By: Nym
AN: My first attempt at slash :crosses fingers: here goes it! Italics are flashbacks.
Summary: Implied slash. "No regrets?" Karyl asked, inhaling on his cigarette. "Naw," Replied Tymmie, slumping slightly, "I'm not afraid of dying." Karyl looked at him again, "But I'm afraid for you."
"It hurts." The young man had moaned, cradling his arm against his chest and breathing in labored gasps. His dark hair was plastered to the sides of his face from sweating, and his eyes were strained and barely comprehending what was around him. He was hunched over on his knees, his back against the shitty wall of their shitty apartment.
A slightly older man with bleached white hair knelt beside him, muttering darkly, "Tough it out you bastard." He hissed in his ear, "We've all gone through it, now it's your turn."
"I don't want to," The boy cried out in desperation, moaning pathetically, "It hurts, it hurts so bad."
The older man, Tymmie rolled his eyes, "Well no shit it hurts, of course it hurts. Your hope is devouring itself from the inside out."
"Make it stop." The younger boy, Karyl whimpered.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't." Tymmie said callously, "No one wants a sniveling excuse of a man on their side anyways."
Karyl took his attention away from the pain for a brief moment to glare viciously at Tymmie. "Bastard." He mumbled, gritting his teeth.
Tymmie had a ghost of a smile on his face, "What'd you call me?" He prompted, trying to sound angered.
"Nothing," Karyl bit back the hasty retort growing on his tongue.
Tymmie shrugged, "That's too bad." He said, "For a moment I was beginning to believe you had grown a pair."
Karyl seethed inwardly, his rage momentarily surpassing the pain. But he kept his silence.
"Look at you. I bet you were a little mama's boy, what with those nice clothes." He hunched over so his face was mere inches from Karyl's, "I bet you never did a goddamned thing to deserve anything. I bet it was all handed to you."
Karyl's eyes flashed dangerously, "Shut up." He whispered.
Tymmie continued, unscathed, "I bet you wouldn't last one whole day in my world without shitting yourself, bet the pain would overcome a weakling like you just like that." He chided, snapping his fingers.
"Shut up!" He said, louder this time, the pain of his heart dying fading away to be replaced by the pure, unfocused contempt.
But Tymmie kept digging, "I mean, I should've known, I shouldn't have crossed you over like I did." He tapped the side of his head, "There was this inner voice inside of me that told me you would be a worthless piece of garbage." He said, shaking his head, "Should've listened, huh?"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Karyl bellowed, pain gone from his mind as bolted straight up.
Tymmie still remained unfazed, absently scrapping grime from underneath his nails, "Should've known you were no more than some sad excuse for a human. A no-good, worthless heroin addict; wishing he would die but not having the courage to pull the trigger."
Karyl's nostrils flared, "I FUCKING HATE YOU!" He screeched, winding up his fist and sending it crashing down toward Tymmie where he knelt.
Tymmie snatched the wrist of the moving hand without so much as batting an eyelash. Holding the wrist in a vice grip, he slowly stood, staring directly into Karyl's eyes.
"Do you feel that?" His voice held no trace of teasing and was strictly sincere, "That coursing fire running through your veins?"
Karyl said nothing, but simply stared at him, mouth agape in amazement.
"That fire, that rage, is what's going to keep you alive." His eyes were stern and Karyl found himself shrinking back a little in intimidation. "That hatred is the only thing that will dull the ache, the only thing that will stop the pain and depression and hurt. It's the only thing that keeps you human, Karyl." He dropped his fist where it hung limply at Karyl's side, "Try and remember that." He looked at him again, "Caring about anyone, anything, makes you weak. Never care."
Without another word, Tymmie pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and walked straight out of the apartment. Karyl stood there, stupefied and amazed at Tymmie's unorthodox lesson.
