#wouldn't take nearly as long to string together as it would to animate one from scratch

[arriettyspin]

This might be the most delusional post I've ever made, but what if Riot releases an animated video of Ma Meilleure Ennemie due to the song's immense popularity? And what if they incorporate some of the cut Timebomb footage into the video?

[takami-takami]

Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments. 

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?" 

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth. 

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel. 

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case. 

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire? 

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening. 

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here." 

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support. 

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind. 

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course. 

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart. 

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it. 

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth. 

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core. 

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem. 

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch with their own.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs. 

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could— 

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips. 

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity. 

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan. 

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half. 

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms. 

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive. 

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation. 

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," Keigo warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you." 

He schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry. 

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion. 

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth. 

Ah, it hits you. 

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that." 

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?" 

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—" 

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips. 

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With Keigo kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants. 

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!" 

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth. 

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it. 

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face. 

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw." 

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please." 

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire. 

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch Keigo moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor. 

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance. 

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts." 

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt. 

"You're so wet for me," he reveres in awe, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit. 

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent. 

Until you shut the fuck up. 

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory. 

Keigo wants to hear you moan. 

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction. 

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals. 

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care. 

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd. 

Pulling out, that is. 

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end. 

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made. 

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?" 

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Sixteen

yall aint ready

okay so i tried my damdest to make sure i didnt leave any unfinished sentences or paragraphs but i struggled with this one so much, i was going back and forth working on different sections Constantly and in so many places. Sorry in advance and if yall would be so kind as to point weird spots out ;-;

Word count: 15,219

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

II had nearly screamed when III showed all three of them Kiwi before bed, face paling dangerously. Vessel hadn't fallen asleep like he desperately needed to, so tired from the long day. He knows its because Nick set his nerves on edge, and Sleep would not claim him. They were all sitting in some form or another on the hotel bed the vessels had claimed as theirs.

"She- She's cute, Three." II had said, clearly afraid.

Vessel had been expecting tears, but was pleasantly surprised to see that III's endeavor to acclimate II with spiders using their own spindly limbs was bearing some fruit.

"Kiwi says she's sorry for scaring you." III offers, and Vessel thinks that they mean it, that they can understand the spider.

It wouldn't be a stretch to assume so, given their other divine gifts. "It's okay." II manages to choke out, hand shaking as he offers it up, "Can I... hold her?"

II looks physically pained to be asking, but doesn't rescind his request. III lights up, pride surging through the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel is proud, too, and doesn't let the cold look in Nick's eyes as he regards Kiwi ruin that for him.

Kiwi crawls from III's palm to the tips of his fingers, transferring over to II's hand. She stays there, moving no closer, the only movement she makes is to wave.

"Adorable." Vessel murmurs, leaning in closer, ignoring the way his throat begins to tighten with every word.

Nick's words from earlier have begun to steal his voice, something he knew was coming regardless of the other man's jabs.

"She's very... sweet, too. As long as I don't stare too long and get freaked out." II says, smiling weakly at III, before turning his attention to the spider still on the tip of his finger.

"Nice to meet you, Kiwi. I'm Two."

Kiwi waves again, with multiple arms, and II's smile becomes a little more strong, though no less nervous, no less genuine.

"Okay, this is all I can manage, please take her back." Tears are beading at the corners of II's eyes, but he doesn't let them fall.

"Want to hold her, Nick?" III asks, smile wide as he takes Kiwi back from II.

II turns to lean into Vessel, hand coming to rest on Vessel's thigh. It is an easy decision (Not much of a decision, more an instinct) for Vessel to clasp their fingers together.

"No, I don't really care for bugs. Sorry." Nick refuses, smile nervous.

It's the truth, Vessel knows, or some version of it. Nick doesn't care for animals at all. He saw the cold, heartless look in those brown eyes while III was handing II Kiwi. He wouldn't trust the other man with anything living. There's a reason Elvira hates him.

He's glad Nick refused. He would trust Nick with Kiwi about as much as he'd trust him with Elvira, which is to say, not at all. Ever.

"That's alright, II is afraid of spiders. Ves?" III reassures, then questions Vessel next, who is already reaching a hand out.

II pats Vessel's hand after he unclasps them, not moving away even though he stiffens at Vessel's side once Kiwi is passed over. Body stiff, and yet II still trembles, taking comfort in the reassurance III and Vessel are both layering over their shared bond.

Vessel curls his fingers very gently after Kiwi climbs onto his palm, waving up at him. "Hello again, little Kiwi." He murmurs, a very tentative finger coming to barely pet her head.

Kiwi waves, and then begins weaving a string of webbing around his ring finger. Vessel lets her, watching carefully to make sure she doesn't fall, his other hand spread below the one holding her to catch her if needed.

When she is finished, Vessel has three thin strings, one around each joint. The sight causes sparks of familiarity in him, but he can't seem to grasp at the feeling enough to remember where it comes from.

"Thank you?" He whispers quietly, confused, glancing up at III in question.

III shrugs, showing his own webbed ring finger, discreetly glancing over at Nick to show it's something they can't talk about right now. Vessel nods, and he and III continue cooing over Kiwi. II is content to watch, slowly snuggling further and further into Vessel's side to the point the smaller man was nearly in Vessel's lap. II keeps to Vessel's rule, as he is coming to learn is something they will always strive to do. Everyone decided to go to bed around midnight, tired from the day's events. Vessel was mildly curious as to what Nick got up to, for the sake of trying to be friendly, but doesn't dare ask.

It had taken far too long to find III's socks, so II decided they would just stay one more night. Vessel didn't mind waiting to leave, especially when III was so quick to wrap around Vessel from over the covers, breath warm against Vessel's nape as he slept. II pressed close as well, after making sure III was covered with a blanket from the car. Kiwi had slept on some folded up tissues in place of a web for the night, III apologizing profusely for her being unable to make any webs. It was cute, and no surprise as to how endeared Vessel and II felt watching III carefully care for the little spider, no matter how II's fear of her kept him from even glancing her way most of the time.

They'd all piled into the car early in the morning, well before their required check-out time. II had insisted, to Nick's mild but well hidden, annoyance. Vessel found himself having difficulty rising that next day, body heavy as his magic thrummed under his skin. Perhaps if his necklace was off, his eyes would be glowing. Dropping Nick off at his apartment is a quick, easy affair, parting with pleasantries and promises of coming over for their usual practice days. Vessel isn't excited, especially not when Nick pats Vessel's thigh. It's somehow intimate, in the worst way, the touch making him cringe back. Nick's grin had gotten wider as he shut the door, clearly pleased with the reactions he gets out of Vessel.

Once Nick is gone, Vessel is finally able to relax for the first time since they'd started their long trip back, the tension draining from his stiff muscles. His drowsy peace doesn't last long as they grow nearer to Sleep's earthly realm, the God's presence beginning to be felt. It weighs down on his chest, filling up the empty cavity. Vessel can almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Blood begins to rush in his ears, the forest calling him back, louder and louder the closer they get.

"Ves?" III asks, turning around in their seat as best as they can.

With Nick gone, Vessel has little negative emotions to hide from them, and so they feel how his bond begins to swarm with uneasiness.

"The forest knows I am returning. I can feel us nearing the boundary. Do not worry, I am fine." Vessel responds, his voice beginning to break, and III reluctantly turns back around in their seat properly, stretching their arm out awkwardly to try and hold Vessel's knee.

Fog has settled over the forest, the trees parting for their car to pass through, low hanging branches clawing at the windows. Vessel's leg bounces as they cross the boundary line, claws scraping across his forearms as he holds himself, leaving light welts as he keeps from breaking skin only barely.

If II hadn't been going so slow, he would have hit the stag standing in the middle of the road, hidden in the fog. II slams the breaks anyway, causing the car to lurch forward, the only thing keeping them in their seats being their seatbelts. III scrambles to try and keep Kiwi safe and not squish her in their hands at the same time.

"Sorry..." II mutters as Vessel unbuckles his seatbelt, climbing out of the car, worry in the bond.

"Has something happened?" He questions, voice hoarse as he forces himself to speak loud enough to be heard, moving towards the stag.

Behind him, II and III are exiting the car, too. II is the first to notice all of the forest creatures around them, just on the edge of the road, hidden away in the fog.

The stag shakes its head, red vines swinging with the motion. Though it has no eyes, Vessel feels as if he is being observed. A crow flies somewhere overhead, it's caws reverberating in the quiet forest. Vessel's tired mind is suddenly reminded of his necklace, and how he is hidden under a glamor. He rips it off quickly, stuffing the coined chain into his pocket.

Vessel moves closer, slow, as if the stag will startle and run away (or impale him. II and III don't need to see such a gruesome sight.) if he gets too close, too fast.

"Did it not recognize him?" III murmurs, leaning in close to II.

"Maybe not? The magic in our necklaces is strong." II replies, watching Vessel carefully.

