers splay open so Vessel can catch a peek of pretty blues surrounded by black sclera. Vessel bares his teeth playfully, too wide to be a proper smile anymore, fangs prominently displayed.

His hands slide up, taking III's shirt with them to expose more of their pale stomach and the bruised bite marks Vessel had left there recently. III shudders as Vessel's cold hands sends shives up his spine, stating, "Do you think he'll fuck me real good when we get back for getting to you before he could?"

Head tilting in mild confusion, Vessel asks, "What do you mean, beloved?"

III bursts into sudden laughter, reaching up to pull Vessel down into a soft kiss, speaking through gentle presses of lips and amusement, "Sugar, he'd have taken you right on those staircase steps if he had any less restraint. He is so horny for us, it's always just at the back of the bond."

Startled by this new knowledge, Vessel really thinks on it. He tries to remember how he had felt, seeing III in their more revealing outfits, or all done up in makeup, and even when their hair is a mess just after they wake in the mornings. Then he thinks to their first ritual and how II had stared at him long and hard while they'd all been actively getting ready in their paint and masks.

Oh.

Vessel traces a circle over one of the bite marks he left, glancing up to find III watching him with half-lidded eyes. Feeling bold, Vessel's fingers trail down to the button of III's jean, slowly popping it open. Slipping his hand down into III's jeans to grasp them, Vessel is pleased at the little kick their cock makes at his cold touch.

"Hold on love, I want to get off untouched, with you." III's breathless words stop Vessel in his tracks, shoulders stiffening at first before relaxing.

He just needs to remind himself that III isn't mad. He only wants Vessel to get off too.

"Ah, so no..." Vessel mimes the hand movements, flushing red in embarrassment.

"Yeah, Ves, no jerking off." III affirms, gently pulling Vessel's hand out of their jeans.

Vessel finds himself mildly disappointed.

"It'll take a bit more work but will definitely be worth it, okay?"

"Okay, beloved." Agreeing, Vessel tries not to think about it too hard.

III is still holding his hand, gently urging them up off the forest floor. Vessel goes along easily, a bit confused when III sits and leans against that log they'd been by earlier, sitting back against it and patting their lap invitingly. His knees dig into the dirt on either side of III's thighs, settling his full weight down.

"How do we...?" Vessel trails off, unsure, bracing himself by placing his hands on III's shoulders.

III's smile is as tender and wide as ever, encouraging when he says, "Just follow my lead, Sugar."

Nodding, Vessel sucks in a deep, steadying breath. III begins to move, rutting their hips up into Vessel's with unhurried but deliberate movements. That same pleasure they'd found earlier returns, a slow climb beginning again. Vessel doesn't hold back the first breathy moan III pulls from him, finding himself getting lost in the sensations of this. The rough fabric of their jeans is felt even through his underwear, a darkened spot forming where his cock leaks pre-cum steadily. Getting the hang of it after a few minutes, Vessel starts to search for the best angle to grind his hips, swallowing the sounds of III's own loud moans with kisses that steal his unneeded breath. III's hands make their way off Vessel's hip's skipping over his torso to land on his shoulders, feeling up and down the length of his biceps. Bare skin on calloused fingertips. III is in love with every single centimeter of skin he is being allowed to see, to touch.

Vessel tugs at III's hair, pulling his head back just enough to bare his throat while they continue to grind into each other. Nipping at their skin, III spills tiny little grunts and groans as they each work themselves closer to the edge by frantically moving their clothed hips together. Just before Vessel falls over that edge, he bites into III's throat. III moans into his ear as they both cum, soiling their respective jeans. It's sticky, messy, uncomfortable. Neither stops their frantic movements, though, Vessel releasing III's throat from between his teeth only to move down to a lower spot, biting in again. Baby's breath have bloomed where Vessel's knees meet the mossy ground, and he flushes pink at how obvious his love is.

While III catches their breath, Vessel's teeth still on his throat, Vessel sits and feels the way their pulse pounds against his mouth. The softness of their hair through his fingers. Pulling away, Vessel brushes his cheek against III's and whispers a soft, "Beloved."

Just the nickname is all he says, but it expresses exactly what Vessel isn't quite ready to say first.

They sit there for a few minutes, birdsong echoing around them as they merely exist together. It's enough, contentment traveling freely down the bond between them, right up until the cum in III's pants starts to feel very annoying. They make their way back to the manor then, though they don't get very far inside before II is seen waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase.

"Get cleaned up, you both have twigs and leaves in your hair. Then, I want you," II points at III specifically, who is wearing a shit-eating grin, "On the couch in only your underwear."

III practically races up the stairs, their anticipation palpable as he tosses a knowing look Vessel's way.

"You've just given him exactly what he wanted." Vessel whispers, one set of eyes watching III's ass as he goes up the staircase, while the other two focus completely on II's smug expression.

"We'll see if that grin will remain when I start with him." II smiles, getting up on his toes to kiss Vessel's cheek, "Now go on, you get changed too, I can feel your discomfort."

