2019-06-21 - Not Today, Satan!

The rain's been falling for hours now, leading to street flooding across Gray Harbor, but it's by some miracle that Alex is able to make his way back to his home by the bay after his shift at the hospital's come to an end. It's probably a frustrating commute; one can typically get from one part of Gray Harbor to the other in twenty minutes flat, but it's going to take Alex an hour and fifteen before he comes into the driveway. If he isn't irritated by the traffic, he can be irritated by the fact that Violet hasn't responded to a single text since the last one where she mentioned she was going to take a bath, but there's at least no outward appearance that his house got struck by lightning in the time he was gone. It was pitch black though; the power was completely out here, as it was in the rest of the town.

He is very welcomed the second he comes through the front door though! Welcomed, that is, by a seemingly frantic cat who chases down the stairs and meows at him urgently, before attempting to weave around his leg and put pressure on the back of his calf, like Blue was trying to push him into the house.

Alex is the sort of always-prepared asshole that would have an emergency flashlight not just in his car but also in his garage, so he snags the one out of the garage and clicky-clicks the button, adjusting the focus of the light with a shine around the garage before he comes inside. His night was... not awesome. But he survived with no visible hurts, though the commute is the reason he comes home for the first time ever with his tie already unknotted his hair pulled imperfectly, after more than one frustrated finger-comb. "Violet? It's Alex," he says upon entering the house. This is not abnormal, the announcement of who it is, but there's a bit of extra questioning in his tone, since she's not answering her text messages.

Which would make him really irritated CONSIDERING HER WHOLE THING ABOUT THE PHONE THE OTHER DAY, except it also makes him worried.

The cat almost gets stepped on in her eagerness, before he manages to wheel the flashlight around to shine it on her. He scoops her up with his flashlight-free arm, tucking her against his side, telling her en espanol, "Hello, silly cat. Where is my Violet, please?" Then sets her down on the steps so he can trot up them.

There is no response to the announcement of who he is; his voice just eaten by the silence that permeates the house. It's such an unsettling thing, the silence that comes when there's no power - there's no creaking, no buzz from the refrigerator, no sound of the air conditioning unit ticking on to cool down the house. Just rain and the incessant meowing of a cat who does not speak espanol, but does stretch up and bump his chin aggressively with the top of her head when he picks her up. If Blue could talk, she would likely tell him to find Violet now please, Blue is very worried, she has been gone for hours.

But Blue cannot talk. And Violet is not upstairs. But her clothes are there, tucked into the hamper, the bathrobe she always wears after her two-hour baths draped neatly over the sink. The bathtub is full, but the water's cold now, the little bowls that were put under the candles to contain the wax nearly overfilled. They've been burning for a long time now, with no one to snuff them out. And someone's repainted the tiles around the bathtub, which is really going to piss Alex off.

Oh wait, that's not paint! Phew. It's just blood.

A handprint, Violet-sized, and the words in big block letters: THEY'RE COMING.

All of this occurs to Alex with a glance, the flashlight bouncing around the bedroom before, across the little clues before it starts working its way toward the bathroom. The candlelight, even with the candles themselves burned down to almost nothing, is a dead giveaway. Alex says, "Violet?" a couple more times, but - by the time he makes it to the bedroom door - the sinking sense of dread has overtaken the notion that she's just up here resting and didn't hear him come in, so he stops calling out to her.

Then his flashlight beams its way around the bathroom proper, flashing across the mirror, brightening up the candlelight in here. Right across that blood... right across those words... and there's nothing even to be said. He crosses himself, eyes on the letters when he leans over to blow out the candles with a series of quickly puffed breaths (those are problems he can solve!). That leaves him sitting on the lid of the toilet, shining the flashlight into the cold bathwater, with a problem he cannot solve: where is his Violet?

He waits for inspiration, staring at the bathtub.

Staring at the bathtub, and that perfectly clear water, isn't going to do much at all. At least, not until the sudden flicker of his flashlight reflects upon a single droplet of blood that comes not from the words written on the tiles, but hanging from the showerhead. It falls straight into the placid water - ploink! - and disturbs the sheer swirl of oil upon the water's surface. Then there's nothing.

Nothing until the light dies from his flashlight; it doesn't go out, so much as it gets sucked inward, the light. And now that he's blown out the candles in here? He's plunged into sudden darkness. The shower turns on, and it starts to rain down into the tub; at first, he can't see the color of the water suddenly streaming out of the showerhead, but he can smell the pungent metallic-copper of blood.

But then the flashlight turns back on in his hand. And off again. And on again. Off-on-off-on, like someone flicked it into strobe-light mode. It bounces off the tiles, off the words that grow in size until they are climbing up the walls, off the blood that's filling the tub from the shower, from the faucet, it's going to spill over.

It should spill over, it should spill over, but the blood water gets to the lip of the tub and hits some sort of seemingly invisible barrier; but more like someone's put a very thin sheet of glass over the top of the top, sealing the water in. And sealing something else in, because as the strobe light continues, a pale fist slams into the glass from inside of the tub, and the water starts to slosh violently, never spilling over thanks to that seal.