Walking forward on steady legs of bared bones, the stag reaches out with its snout, the bleach white of the skull coming in contact with Vessel's chest. He flinches backwards harshly, fear flashing down the bond before it calms, but does not fall to the ground or move away. II narrows his eyes in thought.

Vessel only ever lets Elvira lay on his chest, and now the stag can touch freely despite Vessel's dubiety. Animals, II supposes, aren't what Vessel is truly afraid of touching him there. It makes II wonder, and worry.

He wants to ask, but he knows, he knows Vessel will not answer. He'll just look at him with those beautiful, sad eyes, guilt flooding the bond, and he'll apologize for his fear, for his guilt, as if everything that has happened to him, everything that has made him this way is his fault.

After a moment of the stag's snout on Vessel's chest, nothing seems to be happening.

Then, Vessel sways forward, the veins on his hands beginning to glow gold. There is the faintest bit of light from under his clothes as II and III rush forward, hands coming to hold Vessel steady on either side.

Silently, it moves away, a crow flying down to land on the branch of an antler. It's head tilts, another quiet caw releasing. The grotesque stag bows it's head low, knees bending as it's front kneels. The squawks, flapping its wings desperately to stay upright. It is only for a moment, and then the stag rises again, turning to II and III to dip it's head in greeting before it turns to walk off into the fog that swallows it within seconds. The animals follow, and the silent forest regains its life.

"What was that, Ves?" III asks, when II decides to remain silent.

Six crimson eyes slide up to meet III's, tiredness seeping from every pore. He holds out his hand, and without question, III takes it, pulling Vessel a little closer.

"I believe I have grown in power since the ritual. Sleep left my body, but the magic did not completely diminish with Him. I can still feel it within me, settling into my bones. I have been... very tired since the festival. It's been manageable, but my body still aches and my mind is frayed."

"The stag... it settled my magic for me. Terzo had mentioned it, too, that all the magic from the ritual was struggling to settle in my mortal body." Vessel explains, throat struggling to work.

"Let's get you back in the car sweetheart, you look like you're about to fall over." II murmurs, gentle as he and III lead Vessel back to the car.

He stumbles, knees giving out, and wonders why his body is failing him now, and not the day before. Regardless of his confusion, he is glad for it. Yesterday was one of his favorite days he's ever lived, Before or After. He loves his partners so much, and he felt at home, even if he couldn't find it in himself to voice it. He knows, now, what they are to him. What the manor has become to him. It's funny what a bit of distance, what remembering past experiences will do to someone.

The word still scares him, he is afraid of what it means, of what it will do to him when it is taken away inevitably. Regardless of his feelings on it, it does not change what the manor has become to him. What II and III are to him. They're his home, and the house they live in is his home. Voicing it will take some time yet, but the knowledge soothes some part of his soul. Vessel never thought he would have a home...

II and III don't let him hit the ground, and when II asks if he needs carried, Vessel shakes his head in vehement refusal. III almost gets into the backseat with Vessel, but Vessel waves him off back to the front seat.

"'M fine, beloved." Vessel reassures, but his attempts clearly don't assuage any worries by the look on III's face as they reluctantly climb into the front passenger seat.

Once everyone is settled in their seats again, seatbelts strapped on out of habit, II continues. The air feels more somber now, as Vessel's eyes slip closed a few times in his exhaustion. Sleep grows nearer, but it is nothing like when the manor is finally within his sights. Then, the God is happily surrounding him, presence pressing close to his body though Sleep doesn't speak.

Vessel is given no time to reacclimate to feeling his God's full presence so close, for Sleep has taken his mind from his body. It slumps over, head hitting the window as six eyes close, still shining faintly under his eyelids.

II nearly crashes the car in his surprise, slamming the brakes again as III panics, struggling to unbuckle their seat belt. He tumbles over the seat, nearly falling onto Vessel as he clambers over it.

They take Vessel's face in hand, frantic, fearing the worst, and yet Vessel's body merely sleeps.

"Vessel, love? Shit, Sleep took him."

II grips the stirring wheel tightly, knuckles turning a pale grey, "Couldn't even wait until we got home? Fucking- Ugh."

"He's really pale, Two." III says quietly, "He didn't look like this yesterday, did he?"

"No." II grits out, struggling to keep his anger in check, "He seemed tired, but otherwise fine. He..."

"Was hiding his pain from us again." III finishes, settling into the backseat to pull Vessel's sleeping form down into his lap.

"Vessel had looked so happy yesterday, despite the hiccups. I've never seen him that excited over something. Do you think... Do you think he'd ever looked like that Before Sleep?" III has to force the words out, hushed, stroking Vessel's cheeks reverently as the other sleeps.

"No. I don't think so, Three." II replies, equally as hushed and no less devastated by the knowledge.

"Is your mate hurt?" Kiwi asks, crawling over the front passenger seat to stare III down.

"He's not injured. Our God has taken his mind from his body, so he sleeps."

Content with the answer, Kiwi settles close to the headrest, and II finds the curiosity despite the situation to ask, "Can you really hear what Kiwi says?"

"Yeah, I can. It's probably part of my gift from Sleep, with my ah- spider limbs." III drops their voice down lower, as if saying the word 'spider' too loud will set II off into a fit of fear, though its yet to ever do so.

"What do-" II clears his throat as he parks in their usual spot a little ways from the house, nervous but knowing how happy it'll make III for him to ask, "What sorts of things does she say?"

III's reacts as intended, face lighting up as their frown lifts into a soft smile in the rearview mirror, "Kiwi calls you and Ves my mates! She won't explain to me why, but I guess it has something to do with the threads she keeps wrapping around our ring fingers? Maybe she thinks we're married or something."

"Well, we kind of are, aren't we?" II teases, but there's a glint of seriousness in his eyes.

"Married?" III whispers, searching II's face for any hint of it being all in jest, barely noticing Kiwi climbing up his arm to their shoulder.

They glance down at Vessel, sleeping soundly as they lift him out of the car. He's slender, thin, deadweight in III's arms, cradled to his body a little awkwardly to keep their chests from touching.

III has never had any intention of leaving... He fully intended from the moment he chose to become a vessel to stay with II and Vessel for the rest of his afterlife. He couldn't fathom a different reality. This is where he was meant to be, with them. A piece was still missing, but III knows it's only a matter of time. Then they'll be whole.

The vines over the front door part without command, the ones on the porch's small roof brushing along III's arms in greeting as he passes.

"After our Fourth." III says, as II opens the door for him to enter, "After our Fourth is here and thing's settle. When we're finally complete, let's talk about this again."

"It's a promise, sweetheart." II states seriously, stopping III to seek out a kiss.

Vessel sleeps in III's arms between them, both vessels misty eyed as they share a tender kiss, not an ounce of roughness, but still full of passion.

Maybe if II brought up marriage with Vessel, the other would stop being so afraid that they'd leave him. For all the hope that lies in that thought, II isn't sure. Whatever secret Vessel is keeping is what stops any of their attempts to make him believe that II and III are never going to leave him. Whatever secret he is keeping is a barrier between them, keeping Vessel's heart locked up somewhere they can't reach, no matter how the love between them only grows.

II wants to be given everything. All of Vessel's darkest impulses that he hides from them for fear of their reactions. He wants the good, the bad, the ugly, every inch of Vessel's mind, body. He wants to know what wounds Vessel bears on his soul, every single one.

He wants Vessel to give in. Give in. Give in. Please. He's here to stay, he'd tear fiber from the filament if it meant he'd get to merely exist in the same universe.

II will keep reaching out on faith alone. He hopes that one day, Vessel's locked up heart will open to them fully, if only Vessel would fearfully stop swallowing the keys.

Vessel opens his eyes to seaweed stretching out above him, swaying gently in the ocean's current. Water presses in on him from all sides, a familiar pressure, though he'd only experienced it once. Beside him, laid out over the sandy floor is Sleep, the eyes on His arms tilted up to watch Vessel, while all the others observe the sea life swimming above. His form is outlined by a shimmering gold aura, transparent, a splotch of ink against pale sand. His form shifts, too, fading in and out like fog. Vessel fears the god will be swept away by a stray current, but knows the thought to be baseless.

Tentatively, Vessel reaches out, hand moving slowly to the side. A pinkie brushes against Sleep's hand, and sinks right through.

Vessel finds himself disappointed that they still cannot touch.

"I did not realize just how much you enjoyed the ocean, my First." Sleep says, voices carefully controlled, as though afraid to say something wrong.

It is not something Vessel ever really hears in the God's voices, something oddly human for an ancient being.

'Yes. It was my home before you found me. I had tried to die many times as a human, and the only time I ever felt peace was when I was drowning but surrounded by oceanwater. Just one moment... stretching to infinity as my body struggled for oxygen.' Vessel explains with a soft smile, brushing a gentle hand along the sandy floor below him.

The smile falls, 'Then I woke up in the hospital, perfectly alive when all I wanted was to be dead and gone. After the first attempt at killing myself, I tried other ways. Ended up back in the ocean once more after so many failures, just to see if I could finally do it right and die where I wanted to. Of course, that didn't work. The last time, I made damn sure I bled enough that nothing could bring me back, and then you found me.'