Just as III had hoped, II, now rested, does fuck him for intentionally broadcasting down the bond the exact moment he and Vessel came. It's on the couch, rough and demanding and II has III do most of the work, not allowing any kisses just as Vessel had assumed. It makes III whiny and desperate, riding II while Vessel finally get's to take their cock in hand and work him over. Only at II's command, of course. II is gentler with Vessel afterwards, but no less commanding. His praises are as sweet as honey, his nips and bites rewarding Vessel for listening so well, for being such a good boy and taking such good care of their little (ha!) brat. III and Vessel curl up together on the couch, thoroughly satisfied, Vessel swaddled in blankets just as he likes, while II starts up some animated movie about a bee, squeezing in next to them.

To his surprise in the days leading up to the start of tour, Vessel finds his voice coming to him easier during practice than it ever has. There is a weight lifted off his shoulders, a thorn in his chest plucked and tossed aside. Nick still makes him terribly anxious, it's still difficult to sing around him, but when it is just the three vessels, Vessel's voice is louder and clearer than it has ever been. It doesn't escape II and III's notice either, this new change. There's been leaps and bounds in his progress since their time at the Ministry, despite the stint of self-isolation Vessel had subjected them all to. Even so, it's easy to see just how much anxiety bears down on him in that week before tour, no matter how much easier it is for him to sing.

II pays little mind to the price when he urges their manager, Johnny, to get them a bus with a large bed in the back. It didn't need to be a large vehicle, but he wouldn't accept anything less than one proper bed. The vessels would find a way to fit. He has never been one to needlessly splurge on things, but when it comes to his lovers, II will see them comfortable. They have the money for this, thanks to Sleep. II supposes the God can do some things right, few and far between as they are.

They each feel a bit uneasy leaving Elvira at home with only the God and III's spiders as company since they're going to be away for well over a months time, but it is agreed upon that she's too wily and will absolutely get lost somewhere with no hope of her ever returning, should she get out of the bus.

Vessel spends an embarrassing amount of time choosing which plushie to take with him, knowing it is such a childish need but unwilling to not take one. It is III who helps him decide on his shark, Mr. Nibbles, who can double as a pillow if needed and so would save space. Packing away clothes is easier, since Vessel only wears one outfit on stage and he owns an abundance of black hoodies and jeans of the same color. Peeking in on III's room to find them painstakingly choosing a few pairs of socks out of their massive, colorful collection is amusing, though.

Before long, it's time for them to hit the road. Sleep makes a promise to keep Elvira safe and cared for, and that is all the goodbye's II offers except for a brief prayer at the altar for good luck. III is more forthcoming in his affections, not really lacking any in that regard, offering a bouquet of purple hydrangeas grown by Vessel. Sleep is more welcoming of the gift, considering the Third to be something of a distant friend.

His dearest Vessel paces and paces and paces the morning before they leave, spilling all of the overflowing anxieties aloud that he has within his thin frame. Sleep listens, only reiterating at the end of his tirade what He has promised.

There will be fame and fortune to be found as long as the work is put in, as long as Vessel worships. He need worry over nothing else.

Vessel murmurs an agreement he doesn't truly believe and leaves with a nearly heartfelt farewell.

They leave in the afternoon, the first stop of tour with a bigger band a few towns over and at least a day's drive away. As requested, II get's that bed in the backroom, though has to accept a tiny bathroom and equally as tiny kitchenette area. He doesn't care, and neither do the others, though Nick voices his minor displeasure at how he is the only one to be using one of four small bunks. II is quick to inform him that Sam will be joining them, and had very little by way of complaints about the sleeping arrangements.

Vessel is secretly glad when that pissed off furrow between Nick's brow, disguised as only mild irritation, smoothes out when II offers the bed that the kitchenette's table can transform into. The bunks are used for storage space, after that, and everyone is seemingly pleased, even Sam who they pick up a bit later. At night, the bus is dark and cramped without the light of day to make things brighter and visible. Vessel finds that it dregs up long forgotten terror. Vessel doesn't truly know where it comes from. Was it his weeks long time over the manor's foyer floor, bugs crawling over his skin as his dry eyes burned and day became night then day again in a seemingly endless cycle? Nothing that has happened after his rebirth as a vessel would constitute such bone chilling fear when the lights go off and he is left in such a small space with no way out as the bus drives down the road.

Having gotten up to grab a bottle of water, Vessel crawls back into bed, sinking in next to II heavily, tears in his eyes as he nearly trips right over onto the sleeping man. He can't see very well, like this. He may be ugly even with more eyes, but he misses them. The darkness is causing anxiety to creep up his spine, fear making a home within his empty chest. Why is he afraid? Why?

Is it because this isn't home? He was not so afraid in the motel room they'd stayed in for the festival. Granted, at no point had Vessel been completely in the dark, he could still see thanks to lamps and passing headlights shining through the curtains. Is he... afraid of the dark? He couldn't be, Vessel has never- No, there was- He remembers-

A shooting pain bursts through his temple, eyes scrunching shut as his vision explodes with blackened dots. He clings to II tighter, slinging an arm over his waist so Vessel can press himself closer.