In his head, there's something else. A thin voice, a faint voice. It sounds so much like Violet, but the way the words are spoken are just wrong, the inflection is all wrong. << Help me, please, it's me. I'm outside, I'm outside, come outside, Alex, please it's me. >>

The light. The bloody bathwater. The everything. Alex sits quietly, keeping it together in an inimitably Alex way, his hands folded around the handle of the flashlight, thumbs tapping together silently while he stares and thinks and doesn't panic. Afraid? Oh, most definitely. But he's bound and determined not to let fear govern his response to this terrible scene. In his mind, he keeps chanting his prayers, even when the flashlight wants to quit working... then start working... then quit again. Even when the bathtub fills with blood. Even when something slams into it from the inside, and he shoots to his feet, pressing his hand back over the palm beneath the glassy cover.

Even when something strikes him as not right about that voice and the things it's saying.

The voice says go outside, but the hand is right here. So he goes with the tangible, running his palm across the surface of the glass toward the edge of the tub, testing with his fingertips for a groove or a lip or anything he can get his nails under.

There's no lip, no groove, but it definitely feels like thin glass that sits perfectly just inside the bathtub, containing all that blood and whatever creature is inside, thrashing along. As he runs his palm over the surface of the glass, two fists slam into it from the inside again, the surface shuddering from the punch. They disappear, and then come up again, another punch to the glass but this one with far less violence; even the flailing was weakening, as knuckles drag along the glass and then sink back under the bloody water.. which appears to be thickening. Congealing, perhaps.

Behind him, he can hear the quick tap-tap-tap of footsteps up the stairs. The voice that echoes through his head is a far better impression now, the mocking tilt gone. << Alex, it's me. It's Violet! Just come into the bedroom, I'm okay. I'm safe. >>

But then something slams under the glass again, THUNK! This time, it's hands and a face, smushed against the glass. Violet's face, struggling for air, just a glimpse before something drags her under the water again.

No, because Violet doesn't talk at Alex like that. At least, not on the regular. So he makes with the effort to tune it out, an effort that gives him a headache when he has to think about doing it instead of just doing it, but oh well; a headache is a small price to pay right now.

There's no delicate solution to the glass over the bathtub, so Alex just takes the inelegant one. He brings the handle of the flashlight down onto the surface of the glass near the drain, away from the face. Still quiet through all this, other than the sounds of the flashlight cracking against the glass as hard as he can make it, as many times as he has to make it. Till either the flashlight breaks or the glass breaks or Alex breaks. There are no other alternatives.

Though he might kinda wish he hadn't blown out the candles now, since he can't see anything except the crazy tilt of the light going back-and-forth.

The first slam of the flashlight into the glass sends a ripple through the sheet, though the flashlight practically bounces back off of it and damn near out of Alex's grip. Through sheer luck, he's able to keep his grip on the flashlight and bring it down again, and the glass shatters through and implodes, vanishing under the surface of the congealing blood-water. If it was the real Violet underneath that glass and blood before, it is not the real Violet that surfaces now - not unless Violet had red eyes and wears her skin inside out. Her style is quirky, but probably not that quirky. The exposed veins pop and explode with blood while exposed muscles bulge; this thing grabs hold of Alex and she is strong. Considering Alex can't even break glass without a luck spend? It's safe to say that he's getting pulled right into the tub, under the blood-water that feels like he's sinking rapidly through not-quite-set jello .. and he falls.

And he falls and he falls and he falls, tumbling through blood that thins out as he careens ever-downward, and the heat rises as he sinks. But the more he free falls, the more it feels like he's being pulled by some kind of unseen force, fingers gripping and tugging him, ripping at his shirt and his skin and into his muscle until he finally hits the ground.

And it's hot down here, on account of the lake of fire in the distance. But he falls into a lush green-scape, trees with lusciously plump red apples hanging, begging to be tasted - this is paradise, and this is hell. And there is Violet, let's hope it's the real Violet, naked and bruised and beaten, and staring in disbelief at the man who just fell from heaven into hell. "Alex? Alex! Oh no, oh no no no, you shouldn't be here! This isn't right, LET HIM GO!"

Alex kicks and hits and fights but yeah. Obviously, punching and stuff isn't his forte, so this thing - whatever it is, this thing that isn't Violet - has no particular trouble pulling him right under the surface of that sucking, sticky bloodstuff. Coughing, inhaling no small amount of the jellystuff, he somehow... for whatever reason... grabs onto his loose tie on the way down, so that's what he still has in-hand when he hits the ground down here.

A flashlight and his necktie.

There's a moment spent retching unprettily to get the stuff out of his throat and lungs, on hands-and-knees and violently ill. So he looks up and over at what looks like Violet, but he's still gonna have to ask, "Violet?" And then choke a little more, pushing upright clumsily. "Who's coming?" He stumbles her way, but he's had an adventure, so it's gonna take him a minute.