The moon is bright, so far above him it is a mere speck of light, the ocean currents causing the water and Vessel's body to sway. It's comforting, familiar. Vessel is home, here. At peace in ways his waking mind will not allow him. There is no anxiety festering in his chest cavity, no fear, only serenity.

Sleep does not say anything in response to Vessel's admissions, but he wasn't expecting one.

'I still cannot touch you.' Vessel dares to mention, trying again only to be met with failure.

"No, my Vessel, we cannot." Sleep replies, finally turning his head to look at Vessel properly with as many of His eyes as he can manage.

'Do you know what it feels like to be touched? With a kind hand or a cruel one?' Vessel asks, curious, some part of him already suspecting the answer.

"No. It has been a long, long time since I felt anything you mortals would consider touch."

'No wonder you pulled away from Three.' Vessel murmurs, shoving the thought towards Sleep almost shyly.

"It felt strange. Not quite physical, and yet I could... feel it still." Sleep admits, like pulling teeth, seemingly embarrassed by His own lack of knowledge. "I do not know how to explain the sensation."

'It must feel different, since it is still my body and not yours, but... You're not used to it. I wasn't either, before Two arrived. I only knew hands that hurt. Without him, I would never have known what a gentle touch was like, would never have... grown used to them. I adore him. And Three, of course.' Vessel gushes, though his voice is quiet, light and airy.

Jealously swirls within Sleep, a bitter feeling that He hates but does not know how to rid himself of.

'At our next ritual, while I try to find a balance between you and me within my body, take the time to feel what it is like to have a physical form. Do not shy away from III's touches.' Vessel's request is said lightly, without an ounce of judgment. 'Feel II's drumming reverberate through the floor. Just... feel.'

"As you wish, my Vessel." Sleep agrees, voices monotone, as though hiding some deeper emotion from Vessel.

They fall into silence, Vessel basking in his peace and Sleep basking in the presence of his First. Silvery fish swim by in their schools, God-made, leaving trails of stardust through the water. Vessel reaches up to touch one, a look of awe on his face, and Sleep looks away, overcome with something He has no name for.

Somewhere within, Sleep had wanted Vessel to ask. To ask about that silly human he is visiting in his dreams.

Sleep supposes his magic worked, then, if Vessel wasn't questioning him. There should have been no doubt of it, but Vessel has long surpassed Sleep's expectations of a vessel, He gave so much of himself away...

It is raining when Vessel wakes up, two days after they had returned from their festival trip. Beside him, his plushies, new and old, are laid close. Elvira purrs on his chest, kneading into his shirt gently while her tail flicks back and forth.

Glad to see her, Vessel pets down her back, all the way down to her tail. She lets out an adorable sound, lifting up her behind to push into his hand every time he passes along her spine. Vessel wishes he could force his voice to work so he could tell Ellie just how much he missed seeing her.

The sound of rain against his window keeps him in bed for only a moment while he enjoys the sound, then he is rising. He takes great care in tucking his plushies under his covers, laid with their heads against the pillows, picking up a disgruntled Elvira to take with him when he is done.

Soft, silent footsteps tread down the staircase, the sound of III's humming reaching his ears from the kitchen. Vessel wonders if II knows III is in there, or is all of a sudden perfectly fine risking the manors safety. Vessel sets Elvira down beside her full bowls, smiling apologetically when she meows in irritation.

III pokes his head out of the kitchen door, a wide grin on his face when he sees Vessel. "Sugar! You're awa- where are you going? Its raining outside!"

Vessel pauses at the front door to slip off his socks and roll up his pajama pants, before heading out onto the porch.

Bare feet squish in the mud at the bottom of the steps as III lingers at the threshold of their front door.

"Ves! Wait a minute! Let me get Two, we'll go with you. And please, change into something warmer." III calls, turning around on their heel to hurry back into the house.

It wasn't an unusual sight to see Vessel heading out into the rain whenever the skies opened up in Sleep's earthly realm. It happened often enough, never anything too heavy, though occasional storms occurred that left them all house ridden. Not for Vessel's lack of want to go outside and bask in the rain, but for his lack of willingness to leave III alone (with II, but Vessel hates to leave either of them when he know they're suffering under the weight of negative emotions) when storms made him uncomfortable, borderline afraid.

III does not fancy a stroll through mud in the rain, but he'd give anything to spend some time with Vessel right now, and he knows II feels the same. Waking II up is done not without guilt, exhaustion palpable even in his sleep. Deep bags are under his eyes from the stress he always undergoes whenever Sleep takes Vessel's mind from his body. II hates it, III knows. They also know that II doesn't trust Sleep with any of them, not after watching how Vessel has continued to suffer time and time again, not after what Sleep did to III himself.

"Ves is awake." III says softly, smoothing out II's bedhead as best as they can before moving to cup his cheek.

Affection swims through his veins as II leans into his touch, "Wants to go out on a walk in the rain. I managed to stop him, made him wait for us."

II's eyes go wide as III's words set in, the sleepiness wiped away in an instant. He's up and out of his bed before III knows it, tossing on proper clothes and trying in vain to smooth his own hair out. He manages about as well as III did, which is not much at all.

III leaves him to it, and exits II's room to go get changed themselves. Slipping his mask and phone into their pockets, III leaves his own room. Vessel has clearly been to his own room and back already, in a pair of jeans and a non descript black hoodie, cleaning up some mud from where he walked through the house. III isn't surprised Vessel is ready to go already, he loves the rain.

"Thank you for waiting." III says softly, brushing his hand over Vessel's hair, petting him lightly.

Vessel lets out a faint noise of acknowledgement, but doesn't speak, lifting his head to shove against III's hand more insistently, quite like a cat.

"Missed you, Sugar." III murmurs, crouching down to be at Vessel's level, "Can I have a kiss?"

III barely gets their question out before Vessel is dropping the muddy rag, wiping his hands on his jeans, and reaching out for III. Surprising III, Vessel kisses over his jaw, then his cheekbone, right over a question mark freckle, before finally kissing him on the lips.

III falls back, startled, and Vessel follows, holding III's face ever so gently in clawed hands. The ache in his asscheeks is well worth the tender kiss Vessel is giving them, cold hands sending shivers down III's spine.

This feels like some sort of huge leap has been made in Vessel's progress towards healing. It feels otherworldly. It's only a kiss, and yet...

"I love you." III breathes when Vessel pulls away, feeling like they're floating on air when Vessel nuzzles his nose into III's cheek, six eyes fluttering closed.

Vessel wants to say it back, opens his mouth to do so, but his voice fails him, throat tight. Unable to reciprocate vocally, Vessel presses three small kisses onto the tip of III's nose, and then lets their foreheads touch for but a moment. His eyes try to memorize every miniscule detail of III's face, so glad to see their unique freckles on display again.

II clears his throat lightly, III and Vessel looking up to see him standing at his doorway, looking over at them fondly. Vessel's startled expression seems to brighten at the sight of him, and II wonders how that's even possible, considering the adoring look he'd been giving III mere seconds before.

"Hello, beautiful. I'm glad to see you awake." II says, moving towards them.

He was going to anyways, but Vessel reaching a hand out for him to take hurried II along. II joins them on the floor, bringing Vessel's hand up for a kiss to his knuckles. Vessel surprises II by pulling his hand from II's grip and placing it on his cheek, leaning in to kiss II all on his own, hesitant as it is. Eyes wide in surprise, II glances over at III in shock, only to find III grinning widely, just as elated as II is.

It is with reluctance that when they part, II pulls Vessel up off the floor with him, reaching to cup his cheeks and pull him down into a chaste kiss. "It's been raining for all morning, it will probably stop soon. We should get going if you want a few minutes to enjoy it sweetheart."

"It's been pretty light, my plants should be fine." III comments, standing, too.

There's a pretty flush on his face, still feeling the effects of Vessel kissing them. II completely understands, feeling like he's going to explode from how deeply his affection runs.

Vessel forgoes shoes, bare feet padding silently along the floor as he opens the front door to stare out at the rain while II and III put their shoes on, sharing a kiss of their own. Impatient, but in a surprisingly good mood, Vessel hums lightly as he steps onto the porch, making his way just outside of the overhang, rain dripping down his bare face, hands held out to capture rain in his cupped palms.

He turns when II and III shut the door to the manor behind them, lips pulling up further into a grin. Letting the water fall from his hands and then wiping them on his pants, Vessel reaches a hand out each for II and III to take, expression open and warm. He tries his best to ignore his ever present anxiety, wanting the other vessels close without being afraid, for once. The past couple days... has made Vessel consider some things.

Their leaving of him is inevitable. Vessel has never been enough for anyone to stay, to love him eternally. But that's fine. II and III love him right now, and when the times comes for that love to wither, Vessel can die happy knowing that these wonderful people loved him at all. That they stayed longer than any before them and have yet to hurt him. Accepted him as he is, or what he has allowed them to see.

Vessel has always been a selfish man. Always wanting things he doesn't deserve, and yet clawing desperately to keep them, with his beating heart in hand and eyes that never stopped leaking tears.