Vessel has never been afraid of the dark. He knows this for sure.

Curling into II's back, Vessel tries his best to get some rest despite his now raging migraine, their first show is tomorrow, their first show as openers. He's insanely nervous to perform in front of a crowd again, only having barely grown completely comfortable singing with II and III around.

He ends up waking with III as the other climbs out of bed in the late hours of the night, almost early enough to be considered day, Vessel lifting his head slightly to follow them out the too-short, rickety door. He waits, slowly waking up, for III to return. Eventually, they do, a few short minutes later.

"Sorry to wake you, Sugar. Had to take a piss."

Just as III climbs into the bed, a tire pops. He loses balance, nearly falling right back off the bed. Vessel shoots an arm out to steady him by the bicep, eyes wide. The bus swerves briefly, though the driver quickly gets a handle on it, pulling them over safely. II wakes immediately, already shoving a shirt over his head as he slips out of bed. He spares an assessing glance at his lovers to make sure they're fine before moving to exit the bus to talk with the driver, dialing their manager as he goes to assess the damage. It was easy to see that whoever fitted new tires on the bus didn't make sure they were up to standard.

III pulls Vessel along, one of Vessel's blanket's wrapped around the Third's shoulders as he shivers in the night air, hair unbound and waving wildly in the wind. Vessel presses close, uneasy, as Nick finally exits the bus too with Sam at his side. The curse Nick lets out isn't kept at a controlled volume, the door to the bus slamming behind him as he goes back inside. Sam's gaze follows him in vexation, confused as to why Nick was so angry when he wasn't even an official member. He was just a touring guitarist with apparent anger issues.

No one sees, or can place, the glint of cruel mischief in Nick's eyes as he looks back at Vessel. If their first show will already be a drag from this shit happening, why not take the chance to make it worse?

It is over an hour before a new tire can be brought to replace the busted one, and it is tense. The minutes tick by, II anxious to get back on the road. Vessel himself was anxious, but nearly too tired to process much of it. He was still getting used to being so far away from his heart, the call of Sleep's territory faint but insistent. Sat at the small table-bed combo, Vessel nods off once or twice against III's shoulder, listening to the faint sound of whatever video III is watching on their phone, screen tilted to the side some so Sam can watch it, too. Nick's foot taps impatiently across from them, his whole leg bouncing and hitting the table on occasion. It sets Vessel's teeth on edge every time, a subconscious reaction to something his brain deems hostile.

By the time they arrive at the venue later in the evening, they're in a rush to set up all of their equipment, Sam informing them that he'd already started on II's drumkit and that their dressing room was suitably private. III had followed II, the shorter man unable to refuse an extra hand with the equipment to keep up appearances, especially not with how rushed they were. Lingering in their dressing room and fiddling with his mask straps, Vessel had fully intended to follow after them, but Nick wraps an arm around his shoulder with a grin, saying something about needing help getting equipment from a storage room. Desperate to be of use, Vessel follows reluctantly, remembering vividly what happened the last time they were alone together. He leaves his mask on the couch, his phone next to it. Vessel keeps a tight leash on the bond so as to not let the others know of his unease with Nick, shoulders hunching.

Sam watches them go, long electrical chords in hand and one of their stage decorations in the other, frowning heavily. He had intended to ask Vessel to help him carry some things himself, and maybe chat a bit to lessen the other's clear nerves, but Nick got to him first. Despite it's usual mischievous edge, Nick's smile is genuine as he drags Vessel along with him, and Sam let's it go.

He shouldn't have. He should have just butted in and told Nick that Vessel's help was needed elsewhere.

Why is he being so friendly, smiling wide and keeping Vessel pulled close to his side? Vessel's lips thin, nervous eyes flitting between Nick and the desolate hallway they find themselves in. None of the others are nearby, and Vessel doesn't want to bother them through the bond while they're rushing to get things set up for their quickly approaching set. They already arrived later than expected and II had looked so stressed... He just wants to be of use.

"Are you sure this is where the speakers are stored?" He asks, tentatively quiet, watching as the lights overhead flicker once, before going out, taking a solid few seconds to turn back on.

it leaves everything feeling vaguely eerie, equipment and boxes lining the walls casting long shadows over doorways. Grinning, Nick nods as he answers, "Yeah, Vessy, it's just a couple doors down. I appreciate you coming to help me out."

Alarm bells go off in Vessel's mind at just how civil Nick is being with no one else around to see it, but continues following after him anyway. Wringing his hands in front of him, he follows Nick into the small storage room, finding a few sets of speakers there just like he'd said. They start off lugging a few of them out, Nick making a comment of coming back for the ones they couldn't carry. Vessel listens quietly, doing as told, wondering if his lovers knew where he was. He tugs just once on the bond, gently as though he was merely brushing his hand against their arms. III tugs back, as does II, but they're clearly distracted, their distance making the bond a little unclear.