"Alex," Violet nearly trips over her own two feet running over that emerald green grass to his side. And yes, she's naked as the day she was born, but that doesn't stop her from sinking onto her knees and putting her arms around him, even as he spews all that stuff out of his throat. "This isn't right, this isn't right! How are you here? You shouldn't be here, this isn't in the rules!" Everyone's always shouting about the rules, blah blah blah rules. Does anyone really think shadow monsters play by rules? She rubs at his back, choking back a sob as she brushes slop off his face, but there's need in her touch, like it isn't about making sure he's clean. She just needs to be near him. "I thought I'd never see you again," she utters, her voice trembling. "I thought they'd keep me here.."

He asked who was coming, and it's going to take her a minute, because she's busying herself with touching him and wiping off that blood and goo from him. But she does answer, looking off into the distance, towards the lake of fire. "I.." she furrows her brow.

The 'word' hangs there, but he'll figure it out soon enough. Mostly because Satan himself comes sauntering out from between two trees, and for all intents and purposes, he's a rather handsome man. Some might even say 'attractive'. Granted, he's got red skin and black horns coming out of his head, but hey! He's 6'5" and has great hair, and a really nice looking suit.

Hoarsely, Alex explains in the simplest terms possible; "I fell through the bath tub." Everything else is too hard to explain, would be too hard to explain even for someone who didn't get impatient about having to explain things, so he just leaves it unexplained. He slops some of the goop off his hands with a slap of his fingers through the air, kind enough to degrease himself somewhat before he puts his hands on Violet at all, quick to return the 'is this a physical thing that he can touch' favor.

He stops dead, having followed Violet's look toward the trees, and breathes out the, "Ay dios mio," that we all knew was coming. With his tie-hand, he crosses himself (for like the thousandth time; it hasn't done any good yet, but that's the whole thing about faith, just gotta keep doing it even though it clearly isn't working); with his other hand, he tries to sort of brush-push Violet behind him, like he's all set to stand between Violet and, uhm, the devil.

That's another thing about faith: he believes in God, and he's pretty sure Violet doesn't, so probably he stands a slightly better chance here (despite having no useful dice whatsoever).

At least she didn't press for an explanation; instead, she sets her head in motion, a subtle nod, her eyes sad and full of tears as she briefly holds his gaze. "Me too," she murmurs, and that is all, before her attention diverts to the trees and the red-skinned man in the snazzy suit that comes traipsing out from between them. She's not easily brushed behind Alex, though she does take a single step backward, reaching to clutch his hand and wrap her fingers around his own, while he uses his other hand to cross himself and ask God for help.

"Have you made your decision yet?" asks the Devil dully as he comes upon the both of them, before his black eyes fall upon Alex. His thin lips purse, but the subtle sense of surprise is obscured by a quick roll of his eyes. "Of course," he releases a sigh that sounds altogether overly bored, frowning as he looks aside to Alex. "Are you going to try to pray me away?" he looks down to his (perfectly manicured) nails and polishes them on the side of his suit. "Or are you actually going to try and fight me yourself? Oh! We should duel. I haven't dueled in so long," his smile is perfect, so are his teeth. "Unless you just want to give her to me. You don't really want her, do you? I mean look at her," he leans to the side to peek around Alex, waving a hand at the naked Violet. "I think you could do better."

You know what Alex isn't going to do? Get into a conversation with the Devil. Unless it's about the guy's suit, because it is a very nice suit, and here's Alex, in his torn shirt and pants, which are also covered in nasty bloodstuff, with his tie hanging from one hand all limpy and gross. He and Satan could probably talk tailors for a little bit.

But no, no. Alex isn't going to get into a conversation with the Devil.

He's just going to run through the library of prayers he has stock-piled from thirty-six years of going to church. That's 1,872 Sundays he has on his side; if we assume Alex made it to Mass about ninety-percent of the time, that's still almost 1,700 Sundays. He can pray with his lips moving quietly till - well, the Second Coming. Before he gets to that, he gives her hand a brief squeeze and promises, "Don't listen to him. I love you." And makes with the praying in the Devil's face.

There is a time for fear, and there is a time for action. This would likely be a time for the latter rather than the former, but Violet finds herself paralyzed just behind Alex, the mocking words from Satan himself echoing in her head and twisting, warping. All Satan said was he could do better, but there's a chorus of insults in Violet's mind, a seemingly never-ending assault on her psyche, words that cut deep and ring true. Her fingers tighten around Alex's own, desperately squeezing as she chokes back another sob. But the thought occurs to her, in the moment, that maybe it would be better to go. Maybe Alex would be sent home. Maybe it wouldn't be the two of them, trapped here forever. Maybe she could save him, even if it means sacrificing herself.

But then Alex comes out of left field with the words that have been choked up in Violet's own throat for weeks now. She cuts a look at him, wide-eyed and startled. "Alex, I.." she starts, then swallows hard as the Devil snaps his fingers and she's encased in a dress that looks far too 'wedding' for her like. Her jaw sets, and something akin to determination settles over Violet. She gives Alex's hand one last squeeze and then pulls away, brushing him behind her as she steps forward. "No." It is direct, confrontational, and she holds up her chin as blue eyes turn to frost. "No. I'm not doing this anymore. And I'm not leaving him. I'll fight you," her voice trembles, but she says it again, firmly. "I'll fight you, I'll fight you to save him."

