2019-10-03 - The Twilight Forest

Alexander's energy is returning. Even his Glimmer has started to recover, although only in fits and starts that he can't perfectly rely on. Which bothers him, and requires further testing. For some reason, he's chosen his favorite Police Captain for tonight's test. He's sprawled on August's futon, and has clearly been doing SOMETHING with his time - August's book collection has been neatly ransacked on any information for local marine ecology, and if the man collects any recent environmental/ecological magazines or journals, Alexander has them stacked around him and has been scribbling notes. On trout, for some reason. Now, though, he's moved on to other things. Reclining, his eyes closed, his mind tentatively reaching out across the distance, trying to connect with Ruiz - if the other man will let him in.

Ignore, for the moment, that he chooses to do this while playing with one of August's biggest kitchen knives, which has been borrowed from the kitchen and is now being moved from hand to hand in an easy, almost hypnotic rhythm. This is fine.

August's fever persists, maybe because of the Dream he stumbled out of, all cut up and exhausted, or maybe because he's just unlucky. Aside from seeing to the essentials, he's been asleep almost the whole time since Alexander sewed up back up.

Right now, he drifts back and forth between consciousness and fitful, unrestful sleep, and sometimes, is stuck in the middle. Like right now, and the thought that embeds itself in his head, splinter-like, is 'Where is Itzhak?' His natural inclination is to do what Alexander is going with Ruiz--but it's messy, erratic. He flails around, looking for Itzhak. He's not in the places where he should be. Did he make it back from Seattle?

The last time Alexander attempted to touch the captain's mind, it didn't go so terribly well. While he doesn't boast the mental fortitude of Thorne, perhaps, in his capability to keep intrusions at bay, he can be remarkably locked down when he wants to be. And with good reason, if the rumours of his girlfriend handcuffing him to the sink of his hotel room for lack of a better alternative, are true (and they are). Tonight, his mental defenses are a little more relaxed. Alexander would recognise the wolf standing guard, gutted in white-hot flame and shedding blackened char as if burning off something that had become diseased.

The man himself is trying, ostensibly, to catch up on some work via his laptop. Which is now glitchy, thanks to Sutton. <<Alexander.>> Amusement shivers through the connection, and a burgeoning warmth, too. <<Most people send a text message, you know.>>

Itzhak isn't in any of the correct Cartesian coordinates on the x/y axis. He's in a new one: a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. At the moment he's just got done arguing with a harried doctor about why he should obviously now be released and he has THINGS to do, doc, come on, don't do this to him, so what if he literally collapsed and he doesn't think this 'cytokine storm' is a real thing, you made that up. The doctor had told him to save the BS routine for someone who hadn't heard it before. Ugh, you'd think doctors in this town were used to asshole patients.

Since Itzhak is lucid for the first time in a couple few days, he's grumbling and reaching for his phone. He pauses mid-reach. "Roen?" he mutters. ...When was the last time he texted August? He can't remember.

<<My hands are full at the moment, Javier. Besides, this is better.>> Alexander's mental voice has regained much of its focus, no longer fuzzy with fever and exhaustion. There are still those crimson edges to everything and the glass starscape that spreads out above the wolf is filled with sharp edges and deep darkness, but the amusement and warmth on the other end is answered with a swell of eager affection. If Alexander's mind was a puppy, its tail would be wagging. <<August is sleeping and I am bored. Trout are only so interesting. What are you doing?>> His curiosity pokes gently at the edges of Ruiz's awareness, as it if might just slip right in there and see what's going on in his part of the world.

Javier is ever a cautious, suspicious creature. Perceptive, too, and the sharpened focus and crimson-tipped starscape are not missed as he prowls deeper to try to explore the other man's mind.

Whatever he might be thinking is cut short, however, when he feels that something interfering with the link. Tangling with them, dragging them under, and being what he is he tries to fight it initially. Until it's clear that fighting will get him nowhere.

When he regains his senses, he's no longer in his hotel room. A glance to the left places the cabin as Roen's, his eyes squinted slightly as he surveys the treeline. Then the ground at their feet. And then the other men. Itzhak, in particular.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" is, of course, the first question on his mind as he stares at the mechanic.