Vessel has only ever wanted to love and be loved.

III talks enough for Vessel as they walk under an umbrella too small for all of them, telling him all the little things he missed since they got home. How Elvira had practically attacked them not long after they'd set foot through the front door, weaving through II's feet and nipping at his ankles between meows, her tail swaying back and forth. III's started growing some new varieties of flowers, little sprouts that they hope will soon bloom into red camellias and scotch brooms. Still tired, II leans heavily on III, an arm around the other's waist, listening fondly and adding in his own words on occasion.

Vessel walks a little ahead to feel the rain on his body, trailing a hand along damp tree trunks and growing clusters of shelf mushrooms as he goes. There is not as much mud as III thought there would be, much of the moss littering the ground and the thick canopy of trees overhead, leaving the ground damp in places and muddy in others. Most of the mud seemed to congregate around the house or in other areas where the trees weren't quite so tightly packed. The umbrella wasn't really needed, but III is glad for it anyway, their arm around II's shoulder pulling the smaller man closer.

The rain begins to let up not more than twenty minutes into their walk. Vessel's disappointment is clear, and III hates to see the happiness dimming from his multiple eyes.

"How about we play a game?" III blurts, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

Vessel tilts his head as II asks for the both of them, "A game?"

"Uh, yeah! How about tag? Have you ever played it, Ves?" III asks, trying not to show just how sad it makes him when Vessel only stares in confusion, head tilted to the side cutely.

"It's easy." III promises, "Whoever is 'it' has to chase someone around until they can tap them, and then that person will be it. You can't just re-tap the same one who tagged you immediately, though. It's... a little silly, I know. We're not children anymore."

II speaks up to save III from the embarrassment they can all feel in the bond, "No, it's not silly. It'll be good for Ves, actually. Something fun that he missed out on as a child."

"It'll be good for you, too. You need to loosen up." III tries for a joke, feeling a bit better about his suggestion.

II laughs lightly, reaching out to shove III. It almost sends them toppling over with II's strength, their own laughter loud and boisterous. Vessel observes, brushing off the instinctual worry that III would be hurt. II would never.

Vessel bends down to pick up a stray red leaf, gentle hold still managing to crunch it in place between his fingers, holding it up for II and III deliberately. He points towards the section of the forest being consumed by blood red, shaking his head to try and communicate what he means.

"I know, Ves, don't go into the crimson part. It's not safe." II nods, and Vessel relaxes.

Then he smiles, wobbly, unsure, but willing to participate. III's grin grows impossibly wider, a fond smile pulling at II's lips too.

"Tag, you're it!" III exclaims, tapping II on the cheek and booking it in the other direction.

Vessel flounders, looking between II, who is still next to him, and III as they run off, with different sets of eyes. His hands twist together at his waist, unsure of what to do.

"Go on, Ves. Off you go." II smirks, urging Vessel on with a shooing motion.

Vessel hesitates, before turning and following after III at more of a jog, long legs carrying him across the terrain quickly. His movements are stilted, as though running was not something he was familiar with. As he goes, Vessel's tense, nervous form loosens up, instinctually knowing he will not face judgement from his lovers. III's grin is infectious as he takes Vessel's hand so they can keep pace with each other.

II is so terribly fond of them.

"Come on, Two! Hurry up!" III calls, having stopped a good way's away, Vessel at his side.

Running a hand through his hair, II sighs, amused, "Tag the short one first. Of course. That little shit."

II takes off after them, knowing there's no way he'll tag someone unless they let him. He's right when Vessel slows down, easily keeping pace with II, and offers up a hand to be tapped.

"Oh, fine." II rolls his eyes good naturedly, flipping III off as they laugh in the distance and clapping Vessel's hand.

Vessel grins wide, lopsided and baring fangs, wrapping his hand around II's to keep hold of it. A split tongue peeks out to wet dry, cracked lips, and II wants to kiss him, so he does. Pulling Vessel down by a shoulder and getting up on his toes to reach. II keeps it short, contentment swirling in his chest. Vessel is the one that follows II back down for another, nipping very gently at II's lower lip when he parts from the smaller man.

"Tag Three for me, would you?" II asks, mischief making a home in the ice of his eyes, pulling at the corner of his lip and settling into the dimple that appears with his smile.

Vessel nods, leaning down again just to nuzzle his cheek into II's hair, and then he's off, hand slipping from II's. It's a sight to see, watching Vessel chase III around. III's laughter echoes through the forest, becoming part of the symphony created by nature itself.

III is having the time of their life, carefully tucking away the arousal sending blood straight down to his dick as Vessel chases them through the forest. III's breaths come out heavy as he clutches at tree bark, using momentum to swing around the tree to just barely escape Vessel's outstretched hand.

Vessel huffs out air, meant to resemble an exasperated laugh, feeling something like freedom singing in his empty chest. They find themselves on either side of a tree, its trunk separating them. III leans over to one side, smiling widely, playfully. "Gonna come get me, Ves?" 

Feeling... playful too, Vessel allows a pout to form, appearing to think over his options before turning to go around one side of the tree. III isn't expecting Vessel to feint, surprised when the other reaches out to tag him on the hip. 

Instead of getting angry with him, III grins, turning around to pull Vessel in by the beltloops for a kiss. "Where do you think II got off to?" It's more rhetorical than an actual question, but Vessel shrugs his response anyways, letting III lead them back in the direction they last saw their Second. 

II is sitting on the ground against a tree, stretching out his legs. When he sees them, he grins sheepishly, "Got tired. I guess being a vessel doesn't mean my limbs become automatically accustomed to running. I worked an office job Before, and now the most strenuous activities I do are sex and drumming." 

III is openly laughing, plopping down to wrap an arm around II's shoulders. "Sounds to me like you should start working out more. Though, I don't think your biceps or thighs could get anymore... scrumptious. It wouldn't be good for my health."

"Can you even spell that?" II muses, leaning into them as Vessel sits on his other side, their asses cushioned by soft, damp moss.

"Sure I can! S-c-r-u-m, um... another m? S-h...?"

"Valiant effort, sweetheart, but not quite." II laughs, Vessel nodding along with his own amused smile.

They sit by stay II for a bit, eventually standing and letting the other rest while they go about  playing tag in close quarters. They weave in between trees, III never once tripping or stumbling unless its over their own two feet, while Vessel does his best to dodge the roots and rocks littering the ground.

At some point, Vessel trips, knees hitting the ground with a startling ache. His smile remains as he gets back up quickly, nearly falling on his face again as his foot slips in the mud while he stands. III has paused, watching Vessel with caution, beginning to backtrack towards Vessel. Seeing an opening, Vessel boldly moves forward to tap III on the arm. He flits away before III has time to do more than drop their mouth open in feigned shock, turning to stare back at II off in the distance with a gasp, "Did you see that, Doll? He used his pretty face against me!"

"Didn't look like he did much of anything, from here." II calls back, "You're just weak to his beauty! Now, go on! Ves is leaving you in the dust."

"Oh, man, what the fuck- He's so far away already!" III runs off, following Vessel as the other expertly weaves between trees in a zig zag pattern, clever mind trying to confuse III.

It's fun, and that's why Vessel knows he should have been more alert. Nothing good lasts forever.

Vessel freezes, halting midstep. The forest has gone silent,

"Got you- Ves?" III exclaims as he taps Vessel's shoulder gently, pausing when the bond goes taut with alertness.

Urgently, Vessel brings one hand up to his lips in a shushing motion, head tilting as he listens for something. Three sets of eyes roam around the area individually, searchingly, as Vessel reaches back to take III's hand.

He opens his mouth to speak, face twisting into fearful frustration as no words come out. Vessel holds two fingers up instead, trying to get a feel for II's location through the bond. How close is he? Is he nearer to them or the danger Vessel feels trembling within the trees?

He tugs on the bond, feeling it go stiff with II tugging back, the forest whispering to him the way to go. Vessel pulls III along with him, wincing at every sound the others' feet makes as they go. Vessel hates to be so bold, but he needs to teach them how to be silent if danger is to be a norm for them.

II grows closer as III and Vessel walk, hope beginning to blossom in Vessel's empty chest. That fragile hope is crushed underfoot when vines of ivy wrap around his legs, pulling them out from under him. III yelps as Vessel lets out a soft 'oof!', the Third scrambling after Vessel when the vines begin to drag him off.

Back in the direction of the manor.

"Two. Find... Two." Vessel manages to spit out, choking on his words.

He hopes with everything he is that III heard him, that III understood. That hope in his chest, withered and crushed, slowly unfurls into anger, into rage. He understands intimately what is happening.

His body slams into the sides of trees, scraping over roots and rocks as the vines drag him across the forest floor. All the while, he struggles, flailing his arms and legs as terror burrows its way into his very soul, entwining with his anger. Every silent command to be released is ignored, and soon enough, he is being pulled up the porch steps and into the house. The vines release him as the front door slams shut, vines covering the entire thing so he can't leave. Vessel stands on shaky legs, body aching in places he hasn't in a long time, scrapes stinging and blood oozing from minor cuts on his face. The back of his head aches, too, where he'd hit it multiple times going up the steps. It leaves him dizzy, and it takes a moment to regain his bearings.

