Love
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It was hopeless…
No matter how much knowledge and practice he possessed on first aid care, a human might be an animal, but it wasn't the same thing, not by a long shot, and it would never be. Otherwise, they wouldn't be deserving of their revenge, would they? As spirits of Nature, they protected her children… Humans were no longer that. They had renounced to their right and gift, their duty and bond long ago, when they had ceased to live within her embrace in peace and harmony.
Was that the reason behind his current inability to help Leon?
He had already tended to his minor injuries; bandaged them, even. Yet his leg was still bleeding as if it was a fountain, and he could only imagine how he had gotten such deep wound, and what could come from it: it could become infected, it could have been poisoned, it could have torn a vein and so many other vital points to pieces… or maybe all of them. Possibilities were endless, yet the time to solve them was not.
"Oww!" he winced. "Give it a rest already!" Leon pulled his arm away, and D could see how the bandages became tinted with red. "Aah! That hurts… Damn."
«Idiot.» Definitely, healing animals was easier in every way. Still, he suddenly realized—
"So it really happened?" the detective muttered, though it seemed it was just an unconscious extension of his inner turmoil, instead of something they should concern themselves with. "I was still hoping this was some sort of nightmare."
—he suddenly realized he cared more for the human right now than he had ever cared for his wounded animals in the past. He always knew what could happen from certain injuries, and he accepted his pets' fate. Yet he was fighting for Leon's end to be different, devoid of further pain and misery. He just didn't deserve this suffering… and death was not an option.
Humans had a name for this emotion, which he had always claimed to be unable to feel.
"He's tougher than I thought." Just like his father, to chirp something insane and stupid when he should keep quiet. "Intuitive, as well. So this is why you kept him at your shop." Not a question; he truly was assuming things were as simple as Leon's resemblance to an animal.
On top of that, he was disregarding the humans' capacity to understand his words, being downright impolite… "Father!" D indignantly yelled back at him. He could see the smirk hidden underneath the open hand fan; he was doing it intentionally, provoking them all, taunting for his own sick amusement.
He turned back to Leon, letting his father's attention to go back to the glaring Agent Howell. That was unnerving too, their behavior and those looks with a thousand of concealed meanings, but it was tolerable, unlike his father's speech.
Still, he knew of what was happening between the pair, as it happened at every encounter between himself and Leon.
Suddenly, he didn't want to meet the detective's eyes ever again. Whatever it took him, he'd have him gone forever, before the human became willing to throw his life away for him, as had Howell for his father. He knew he would never be able to truly appreciate such a sacrifice, and that he would be the one Leon's soul claimed was to blame for being showed at a path with no happiness at the end.
He wouldn't take that either.
D focused on the young American's wounds again, vaguely nauseated by the way the blood clung to everything, but left his own hands pristine as he worked. He was so different and otherworldly all of a sudden… And Leon was in a very real danger, which he now understood he didn't have the power to avoid. He would do better if he was treated by his own kind, instead of a being who wasn't even remotely human, and should despise him, instead of be helping him.
He turned to face Agent Howell, and had to touch his shoulder gently as he was ignored, the man's eyes fixed on his father's; out of the corner of his own eyes, he saw how his only parent tensed, frowning at the contact with obvious disapproval, slightly increasing the speed at which he was fanning himself. As the older American man looked down at him, D sighed.
It was all so terribly difficult…
"Take him to the hospital, Mr. Agent," he said evenly, his hand still upon Leon's knee. "I must speak with my father," he added, to mask his true concern, letting his hand drop to his own lap. He knew the aforementioned had to be amused over such a lame lie, smirking behind his fan, but he just couldn't show such a weakness openly to the humans.
Howell, fortunately for D, complied. "Okay," he muttered. He rose to his feet, tall and strong, even for his age, and he wondered for a second or two if Leon would manage to be like that if he survived to be old enough… "Hey, stand up."
He took Leon's arm and flung it over his shoulders, helping the younger man to his feet. "Oww…" D couldn't help it, and he looked up to meet the detective's blue eyes; disbelief shone in them, as bright as stars in a moonless night.
Rising as well, keeping his posture straight and regal, he clasped his hands at his front. «I care, Mr. Detective… I care so much, Leon… my Leon.»
And he wished he didn't, even more than he cared for the human, if that was possible.