In his own moment of distraction, Nick makes his move. The door shuts with Vessel still inside the storage room, half bent over to pick up another speaker. Immediately, panic skyrockets up his spine, stiffening his muscles as he rights himself. Shaking hands reach out in front of him, tears gathering in straining eyes as he struggles to see anything. It's... it's dark.

"Nick, why did the door close?" Fainter than a whisper, Vessel tries to clear his suddenly thick throat, desperate to be heard.

Vessel can't see. If he takes his necklace off, and Nick opens the door, it's over. Sleep is too far away, only present during the rituals themselves especially since they're so far away. They had been lucky the festival was close enough, there is no chance He could take Nick's memories now. What if Nick isn't the next person to open the door, anyways? What if it's a crew member or someone that works with the venue itself? Vessel wouldn't be able to explain his six eyes or anything else away.

Stumbling over a speaker, Vessel curses quietly, multiple spots aching as he hits the floor. A loud clatter follows as he knocks things over along with the fall, something hitting him on the back as it goes. Feeling along the ground, Vessel finds a wall eventually, trying to crawl his way towards where he vaguely remembers the door to be. He bumps into things on the ground, knocking more items over on accident. Breaths coming out in shorter pants now, harsh little puffs of air as Vessel sucks in oxygen frantically, he finally finds the knob, twisting it to no avail. It's locked. His chest feels tight with panic, his head beginning to ache.

"Nick, are you out there? Please let me out. We- We don't have time for this."

Silence meets him. The darkness is closing in as he panics. He tries the knob again, and still it does not turn. Why did he ever leave the dressing room? He should have stayed there, or been faster following his lovers out the door. Why did he leave his fucking phone? He won't ever be doing that again, no matter how little he uses the thing.

The panic is strong now, overwhelming. He can't think, he- he needs to think of something but every rational thought evades him. It's so dark. He's been bad. So bad. That's why he's trapped in here.

His nails dig into his arms, scratching at pale flesh through his long-sleeve, an up and down motion intending to soothe in one of the only ways he knows how. A little pain will bring his mind into focus, surely. When his nails do not work, Vessel tries something less painful next, rubbing his thumbs over his elbows in circles, trying to emulate the comforting motions his lovers would do.

Vessel can't see. He can't see. He's alone. Trapped. Father will never let him out, he was bad. _ didn't mean to be bad. Sobbing now, chest hitching while his face remains devoid of life, _ keeps quiet, knowing his father will only keep him in here longer if he is too noisy.

He doesn't even notice as the bond lights up with alarm, his careful control of it withering away with the floaty feeling finally taking over, sinking to the ground and crawling backwards into the nearest wall, head pillowed in his knees. He didn't mean to be bad. He wants to be good, he swears. He tries so hard to be good. It's cold here, the concrete floor familiar. _ wants his mom. Maybe this time, if he can keep real quiet and ignore his friends, she'll even sing him to sleep like she used to.

Father would have to let him out, first. _ was really bad this time, talking to his friends at church in front of all of the other adults. Knowing better now, _ ignores the beginnings of whispers in the corners of the basement. He's going to be good.

"Sam, have you seen Vessel?" III asks, jogging up to Sam's side, expression pinched.

Shaking his head, Sam replies that he hasn't, setting down the thick coil of electrical chords he was holding. Lugging those damn things around was a nightmare despite Sam's workout routine.

"Fuck." III swears under their breath, then says louder, "Two and I can't find him."

Sam lowers his voice to barely a whisper, knowing III is not affected by his glamor like II and Vessel are, "Your weird magic bond thing isn't working?"

It's III's turn to shake his head 'no' this time, panic in their eyes like Sam has rarely seen, "No, it mostly just gives us a general direction. Two is trying to follow the bond now but... whatever happened, wherever he went, he's not present enough to help lead us to him. Something had to have happened. He wouldn't just not come back. I found his phone in the dressing room, so there's no use trying that either. He's- He's really scared Sam, underneath the disassociation."

"We'll find him, don't worry, mate." Sam reassures, "You go find Two, I'll find Nick and have him help. I saw them together earlier, Nick came back with a set of speakers we needed. This isn't a big venue, Three, we'll find him."

Sending III off with that stricken expression on their face leaves a bad taste in Sam's mouth, looking around for Nick with fire at his heels. He finds Nick having a smoke outside, dragging him back into the venue despite the other man's protests, demanding he help look for Vessel. Nick's face scrunches up in distaste, "You lost a grown man? What is he, a toddler? It's not my job to keep after our singer, he'll probably show up before the gig starts."

"I saw you with him last. What direction did you go?"

"Was in the back of the venue, I can lead you there if you want. I saw him go off in the direction of GA." Nick lies through his teeth, feigning concern.

Sam lets Nick lead the way, shooting daggers at his back, suspicious. The hallway he's lead to is dark, clearly used for storage of items the venue has little use for, the lights flickering above them. Sam checks inside each door they pass, finding them empty of a human presence and filled to the brim with junk. Nick merely watches, having the gall to whistle as he lets Sam do all the work.