Itzhak hisses startled Yiddish as he gets ambushed and wrapped up like a parcel, carried off to some otherwhere. When he's dumped into the new dreamplace, he staggers, hands spread trying to keep his balance. The place is so familiar, but it's wrong, as he looks around. "...Roen? Roen is this..." It is. It's the aspen they cut down. Itzhak winces, picking a bare foot up like a cat who's stepped in something sticky. Then he realizes it's not just him and August here, and he turns red, shooting Ruiz a glare. "What the fuck does it look like. ...Shit," he looks at Alexander, his eyebrows going up, "you're both here? Oh man."

Alexander's mind response when that strange interference shows up can be summarized as <<!!!>>. And then incoherent fury. He slashes at it and twists frantically with the powers of his mind, and his body - if not for being whisked away to wherever the hell this is, he'd have fallen on the floor with an ungraceful sprawl. Of course, instead, he falls on his ass in this wounded forest, black blood seeping into his sweatpants, his t-shirt billowing around him and the knife held at the ready, the most stable thing about his stance. He blinks. Then stands up, cautiously, the fury fading into wary watchfulness. "August? You shouldn't be on your feet. Javier. Itzhak." A brief smile, at that last. "It's good to see you again. I was worried. Why are you in the hospital? Were?" A frown at the wounded forest. "Oh, no."

Ruiz, himself, is dressed for a day in; a ratty black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, track pants, bare feet. Which means he, too, can feel the living sap slide over them and start creeping up his ankles in a revolting fashion. Thus, his ragging on Itzhak doesn't last long. Particularly when that scream goes up, and the resulting shockwave hits. He's able to keep his footing, but loses track of the others in the turmoil and noise and world going topsy-turvy. And then the screaming is his own, as his mind protests whatever the fuck it is that's twisting and tugging at him, with a swell of pained rage.

Itzhak eyes Alexander's knife-wielding stance with approval and interest, before he's distracted by the black blood beginning to climb his leg in an all too friendly fashion. But, "Roen!" Itzhak lunges for August, panicked by his panic--and then they're all swept away again, Itzhak swearing luridly. His curses escalate into a gritted-teeth snarl of pain and then a scream as something is changed in him. It's like someone took a socket wrench to his pelvis and twisted it 180 degrees. When it ends, he's on his feet, but green and trying not to gag from the pain. Helpless rage makes his heart hammer in his chest.

"August!" Alexander starts to move towards him when he doubles over, only to get hit by that shockwave and flung away. It's never his first instinct to reach out for others, unfortunately, so he tumbles alone, trying to tuck and roll without stabbing himself or anything else with the knife as he's flung through the air. The twisting in his body draws a surprised, agonized howl from him, and whenever he does land, he crouches like a wounded animal, gasping and snarling in turns.

What does one do when their mind has been twisted, contorted and reformed into something else? What does one do when a great, gashing wound is torn through it, leaving silence where there once was the constant hum of other minds, like a white noise in the background? Why, one freaks the fuck out. Javier's panic starts with wide eyes and a panted, ragged breath, and then becomes a hoarse-voiced shout. And then another and another, shouting and then screaming, as if to fill the silence that the lack of his Gift has left behind.

He claws at his head, his face, his throat, blood welling in the path of his blunted fingernails, and then a terrible thing happens in response to his tormented mind: the brush at his feet begins to smoke. Followed by tiny licks of flame that spread and feed each other, gusted on the wind. The licks become gouts, and the gouts surge into an almost bestial apparition with a life of its own, roaring across the landscape as the captain drops to his knees and wants to stop, and wants to ruin it all.

Itzhak freezes, eyes flying wide. New senses roar into his mind, overpowering, shoving everything in his consciousness aside to make way for BAD, THIS IS BAD, EVERYTHING IS DYING AND SAD AND IT IS BAD. With a gritted-teeth snarl he curls over, hands gripping his hair and yanking hard and it's not enough counterstimulation, he needs more, he has to CONTROL this, he can't STOP IT HE HAS TO STOP IT...and fire springs to life around him, burning the gown, burning the grasses at his feet. Fwoosh. The fire he's created leaps to join Ruiz's, like recognizing like. Let's burn all this shit down.