OoOoOoOoOoOo
Karyl wrapped his worn trench coat around him tightly, trying to keep the cold, pelting rain from drenching him. His collar was up, effectively shielding his face from the fat drops. Lacking an umbrella, the rain had plastered his hair down, irritatingly hanging in front of his eyes. He kept his gaze lowered at his feet that robotically trudged forward, stomping on cigarette butts and stray pieces of newspaper that aligned the streets so beautifully.
The boulevard was crowded; it was always crowded, despite the fact that the weather was less than perfect for a late night stroll. Karyl scoffed at it, the rain was just so cliché and fitting for tonight. He shoved roughly passed the urbanites of Los Angeles, most of them drunk or high, glaring at him as if he were the scum of the earth. Karyl didn't care, he was used to it. Besides, nothing could darken his mood more than the situation at hand.
He paused when he felt something grab at his soaked pant leg, he turned slowly, looking at the source of the disruption. At his feet, a homeless man of about sixty, emaciated and obviously ill was lying on the ground, held out a paper cup full of nickels and pennies, soaked through and about to tear, "Spare some change?" came out a hoarse pleading.
Karyl scoffed and tore his leg away from the man, ignoring him and trudging on passed him like all the other people on the street. He had more important things to worry about than helping a toothless alcoholic buy another bottle of Vodka. He noticed looks of distaste from observers of the scene, but he trudged passed them too. They didn't matter, they'd be gone in another fifty or sixty years anyways. He doubted the bum before him would last another six months given his present condition.
Neon signs lit up the night, and loud, bass-orientated music pumped into the streets from all of the nightclubs. Tipsy young men held their arms around tipsy, scantily-clad young women. These were the types of kids who would giggle shyly, then have alcoholically-induce vomit spew all over their new, father-purchased shoes. Karyl sneered in disgust; he had once been on of those kids. Years ago, before he had met Tymmie, Stanton, Cassandra, Murray, Kelly, and Yvonne.
He was tougher now, with thicker skin and a colder heart. Nothing could get through to him.
Well, nothing perhaps, except the conversation he was about to have.
oOoOoOoOoOo
"Why do we bother with this shit!" Spat Tymmie, as he knocked over another table in the dingy apartment.
"Calm down Tymmie." Sighed Cassandra, irritated as she sat on a beaten couch, flipping through a dog-eared paperback.
Tymmie glared at her in rage, "You calm the fuck down!" He seethed.
Cassandra merely rolled her eyes and returned to her book.
Karyl watched the spectacle in wide-eyed wonder. Wanting to say something, yet being afraid to voice his opinions. He was still considered new, only having been a Follower for about three months or so. Cassandra and Tymmie were like battling siblings, constantly at each other's throats. According to what he had heard, Tymmie was Stanton's oldest apprentice, having been crossed over fifteen or some odd years ago. Cassandra came after him, about five years later. There had been a Follower assigned to Stanton before that, Yvonne or something, but as soon as she had gained Immortality she had left and went out on her own.
Karyl was the outcast of the group; he was unnoticed by their leader, annoying to Cassandra, yet he had somehow managed to befriend Tymmie.
Well, when Tymmie wasn't ripping their home to shreds.
"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Tymmie screeched again, knocking over an ornate vase that was obviously an antique.
Karyl said nothing, munching contently on a bowl of Cheerios, watching the enraged Initiate before him curiously; trying to see how it would play out.
"He fucking promised me!" He hissed.
It was then that Cassandra grasped his forearm, and kicked his knees out from under him, "He's promised us all a lot of things," She whispered, "You should know by now that Stanton is hardly the type to keep his word."
"She was my goddamn sister!" He cried once again.
Cassandra looked at him, her face softening a tiny bit, "She belongs to the Atrox now."
Tymmie said nothing, but the glare he directed at Cassandra spoke volumes, his gaze shifted to Karyl, and he sneered, "What the hell are you looking at?" He snapped waspishly.
He didn't know what had caused it, but for some reason, a liquid fire erupted in his veins. He felt embittered by his situation, he felt angry at Tymmie for being somewhat hypocritical, and he felt irritated by Cassandra for doing absolutely nothing about anything. His thoughts drifted to the lesson Tymmie had taught him when he had first arrived.