Vessel finds the foyer and living room a mess, books tossed carelessly to the ground, blankets and cushions strewn about. II's plants that usually sit on the thin windowsills on either side of the front door have been knocked to the ground, contents spilling over the floor messily. Vessel touches each one, ensuring they will not wilt.

Movement in the kitchen catches Vessel's attention, moving towards it silently. A yowl reaches his ears, angry hissing and mewls of distress. The cautious expression on Vessel's face turns thunderous, anger spurring him on.

There are three... things taking up space in the kitchen, one holding Elvira in it's arms. They're vaguely humanoid in shape only, seemingly made of black blood, iron invading Vessel's nose so strongly it would make him gag if he wasn't so used to the stench of his own blood. Their forms bubble, shifting as though in constant threat of boiling over. It's an odd sight, one Vessel isn't sure how to describe properly. He finds he doesn't care, fingers twitching at his side. With nary a thought, the knives in their wooden block lift, shooting through the air and impaling three of the intruders. Blood gurgles over each of their lips, a knife through the throat, and one in the chest. Their forms shift, black blood frothing up where their mouths are and then they explode, blood the color of ink splattering over the walls. Steam rises, the blood boiling.

Elvira jumps out of the arms of the one holding her, hissing as she bounds off, blood droplets blending into her dark, singed fur, bloody prints being left where her paws meet the floor. When Vessel has the chance, he'll make sure she isn't injured. Turning in the direction of the living room, Vessel faces a multitude of those creatures, all seeming in search of something. Vessel knows what for.

The knives hover in the air at his command, the creatures before him turning as one to stare at his unmoving form. Then, one launches itself directly at him. Heat turns his skin pink before blood splatters over his face, and it burns as a knife goes clean through the thing's throat.

Vessel ignores the pain, wiping off the blood with a sleeve. He's glad he didn't wear his Alpha Wolf hoodie today. The death of one causes the others to grow restless, surging towards him and dripping blood as they go. Where Vessel takes out one creature of black blood, another reforms in its place, bubbling up over itself until something humanoid sways in it's predecessors place.

Is this to tire him out? Are II and III undergoing the same thing? Neither are as used to pain as he is, Vessel knows it is not so easy to set aside the ache of injuries. As that thought enters his mind, Vessel feels pain light up II's bond like an explosion, and III's more faintly as though their injury was less severe.

It leaves him gasping, cold fury flooding his veins like an avalanche, and the vines around the manor shudder, writhe, thorns making scratches on the walls. With new resolve, Vessel takes out another creature, brutal with every movement, little care being shown to how much blood splatters on his clothes. He has lovers to get back to.

II wiggles, flailing his arms and one free leg as best as he can, struggling to escape from the hand holding him up in the air. A God looms over him, holding II up by the ankle as if he were nothing more than a pesky insect, gazing at him with two crimson eyes that remind the Second so much of his boyfriend it hurts.

"Second vessel of Sleep, least favored. So close to being incompatible with the God, you were almost looked over entirely. Sleep will not care for that tiny flicker of love you have for them, not with how much hate you harbor. They will toss you aside without a thought, just a broken vessel lost in the void, soulless. There is no greater suffering... but if you join me, lend me your soul and your gifts, I would never toss you aside. Sink into your hate, let it froth, boil over..."

"Are you done? I don't have all day, y'know. Who even are you?" II interrupts, sneering, impatient.

"What nerve you have, Second Vessel of Sleep. I am the God of Hate-"

"Nice to meet you, now fuck off. I won't join you or any other God. Not now, not ever. Sleep is my God, no matter my feelings for Him. I chose this, chose him and nothing you say will change that."

"You are not even devoted to him! Do not lie to me, Second vessel, I feel your hate!" Hate spits, heat crawling up (or is it down?) his leg where the God still holds his ankle in a bruising grip.

"You want the truth? Fine, the truth is I do hate Sleep. Some part of me does, at least. I am devoted to Vessel, First vessel of Sleep. He is where my devotion lies, he is who I worship. Vessel is my God, and who my God follows, so too, do I. But I will not be swayed from Sleep, no matter how I hate the way he treats us vessels. Now I suggest you leave this fucking forest and never return. None of us will bow to your will."

Hate roars, flinging II to the side, and II flails, trying to grab anything he can. His hands catch on a tree whose thick, leaf-covered branches bend down to catch him. He is deposited safely to the forest floor, the trees righting their positions as if they never moved at all.

Blinking, II takes the strange situation in stride, attention falling back to Hate and the goopy things writhing around him, not quite human shaped.

II sneers, widening his stance and summoning his axes. He adjusts his grip on them nervously, blue eyes trying to keep track of all of the figures beginning to circle him. Black blood drips to the forest floor, leaves catching alight and burning away. What use is his strength if the thing he is fighting is too hot for him to touch?

"Foolish Second vessel. Do you think you can fight me? That you will win?"

"I do not do anything I think to be impossible." II snaps, launching one axe directly at Hate's head.

It soars through the air, very nearly hitting its mark. Hate leans to the side casually, goopy form drifting closer as it laughs, and II backs up, knowing it's imperative he keeps distance between them.

Hate begins to laugh, finding II's attempts at fighting back amusing, and it makes II angry. God's and their fucking arrogance. II doesn't care how otherworldly they are, he will never see the God's as above him, simply for their lack of understanding of humanity and their unwillingness to learn-

There's movement coming towards him, something aiming for his chest at alarming speed and II panics, bringing his axe down at the same time he moves backwards. For the briefest of seconds, II thinks he did it. Thinks he managed to dodge, to save his heart from being run right through.

Then, he feels something in his stomach, a warm pressure just below his ribs. Something is there, a confused noise leaving him as his mind struggles to catch up with the events. He looks down, one axe falling to the forest floor and shattering into golden sparks.

Bubbling, scorching black blood, solidified at one end, sticks out of his stomach, his own red blood leaking out of the wound. Blisters are forming around the entry, his skin turning pink with the heat.

"It... seems I've been impaled." II mumbles, brain lagging behind.

II suddenly registers the pain at the same time the memories hit. He's gasping in breath after breath, caught between a concrete jungle and the silent forest he lives within. There's a knife- no, it's blood- no, he can't- where is he?

A creature is coming at him from his right, and II swings the axe he frantically re-summoned, black blood splattering across the forest floor, sizzling where it lands as another enemy is taken out. He gasps, the movement having sent searing pain up his side, originating from his injury. Hate creeps forward, closer and closer as II struggles to keep the bloody creatures from touching, well aware now that it will hurt. That he will burn.

A hand reaches out, steaming, sizzling, bubbling up and boiling over, wrapping around his throat. II claws at it with one hand, lifted up so that his feet dangle uselessly. The other tries in vain to catch his axe on any part of it's body, but Hate keeps itself too far away for II to reach. He's being played with, just a toy in the grasp of a God. The skin of his throat burns, droplets splashing down onto his collarbones and searing his flesh. It hurts. It hurts so much, but II grits his teeth, refusing to let this motherfucker hear any more of his pained sounds. He won't give it the satisfaction.

His breath starts coming in shorter and shorter pants, oxygen being cut off as Hate squeezes the life out of him. II wishes he would just end it, just to make the agony finally cease.

II doesn't want to die, though. Not again.

Vision beginning to fade, II prays to Sleep that He will keep the others safe in his stead. The prayer is bitter, fear underlying it.

Then, II is gasping for air, slamming down into the ground, foliage digging into his knees and shins, his palms, as he coughs. Looking up through blurred but clearing vision, II finds a large, large spider, a black widow, using its pedipalps to tear into Hate's body. It's easily the size of Vessel's car, bigger perhaps, with a large red question mark over its behind, where an hourglass shape would usually sit.

He freezes, limbs stiffening in his fear as his mind seems to blank. Trembling, II crawls backwards, swinging his axe in front of him wildly to keep the bloody creatures from getting too close.

II catches sight of the spider's eyes, all eight of them as Hate shoves a boiling hand up towards its head, causing its neck to twist unnaturally, barely registering through his fear that he knows those eyes. So blue, like the sky, surrounded by pitch black sclera.

"Three, watch out!" II's warning gives III time to launch himself back and away from the spray of blood Hate spits out.

He groans, trying to hold a hand around the wound in his side. Trickles of crimson blood drip through the cracks of his fingers as III moves to stand over him, Hate getting up, too.

"I am quite through playing with you-" Hate hisses before reeling back as though struck, an angry hiss emitting from the boiling blood bubbles of its mouth.

It turns in the direction of the manor, dripping black as it crawls over the muddy ground.

"All of them have been taken out? If only I had gone to the First myself..." Hate mumbles, blisters along it's body popping black blood.

"Insignificant little pests. I should kill you where you stand, but that would take time I do not care to waste now. When I get my hands on the First, your lives will be snuffed out without myself having to lift another finger."