Alexander reels at the twisted feeling inside of him. His mental abilities have been on the fritz for a while, so he doesn't panic. Not at first. "Guys--" he starts, tentatively, and then his two friends proceed to completely lose their shit, and Alexander almost does, too. His teeth bare in a primal snarl and he takes a step back as flames rise from nothing. But then he stops, shakes his head. "No, no, no. Keep it together. Keep it together. What, what did it feel like?" What did what feel like?

This. First, the hand with the knife sweeps out, and as it does he reaches for the living matter, strengthens it, pours his life into it to help it fight off the burning. His breath comes in sharp wheezes, but he lifts his other hand and makes a fist, and grass twines and blooms into long, fibrous strands that try to grab each of the other two and shake them, sharply, holding them in place. "Snap out of it." His voice is sharp, raised above the crackle of the flames. "Do not make me be the sane one!"

Elk schmelk. Ruiz is too busy freaking the fuck out, and trapped in his own personal torment to notice the wildlife right now. Alexander's voice is heard, if only barely, though it's only once the grass itself reaches up and shakes him that he seems to gradually rouse from his panic and realise what he's done.

The surging of his mind stops, though the grass continues to smoke as the fire's burned out, and he pants, disoriented, on his hands and knees with grass tangled and snared about his leg. For a moment there, he almost thought he could feel Itzhak's mind, the fire in them both, before it was switched off like a light.

The grass ropes latch around Itzhak's thighs and waist and give him a brisk several shakes. Meanwhile he's managed to burn most of the gown, and the sad scorched remnants of it drop to the ground. Itzhak coughs, his overburdened lungs full of the wrong kind of smoke, and slowly unlatches his fingers from his hair. "Ah fuck," he mutters, and coughs again. "My brain is wrong. It's all wrong. Everything's so sad, Sandushka, we have to fix it." A little crackle of electricity sizzles to life in his hands, and he looks at it with a poleaxed expression. "W-what the Christ." He feels the elk-beings before he sees them, and he looks up, all smudged in soot and smelling like fire and lightning.

Alexander goes to one knee as the smoke billows up, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and pulling it up to cover his mouth and nose. It doesn't stop him from coughing or his eyes from watering, and the weird deer-like creatures in the distance are obscured to his vision a little by both smoke and water. His attention remains mostly on his two friends, watching them with twitchy uncertainty. "We'll fix it," he assures Itzhak. "We'll figure it out and we'll fix it. But I need you both to be okay right now. Okay? Are we okay?" He instinctively tries to reach out with his mind to check their state of okayness and...well, that doesn't happen. His expression twists with fright and worry. Which he tries to swallow in the next moment as he stands up again.

Ruiz is relatively accustomed to being the calm one in an emergency. The one, out of sheer necessity, to keep everyone on their feet while shit is going sideways. The unraveling of his control leaves him jarred and shaken, and he doesn't respond to Alexander for some time. Eventually, "I'll be okay once you get this fucking thing off me." He means the vines. Even if his eyes are roving toward the elk-like creatures approaching them. Who the hell comes up with these dreams? Why can't it ever be something pleasant?

"They're sick." Itzhak doesn't know how he knows that. Only that the heat of fever, the savage hunger, the urgency to bite he can feel as if in himself means they are sick. The grass ropes dissolve off him, joining the charred hospital gown on the ground. Naked and sooty he steps forward, eyes on the elk, putting himself between the creatures and the other two men. He's humming something under his breath, and he reaches out, cupping his hand under the spark of health and life he can feel within one of the elk. He lifts his hand like a maestro gesturing an orchestra to swell the volume, fanning the spark into a flame, and the flame into a fire.

Alexander starts at Ruiz's words. "Sorry," he mutters. And it's very Ruiz-like, so he strips away the vines on the cop and Itzhak, and approaches towards them, tentatively in an unconsciously predatory sort of way. As if he expects to be pounced and has to be ready to pounce in return. "It'll be okay," he tells them, again, trying to sound confident. His attention turns to the approaching elk and his eyes widen a bit. "They're--" and then Itzhak says it, and he nods, quietly. "Yes. Very sick." He seems to have the same idea as Itzhak, and tries to reach out to another elk and heal with a lifted hand. Of course, the other hand is gripping the knife. Just in case.