He heard the sound of a fan being snapped shut, and he turned to look at his father. His smirk was cruel, no longer hidden, and his violet eyes were lighted by malice. "Have you forgotten? Only we can operate the elevator," he called at the retreating men, loud enough to ensure they understood his words clearly. The warning was for them to get, yet there was an underlying tone of mockery that he threw directly at his son.
The pair stopped mid-step, and Leon winced audibly as he was forced to momentarily use his wounded leg for support. "Is that so?" Agent Howell muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
"I will start it for you," D offered before he could stop himself. «Leon needs to get medical attention as soon as possible…» He threw a glare at his father, who was now frowning almost imperceptibly. «And you aren't going to stop that from happening. You have already done enough.» He had thrown the detective into that garden of living nightmares, after all.
It was his father's fault, the human's critical state.
As D walked over to their side, his father rose from his own seat, throwing his shut hand fan away. They barely noticed the chaos it made as it collided with the tea tray upon a little table, sending the china tea pot to a rather nasty end at the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces and let its rich, fragrant liquid content soak the surface. His father's stride took him over the mess without noticing, though, apparently taken over by unreasonable ire.
He reached out, and he managed to catch D's wrist in an iron grip with a single hand. "My dearest son, this is my home; it would do you well to remember," he said, all fake sweet tones and smiles. "It is rude to dismiss my guests like that. And to use the elevator without my permission as well."
"God, he's just trying to help—!"
"Then do it yourself," D growled, interrupting Agent Howell, predicting, through his similitude with Leon, and his own to his father, that this would get exhaustingly long if allowed to proceed, and knowing the detective would appreciate it better if his leg was treated anytime this week.
His father seemed taken aback by such an order, eyes widening slightly, lips sealed shut. He sought his son's eyes for something D himself didn't know he might possess. Yet, considering all parallelisms, he surely had… and it was found, scarce seconds later. Something his father had felt himself, he realized.
Dark lips parted, violet eyes strangely unexpressive so suddenly: "Understood." D's turn to be surprised, as he was released, and his father walked past the humans, his voice polite: "Follow me, gentlemen," guiding them to the elevator then.
Agent Howell glared, grunted something, yet tugged Leon along. The detective cursed aloud as he nearly tripped and fell on his wounded leg, barely kept up by the older man, whilst D's father walked on ahead. "Language, Mr. Detective," D whispered at his retreating back.
He would miss him, his Leon…
Q-chan chose that moment to reappear, after he went off to survey the garden whilst D had tended to the young American. The little bat rabbit landed upon his shoulder, and rubbed his little furry cheek against D's own, drying a lonely tear that had escaped his golden eye. The comfort his pet offered was accepted with gratitude and warm affection, expressed by a long finger that gently caressed the small head between the tiny horns, eliciting a happy squeak.
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Did it always have to end this way?
Never particularly happy about anything since his youth, D worked the elevator's control panel into not requiring his constant input of orders, so it would take the humans to the lobby without problems. Vesca kindly stood against one of the doors, tricking the sensors and keeping them wide open, while the detective sat against one of the crystal walls, pale after bleeding copiously for nearly half an hour.
"Doesn't cease to amuse me," he whispered, smirking. Vesca grunted as a way to prompt him to explain himself. "The detective is strong, not only highly attractive." He had to turn and look at the agent straight at his face, not to lose any second of the priceless expression that had taken it over. The Orcot guy just made a disapproving noise, which was not as enjoyable as Vesca's deep frown. He nearly chuckled. "I still prefer my little penguin over any alley cat," he purred, summoning a deep blush this time.
"God, you two should get a room already!" The pair glared at the young detective.
"How rude!" D exclaimed, feigning to be highly offended. "No wonder you were never invited to one by my son…" Vesca had the decency to remain quiet, while the detective threw his way a rather long string of assorted curses.
How easy and fun it was to make humans become so flustered!
"Are you going to get that thing working anytime this millennium, D?"
"Are you so eager to get away from me, Vesca?" he taunted this time, letting his long hair fall as a curtain and obscuring the sight of the other two. "I thought you were hunting me down."
He could tell the agent was craving a cigarette; he had started that self-destructive habit around the time he had left Albany without a word, and, by the smell of it, hadn't even tried to stop since. The detective was no better… "I'm coming back to arrest you as soon as I drop this kid by the hospital," he said gruffly.
"I'm not a kid!"
"Of course you're not, Detective Orcot," D said patronizingly. "And Vesca, it is unwise to say those things to your target; they tend to pack up and vanish in a poof, didn't you know? Smoke and all," he added, making a gesture of hand magic dismissively.