Panic seizes II, struggling to stand up, fearing for Vessel's safety. Pain lights up his nerves, keeping him half-sprawled on the ground, gritting his teeth. III stays leaned over him, a sound between a snarl and a distinctly spider-like chitter being emitted lowly. A bloody hand sweeps across the air, knocking III aside with a screech. II shouts his name, turning his head to stare after him, shoving aside the pain to try and move to his knees at least.

"Stay down, boy. Your end is near. Wait for it to claim you." Hate hisses, and between one blink and the next, it is leaning over II, pressing into the solid blood sticking out of his stomach.

The coagulated blood sinks in further, pinning II to the ground as he sobs, legs kicking out, blood-slick fingers trying to force the God's hand away from the thing protruding out of II's body. Out of the corner of his eye, II registers III running back at them, but right before his large body would collide with Hate's, the God's form dissolves, slipping into the ground and disappearing. The creatures hovering behind the God, collapse like puppets with their strings cut, leaving black blood to spread along the moss and leaves.

III pauses, unsure now, afraid to get closer. He is well, well aware of II's fear, and he knows what he has  become.

"Not- Not a monster." II whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as he cries, one hand flopping over to beckon III closer.

It is with great reluctance that III draws nearer, eight spindly legs closing the distance easily. "It hurts Three, please don't stay so far away from me." II begs, making an effort to sit up. 

Whining in pain, II is glad when III finally comes to him, their large body settling above him as though to protect him from potential danger. III freezes in place, and he realizes exactly what position he has II in, just how severe his injury looks, the blood- Pinned to the ground under his monstrous form, black blood splattering on II's face as it drips from III's own bloody pedipalps.

III chitters, shuffling nervously as their fear tries to muddle his mind. He can't allow it to, there is no time to be afraid. It isn't safe.

"Not a monster. Not a monster." II repeats through his barely contained sobs, lifting a shaking hand to grip what little of one of III's legs he can.

Blood seeps through II's shirt steadily from the wound on his side, slipping through the fingers trying to put pressure on the wound.

III opens their mouth to speak, to apologize, to scream, cry, beg for forgiveness for being unable to protect him, but no words come out. Only a garbled whine, a pitiful moan, the agonized cry of a despaired creature whose throat cannot mimic human speech.

III has to find Vessel, but he can't leave II here. The bonds are prominent, the threads connecting them to the other vessels like a beacon of hope in his own chest. III finds Vessel's thread, something as second nature as breathing, and pulls harder than ever before.

Vessel gasps, lurching forward on unsteady feet. Vessel grips the fabric of his hoodie over where his heart should lay beneath. His panicked thoughts consume him. It is only with Sleep's sudden arrival, sudden warning, processed only as a shout of reprimand, that Vessel looks up to see black blood seeping under the front door of the manor. It coagulates into a large form, taking over the whole foyer and leaving splotches of its matter everywhere.

"First Vessel of Sleep, you are filled with hate. Hate for yourself, for who you were before your pathetic God took you from Death's arms. You can't let go, it will consume you, and you will doom not only yourself but your God, your lovers."

'Sleep saved me.' Vessel projects, not sure if Hate will even hear him.

"Sleep stole you." Hate scoffs, boiling more violently, bubbles popping with a hiss of steam, "You were meant to stay dead. Not become the abomination you are now, no matter how perfect of a vessel."

'I should have.' Vessel agrees, brows drawn close, 'I do not understand why Sleep chose me.'

"You seek death, then, First Vessel? I can grant it to you, Death had waited a long time for you two to meet properly, after all. If you give me your soul, show me where your heart lies, I will crush your head and heart in one simple move. You will be free, your pain gone. Your suffering will end. You will be free, First Vessel of Sleep."

Vessel does not do more than stare, quietly contemplative. He has no plans of actually doing as asked, but curiosity creeps up on him. This God seems to know things Vessel doesn't, things he has never thought to question or even contemplate.

'What do you gain from all of this?' Vessel questions, idly letting the knives held by his power line up in a half circle around his head.

Cold rage burns within him, sharp eyes watching Hate closely. He really should get this over with. Fucking God is keeping him from leaving, and he has far more important things to attend to.

"I seek power, and your body is perfect for my needs. Kept on the cusp of death, an open cavity for me to inhabit. A body that will not rot with the barest amounts of my divinity within." Hate explains with a flourish, more forthcoming than Vessel thought it would be.

Is it cockiness that lets it spill its intentions so nonchalantly? Or stupidity?

"Banish Hate's words from your mind. A god has no power over one who does not believe." Sleep commands, voices startling Vessel

A single knife dips down as though it will clatter onto the floor, but Vessel has it floating upright, blade pointed towards Hate again in no time. Anger fester for Sleep, too, for not helping them even now.

'I have no intention of joining you.' Vessel refuses, sending forth two of his knives to pierce Hate's body, one through the head and another through the chest.

"That is not enough to kill me, foolish First. You, at least, have more bite than the Second, though. All bark, that one." Hate gripes, one red eyeball drooping down it's face, nearly slipping down where it's neck should be. "Too small to be more than a minor nuisance."

Rage stiffens Vessel's muscles, hands curling into tight fists, claws digging deep into his palms. A sound escapes Vessel, then. Something feral, baring teeth and fang. An enraged hiss that sends the tip of his split tongue skittering over his lips afterwards, wetting the dry surface. Blood wells to the surface of Vessel's palms, but he barely notices. The weight of his scythe appearing in his hand is familiar, and the sound it makes swinging through the air is like music to Vessel's ears.

Hate is in the middle of saying something else, something blasphemous in Vessel's mind, but its cut short when the blade tip of Vessel's scythe tears from open maw through goopy cheek. Hate's jaw slackens, the God silenced, blood immediately trying to solidify enough to draw the mockery of skin and muscle back together.

Vessel doesn't give it any time to recuperate, adjusting his grip on his scythe and swinging it in a wide arch right through Hate's neck. It shatters into golden sparks as he let the momentum take it out of his hands. Eyes glowing, Vessel commands all of the knives still circling his head to shoot at the God, two embedding themselves in its head as it begins to separate from the body. Four more slide right through where the heart should be, black blood flying as the knives hit.

It feels almost too easy, so for good measure, his fingers twitch. Vines begin to circle around the limbs, Hate beginning to rise. The plants pull taut, stretching the goopy mess of Hate's wiggling form, blood bubbles popping like blisters. Fingers twitching still, the vines pull, and pull, until the arms and legs of Hate's humanoid form separate from the body. He crouches over the writhing torso, ignoring how Hate's mouth has reformed and is spewing threats against the First, against the other vessels, removing thr knives after twisting them around. Shoving claws into the boiling mockery of skin, digging around with ruthless claws, Vessel searches, hands burning hot.

Finding what he was looking for, Vessel grits his teeth through the agony, and pulls.

A beating heart, black as night and littered with traces of gold, pulses between his fingers, claws scraping at the organ as he tears it out. It's easier to do than it was when it was his own heart he was offering. His hands shake, nerves clearly damaged. He hopes he will still be able to play his instruments but his fury is limitless and his patience thin.

Sinking his claws in further, Vessel makes sure he has a good grip and starts shredding the heart, using claws to tear into the organ without a care.

Hate's grating threats are silenced, and with a glance, Vessel finds the mouth parted in a silent scream, red eyes wide. The knives still dug into its skull sink in deeper.

Vessel doesn't stop unti the heart lays in a mangled mess at his feet, resembling a pile of gore more than any sort of organ. Satisfaction curls in his gut, but he doesn't pay any mind to it. Black blood sizzles, before beginning to dry up rapidly. With little fanfare, the God's body is gone. Vessel doesn't take any time to revel in a useless victory. He doesn't care that he just felled a God, something that felt too easy of a feat, that was a God.

"Hate will reform in time. The emotion Gods are not beings that ever truly die, emotions are not something merely to be believed in. They are far more tangible than mere belief. Regardless, some of his power is now yours, my First, as the one to slay them."

Vessel stumbles towards the front door, clawing at the vines around the house. When one is torn away, two more appear to replace it.

Let him out. Let him out. He has to get to the others.

Vessel sobs, lips pulling up to bare his teeth viciously. He turns, stalking through the house, up the staircase and directly to the altar room.

"My Vessel?" Sleep questions, curiously concerned, watching as Vessel lifts a loose floorboard to pick up a golden bladed ritual knife.

Sleep knows the blade is never far from the altar room for long, the magic of the house keeping it near the heart it helped pry out of the First's chest.

Vessel boldly ignores his God, a single minded focus having consumed his every thought, angry, silent steps making their way back towards the dripping sigil on the wall. Vessel's heart beats in his ears, the vines all along the walls beginning to shudder in anticipation. The tip of a golden blade is pressed into the arch of Sleep's symbol, Vessel's body trembling at the uncomfortable feeling.