Javier, as is his way, is not leaping in with both feet to sling this strange new ability of his. He's reserved enough with that keen, sharp, weaponised mind of his on a good day. And this, friends, is not a good day. He has no clue what the actual fuck he's capable of right now, and has little desire to test it. Though as the vines slither away, he clambers slowly to his feet. He squints at the first elk, then the second as Alexander approaches it. Then settles his gaze on the third. He can feel the pain coursing off it, but doesn't move closer. He'll wait and see what it does next.

"I fixed it," Itzhak murmurs to nobody in particular, almost smiling a tiny bit. "I fixed it, did you see that? It's like an engine, an engine made of billions of other engines..." The remaining sick elk charges him, and he stands there, swaying a little, staring at it. "Don't," he murmurs. He clenches his hand into a fist.

"Everything here is sick," Alexander mutters. "The ground, the trees, the animals. We have to find August." There's a hint of frustration in his voice, and he reaches out his hand again, trying to heal the third elk. The true elk's reversal in the background isn't really paid much attention at the moment. At the same time, he's trying to calm the elk, calm it, but those powers just aren't there anymore, and his frustration deepens.

While the others are busy trying to play kumbaya with those surly elk, Ruiz is taking stock of things - and spots something else headed for them. Not that he has the bandwidth right now to do much more than grunt, "Incoming!" before he finds the grip of his sidearm, buried somewhere under his hoodie, and pulls the gun on that elk making a mad dash for Itzhak. His finger touches the trigger, and he tracks a smidge to the left to lead its movement by just a hair. Then fires twice, aiming for the back of its head.

Itzhak tilts his head for all the world like a marvelous new piece of violin music is being played just for him. The way Ruiz's bullets snuff out the life of the elk is fascinating, and Itzhak can watch all of the metabolic processes lose their way and fade into idiot repetitions that no longer support life. The elk crashes to the ground and he wants to keep watching it, maybe he can see when bacteria overwhelm its cells and begin to feast...

...oh, uh, hi there! He flinches back from the suddenness of goat. The sight of the silver-black goat reminds him of something pretty important. "Roen," he mutters, uncaring that Ruiz probably just saved his life. There's a lot going on in his head, okay. "Yeah. Where the hell is he? This is his dream, right?" Again, something he just knows. Roen, he thinks, searching for August's mental presence: the burned forest, the river, the silent blasted volcano visible over the spiky black treetops. I hear you. He sets off. "Come on," he says breathlessly, not waiting for the other two. "Come on, I can hear him."

Alexander gives Ruiz a LOOK at the explosive sound of the guns. Sure, sure, it saved Itzhak's life. But...guns! Hmph. Itzhak, on the other hand, gets a look of raw envy. "You can hear him? I can't hear anything." Mournful. "But," he pauses, looking at the goat, and then past the goat, towards the tall figure. "Maaaaybe we should chat with the locals. It may give an idea of what we're facing here." He starts moving in that direction, giving the goat a bit of a wide berth, and waving the non-knife hand while saying, "Hello!"

For fuck's sake. Ruiz looks between his two erstwhile companions; Itzhak wandering off to find August, and Alexander meandering in the other direction to play welcome wagon with bow-and-arrow guy, and his expression is incredulous. "Rosencrantz," he barks. "Stop. O dios ayúdame, I'll shoot you myself." He won't. Probably. His gun isn't even pointed at the other man. But one never really knows with de la Vega. "Alexander, wait the fuck up before you get us all killed."

Like. Herding. Cats.

Old habits die extremely hard; Itzhak reacts to his last name barked at him by an enforcer of the law. He halts in his tracks but not soon enough. The goat baps him right in the unbappables. He gurgles something very unhappy and shoves her head away with one hand while covering the most important bits of him with the other. Thus does he meet the new person, while bent over and turning green again.

Alexander does stop when Ruiz barks at him, although he doesn't turn around. He snaps back, "I don't understand Spanish, Javier!" And then he really stops - and for a moment looks utterly heartbroken. "...I don't understand Spanish anymore. I hate this." So his greeting to the exceptionally tall forest man is more of a sigh. "Hey. We're lost. Please don't attack us or we'll have to kill you." And then Itzhak is making that noise, and Alexander whirls, backing up to try and keep the man in sight and confront his friend's attacker at the same time. "Oh. Ow." he ends up saying, seeing Itzhak hunched over. "Clothes...would be good?"