"Are you going to fucking help or not?" Sam asks, tossing a dirty look Nick's way as he comes up empty, again.

"He's probably not even back here." Nick grumbles, "You've checked all of rooms we can even get to. This hallway is full of fucking junk."

"There's still one door left." Sam says, gesturing vaguely at the only door remaining, at the far end of the hall.

Gut instinct leads Sam to continue towards the last door, finding it blocked off with a broom. It had clearly fallen over and gotten caught behind some heavy boxes on the other side of the doorframe. Sam gets to work moving the large speaker set haphazardly down to block the door should it be opened, ignoring the harsh scraping sound it makes against the concrete. It takes a bit of force to get the broom unstuck, the lock clicking over easily.

As the door opens, Sam catches shadows dispersing out from under his feet, his meagre familiarity with Sleep helping him deduce that it wasn't that God. The overhead light doesn't turn on when Sam tries it, so he makes do with his phone's flashlight. It's easy to find Vessel then.

He's curled up against the wall closest to the door, the only movement being the shaking in his shoulders. His hands are covering his face, tiny movements digging his nails in and out of his skin, revealing reddened welts from the continuous action.

He looks up right as the light hits him, and there is not an ounce of recognition behind his blue eyes. Not a bit of clarity, not even a sliver of life. His eyes look deadened, red rimmed and puffy. Vessel doesn't make a single sound, and Sam knows something is horribly wrong.

"Go find Two or Three. " Sam orders, keeping his hands palm up in front of Vessel's vacant line of sight, somehow already knowing Nick was going to protest.

"Why don't you just call them on your phone?" Nick does protest, a pissy expression on his face.

"Because I can't fucking describe how we got to this fucking hallway. Clearly, no one has used it in ages. Now go, Nick."

With Nick being gone, grumbling all the way out of earshot, Sam had hoped Vessel would come back to his senses, but clearly it didn't make much of a difference. Slowly, trying not to startle him, Sam moves to sit at Vessel's side, propping up his phone against the wall closest to the door so there is some light in the room. When Vessel doesn't react negatively nor positively, Sam tentatively wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls Vessel into his side, trying to warm him up. The other's skin is ice cold to the touch, surely a product of the chilly storage room. Distantly, Sam can hear one of the other bands doing a last minute soundcheck before Doors. There's no way the band will be able to play with their singer like this.

Almost imperceptibly, Vessel leans into the side hug Sam is giving him, though there is still no recognition. It breaks Sam's heart to know he is just seeking comfort from whoever is willing to provide it while in such a vulnerable state. Having enough of Vessel digging his nails into his face, Sam takes them in his own, the chill seeping in to his own fingers now. He doesn't mind, merely holding Vessel's hands in his own with care. Not soon enough, Sam hears footsteps pounding down the hall, III appearing just seconds before II.

III's knees slam into the ground in front of them, Sam wincing as he knows the bruising on their knees will be fierce within the hour. Lanky arms are reaching out and pulling Vessel to him straight away, out of the side hug Sam was giving. Sam lets Vessel go without a fuss, knowing one of his partners would likely be more of a comfort than Sam could ever hope to be. Cupping Vessel's cheeks, III is whispering soothing comforts, gentle urges to come back to him, rhetorical questions asking what happened to cause this. There is no response, the bond discomfortingly foggy and distant.

"Fuck. Fuck, what happened?" II asks, almost rhetorical in his question, visibly upset, already at III's side.

Sam watches as he gently brushes some of Vessel's messy hair behind his ear, worried expression crumpling further at the lack of response. Not even the sight of his lovers could bring him back from this, it seems.

"I found him locked in here. Junk had fallen over in front of the door, and it was locked, too. He didn't even recognize me." Sam informs, grabbing his phone to try the overhead light again.

It flickers once but remains lit, to Sam's relief. "I don't understand why he was even out this far from the dressing room. He sticks to the stage area and the green room if not just the bus. He gets too into his head about other people watching him and uncomfortable in his own skin if he wanders further than that." II is saying to III, purposefully loud enough for Sam to hear, though it's unneeded.

Sam knows this already, and is already thinking up theories. He doesn't want any of them to be true, but Nick was the last one to see Vessel. Turning his head, Sam finds that Nick lingers at the doorway, brows furrowed in concern. It looks fake when Sam takes into account what Vessel had confided to him.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you back to the dressing room. Three, have you seen his mask?"

"It was left on the couch with his phone."

"Shit. Okay. Okay, Sam, do you happen to know how we can get him back to the dressing room with as little interaction as possible? He'll only get more freaked out with strangers around."

"Yeah, I think so. I can take you." Sam gestures for them to follow him as III tugs Vessel's hood up over his head, taking the time to brush a few unruly strands back from his face as II had done.