"What ever happened to hatred being the only thing you need to survive?" He asked coldly, sitting up from his chair.
"What the hell are you talking about!" Ranted Tymmie, standing out of Cassandra's grip. She backed away cautiously, being smart enough to know to stay out of this exchange.
Karyl walked over so he was obnoxiously close to Tymmie, his eyes drilling into his, "You told me that hatred was the only thing that kept us human," He hissed, stepping closer. "You told me I was weak for caring."
"Fuck off," Gritted out Tymmie.
Cassandra said nothing, staring at the two, and wondering what had suddenly come over Karyl.
"No." He spat, "I'm not going to fuck off," He gave Tymmie a little shove, "You're the weak one here Tymmie, you're the one who cares." He grabbed the collar of his shirt, "Face the facts. Your sister isn't coming back. She's dead inside, like us." Tymmie was now glaring at him with barely disguised hatred, "Stanton's older, and stronger than any of us put together. Fighting him over something neither of you can reverse is not only dumb as shit, it's suicidal." He set him down, "Use your hatred and anger to survive. That's all that matters at the end of the day. Your survival, no one else's."
This time, it was Karyl who left the apartment without a word.
Karyl sighed as he stood in front of his destination. The rain was plastering his hair to his head, and he felt an aching need to cough. He was freezing, but it didn't matter to him if he shivered.
He was shivering inside anyways.
The place would have been totally unnoticeable, there was no flashy neon sign like the rest of the clubs, and there was no bouncer, no line, no velvet rope. The only thing that signified the place was a small sign that had The Dungeon scribbled on it in black. There was a small pulse of music coming from outside, but that too could have been easily ignored in the background noise of Los Angeles.
He bit his lip, and pushed open the door.
The room was black, the only light coming from a few strobe lights and the candles that hung from the sides of the walls near the bar and the scattered tables. Some sort of death metal band was playing on stage; their music was chaotic, loud, disorganized. Karyl immediately didn't care for it. It sounded as if they threw a few power chords in a blender and added human screams as a substitute for a vocalist.
There were people dancing, most Followers, their eyes glowing slightly from the slits of moonlight that filtered in. But some were not, some were those who accidentally stumbled in; those would be the ones who lost their hope this fine evening.
He felt a hand clamp on his shoulder, and he turned to see Kelly, her face heavily made up and her clothes clinging in rather inappropriate places, she was as sickenly perky as ever.
"Hiya Chuck!" She chirped, using his most hated nickname she insisted she called him, "Wanna dance?"
Karyl stared at her in disbelief. Didn't she know what was going to happen tonight? Didn't she know who would be dying? He looked at her, oh, she knew. She just didn't care. She had been taught that, desensitized by the lessons older Initiates had taught her. It was a normal Follower reaction.
But that didn't matter to Karyl suddenly, Kelly was pissing him off. She had no right, no right whatsoever to come up to him of all people and act like nothing was wrong. He shrugged her hand off violently, "No I don't want to fucking dance." He spat, "Least of all with you. Go find some jock or satisfy yourself tonight."
Kelly gave one of the most abnormal reactions Karyl had ever heard, she laughed, "Aw, Chuckie-poo's all grouchy tonight." She winked at him, "It appears that someone's broken the cardinal Follower rule." She shook her head, "Never thought you of all people would be one of those weaklings that fell through the cracks." She shrugged and turned around, "Enjoy your night." She said before she turned and entered the throng of dancers.
Karyl stood there fuming with rage, "Fucking bitch." He swore, punching a wall. His hand collided with the concrete, and he was sure he had broken a few bones. The blood on his knuckles spread over to cover his entire hand when he clenched his fist tighter. Hissing in pain, he punched the wall again, enjoying how the physical hurt drew attention away from his emotional one, even if it was for only a short moment.