Hmm. Itzhak is indeed not wearing anything. Which is sort of distracting for a few moments, until Ruiz is reminded of the fact that there's a large, tusked and armed humanoid addressing them. He unzips his hoodie and starts shrugging out of it while staring down the interloper. He resists the urge to lead with his usual line of who the fuck are you? and instead adds to Alexander's words by calling back, "We're looking for our friend. And a way.. out of here. If you're familiar with either." Why would he be? Because it's a Dream, and he has a hunch. His hoodie, meanwhile, is held out to the mechanic with a lift of his brow. If he wants it. Yes, Javier's wearing a rumpled tee shirt under it.

Itzhak is slightly busy trying not to throw up to greet Devanna properly. He just kind of grunts in their direction. He takes Ruiz's hoodie, but then the clothes are dropped off and gratefully he snatches them up. A lot is happening and he just now wants to cover up the vulnerable parts before anything else proceeds to happen to them. He hastily pulls on the pants--hastily but carefully--and shirt, laces the boots tight. Honestly the boots are not that big on him. His hands and feet are kinda huge even for how tall he is.

He could offer Ruiz his hoodie back at this point, but instead he puts that on, too, sliding Ruiz an amused look. His now. "Thanks," he tells Devanna. "The one who went that way, was he about as tall as me, twice as wide, black and silver hair like your goat?" Blight...he frowns at the word. "So all this, this sick, it comes from over there?" He looks west, where he sensed August.

"Hello, Devanna. I'm Alexander. That's Javier, and that's Itzhak." Because, well, the guy is being nice, and names are important. The important questions seem to be covered by the other two, so although he keeps a careful eye on Devanna, a lot of the investigator's fascination transfers to the raven. "That is beautiful. What is its name?" He edges very carefully in that direction, and his desire to reach out and touch its mind is written on his face so strongly that it almost radiates out from him. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't reach out for it. Birds can be testy, and the beak on that thing could take off his hand.

Ruiz also has a pair of clunkers for feet, and the boots are a close enough fit for them not to bother him. He crouches down to lace them up tight, his weathered face tilted toward Devanna and his eyes squinted up to dark little slivers. As if he's trying to discern something about them, but his abilities produce nothing but mental static now. He scowls a little, finishes lacing the boots, and pushes to his feet slowly. He doesn't notice the un-returned hoodie, though he'll probably remember it later. "Tell us about the.. thing that makes this disease. And how far?"

"That's what they call me on the side of the border," Itzhak says to Devanna, like it's totally normal. "Nice to meet ya." He's remembering his manners now that his balls hurt somewhat less. "Elk...he's got that tattoo," he says to Alexander. Vispren's mental voice rivets his attention on her. There's just so much more to get distracted by now! He nods at her anyway though, eyebrows up. "Yeah. We gotta help him."

"Defender? I don't...really," Alexander mutters, but still looks a little pleased as he takes the water, because water is important. "And yeah," a nod to Itzhak. "That sounds like August. And for him...the...this...it probably would be a seed rather than anything else. His metaphors and mythologies." A gesture at the tall man, the animals. And a brilliant, joyful smile at the giant raven. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he tells her, warmly. And certainly is up for rescuing!

Ruiz isn't quite clear which nickname is supposed to apply to him, though surely not laughing one. Unless it's meant facetiously. His gaze flicks between Itzhak and Alexander when the tattoo is mentioned, but it's not one he's familiar with, judging by his look of confusion. The raven earns a long, thoughtful study after she speaks to him, and then a slight nod before he looks back to Devanna. "Thank you." His gun is stowed in the waistband of his pants, since he wasn't wearing a holster when they tumbled in here. And then he hitches his chin to the others, and sets off rather abruptly.

Itzhak bows to Vispren and Devanna and even the goat, a musician's stage bow with an elegant little flourish. Dressed in these clothes, he could almost be from this side of the border himself--except for Ruiz's beaten up hoodie. "Shalom aleichem." Then he tramps off after Ruiz. And it really is a hike through the silent, diseased forest. Itzhak keeps following his big, crooked nose, trusting his sense of August not to lead them wrong.

And at last...the reward. "August," he says, voice breaking, and hurries to his friend's side. Over them, the diseased tree, and Izthak looks up at it, eyebrows unhappy. "We didn't want this to happen," he says, to Ruiz and Alexander, his voice full of sudden intense grief.