Yes, Alex is serious right now. Like, Alex is serious most of the time, but he's super serious right now. Maybe this is the point at which he should finally have that crisis of faith that's been waiting in the wings, when he's praying to God right in front of Satan and his girlfriend is getting a brand new wedding dress. But it's not. He pointedly refuses to look Violet over, keeping his attention schooled forward on the sharp-dressed demon, his own eyes darkly reflecting the red skin and surrounding greenery.

"Violet, don't." Spanish stuff; Alex needs to order his thoughts, which are racing considerably faster than his internal translator, and he gets out something about how she shouldn't try to talk to the Father of Lies amid the backward stumble at being stuffed behind the girl who found her courage. Also, "God will save us both." (His piety is annoying sometimes.) This with a step forward, so now at least they're standing right next to each other, which is a nice, united front. For when they get rekt.

"It's just a Dream, Alex. This isn't.. It's just Them. I can fight this, we can fight this," Violet was having a crisis of her own, but it was a crisis of self. She was trembling, reaching to grip Alex's fingers again as he comes to stand beside her. "It's just Them. We can fight this, and we'll go home, and this will be over. I have faith," she lacks so much else. "I have faith in us." Because God was most definitely not in the building right now.

The Devil looks on passively, bored. He rolls his eyes, sighs a lot, and releases a snorting snicker at the talk of faith. "You have faith? He still thinks God will save him, Violet. GOD!" he laughs. "Nothing can save him. Not God, and certainly not you, you useless whore. You're nothing, you're no one. Once you're gone, he'll see that. He'll flourish. Or he could just smarten up and give you up. That's what I would do, if I had a pretty little daughter that could be saved," his black eyes flick back to Alex, and he quirks a brow, challenging Alex in the moment. "But if it's a fight you want. Well. We can do that, too."

Though he nods - it's just a Dream, it's just Them - there's no effort from Alex to pretend he fully endorses Violet's sentiment there. It may not be wholly obvious, but he's not completely convinced that he hasn't died and gone to Hell, which gives him a real problem because he's pretty sure he's going to Heaven or (at worst!) Purgatory for a little bit, 'cause he does have a few sins on his conscience but they're not like really bad ones and...

It leaves him with a soft exhale through his nose, one that would be a laugh if he had it in him to summon even the specter of a laugh under the circumstances. "A fight, then." And he passes his eyes across Violet's with a sort of mute apology in them: she's about to have to do all the heavy lifting, but at least he's going to get some little satisfaction out of fucking up Satan's really nice suit. It's a petty thing, but it makes him feel very slightly better to watch long, jagged rents cut down the front of that super-nice shirt. And if he maybe accidentally scraped through to the freaky red skin underneath the shirt? Well, that's what happens when you pray hard enough, gdi.

That blinding flash of golden light takes Violet by surprise, but before she has a chance to process it, she's blown backward by the blast of heat and energy. She sprawls out onto the dead grass, that pretty crimson dress stained with rotten apple and tearing across the legs. But she gets back up. She pulls herself to her feet, elbows bruised and bleeding, and there is nothing but grim determination now in the set of her jaw as she grabs Alex by the elbow and helps hoist him up too. "NO!" she screams back, not a single tremor in her voice now. "You can't have her. And you can't have US!"

And if it is a fight the devil wants? Violet is ready to fight for her life.

Hey, that was considerably more satisfying than Alex expected it to be. If there was ever a time for a satisfied smirk, it's now. That's the expression Alex wears when he peels himself off the ground after that sudden fling, leaning into Violet's assistance until he gets his feet under him. We can assume Satan speaks Spanish, so he'll at least understand the snarled, "The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet."

It's too bad his powers don't look cool. It's enough that, clinging to Violet's hand with his, he holds his ground in the face of those fireballs. But poor Violet; the dark and unadulterated RAGE that simmers behind Alex's eyes right now is the sort of thing he conscientiously avoids sharing, twisted and violent and hateful and hurtful. And also foolish, because he's not even a little bit prepared to not get all burned up.

Alex catches that fireball low to the chest, his shirt already pretty well ruined so what's a little crispiness added to the mess? He doubles over briefly, holding his hand to the singed spot in the center of his body, making a small, pained noise - but it's not enough to deter him from wrecking shop on Satan over there. And down comes the black blood, and he ducks beneath it, dragging Violet by the hand to sort of tuck her under the arm he raises over his own head and a little over hers.

For a second, while little specks of devil rain down on them, he looks at her like they maybe just won? But then things happen again, and he deflates.

Violet stands her ground, and maybe Alex isn't necessarily sharing his aggression? But she feeds off his anger anyway; or finds her own. She was tired of being meek, of being mild, and she was going to show Satan who's boss. Any second now. Really. Though, that tough-as-nails demeanor gets kind of snuffed out when Alex single-handedly explodes Satan and all she does is make a couple of sparks on Satan's chest.