Getting Vessel up is easier than expected, trembling frame moving as urged and soon enough he's standing, arms instinctually coming to wrap around himself in a hug. Their little procession moves as quickly through the halls as they can, keeping to the less crowded areas as best as they can. It's not easy, not when they're supposed to start soon. Sam doesn't think they'll be playing much of anything tonight. Sam makes sure they're locked in their dressing room before going off to find wherever Nick had wandered to. Once again, he finds him smoking outside, another cigarette in hand as he blows the smoke out languidly. There is not a bit of tension in his shoulders, not an ounce of concern or regret or anything on his face but a pleasant little grin that sets Sam's teeth on edge.

"Nick. Do you want to explain why that door was locked? Doors don't just lock themselves. Get jammed up, sure, but that was locked from the outside."

"What, are you accusing me of locking him in there?" Nick spits, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he releases smoke off to the side.

"You were both seen together and only youcame back. I've seen the way you look at him. So quick to wipe that leering expression off your face when the others are looking. They'll tear you to pieces if you try anything funny."

"I didn't do anything! It's just a fucking coincidence. You lot are so quick to throw blame my way for no fucking reason. This is an old, shitty venue that hasn't even been renovated in years, the lock's probably broken." Nearly finished, Nick stamps his cig under his boot, expression full of contempt.

"Don't you start that shit, I've seen the way you look at him, like you want to eat him alive. Stop being a piece of shit, man, for your own safety." Sam reiterates, beginning to not care if his words set in.

Nick gets cocky, so assured in himself, completely oblivious to just how far the other vessels will go for Vessel if given the chance, "I'm under contract, they can't do shit to me without legal repercussions."

What a fool, Sam thinks. What a fucking fool.

Sam tries to remind himself that the vessels aren't completely human anymore, and that Nick happens to not know that.

"Legal consequences will not save you from what they'll do to you. Stop being a fucking asshole or else."

"Or else what, Sammy boy?"

Sam moves, gripping Nick's shirt in hand and pulling him up so they're face to face. The surprise on Nick's face gives Sam a sick sense of satisfaction, "Go on then. Keep tempting fate. I won't miss you."

Releasing Nick, Sam shoves him away at the same time, uncaring of the fierce glare being shot his way as he walks off. Sam needs to tell the others his suspicions, knowing it will be safer for Vessel regardless of the other mans hesitation. He finds II just as the other is finishing up with their tour manager, jaw visibly clenched beneath his cloth mask.

It only takes another minute or so until he's done, turning to Sam as though he knew he was there. For all Sam knew, II saw him come up or their odd vessel magic told him somehow.

"Is Vessel alright?" Is the first thing II says, getting straight to the point.

Sam takes no offense to the brisk tone, "Last I saw he was still out of it."

For the briefest of seconds, II's shoulders dip down like he is finally buckling under the weight of his many stressors, but then he is straightening up again, as confident and assured as ever. Sam hopes that one day, II won't feel the need to carry all of that weight himself.

"What do you need then? I take it that wasn't what you came here to say."

"No, I've something I need to confide in you about. Let's start heading back to the others though, you're a nervous wreck without them. And don't deny it either, you don't need to hide it from me."

"I'm not nervous." II grumbles, following at Sam's side regardless.

"Not nervous then, concerned. I can practically feel it." Sam corrects, knowing what he'd said before wasn't quite right as soon as it left his mouth.

They walk in silence, II keeping up with Sam's longer strides easily despite the height difference. It's only once they're in a relatively scarce area that Sam speaks, "You need to keep a close eye on Nick. Vessel told me he's a bit unpleasant when it's just the two of them. Something about him rubs me the wrong way."

II stops, eyes crinkling visibly with hurt as the rest of his expression is hidden with his mask. It's clear to see that Vessel confiding in Sam and not him or III hurts. Hoping to ease some of that pain, Sam tacks on, "I had asked why you all needed Nick if Vessel could play all the guitar parts himself. He only told me about Nick being a bit of an ass because I said he was pretty pretentious."

The insult sparks a soft, strained laugh out of II, which Sam is going to consider a win.

"Thank you Sam, I appreciate you telling me this. Three and I try our best to keep an eye on things but there isn't much we can do if Vessel doesn't tell us. Don't want to just kill a man who ended up being a bit of an asshole and little else." II says it jokingly, but Sam knows better.

What use is a human who pisses them off to three vessels of a God?

II is angry, suspicious, but hiding his upset to the best of his ability when the dressing room door shuts behind him. III sits on the small, peeling leather couch, carding their fingers through Vessel's hair so gently, working out the knots that Vessel had made by pulling at the unruly strands.

"We're being taken off the roster tonight." II affirms, voice low and soft so as to not startle Vessel, though he doesn't think anything would get through to him when he's like this.

The bond is vacant, clouded over with a thick fog. Vessel isn't even present, hasn't said a single word or even looked at them since Sam found him. He is still hugging himself, knuckles white where they're fisted into his shirt at his sides.

"Ves is gonna feel so bad." III mutters, "He hates missing out on a chance to worship, even if it hurts him."

"There's nothing to be done about it unless he comes back to himself in the next two minutes. I wouldn't let him go out there anyways, even if Sleep himself ordered us to."