Alexander waves at Devanna et al, although the look he gives to Vispren is almost lovestruck as she fluffs her feathers. He did not realize how much he wanted a giant bird as a friend until this moment. As they walk, he hums under his breath - something from Pantera, so it doesn't really fit the surroundings, even blighted as they are, at all. The music stops when they reach the blighted caldera. "My god," he breathes. "Wait!" Itzhak is hurrying and now Alexander is scrambling after him. "Wait, those bridges don't look entirely safe, let me--" and he's reaching out - he /knows/ this can be done, but has never tried it, but he's now trying to reach out to both other men's bodies and strengthen them, twist his (stolen? borrowed? gifted?) powers around them to sharpen their reflexes and strength.

God knows how long they've been walking by the time they reach that ringed caldera. Ruiz is in good shape for a man of his years, but he's starting to feel the strain of all this by the time they draw to a halt. Then Itzhak's running off, and he watches with a frown, but doesn't try to call him back. Instead, the bulkier, less statuesque Mexican prowls in slow. Eyes on the tangled mass of roots sprouting from that half-buried mound. Then eyes on August as he rounds toward them. And sinks into a crouch nearby, to see what he can see. "Roen," he murmurs. Then, more stridently, though his scratchy-warm voice never really lends itself well to volume naturally, "Roen." The sensation of something tickling the edges of his awareness causes him to jerk his head around and send Alexander a long look over his shoulder.

Itzhak does not a single bother about this rickety bridge, but Alexander's help makes sure he doesn't set a foot wrong. He lands on his knees next to August, wrapping his arms around him, trying to free him from the grasp of the monstrous seed. "It's okay. We're here. It's gonna be okay." Trying to comfort August, he rocks him, wipes the filth and sludge away from his face. "We got you."

He tips his head back, way back, to squint up at the tree. "...Shit. It's so bad, guys." Itzhak looks over his shoulder at the other men. "I dunno if we can fix it. Maybe we should burn it. Let it grow back right."

There's a brief, somewhat exasperated sigh as Alexander contemplates the bridges, then starts to carefully make his way over them, his attention shifting from the footing to August, and back again. And then higher, to that mighty, blighted tree. He's not really a tree kind of guy, if we're honest, but there's something compelling in a terrible way about this one. Maybe the way it declares its primacy, or just the way it stands out above all other things. When he reaches the central island, he studies August for a long moment. "I think we should try to heal it," he says, after a moment. "There are three of us, and...and if we don't have to destroy, then I'd rather we didn't." He looks somewhat apologetic for disagreeing with Itzhak, and his head ducks, shoulders hunching a little as he glances towards Ruiz.

Ruiz watches the way the land heals itself where he's trod on it, brown turning to green, dwindled life renewing itself in a manner that has him briefly fascinated. And then Itzhak and his great big heart, making promises he can't possibly know they'll be able to keep. His lips twitch slightly, and he looks off across the blasted vista, then back to Itzhak. Then up at the approaching Alexander. As the decision seems to come down to him, he nods slightly with the latter.

"We try to mend it." Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers that Dream Itzhak shared with him. People knitting wood into trees. Planting them in the ground, letting them grow. It's infected him, what he's seen, like the blight's infected this forest. He rubs his hands against his thighs, and the tattoos running from his knuckles, up under his tee briefly glow and spark with the surge of power he tries to stir up.

Itzhak cradles August, holding him tight, cooing to him in Yiddish. Nobody can understand it except him anymore, but that's not the point. He listens to Ruiz and Alexander, head turned so he can both hear them and look up at the sick, blighted tree. That they both want to heal it is a beautiful impulse in itself. That they think they can is amazing.

"Okay," he mutters, nodding. "Okay. Let's give 'er a shot, boys." He shifts August to lay in his lap. Still on his knees, he offers both his hands, one to Ruiz, one to Alexander.

There's a widening of Alexander's eyes, a sudden honest surprise directed towards Ruiz at his vote. Then a grin, bright and sunny and unfettered. If only for a moment - the terrible, blighted tree casts too much of a pall for joy to long stand in its shadow. He moves carefully up to the others, giving August a brief, worried smile. The offered hand is stared at for a moment, the investigator going still. He has to take a couple of deep breaths, but then he reaches out to grasp it in his own. He looks at the tree. Just stares up at that impression of sharp teeth. "It hurts. To be so sick that you can't do anything but hurt other people, that you can't help but make everything you touch wrong. I'm sorry you're hurting, and I don't blame you for hurting back. But we'll have to stop it, anyway."