"Unless you're planning to level the building to the ground, or to start on the tobacco, I doubt there'll be any smoke," Vesca replied in a barely audible voice, and D knew the detective hadn't heard. "So you're leaving again?" he asked casually, finally finding his cigarettes and lighter.
"Don't smoke in my presence. And yes, I'm leaving."
He still didn't want to, though. He had never wanted to leave in the first place…
The agent chuckled. "This isn't precisely indoors, and you aren't pregnant, so it doesn't matter." He lighted the cigarette, and blew the first cloud of smoke in his direction. How disrespectful! "Besides, who knows when we might see each other again," he whispered lowly, keeping it as a secret conversation between them. D focused on the panel, which still beeped its disagreement.
"You want me to remember your probability for lung cancer until then?" he asked disdainfully.
"A visit at the hospital wouldn't be bad."
«I wish you hadn't already accepted such a fate.» Even if it hurt to admit it, he didn't want Vesca to die in that way, bound to a hospital bed and connected to countless machines, even if he never got to see it with his own eyes. He preferred to bring him down right now, behead and dismember him, then burn the remains to ashes he could place in a convenient little sandalwood box, which he'd keep hidden inside his pillow. «That way, you wouldn't be able to whine about how I'm always so far away. I'd sleep over you every night.» He actually chuckled at the thought.
"What are you laughing at, D?" Vesca growled, reaching out to grasp him by the hair, yet he moved just in time to avoid the sharp tug that was coming. He looked up at him, and the panel finally emitted a ‹ping.›
The humans could leave the garden of nightmares now.
«I wish…» His vision was blurring, though he didn't know why it should. The agent was making such a weird face he would have found hilarious at any other time, yet—"You may go now," he said weakly, closing his eyes. "Take Orcot to the hospital; make sure he's well tended to, Vesca." After all, his son had cared so much; his concern had passed on to him the moment he'd found that emotion within his soul.
"D?" He slapped the seeking hand away, and he walked out of the elevator. As he passed by the agent, who still stood by the doors and was keeping them open, he lightly touched his shoulder.
"You said I'm not, but, I assure you, I am." His violet eyes met a livid face when they lifted. "We don't work the same way. Just look." He patted Vesca's shoulder, as he had the last time he had seen him at the university, and then he pushed him lightly out of the sliding doors' path.
"Hey, what the hell—?"
The human was confused, because he couldn't understand. And, to be honest, neither could he.
"Orcot!" D called, and the half-conscious detective's blue eyes fixed themselves on him, still bright and full of energy. «Strong and enduring, indeed.» He would heal of his wounds, and his youth would just help the process along… "Beware of what you will find shall you seek my son out," he purred, smirking. "You might end up like Howell over there: lonely, bitter, old… and sexually frustrated."
Vesca's expression made his day, and its memory would kindle his dawns and be the laugh of his dusks for the rest of his life, that was for sure. "Why, you little—!" The doors chose that moment to close themselves and become locked… at least, until the elevator reached the lobby. "Hey!"
"Until death brings us together again, Vesca Howell." Because, truly, he didn't have any plans to see him once more. After all, humans were so ugly when they were old, and he preferred the memories of his penguin when he was young and so full of life and joy. «And we have yet to find repentance for meeting each other, don't we?»
D sighed, picking up a strand of his long hair and twisting it around his long, graceful fingers. As he saw the digital display above the elevator doors' frame change to the number of three floors below, he smiled brightly and twirled on his heels, going off to find his son and grant his supposed wish to speak to him in private.
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He had already picked up the broken pieces of the tea pot, lamenting such a beautiful thing had shattered; the pattern imprinted upon it was exquisite, and he could tell the pot was old, probably an antique from his native China. Considering the hand fan he had dried up was a Chinese antique, he wouldn't put it past his father to have acquired a whole set of curiosities just because he could afford it on his own accord, without depending on his grandfather's rather impressive bank account.
D had to admit that, even though he was as crazy as could be, his father had achieved many things that were amazing on their own, and that, if compared with the rest of their family, he was the one who'd been the closest to being free. It had taken his sanity away, but he never seemed worried about it, even when knowing.
In the worst cases, he seemed to be enjoying it, actually.