He looked to the almost invisible stairwell at the far left corner of the club, next to the stage. It was concealed in shadows, guards no doubt, to make sure no one got in or no one got out. He would be in there, in the dungeons, the namesake of the club. It was there that Followers who had displeased the Atrox were sent, more than likely awaiting their execution.
He tried to collect himself as he made his way to the stairwell. He looked as one of the swirling shadows materialized into no one other than Murray. His blonde hair was greased and combed back into a ducktail; his jean jacket sleeves were rolled up, the cuffs holding a carton of cigarettes, every bit the 50s poster child.
"Hey." He stated in monotone.
"Let me in." Karyl demanded, his voice cold.
Murray shook his head, "I can't do that man, everyone knows that one of the ringleaders for Infidus is down there."
Karyl glared at him, "Do you know who that ringleader is?"
Murray bit his lip, "Yeah, I do." He looked at him, "I'm really sorry man, I can't let you in."
Karyl grunted, "Five minutes, that's all I'm asking." He outstretched his hands in a signal of surrender, "You can read my mind, I have no plans to break him out."
Murray glanced around in paranoia, "Five minutes." He said at last, moving to the side and allowing Karyl access to the stairwell.
Without another word, Karyl descended into what appeared to be a pit of hell.
oOoOoOoOoOo
"Hey Karyl, do you mind if I have a word with you?" Tymmie asked, his face emotionless as he cornered Karyl after he had gotten home.
It had been a week after the incident with Tymmie's sister, and this was the first time Tymmie had attempted to talk to him. Karyl nodded, "Sure."
Tymmie indicated to the balcony outside and Karyl followed him. The two stood there in awkward silence, as Tymmie stared blankly at the horizon, and Karyl stared blankly at Tymmie.
"I just…I wanted to thank you," Tymmie's voice came out at last.
Karyl looked at him bewildered, he had expected rage, maybe even a physical blow, but a…thank you? "For what?"
"For what you said to me the other day," Tymmie stated, "I was acting childishly. You helped me think clearly."
Karyl didn't know what to say, so he stared at his feet, "Just returning the favor." He muttered.
Tymmie turned to look at him, "It felt good…having someone remind me what I was, someone who took the effort to ensure I didn't do anything rash." He looked at Karyl, his gaze fierce and unwavering, "It felt good." He restated.
Karyl nodded, "Didn't want to see the asshole who's supposed to be teaching me go and get himself killed."
Tymmie let out a barking laugh, "Fair enough. I don't want to see one of my fellow Initiates fall into the pits either."
Karyl stared at Tymmie, "From now on, I've got your back." He spoke.
Tymmie inclined his head and gave him a pat on the shoulder, "And from now on, I've got yours." He smiled, "Brothers in hate?" He asked.
Karyl smiled, "Brothers in hate."
oOoOoOoOoOo
Cold. That was the only thought that entered Karyl's mind as he descended into the dark pits of the Atrox's dungeon. The cells were old, dusty, and the smell of mold from the dank atmosphere assaulted his nose. There was no windows, no heat, no anything really.
The soles of his boots crunched against the dirt-covered cement as he cast his sense searching for Tymmie. His eyes looked from cell to cell, only to find them empty. Just when he was about to give up his search, he heard a weak cough followed by a weak voice.
"Was wondering when you were going to show up." Said the voice casually, despite the fact that it sounded as if it were barely breathing.
Karyl's attention snapped to the cell on the end of the left-handed side. There, in the darkness, sat a figure hunched over. He cautiously walked towards it, flicking his lighter on so a small orange light illuminated his cell and he had to withhold the urge to vomit when he saw him, "Jesus Tymmie." He said unceremoniously.
Tymmie was beaten to within an inch of his life. His face was bruised and bloody, his nose obviously broken. His clothes were ripped and spattered with mud and blood. Tymmie mustered a broken smile, showing chipped teeth, "Feh. I've had worse." He muttered darkly.
Karyl rested on the backs of his heels in front of the cell, "Why aren't you regenerating?" He asked.