"Oh," she huffs out, blinking as she's showered with black blood and bits of Devil. But she looks wide-eyed to Alex, certainly in awe of him in the moment. "I think you..." she starts, but 'killed him' doesn't manifest. Because Final Form Satan does instead.

The battle begins. At first, Satan does nothing at all, so the pair of lovebirds gets the first hit in. Sparks wrap around a flaming leg while cuts open up on his abdomen and bleed fire, but Satan doesn't so much scream as he cackles with booming laughter. He dips a hand into the lake of fire around him and forms a ball that he throws down at Violet, and it explodes around her, burning her flesh and sending her sprawling out into the ground. She cries out, but she's not dead, burned and bleeding and that poor beautiful dress singed and in tatters. But she staggers to her feet, leaning on Alex now; she wasn't backing down.

The splash of that fireball has Alex trying to drag Violet out of the way with him, pulling on her elbow - but the fireball lands before he's able to react, and the splash of flame from out of it afterward have him rushing to clap his hands at the flames. He puts Doctor Reyes over there for now, allowing him one second when he sucks in a breath with the heat that hits his own hand (so what must it have done to Violet) before he's not allowed to interfere till this is done.

Or until Pissed Off Alex is dead. "We have to finish this," he says brilliantly, and steels himself to look Satan in the eyes and, like, really really try to cut this monster's head clean off.

They have to finish this. That's what Pissed Off Alex says to Violet, while she's barely able to stand and is still sizzling from the explosion that nearly wiped her out. But she holds herself up, curling her fingers into the remnants of Alex's pants, and she just unfortunately does very little except make blue sparks appear on fire Satan's frame. "I .. have faith.." she sucks in a breath, but it shakes back out, and sounds very weak. ".. in us. In you."

Crispy Alex doubles over at the race of flames across what's left of his shirt, burning his hands even more when he tries to put out the fire - only to wind up with the fire pretty well putting him out instead. He hits his knees, losing Violet's hand in the process, so there: Satan got a win, he totally kneeled. Then falls from there onto his hands, managing to juuuuust cling to consciousness long enough to see that hole erupt in the Devil's head.

Just before his eyes roll back in his head, and it's all white light and the rain of ash around him, because there must be something good between these two to keep them coming back among all this inability to communicate and getting fucked over by demons, he scoots his hand across the ground and curls his fingers with Violet's. THEN he loses consciousness, at least for a few minutes. (It's okay; he has health insurance so he can get his brain checked out later.)

Violet herself has just about enough left in her to weakly squeeze her fingers around Alex's own and curl up into him before she's out, too. It would be a rather romantic way to die, lying together after having defeated Satan himself, on a field of dead grass and rotten apples with a lake of ash around them. But they would not die here. At least not today.

When they find consciousness again, they would be home and in bed. Outside, the storm is over and the sun hangs high in the sky; for them, an entire day has come and gone. But they are alive, they are alive.

It's not so much waking as regaining consciousness. The slow, sticky battle to open his eyes. Alex moves slightly - regrets it - tries to shift back into the original position - regrets doing that, too. A hand feels its way through the ruin of his shirt, glancing across burned skin, and he breathes in sharply through his nose, a hissing sound that comes before he finally peels his eyelids apart. Quietly, croakily, "Violet, stay here."

He slides caaaarefully to the edge of the bed, sits up, and counts the steps between himself and the bathroom. Then stops and, for a second, leans over his legs, his elbow on his knee, his hand coming up to rub across his face. Because, "Here we are again."

Violet snaps to consciousness alongside of him, though it's really the pain that brings her back to life. She wears cuts and burns instead of red wedding dresses, because apparently the only thing you can bring back is the harm that is done to you. She is in bad shape - terrible shape, really, it's a good thing she sleeps with a doctor - but she twitches to life as he tells her to stay. It's not a hard thing to do, to stay here.

But as he leans to his knees, she shifts on the bed. It hurts to move, to sit up, but she needs to, and her hand comes soft along his back. It's just enough, just a bit of contact, to feel him and know that he is still there. "Alex.." her voice is weak, but the words are not. This time, they don't get choked in her throat. "I love you." And she leans into him, to kiss his shoulder, taking in an unsteady breath before she says the words again, this time in Spanish. And it's so well-spoken, this single phrase, that it's readily apparent she's practiced the words over and over to get it right.

The hand on his back has the effect of lifting Alex's head off his hand, and he turns it toward Violet with heavily shadowed eyes finding hers. Being unconscious was not so terribly restful that he's waking up, feeling fit as a fiddle, and it shows in the pained crease at the corners of his eyes. And it's not Solo-esque, his soft, "I know." It's sort of like 'thank you' just with the wrong words, said while he shifts his elbow off his knee and, with a quietly pained sound in the back of his throat, shifts it around poor Violet, who really isn't looking all that great after the fireball grenades.

He burrows his face into her hair and answers, "I love you, Violet. I'm so glad you're - " Okay? Definitely not the right word, dude. " - still here."