"Oh, right. Do you think Sleep is going to be angry?" III whispers, remembering quite suddenly how it had hurt to have their voice taken from him, "This is the first ritual we were to do on our first tour and we can't even play it. Sleep has to be upset."

"I don't give a damn if Sleep is upset. Is He going to take control of Vessel and parade him around like he's nothing more than a puppet to perform? Ves doesn't even know where he is-"

"Two-" III's warning is cut off but the pained hiss II emits, his body seizing up.

His body is locked in place, sweat gathering on his forehead beneath his mask. II longs to rip it off, to free himself of the confining fabric as his body warms. Sucking in gasp after gasp of air, II hopes to cool himself down as his temperature rapidly raises.

"Shit, Two, what's wrong?" III asks, frantic, trying to gently move Vessel aside so they can stand up.

"I'm- I'm fine. Stay where you are." II gasps, tears beading at the corners of his eyes.

His spine feels like it's on fire, not with pain but with heat. His scar burns, just as it did when he received it. II worries at first that this is Hate's doing, the God trying to finish him off, but he knows that isn't it. Vessel killed it. This is Sleep's doing, a punishment for speaking out of turn in such a way. Only when his temperature reaches just below the point of a terrible fever, does it stop raising. He is given control over his body again, sinking down to the floor slowly. Every movement burns like liquid fire is coursing through his veins.

II rips off his mask, swiping at the sweat on his forehead desperately. Fuck, he's afraid. It's too hot. He's going to burn alive from the inside out.

Sleep knows about this newfound fear of his, and is cruel enough to exploit it.

Taking off his shirt next, II places a palm over his scar, feeling it burn hotter than the rest of his feverish body. Gritting his teeth, II likens the heat, the pain, to melted metal dripping over his wound though when he lifts his hand, it comes back merely sweaty.

"I'm not fucking sorry." II spits out into the open air, hoping Sleep can tell exactly who his ire is directed at, choking back a sob.

The heat flares up for a split second, II finding himself kneeling on the ground with his head pillowed on his arms. It hurts, everything hurts, but he doesn't regret what he's said. There's a soft touch on his back, II instinctively jerking away from it. His head turns, finding III sat beside him.

"I'm fine, Ves-"

"Vessel is fine, he'll come back from the disassociation eventually and we can comfort him then. You're- You're not fine, Doll. I can feel it. What did Sleep do?"

"It's so hot." II finally breaks, finally lets that sob free.

He moves to curl up in III's lap, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and burying his face in the crook of their neck. Without a thought, III's arms wrap around him, pulling him close. The heat is worse like this, III's own body heat colliding with II's feverish body, but II makes no move to distance himself from them.

"You always say blasphemous things to Him, why now has Sleep decided to punish you for it?" III whispers, holding his lover close as he sobs, tears soaking into their shirt.

It's a rare sight to see II such a mess, more common in recent times only due to his injury. Otherwise, II makes it a point to remain strong under the other vessel's watchful, concerned eyes.

"Either what I said was especially heinous or there was some truth to it." II shudders, whining low in the back of his throat as molten heat seems to drip from his scar.

"At our first ritual, Vessel pulled away from me when I was reaching out for him. I couldn't feel him, or you, very well but he was especially distant. All there was was Sleep. Do you remember what Terzo said? Sleep enters his body, takes it over. Do you think he meant that literally?"

"Shit, it's no wonder Vessel was such a mess at the festival if Sleep was puppeting his body around." Swearing, II wipes his eyes but doesn't pull away from III's embrace, content to let himself be held for the time being.

"Should have known Ves' name would be literal." III sighs, "A vessel for a God, a means of housing something divine. Maybe it's better that he is less human now. I wish he'd have told us though."

II doesn't respond to that, but III doesn't mind, rubbing a hand up and down their smaller lovers back soothingly. It takes quite some time for him to calm, III managing to convince him to rest on the couch with Vessel, III sat between them with both of their heads pillowed on his lap.

Remaining shirtless in hopes of lessening the heat that II will simply have to suffer with, II finds himself nodding off once or twice, exhausted. It's well into the second opener's set when Vessel's bond becomes less cloudy, clarity coming back to him at a snail's pace. III is alert immediately, setting his phone down so he can keep his full attention on Vessel, choosing to let II continue to rest. Despite his best intentions, II ends up waking up soon after anyways, as though sensing Vessel coming back to them. He refutes III's protests against moving too much, choosing instead to sit on the ground in front of where Vessel rests, a hand seeking out his lovers' cheek, who only slowly blinks. The music booming through the venue is loud here, muffled as it is through the walls, the only background noise to the silence the vessels find themselves in.

"Two?"

It's a soft mutter, a little confused sounding, as though Vessel isn't quite sure he's seeing right. He blinks slowly again, licking his dry lips, one hand coming up to feel at the star-shaped earring in his ear. Vessel needs to know this is real.

"Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Bad. 'M tired."

"I can imagine, sweetheart. Do you remember what happened?"

"Got... locked in a room. I think. It was dark. I... I didn't even know I was afraid of the dark." Vessel says, no more than a faint whisper.