Tymmie groaned, "The Atrox thought it fitting to remove my powers before the beating." He sneered, "I am after all, a traitor." He feebly pointed to his head, where Infidus was tattooed.
Karyl sighed, "You really fucked yourself over this time."
"Don't I know it."
There was a comfortable silence between the pair, as they each stared at the other, lost in their own thoughts. Tymmie was the one who broke the quiet.
"Y'know, before you came, Stanton paid me a little visit," Tymmie said, coughing at the end of his sentence.
Karyl's eyes widened, "No shit?"
Tymmie laughed, causing him to clutch his ribs in pain, "No shit."
"Well what the hell did he say?"
Tymmie shook his head, "Said I was a moron for getting involved with Lambert."
"You were," Karyl stated matter-of-factly.
"Thanks buddy," Tymmie grimaced, "Way to make me feel better the night before my execution."
The pair was silent.
Karyl pulled out a carton of smokes from his trench coat, "Want one?" He asked.
Tymmie's eyes brightened, "Hell yes I want one." Karyl lit one and passed it to him, then he lit one for himself.
"No regrets?" Karyl asked, inhaling on his cigarette.
"Naw," Replied Tymmie, slumping slightly, "I'm not afraid of dying."
Karyl lowered his head slightly, "But I'm afraid for you."
Tymmie said nothing; he just stared at Karyl in wide-eyed awe.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"Ever wonder if there's really a point to living forever?" Asked Tymmie, flicking his cigarette butt into the wind.
Karyl shrugged, "You know me, don't really wonder about anything. Just take each day as it comes."
The pair was sitting on a bench in a city park, taking a break from everything and everyone. It wasn't that uncommon. Tymmie and Karyl had always made extra time where they could just sit and talk with each other, for it was a temporary reprieve from the constant struggle of hopelessness.
"That's because you're still young," Tymmie answered, "You're only what? Thirty? Thirty-five? Me, I'm going into my fifties." He sighed, "I've been thinking about it a lot, being immortal."
Karyl arched an eyebrow, but said nothing, taking another long drag on his cigarette.
"There gets to be a point in your life, when you realize that no matter how long you fight it, death will come for you, Immortal or no." He paused, thinking, "Take, say, Stanton for example. The guy's like eight hundred years old, and he's miserable." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, "He hates his existence, but he can't end it. There's a part of everyone that wants closure, that final ending to their story, as Immortals, we can't get it."
Karyl shook his head, "Death has always scared the hell out of me." He replied.
Tymmie gave a wry grin, "I guess that's where you and I differ, Karyl." He leaned back on the bench, "I see death as a release."
The duo then changed the subject, opting instead to talk about music, how much of an asshole Stanton was, or how Cassandra was beginning to get on their nerves. Just normal, simple everyday talk. Nothing about the Atrox, or hope, or the Daughters. Normal everyday talk. And though neither of them would admit it, it was through these talks that the bond between the pair grew deeper, they were becoming more than friends, more than brothers. They were becoming something else entirely.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Tymmie ran a hand over his buzzed head, "Don't worry about me Karyl, I want this." He smirked, "On some level, I've always wanted this. I knew that joining up with Lambert was the stupidest thing I could've ever done, yet I did it anyway. I want out Karyl, this is the only way."
Karyl couldn't help but asking, "What about me?"
Tymmie smiled, "You'll see, eventually, why I did this."
"That's not what I meant."
A frown settled on his features, "I know."
Karyl looked at him, "I fucked it up didn't I?"
Tymmie raised an eyebrow, "Fucked what up?"
"I broke the big rule. I broke it big time." Karyl's voice sounded emotionally defeated, "I cared."
Tymmie exhaled, making it sound like a wheezing noise, "Then I guess I broke it too."
The two looked at each other, knowing that no words would be able to comprehend what they were trying to express. Karyl reached between the bars and held Tymmie's hand. Tymmie gripped back fiercely.