This was not the way she wanted to say these words, with the two of them about 75% dead. But the quiet 'I know', that comes just before he burrows his face into her hair, makes it worth it to say those words now. Even if she should've said them before; and even if she had plans to say them someday later. The tears come now, dripping down the burns on her cheeks, as she wraps her arms around him and uses what's left of her strength to hold him to her. But these were not sad tears, sobs of terror and fear; these were tears of relief. Maybe even some happiness, found in the midst of all this. Because she has him, and he has her, and they are still here.

"Here is the only place I want to be," she whispers, even if the truth was that she also sort of wants to be at the hospital.

Gently, gingerly, Alex keeps her held to him while the tears come out of her, no effort made to try to wipe them away. His laugh is a touch brittle when he guesses (thx meta), "Not the hospital? My poor Violet." The latter with a long sigh into her hair, and then he very carefully slips his arm from around her, drawing her arms from around him in turn.

Gears turn, and Alex is not a good liar, so the explanations take a moment to formulate. "We could tell them that the power went out and," that somehow lead to them both getting cooked? "Something about the candles." He's looking specifically at the well-done splash across Violet's midsection, and then at the slightly less crispy dusting on her face. "I'm sorry. I can't." Do the thing. It makes him sad. 🙁

There's subtle resistance when he moves her arms, but she's not well enough to fight him. There's no strength left in her, really; she used it all being useless in their fight against Satan. But there's a subtle twitch to the corners of her mouth at his brittle laughter, and she sighs as she leans more heavily into him. "I like it when you call me that," she murmurs, "Your Violet," she leaves out the poor part.

And she might have more to say, but he's apologizing for his inability to perform and she lifts a hand to brush her fingers along the curve of his jaw. "You did. Enough. I think I would have been stuck forever if you hadn't.." she shakes her head, not wanting to think about that, and replaces the caress of her fingers with a soft touch of her lips. "We'll tell them... something. It doesn't matter. Just don't leave me yet."

He can't fix the worst of it, and it makes Alex sad, but he can touch the little hurts, at least. He laces his fingers with hers, holding her hands out for a moment, looking her over with a deep crease between his brows. The twitch at his lips - he likes when he calls her that, aww - doesn't do much to smooth that furrow, but he releases her hands in time for her to lift them to his face.

And he leans into the kiss gently, careful not to brush against the damaged part of her own face, the touch of his fingers through her hair about as careful as a finger-comb can be. That thrill of softness passes through her, the sense of things easing a little for that short kiss. When he breathes afterward, it's with a nod and a quick pass of his lips across her forehead. "I won't," he promises, scooting back onto the bed for now to re-wind an arm around her, leaning carefully. "When you're ready," i.e., when the pain gets to be TOO MUCH, "we'll put you together enough to get to the hospital, hm?" But before that - "What happened here, Violet? How were you talking to me - " Oh, never mind. Alex just put some things together. "It wasn't you."

Her breath skips against his skin at the soft touches, the light kisses, a very subtle whimper of pain underneath the sigh that presses to his skin. But there's relief at the end of that sound, minor as it may be, enough to make her shoulders sag and some tension to be released from the muscle. She moves when he does, curling more securely about him, though his question - and subsequent realization - brings a furrow to her brow.

"How was I talking.." she blinks. "I wasn't here. I.. something pulled me into the tub, I thought I was going to drown. But then.." well, he knows where she ended up, at least. "What I don't understand is how you.. we didn't Dream together," she knows that much. "I was there for a long time, it felt like a long time. But I... I started to pray," she admits, almost shamefully. "I begged God to help me. To.. to bring you to help me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.." bring him there, presumably.

A look shoots toward the bathroom. Last time he was in there, the tub was full of blood and there was writing on the tile and... Alex tugs his eyes away from that room, dragging them back to settle them intently on Violet's, shaking his head minutely at her apology. There's no 'don't be,' but it's implied in the small gesture and the words that follow it. "You don't know that it was you that brought me there. There was - "

He breathes. "Someone was in my head, Violet. Sounding like you, trying to make me leave the bathtub," full of blood, "and go outside. But it wasn't you. I know you." And is moderately successful at keeping her out of his brains. 😃 "That thing that was thinking at me could be what sent me there. Or it could have been smashing the glass over the bathtub, and falling into it." So yeah, 'don't be sorry' would have been a lot more succinct.

Violet is rather pointedly not looking at the bathroom. The last time she was there, something pulled her under the water. She was probably not going to take a bath for a long time, in fact. Showers it is! But the furrow of her brow deepens as he talks of voices. "I wouldn't ever.." she touches the side of his temple with her fingers. "Not on purpose. Not without your permission, I.. You must have been in a Dream. And.. crossed paths, with mine." It doesn't make sense. But then again, nothing makes sense in this town.

"I feel like.. we're on the cusp of figuring something out.. but can't quite make it there," she admits with a sigh, and then nuzzles her cheek against him, sighing. "I heard Alice's voice.. she hasn't talked to me in over a month. But I heard her. Just before They pulled me in. I just wish I understood this.."