'Let me out, Sleep, the danger has passed, and if you ever-' Vessel hisses again, baring his fangs, mouth opened wide, his following words rife with his fury, 'If you ever keep me in this fucking house again while my lovers are in danger, if they end up dead because of something like this... I'll shove this blade into my heart and make sure my fucking brain is next. I will not live in a world without them.'

"You would not dare." Sleep says, assured in His own words.

'Have you forgotten how I came to be with you in the first place? I would dare. The only thing that kept me from doing as I just threatened, all that time ago in the beginning, was my hope that you'd keep your promise to me. You have given me love, and now you threaten it.'

There is silence for a brief moment, as Sleep takes in His Vessel's words, choosing to move past them after understanding the truth of it. His presence grows heavier with pained indignation, "You knew it was me who dragged you here, my Vessel?"

'This house would never put my safety first. Time and time again it has shown the others favor where I have been gifted nothing, exactly as I deserve, as I desire.' Vessel spits, pressing the blade in a little further, pressure building in his chest that leaves him gasping.

"Remove the knife from your heart, First Vessel." Sleep demands, voices tinged with His own discomfort.

This pressure He is feeling... what is it?

'Not until you let me out.' Vessel argues, crimson eyes glowing with his fury. 'You... you tried to play this off like it wasn't you who pulled me here. Whatever has happened to Two, I could have prevented it- why? Why didn't you help us?'

"God's cannot directly interfere with the intentions of other Gods. It is why we have employed humans to fight our wars for us, humans to become our vessels." Sleep explains, human relief filling Him when Vessel slowly lowers the knife.

'That is why you gave us weapons, to fight for you if needed.' Vessel says slowly, with mounting horror

"To protect yourselves." Sleep corrects, gentler now, and desperate to be believed, "I want you to live, my First, and that want has spread to the other vessels. You are all mine."

Vessel clutches at his chest where he can still feel III pulling on the bond, their desperation like a stain upon his mind, insistent, splitting his attention drastically. II's bond collapses into static, not disappearing exactly, but fuzzing up as though asleep. It feels distinctly different, more sudden, jarring. Vessel wants to throw up, shoving the sleeves of his hoodie up to drag his nails across his arms, needing the pain, knowing it is deserved.

'I need to go to them. Please let me.' Vessel's voice is smaller now, weaker even in his own mind.

The fight has slipped from him, the bone deep terror he feels sapping any strength to stand up to Sleep further. He doesn't think it is needed anymore, anyways.

"Go." Is all Sleep says, and that's all Vessel needs to hear.

He books it out of the altar room, taking the staircase steps two at a time. Vines move out of his way, clearing a path for him to tread the house quickly. Nothing blocks the front door, and he barely remembers to close it behind him as he leaves, running off into the forest, following the thread of his soul that leads to III, still pulled taut. Trees branches part, roots receding, the forest silent as a grave as Vessel faces no impediment. The bond grows tighter with every passing foot, reassuring Vessel of his closeness to the others. A large creature crouches over II's body when Vessel nears enough to see the small man under its hulking frame. At first, Vessel thinks it was something left by Hate, or another creature from Sleep's realm, but he would know his lovers anywhere, in any form.

The large black widow spider, bigger than their car, moves aside, eight wide blue eyes watching Vessel grow near as if he was some sort of savior. Vessel feels sick with that look cast upon him.

Vessel falls to his knees at II's side, forward momentum helping him slide the last few inches between them. Hands hover unsurely over II's unmoving body, and Vessel's mind immediately supplies that II is dead. He's dead and Vessel is too late  and he'll never forgive himself- How is he supposed to go on-

II's chest rises with a slow breath, and Vessel sobs with sudden, all consuming relief.

III moves closer again, spider limbs slowly becoming covered in a gold sheen, large form shrinking as human features reappear. Vessel turns to cup his face, blood swiping across III's cheeks, checking III over for any injuries, turning their face side to side. One pair undergoes that task while the middle set scans III's body, the lowest pair of eyes never straying from II's chest, keeping a careful eye on his breathing.

"Couldn't... I couldn't turn back... not until I knew you were safe, too. Not until I knew we were safe." III says, the first words he's spoken since they were all separated, tears slipping down his face and into the creases left by Vessel's gentle fingers, "It was so easy, just like changing my hair, or hiding my inhumanity entirely... but... Two is really going to hate me now. He won't be able to even look at me..."

III cries, unsure if he is really speaking to Vessel or only to himself. With all the tender love and care in Vessel's body, he pulls III's forehead to meet his own, intending to comfort. Wiping their tears, Vessel pulls away just enough to press a few small kisses to III's forehead. With every one, he tries to convey what he cannot say.

Nothing would ever be able to make Vessel's love for III wither. He is going to love him for the rest of his life as a vessel, and that love will stretch beyond this life, and the next, and every life after. Vessel's soul will allow for nothing less. He knows II likely feels the same, sees it in every soft look, every fond insult and their playful banter they share. II loves III just the same.

III cries harder, clutching at Vessel's hoodie desperately, as if he will crumble away if his grip slips even a little. It's a familiar scenario, only reversed.

"Thank you, thank you-" III sobs out, a soft smile trying to pull at lips tilted downwards with fear.

As easy as breathing, Vessel pressed another soft kiss to III's forehead. Assured that III is safe, Vessel's attention focuses back on II, careful hands wrapping around II's knees. When an arm tries to go underneath his back to lift II by the shoulders, resistance makes Vessel pause, along with the sound II lets out.

II jerks, crying out in his unconscious state, akin to a wounded animal. III shakes next to him, unsure what to do with their hands and settling on hugging themselves, tightly.

Vessel needs to lift the object enough to free II's body, just enough-

Wildly, Vessel pulls at III's hands, motioning for him to get behind II's head. III's confusion is evident, but he does his best to comply as he wipes his tears. He mimes a lifting motion, only stopping when III murmurs some word of understanding.

Words will not leave his mouth, but he sends them down the bond, hoping beyond hope that his frantic apology will come across as he intends, golden tears slipping down to drip onto II's clothes as Vessel wraps his hands around the protruding object. Then, with a nod of joint agreement, Vessel pulls at the thing pinning his lover to the ground while III lifts II up so they can both be sure he's no longer stuck to the floor.

II howls, waking up with the shock of the pain, but Vessel doesn't stop pulling up, sobbing silently, chest hitching as the empty cavity seems to widen with his agony. II's bond goes staticky again quickly, head lolling against III's arm, one hand clutched to their bicep tightly enough to turn his knuckles grey. That slips away with his mind, falling limply beside his still form.

When II is free, Vessel pulls him to his chest, uncaring in that one moment about his secret. II's life matters far more than the inevitability of his departure when Vessel's secret is out. He's careful of the thing sticking out of II, trying to hug him close without aggravating it. A pointed ear presses to his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It's steady, for the most part, Vessel pulling away once a minute or two has passed. II is alive. He's alive, and so is III, and things will be okay, won't they? They will, things have to be okay. II will be okay. Sleep can help him.

Vessel keeps his hold on II, tightening until his knuckles go grey, as if that action alone will keep II alive. A fuzzy, floaty feeling starts to enter Vessel's limbs, creeping along the edges of his mind.

"Ves, Ves we gotta get him home. We can try and treat him there, please, we need to go." III pulls at Vessel's shoulders, trying to urge him up.

He can barely think past his own terror but III knows that they'll be safer at home. The vines will keep them safe, and they'll be sheltered. Sleep is there, too, and they can try and treat II's wound. Somehow.

Vessel lifts his head, and III's crumbling heart shatters at the lack of light in his eyes, the vacancy beginning to slip into the cracks.

"Please don't float away from here. I need you to stay with me, just this once." III asks, voice small, breaking on a sob.

The sound of III's voice sends clarity slamming through Vessel, lightning lighting up his nerves, forcing some of the floaty feeling to recede. Reaching to his other arm, Vessel pushes his hoodie sleeve up enough to dig his claws in and drag.

Blood wells up immediately, the pain bringing him that much further away from the edge. He has to stay. He can't float away, not when II needs him, not when III is also crumbling to pieces.

Yanking his sleeve back down, Vessel stands, II's deadweight making another sob tear from his throat. III clutches at Vessel's sleeve, standing too, pressing in close as they wipe their tears with their available hand. As with the path before, the way back to the manor is done without any obstructions to the path. Vessel is grateful that the forest is doing as asked and keeping his partners safe in this regard.

The front door swings open as Vessel climbs the steps, careful not to knock any part of II's body into the doorframe. The couch is closest, Vessel expertly traversing the mess the creatures had made to set II down gently, as though he were made of glass. II barely even stirs, mumbling incoherently, face scrunched up in pain. Vessel hates it, hates that he cannot take his beloved's agony unto himself.

III, having split off to get the nearby first aid kit off their bookshelf, comes back with the box already torn open, rifling through for bandages and alcohol wipes. They keep their first aid well stocked because of Vessel's pathetic habit, and the man himself finds that fact to be a blessing.