"I'll miss you." Karyl whispered, hating how pathetic he sounded at the moment.
Tymmie gave a watery smile, "I'll miss you too kid." His voice was cracking.
"Goodbye Tymmie," Came Karyl, still in a tiny whisper.
"Bye Karyl." He looked at him, and sighed, "Take care of yourself, ok?"
Karyl nodded, and leaned his face close to the bars. He gave Tymmie a kiss on the forehead, "Sleep well, my brother."
Tymmie's trade-like smirk spread over his features once again, "I think we're a little more than brothers, wouldn't you say?"
Karyl nodded, "I guess we are."
Those were the last words Karyl ever spoke to him.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
"Why the hell are you joining up with Lambert!" Karyl demanded as he barged into Tymmie's room.
Tymmie looked up from a book he was reading, "Who told you?" He asked quietly.
"Who the fuck cares!" Karyl exclaimed, "Do you know how stupid you are?"
Tymmie said nothing, but nodded mutely, looking up at his ceiling with profound interest.
"Then why?" Karyl and Tymmie both tried to ignore the strained pain in his question.
He sighed, "I want out."
"Out of what?"
Tymmie swallowed, "I want out of the Atrox, Lambert promised me that he could give me that."
Karyl shook his head, "Idiot. The only way out of the Atrox is death, we all know that."
Tymmie shot him a meaningful look and Karyl paled. "You can't leave me like that." Karyl spat.
Tymmie shrugged, "You don't need me."
"Bullshit, Tymmie." Karyl sneered, "Bullshit. You said you'd always have my back, do you remember that?"
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Karyl." Tymmie said sternly, "I'm going to do it, no matter what everyone tells me." He stood up and clasped Karyl's shoulders, "Please, just let me do this." He inhaled deeply, "You're the only one who would be able to stop me from going." The look he sent him was pitiful, "Please?"
Karyl said nothing, trying to force himself not to get down and beg him not to go, "If it's what you want, truly what you want, I won't stop you."
The smile Tymmie gave him could have lit up a thousand rooms, "Thank you Karyl."
Karyl sighed, "Just don't forget about me."
Tymmie hugged him, "I could never forget about you."
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Karyl sat on the beach. It was dawn, the sky was littered in grays, purples, and reds, the air was crisp and clean. All he could do was sit in the sand and hug his knees to his chest. He was alone. Truly alone.
Tymmie had stepped into a Cold Fire a few hours ago. This fire was different, however. The Atrox were not meaning to grant him Immortality, they had meant to burn away his existence. And they had. Karyl had watched them do it, for he was one of the few invited to the execution.
Tymmie had walked into it as if he were walking into a meadow. There was a certain bounce to his step, and a huge smile was implanted on his face. His eyes had gleamed happily from the fire as they rested on Karyl. Karyl remembered he began to weep when Tymmie had mouthed a final 'good-bye' before he was incinerated.
Members of the Incinti had spit on his ashes, Stanton with them. He was a traitor to the Atrox, the lowest of the low, he had deserved to die. Karyl just stood there, tears running down his face quietly. He had waited until they had all left, then he had scooped the ashes into a glass bottle he had found on the beach. He wouldn't allow Tymmie to be cast away without a proper send off.
Karyl stood, and unscrewed the bottle containing what was left of his beloved Tymmie. He cleared his throat, holding the bottle up to the sky, "You were the only one who understood me. You were the only one who cared." He muttered, noticing the wind was starting to pick up, "You were the only one I needed to care." He swallowed as tears threatened to overflow again, "And I hope you find the peace in death that you couldn't in life."
He cast the ashes into the ocean when a strong wind had blown, and he watched the specks of dust drift in the tide.
He didn't know how long he waited there, just staring at the sun rising. Today would be a new day, a new day in a countless series of new days for Karyl. He shook his head, and tucked his hands in his pockets as he started to walk away from the beach.
He would remember what it felt like to care again. He would always remember Tymmie.
But he had survived another day, and in the end, that was all that mattered.