He must have been in a Dream. Alex makes a small, frustrated noise at that rationalization, shaking his head with stubborn confidence. "No, it felt real." Never mind how many times he's been wrong before, Alex persists in his certainty that he is always right, and it's just the world that keeps getting things wrong. "I knew that it wasn't you. When it's not real, I somehow always accept things at face value. I would have let myself believe that it was you, even though I know - " Those things she said, about respecting his mental space and stuff.

But this frustrating detour gets sidetracked. Even while he's turning to press a careful kiss to her lips again, the glimpse from the corner of his eyes pulls an audible swallow into his throat. "Wait here," he says quietly after that, sliding off the edge of the bed.

And pausing only a step or two away from it. He looks back at her, squinting uncertainly. "Wait here." Because, historically, she seems to not do that, and he at least wants to be sure he actually said it in English.

"Okay," Violet relents; she wasn't going to fight with him now. Not after what they went through. Not when he believes so vehemently that he is right. She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, trying to think logically through the illogical, and just shakes her head. "I don't know what it could be then," and she really doesn't. But it doesn't matter, because he's slipping off the bed, and she tips her chin up to watch him go, subtly confused and squinting at him. But he says to wait here - twice! - and she nods her head. "Okay. Would you.. bring me some Tylenol? Please?" You know, since he's going into the bathroom. It's a good thing that Violet's as blind as a bat without her glasses, so she can barely see him when he steps away, let alone the writing on the wall; and she just curls up into her pillow, frowning at the burn across her stomach.

There are things that feel real, like that voice in his head. And then there are things that are actually real, like the block lettering on the tiles. There's a delicate quality to the handwriting, but there are no outward signs of who may have written it - this is not Alex's handwriting. It is not Violet's handwriting. But someone absolutely wrote on the wall. Blue sits on the toilet seat but perks when she sees Alex, hopping off and meowing loudly as she curls between his legs. She's a purrbox, and vibrates loudly against him, happy to see him alive perhaps.

Dude, that's some serious metaphor right there, with not being able to see the writing on the wall.

Alex can see that writing, so at least one of them isn't hopelessly blind. He lingers in the doorway a moment, just looking at it, like he's waiting for it to do something or make sense or basically be anything other than cryptic and creepy. Assuming nothing happens, he steps carefully across the threshold, in a little too much pain to bend down and pet the kitty right now, sorry pretty kitty. It costs him effort just to lean over the tub and reach into it, both the pain and the new fear of getting eaten by the bathtub making his gestures small and mincing when he sinks his arm with a hiss at the stone-cold water till he can pull the drain. He drags his arm back out quickly, dries it, and collects the essentials - all with his eyes on the writing.

Two Tylenol, a damp rag, a cup of water, and Alex all return to the bedside. Only one of those things speaks. "Someone left us a message, Violet."

Nothing happens. There's no blood in the water, no quirky-skin-wearing Violet to drag him down the drain. He pulls the plug, and down the water goes. The words stay though, taunting. Warning. Blue follows Alex out of the bathroom, meowing urgently as she jumps onto the bed, and comes to sit protectively by Violet, her tail swishing cautiously against the blonde. And Violet shifts, blinking as she adjusts the quilt that she's pulled over her while he was doing some light reading in the bathroom. "A message?" she frowns, "Like a voicemail? Or a text? Is it from your daughter?" she's confused, and suddenly worried. "Is she okay?"

He hands her the two Tylenol and the cup of water, and then Alex settles down carefully on the edge of the bed again. He takes a moment to briefly run a hand down the length of the cat, then warns quietly, "This is not going to feel good." But he's not going to roll up to the hospital with Violet all covered in dried blood, so the washrag starts carefully cleaning away the worst of it, though he's conscientious about avoiding any actual wounds right this second. Not the time or the place.

Focused on that - something he can fix! - Alex shakes his head at her questions. Voicemail, nope; text, nope; Sophia, nope. "They wrote it in the bathroom. It was in blood earlier. It said 'they're coming.' Now." Should he sugar-coat this? It seems like he should. But: "Now it says, 'they're still coming.'" Beat. "'For her.'"

Violet pops the Tylenol onto her tongue and washes it down with a quick gulp of water, before she braces herself for the washrag. How many times now has he told her this, that this wasn't going to feel good? Maybe they should stop getting hurt. She bites her bottom lip, focusing on him rather than the path of the rag, as he fails to sugar coat anything and just bluntly state what the wall reads.

Her heart plummets, and what color is left in her cheeks drains to pale.

"I.." she starts, stops, swallows hard. "Alex, I .. think I need you to do me a favor." And there's some weird glassy distance in her eyes, as she stares at him but was more or less looking straight through him. ".. I need you to call the institution. I need you to make sure that.. that Alice is okay."

"Of course." Alex pauses in the middle of wiping down Violet's arms, dragging the rag away and some of the blood and soot with it, refolding it so the grime doesn't just get smeared right back onto her skin. "Do you know what it's called? What city it's in? You have been," and Alex picks his tone carefully, holding Violet's eyes for a moment to make sure this doesn't sound like an accusation, "a little withholding about this institution."