"I was scared when I laid on the manor floor for weeks, unable to move, but... I thought it was just because of the pain. I- I don't think that was it. I remember..." Vessel starts, voice frail, hoarse, throat thick with emotion.

"Don't force yourself to speak, Sugar, you don't need to if-" III tries, still working his fingers through Vessel's hair.

"No, I- I want to tell you. I promise." His eyes look a little more clear now, almost completely back with them.

II's heart soars as Vessel moves his cheek into II's hand, seeking out the affection II is giving, "Go on, sweetheart, we're listening."

"My father would lock me in our basement when I was bad."

II manages to keep his visceral reaction to a mere wince, encouraging smile faltering. III can't quite control his the same way, already worried expression crumbling into something like despair.

"I don't understand why I'm only now remembering. The- the door just wouldn't open and it was so- So dark. I couldn't see and suddenly it's like I was- Was a child again. There was something wrong with me. I was bad. I didn't mean to be bad." It's a struggle to get his voice to cooperate, every word threatening to be overtaken by a sob.

"Oh sweetheart..." II murmurs, "I'm sure whatever you did was not deserving of a punishment like that. You were a child., and that was needlessly cruel."

"I was bad." Vessel reiterates shortly, not willing to believe II on this matter.

Vessel turns in place, burying his head against III's stomach to hide, curling up as II's hand slips off his cheek. II tries not to feel rejected, knowing that Vessel is only upset. The fire in his veins seems to flare up at the first sign of weakness, licking up his spine. He wipes more sweat from his brow, pulling his shirt on and wincing at the immediate feeling of being too hot.

"I can't see anything with these eyes. These- These useless human eyes...!" Vessel spits out, hands coming up to dig the heels of his palms into his sockets, "I want my eyes back!"

III rubs soothing circles into Vessel's shoulder as the other starts crying again in earnest, soft little sobs shaking his curled up form.

"If we get him back to the bus, he can take his necklace off." III whispers, meeting II's equally as sad eyes.

Releasing a breath, II stands, hiding his wince of pain, "Can you get him back on your own? I'll have Sam help me get all of our shit together when the current band is done and let the tour manager know we're going to head to the next stop a bit early."

"I've got him." Reassurances are easy when III would lay waste to anyone who dared try to hurt Vessel with him around.

Nodding just once, II tries to reel in the visible effects of the heat affecting him, not wanting Vessel to know what Sleep has done. He refocuses to the sight of III slipping Vessel's mask on and helping him stand. Vessel clings to III's shirt tightly, knuckles white from how tightly he's gripping the soft material. As III is guiding Vessel out the dressing room door, having donned his mask in its current stage form alongside his hood pulled over his head, II stops them for just a moment. He gets up on his toes to kiss Vessel's cheek, cupping his face carefully.

Searching eyes implore Vessel to speak only the truth when he asks, "Did Nick have anything to do with you getting locked in that storage room, Vessel?"

Vessel clamps down on the immediate onslaught of guilt threatening to flood the bond, shoving it all in a tiny little box to punish himself for later. It is with red rimmed, watery eyes and a barely there voice that Vessel replies, "No, he didn't have anything to do with it. Just a stroke of bad luck."

He didn't know for sure if Nick had even been the one to lock him in there. One moment, the other man had been with him, and the next Vessel was utterly alone and the door had locked. He never heard or saw anything incriminating.

"Okay, sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure." II says, putting in substantial effort to keep his disbelief out of his voice and the bond, "Go on then. Take good care of him, Three."

III's answering grin is weak, but his voice betrays none of their emotional exhaustion, "Of course, Doll, Ves is safe with me."

Bending down with the gesture given, III accepts the kiss to his own cheek before pulling away. II watches them go with a frown, as III checks the hallway outside the dressing room for any crew or venue staff, and then they rush off in the direction of the backdoor.

Vessel has gotten better, so much better. He would tell them if Nick had done something so drastic, wouldn't he? II wants to believe that the trust they've built would make that certain. He's even shared the reason behind his disassociation, which is as upsetting as everything about Vessel's past seems to be. To remember it now, though, so far from home and so confused as to why he didn't remember sooner...

It's suspicious.

Straightening his shoulders, wiping sweat off his forehead, and slipping his cloth mask back on, II exits the dressing room to find Sam, intending to collect their things between sets. The sooner he can get back to his lovers, the better.

Well over an hour later, once everything is packed up, II returns to the bus with Sam, pausing to inform their bus driver of the change in plans. He passes by Nick, who had helped very little the entire night, and makes his way to the back room. He finds Vessel curled up with his shark plushie, wrapped up in a soft blanket and sleeping softly. III is watching something on their phone on a very low volume, lifting their head when II enters through the small door. His smile is tired but welcoming, just the sight of II's lovers alone easing the weight on his shoulders.

#polyvessels #sleep token fic #sleep token iii #sleep token fanfiction #ii sleep token #iv sleep token #vessel sleep token #sleep token

9 notes · View notes