It makes him sad, though, because it was II's idea. II who is prone before them, barely moving even when Vessel starts dabbing at the outside of his injury with the alcohol wipes to clean it of any grime. They sit in silence as Vessel does his best to clean II's wound of blood and dirt. III works on getting II's own blood from between the lines in II's palms, tears dripping off their chin. When they deem the task done, unable or unwilling to remove II's shirt in fear of aggravating the wound, III finally speaks, taking Vessel's arm and pushing the sleeve up.

"I should never have asked to play that game. I just wanted to spend more time with you both. It was silly... if we had just went home..." Crimson and black blood has smeared across Vessel's scarred arms, the harsh line where his claws dug in having stopped bleeding. 

III starts cleaning the blood off, shaking at the sight of the blood. Vessel trembles beside him, clutching II's limp hand with his available one like the smaller man will slip right between his fingers if he lets go. 

"N-not your fault." Vessel chokes out, weak and straining his vocal chords in a way III knows must hurt.

Wordlessly, III hands Vessel his phone, already pulled up to the notes app for the other to type freely. He goes back to his task, slathering anitbiotic ointment over Vessel's injury. His typing is slower with one hand, but III doesn't mind.

'We would have been attacked anyway.'

Wrapping up Vessel's arm and then taping it so the gauze will stay, III kisses over a wrist gently.

"Probably, but we would have been here, safe in the manor." III refutes, wanting to lean against Vessel's shoulder but scared the other will brush them off.

'There were creatures in the house when Sleep dragged me back. Looking for something.' Vessel reaches out with his unoccupied hand to pull III into his side, an arm around his shoulder.

"Will Two be okay?" III asks instead of accepting Vessel's attempts to console them.

'I don't know. The bond feels stable, and from what I know, so does his heart. It would have been worse if he'd lost more blood.' Vessel replies, sullen, knowing the amount of blood one can lose before passing out or death, intimately.

"We need to remove that thing, don't we?" III asks, unsure.

'I think so, but... I wouldn't know what to do afterwards.'

"I don't want to lose him, Vessel. I don't want to lose him." III sobs, and Vessel doesn't know what to do, what can he do?

II is better at comforting, he always seems to know what they need to hear, how they need to be cared for. Vessel doesn't know what to do, not without II. The absence of his calm presence is like missing a limb, and Vessel is left struggling.

Reaching out, Vessel pulls III into him, letting III cry into his shoulder. Tears wet the hood bunched up around his neck, III's hands fisting the material at his back, clenching and unclenching. Vessel does his best not to float away, not to think, desperate to not even feel. He wants to die, he wants to punish himself for letting this happen. He wants II to wake up, for III to be happy again.

If Vessel had never asked to be loved, his wouldn't have happened to them. They would have passed on, been reborn, they could have lived happy lives, safer than they are now that he's chained them to him, body and soul.

When they leave, it will be a deserved pain for Vessel to undergo.

Their fragile hope, shared between them, withers and dies before their very eyes when II's wound only grows worse to look at as day crawls into night. Black blood begins to fester within, skin pink around the wound, hot to the touch. II is running a fever, body hot as he sweats, and yet a chill keeps him shaking. Laid on his side, every glimpse of the solidified blood peeking out from his back makes Vessel sick. III had finally fallen asleep, their exhaustion building and building in the bond until he finally succumbed to it.

Vessel sits with his phone in his hand for a long while, going between staring at II's wound that just won't stop dripping blood, and his phone screen pulled up to Terzo Emeritus' contact. III sleeps with his head in Vessel's lap, clutching at Vessel's hoodie like he's going to disappear.

"I cannot heal the Second's wounds, my First. God-made wounds cannot be healed by any other God. I would only kill him in my attempts as our magic works against each other." Sleep explains, something like regret coloring the soothing timbre of His voices. "It... does not help that the Second was nearly incompatible with my divinity."

'Incompatible?' Vessel asks, quiet even in his own mind.

"Yes... I am unsure how to explain this. You, my First, are a being suitable for divinity. Your body will not rot, will not be broken down by my divinity, nor any other Gods. I have not seen a mortal so compatible with the divine in... I cannot even remember. The Second, his body, his soul, has a harder time holding my magic within and not breaking down. Think of it as humans susceptibility to sickness. Some never get sick, others get sick sometimes, and there are those whose bodies are prone to sickness at every turn. The Third was the perfect balance between the two, an easy choice. I nearly passed the Second if it weren't for how his soul called to me."

Vessel... could not have ever had his wonderful II if he'd been less compatible? He couldn't imagine the spot of Second vessel of Sleep being filled by anyone other than II, and Third by anyone but III. Vessel's soul has always called to them, and he's sure if they had met before Sleep, it would have been the same.

What does this knowledge mean in regards to their Four?

Vessel knows that man in his dreams is their Fourth. Has Sleep looked over him because he isn't compatible with the God's magic?

'I think you're referring more to human allergies, my God. Not sickness, exactly.' Vessel scrounges up an answer, trying to hide how this information has opened up new doors of thought in his mind.

"Yes, yes, human allergies. You mortals can become afflicted with so many different things." Sleep sighs, the different timbres and tones disorienting.

' What can we do for  Two,  then? I refuse to lose him. '

"That Emeritus boy you have contact with, he will help you. Those quintessance ghouls of his may be able to heal the Second."

'Why would he help me? We met the once, and he only offered to answer any questions.' Vessel says, taking in II's injury and slackened expression, 'This is far more than mere questions.'

"He will help you. He has a kind heart. All of the Emeritus boys do. I have seen them before, heard talk between other Gods. Lucifer's favored line of humans, made less so by that favor."

Vessel wants to think unconditional kindness exists in the world. It is what II and III have spent great care showing him. Sam, too, has been kinder than Vessel deserves, than he is used to from strangers. Terzo had helped Vessel after their first ritual, under no obligation to do so...

'I'll need to wake Three unless you can speak for me. I... I won't be able to speak to him.' Vessel admits, utterly ashamed, feeling useless, pathetic.

II's life is on the line, and Vessel will not lose him, but he can't fucking force any words out of his mouth. His throat aches, just as the rest of his body does. Speaking, when his voicebox has thorns wrapped around it like a hangman's noose, is always so painful, so difficult. Before Sleep, it was easier to speak even when his throat shut, because he would be screamed at, hit, treated like the worthless trash he knows he is... Vessel has new lovers who do none of that, who are always so patient and willing to find other ways to communicate. It is harder, now, to force himself to speak when II and III have worked hard to make him aware he doesn't have to, if its difficult.

"No one but my vessels can hear my voice, unless I have a physical form." Sleep sounds apologetic, but oddly detached.

It hurts, to know Sleep doesn't understand why Vessel is the way that he is. It hurts to know his hunanity sets them apart in so many ways.

With reluctance, Vessel shakes III's shoulder. They make a small noise in their sleep, the sensitive skin around their eyes reddened from crying. Vessel doesn't want to wake them, but... II needs help. II needs help that the vessels cannot provide, and he will die if they don't do something.

Vessel shakes III again, more desperately this time, holding in an unnecessary breath when it takes longer than usual. Exhaustion pulls at III's eyelids, groggy as roaming eyes take in his surroundings, and then panic is making him shoot up, frantic in his movements.

"Is Two- Oh. He's still..." III's voice trails off, sounding on the verge of tears again.

Vessel doesn't blame them, feeling much the same.

"My First needs you to call Terzo Emeritus for him. His voice fails him." Sleep explains, voices booming through the room.

It makes both III and Vessel wince, knowing it is less of a suggestion and more of a command. It makes Vessel feel so guilty, especially when III agrees without any further prompting.

"The Second will die if he doesn't get some sort of treatment. Tell Emeritus this, request his help, and he will do as asked." III lets out a whine at the blase way in which Sleep drops the news on him, holding back the immediate welling of tears.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood with a sharp fang, Vessel presses the call button, handing it over to III. The phone rings for only a few seconds, before Terzo answers.

"Hello, first Vessel of Sleep. What is it I can do for you?" An odd sense of relief fills Vessel at the sound of the older man's voice.

He answered. Vessel called, and he answered. That alone means more to Vessel than he can ever put into words.

"Terzo Emeritus?" III asks, filled with a bone deep weariness, looking between his lovers and terrified of losing them.

"Speaking. Who is this?" Terzo responds, alert.

"This is Three. One of Sleep's other vessels. We met briefly, at the festival." III explains, struck with how far away that day seemed, recent events having overshadowed it.

Maybe its the fragility in III's voice, the way it breaks under the anxiety and the terror he is feeling, but Terzo's voice is softer, firm still. It helps to ground Vessel as his mind wants to float right out of his own head, even if he wasn't speaking to him. Vessel wishes II were awake, that he was okay. Without his rock, Vessel feels... lost. He clutches at III, pulling the other man a little closer, burying his head into their shoulder, taking comfort in the rise and fall of their breaths.

"What is it, my boy?"

The nickname brings tears to III's eyes, a sob forcing its way out of his chest. He holds tighter to Vessel, hands shaking as they hold the phone.

II is motionless in front of them, breathing growing labored, skin paling with every passing second.

"We need your help. Please..."