(his player does not blame her because alex is the sort of person that would go digging around without permission, just wanted violet to know that)

"That's what she wrote. On the bathtub wall. When she.." Violet was not going to hyperventilate. She was not. Nevermind that she was starting to panicky breathe, she wasn't going to hyperventilate, no siree bob. "They're coming. That's what she wrote, those were her words," she winces her eyes shut. "Was somebody here? Did they come into our house? How.." she manages to slow herself down, collect her thoughts, and reopen her eyes just in time to catch his own gaze. And there's a blink.

"Wh-what do you mean? You're a doctor, don't you.. where are they sending all the psych patients? I.." It occurs to her then, that she has no idea. "They took her to the hospital. And they wouldn't let me see her. And when she didn't come home, our father.. he said they took her upstate. That's all he ever said. Don't you know where they take the psych patients, Alex?"

Slightly less than one-hundred percent certain on this one, Alex says, "There was no one in the house when I got home. Just the voice in my head." And the cat, at whom he glances, but it seems irrelevant to mention kitty's presence in this nightmare, so he leaves her out of it. Having done as much as he really can with one wash cloth, he leaves it folded on his hand, looking up to answer Violet's gaze without the flinching on his part. "I know where I send my patients. But I don't know where," he does not like this turn of phrase, does not agree with it just based on his tight tone, "they are sending all the psych patients."

BEFORE he gets all huffy and offended, he qualifies, "I can try to find out."

There is a very quiet whine that gets stuck in Violet's throat as they talk this through, a cautious glance given to the bathroom door. But she can't see the writing on the wall, she's blind from here, and all she can do is squint and sigh. "Julia... she said her parents' paperwork is missing. I didn't think anything of it, but she said the details... she can't remember the details. Neither can Hannah. Alex.." she reaches out to him, to take his hand, to curl her fingers around tight. "She was there. At the hospital. I can tell you the dates, they have to have records don't they? Please. If she's hurt, if they're coming for her... I have to help. I can't.. She's my sister," at least she looks very apologetic about all of this ask.

It never once occurs to her, of course, that the Her in this situation could be.. well.. her.

That's fine. It occurs to Alex. He's quiet for a moment after the thing that doesn't occur to Violet occurs to him - or, honestly, occurred to him a while ago, but it just occurred to him that it didn't occur to her.

^ And that right there? Is part of the reason he tends to keep his thoughts to himself. That shit is confusing.

Anyway. Slowly, eyes on hers, hand folding around hers, "What if it's not about Alice?"

Wow, meta. I almost need to draw out a diagram to figure that one out.

Violet's hand shakes in his own as she keeps her eyes on his. She doesn't look away, though her lashes flutter a few times at his question. Maybe he could see that this was eating her up inside, the worry for every her that she knows and cares for. Alice. Sophia. Even, vaguely, Hannah and Julia. But if it wasn't about them, then.. "I need to see it," she swallows. "The words. Alex. Help me up. I need to see them."

Nodding, Alex again gets himself off the edge of the bed and to his feet. There's no snappiness to these gestures, no pep in his step. He's still nursing his own burn wounds, after all, but he manages to give her both hands to help her up, too. Shifting, one of her hands steadied to his shoulder, he braces her weight with an arm around her back, all set to help crispy Violet hobble to the bathroom so she can see the scary meanwriting.

These two may be cute, but they're both fucking dumb and should go to the hospital and worry about this creepy shit later, just sayin'.

If it helps, Blue thinks they are both idiots. There's a grumbly 'mrowl' as Alex helps Violet off the bed; not a happy sound, but an almost angry one. She hops off the mattress and follows, staying close to Violet's feet, twisting her tail around the woman's calf. "It's okay, Blue," Violet murmurs, her hand on Alex's arm, as she hobbles her crispy-fried self to the bathroom. She gets as far as the doorway before she stops dead, eyes locked on the words in red marker.

She doesn't need her glasses to see what was now plainly in front of her face. "Alex, no. This.. this isn't right," she utters, unable to tear her eyes away from the words. "Alex that's Alice's handwriting." And with her free hand, she makes a grab for the doorway, as her knees practically give out. Somebody should really take her to the doctor, but like. Not Alex.

Hold on. Watch Alex not be surprised that it's Alice's handwriting.

Actually, don't bother watching. There's no visible reaction from him, which is probably about as telling as any physical response would have been. He keeps his arm beneath her, bracing the weight that starts to slump with surprise, reaching across with his other hand to make sure she doesn't bang her head on the door-frame or anything, catching her up carefully with a dip of his knees. Like he's in any state to be bracing someone else.

Finally, 'cause this has gone on long enough, Doctor Reyes is permitted to return and say simply, "We're going to the hospital now." They have fun pills at the hospital, it will be a good time!

Yes, the hospital is where they should be going. And really, Violet won't put up a fight. Mostly because she might be on the verge of losing consciousness from the pain and the burns and the surprise of seeing her sister's handwriting on a wall that was not in a Dream. So go to the hospital, she will.

Hopefully nobody commits her!