Not that he wanted to follow his steps, of course! Not even in a thousand years… He preferred his grandfather's ideals, regardless of how stressful it could become to just stand back and watch as everything unraveled before him. He'd occasionally be the judge of humankind's sins, the executor of what the divine will and their own eternal grudge dictated, yet it wasn't as thrilling as it had once being; they were always the same, and the punishment followed along the same lines as well…
And suddenly it was too tempting, so he decided to search for another tea pot and prepare some jasmine tea… with ten spoons of sugar, at least. Any task would keep his mind away from allowing him to be led astray and out of the rightful path: the end of the human race. They deserved it, after all, with those perpetually bloodstained hands of theirs, since birth and beyond death, and their wicked thoughts and desires.
Q-chan sat by the sugar bowl, spoon held by both little paws, his black eyes, streaked by and ringed in golden, following D as he went about making the tea. He kept quiet, except for the occasional flutter of his bat wings, whenever the wind coming from the missing wall hit too hard. D vaguely wondered if his pet was concerned, not failing to notice his hands trembled whenever he held something.
«It's just the sugar.» The thought wasn't consoling in the very least; he had the vague suspicion that he was lying to himself. «It's been too many things for a single day, and I have yet to eat something decent.» Agent Howell had just covered the very basics of his need, after all, probably knowing, from meeting his father, that they shouldn't be starved as they could do with humans, animals, or plants. They should be pampered as well, but that was something he just plainly refused to receive from anyone but Leon nowadays, and—
It wouldn't hurt to put some more effort into forgetting, would it?
When it wasn't one thing, it had to be the other, really! In his momentary anger, he nearly broke one of the delicate teacups, along with its saucer. Q-chan squeaked in alarm, but quieted down with a gesture of his hand. "Nothing happened, don't worry," he said with a little smile. "I was just… careless."
He went around the couch and found a wooden cabinet. From it, he took out another tea pot, and he looked for jasmine among all the different teas his father possessed; why he had medicinal kinds stored here, he ignored. They didn't get ill, after all, and the garden remained untouched, since there were never visitors… Well, never, until now: Leon, Agent Howell, and D himself. It seemed like a private space, a personal haven of his father's; the Nature held within would be enough to alleviate any discomfort, so the medicinal teas made even less sense.
And they were mostly bitter as well. Which brought to attention another little detail: his father didn't keep sweets or pastries of any kind, asides from the simple sugar bowl back at the table. Seemed he'd have his tea without any treats this time…
The tea was ready scarce minutes later, and he served one cup for himself, and the other for his father… Or, at least, that's what he told himself after he found he had one too many teacups; it was the habit, of receiving his detective at the pet shop. Mixing ten spoonfuls of sugar in each, he calmly sat down, sipping the slightly warm drink, deciding to stop thinking about the past, and that he should focus his mind on the future.
When he was out of the garden, and away of his father, what would he do? Where would he go, along with the pet shop? Would he attempt to write to his grandfather, to the last address he had sent him mail from, risking he wasn't there anymore? He had many things to plan; it was also the first time he had to do it on his own… And he should be thankful of this small pause in the chaos of moving on and away, of the peace of rest before returning to his duty—"Son!"
Not so enjoyable all of a sudden. Not anymore.
D glanced over the rim of the teacup he held, and he saw his father as he returned, smiling in that over-enthusiastic way of the insane when on a good mood. «He didn't throw them at the garden again, did he?» Somehow, he felt suspicions arise within him, as the long haired male sighed and sat down besides him, reaching out for his own tea, which sat besides Q-chan upon the table.
"Oh, tea!" he exclaimed happily. "Thank you, my son; you're so kind." After the first taste, though, he lowered the cup, frowning and closing his eyes. "Jasmine?"
"It's the one I prefer," D declared. "Father—"
"So does your grandfather…" he interrupted and trailed off, summoning back his smile and looking at his son as if he was the most beautiful thing in the Universe. "How have you been, now that you run the pet shop without him?"
D sighed, closing his eyes as he felt how his father shifted on the seat and got closer to him, a slender hand upon his elbow a second later. He didn't like that of his only parent: clinginess, that's what he had… "I've been well, father. But, I'm sure, you already know that, don't you?"
"Are you accusing me of something, my beloved son?" his father teased, leaving his tea on the table and reaching out with his free hand to play with the hair that fell over D's right eye.
"Stalking," he sighed as his father held back a giggle. "You knew of the detective, and of his little brother." He still felt uncomfortable with just imagining his parent had such knowledge; having figured out it was true when he last called was dreadful. "And of the fate of the orangutan you sent me." That poor creature… Innocent, if not naïve, just a tool of his father's to cause suffering.
The older of the pair smirked, violet eyes mischievous in their seeking glance, which swept his features for things to further his amusement. "Oh, that." Somehow, he managed to get even closer, pressing his body against his son's side. "Well, I was worried about you!" he exclaimed dramatically. "After your grandfather left you all alone at the pet shop, I couldn't find rest, be it day or night; you're still so young…" he whispered against his cheek, and he tensed. "I obviously had to do something about it!" a quick peck; it sent shivers up and down his spine. "I had to know how you were doing, who visited, who left, who called, who sent you things—"
"You're deluded," he muttered, turning his face away, hearing a small sound of disappointment coming from the very back of his father's throat; that close he was right then.
The yearning for affection tends to be a maddening disease, after all.
His father chuckled. "Am I?" He let go of his son's elbow, and placed his own against the back of their shared seat, supporting the side of his head on his hand. "So says Vesca Howell," he whispered weakly. "He was always rather… bizarre with his choice of compliments."
"That was not a compliment."
"So says he." D sighed, vaguely annoyed. He leant back, arms crossed over his chest, and Q-chan came flying to rest upon his shoulder, opposite from his father. "Oh, that's a cute little chimera on your shoulder!" Q-chan squeaked in protest. "Where did you acquire him, son?" the long haired male asked, whilst teasing the bat rabbit with a lock of hair over D's head.
"Father, stop." Reaching out, he slapped his father's hand away, and then he petted Q-chan on his tiny head. "Grandfather sent him to me after he left," he added, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. «And he's a Valvertinger, not a chimera.»
"Did he?" His father didn't sound as interested as he probably wished he did. "I didn't know we were allowed to keep personal pets," he declared with false wonderment. "Seems your grandfather is finally leaving the old ways," Q-chan squeaked again. "Though I'd prefer a penguin over a chimera any day."
D gazed into his father's violet eyes intently. "Are you referring to the human?"
"Which human?"
"Agent Howell." He knew it to be true.
His father looked taken aback for a second or two, yet he recovered, bringing along another smirk. "Oh, don't be silly, my son. I like beautiful, youthful things," he reached out with his hand to caress D's jaw and cheek. He lifted himself by putting his knee upon the cushion, leaning forward, keeping D from moving his head away by resting his hand underneath his son's chin while his long fingernails pressed against delicate skin, threatening to cut through, "such as you…" he breathed, lips not an inch away from his son's.
Surprisingly enough, he was enthralled by his father's eyes, mirrors of a soul already broken, like his, which was still falling apart…
Q-chan flew to grasp at his father's hair with his tiny paws; the bat rabbit pulled, causing him to screech in fury, more than pain, as well as get up from on top of his son. The hand that was going to slap the flying creature away was bitten, and—"Q-chan!" D called for his pet, which obeyed after biting the graceful and slender hand once more. He flew back to poise himself upon his shoulder, huffing at his father, golden fur bristled.
"This may become infected," his father muttered, analyzing his hand, two tiny bites marring his otherwise perfect skin with a reddish tone, yet no blood. He lifted his gaze to glare at Q-chan. "Wait here," he ordered, before he walked away, getting lost among the lush plant life of his garden.
D frowned at his retreating back, not sure if he should be mad, or worried.
«Either way, I should get going.» If it was going to become as conflictive as it had right now, he was better off leaving, going back to the road, heading towards the East along with the pet shop and all the souls that lived within.
Yet—
«What will father do?» He couldn't stay, that was for sure; Agent Howell was still out there, taking Leon to the hospital right now, but then… «He will come back after my father.»
Walking over to the spot where he had left his suitcase, he brought it over to the couch, reaching for Q-chan, whom he placed on top of it. The little creature looked at him in confusion, tilting his head to the side in that cute manner only he could manage.
"Guard this for a moment, please," D asked. "I must go speak with my father…" Q-chan protested, batting his wings. "I need you to take care of the suitcase; my only treasure is within. It is important, Q-chan."
The bat rabbit seemed to consider for a moment, before he nodded with its tiny head. His look of worry didn't leave, though, still haunting those black eyes with golden gleams. Over his shoulder, D saw how he settled down, apparently sensing it would be a long wait…
"I will be fine," he assured him in a whisper, before he went into the garden, following his father's faint trail.
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