Ruiz certainly didn't imagine his day would go this way. Holding hands with Itzhak, of all people. Healing trees. He doesn't make matters worse for Alexander by taking his other hand in order to close the circle. And he's not exactly wild about this idea, himself, but he reaches for the mechanic's hand roughly. Inked fingers closed around inked, nothing delicate about his grip. "Tell me what to do, Roen," he rumbles low, eyes slate grey as his power thrums inside him.

Itzhak bares his own, much more mortal and nonpointy teeth up at the tree. Protective and fierce over the man in his lap. "Shaddap. You're getting healed whether you like it or not." ...Hey, Alexander has his way, and Itzhak has his. "May the One who blessed our ancestors bless and heal you, ya jerk." He grabs Ruiz's hand, doesn't insist on grabbing Alexander's. Touching is hard sometimes, he understands that. He draws in his breath, draws up his power, and sings. "Mi Shebeirach avoteinu v’imoteinu..."

Alexander can't resist a snort of laughter at Itzhak's version of tough love. "Really, Itzhak?" he mutters, but not without affection and warmth. His grip is stiff, of course, but he doesn't pull away. And when Itzhak lifts his voice in song, well - he doesn't know that song, and can't understand it. But the theory is good, so he closes his eyes, and listens to August's voice deep inside, and lifts his own voice. He has a surprisingly good one, when he chooses to use it, rough from the illness, and there's a false start or two, like this is a song he hasn't sung in a while. "Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free, tis the gift to come down to where we ought to be..."

The way he uses his power turns as much as the music does, swirling around the edges of that darkness, burning away a bit here and there, then flickering to the next place, always seeking out weakness then moving on before the darkness can strike back. To turn, turn will be our delight. Til by turning, turning we come around right...

Ruiz doesn't sing. Partly because he's no good at it, and partly because he doesn't want to add yet another voice to the mix that doesn't know the words. So he remains silent as his companions lift their voices, his brows knitted in faint consternation. He listens to August's explanation of how to do this, and then he lets his power surge out of him and through Itzhak, and through Alexander. Almost, almost like he's trying to form a mental connection with the two of them, but instead using them as a conduit.

He imagines himself ripping out the choking weeds by hand, one at a time, clearing away the detritus and planting new seeds and watching them bloom. A trickle of blood trails from his nose, as it always does when he harnesses his abilities, but it's ignored for the time being.

It's maybe a little disharmonious, but who cares! Itzhak sings loud and strong, in Hebrew, daring anybody to come along and tell him different. His voice falters as Ruiz's power shoves its way into him and Alexander, and he almost groans the next word. It's so easy to wind his power with the others' and push against the tide. The image that comes to his mind is the story of the man throwing starfish back to the sea, out of thousands of them stranded on a beach. It mattered to that one.

Alexander reacts to Ruiz's power, even through this different method, the way he always almost does - he gives way without really conceding ground, letting it flow through him while keeping himself separate, content to just get out of the others' ways and flit around the edges, just constantly burning away the darkness is a thousand tiny motions as he sings the old hymn in a round, growing more familiar with it with each repetition. And when the last of the darkness dies, the song ceases and his eyes open. He sways on his feet, and does squeeze Itzhak's hand for balance. "...oh. It worked." He really shouldn't sound as surprised as he just did. And a smile. "I hear the real world again." An arm is offered to August - since they're more likely to end up in the same place.

Ruiz's hand is tugged free of Itzhak's, once the little ritual seems to be complete. He sits crouched there for a while longer, until his joints start to ache. As they're prone to, at his age. And then with a sigh and a wince as things pop back into place, he pushes slowly to his feet. He'd like nothing more than to get the fuck out of here, so he heads for the steps without further ado.

Itzhak lets go and siiiighs, curling over August. "Yeah," he whispers, in reply to the tree and its claims of how he planted it and fed it lovingly over the years. How he tended it until it was strong. "Yeah, I did." When he looks up, it's to Ruiz's back as he heads towards the border. Itzhak makes a face at him, glances at Alexander. "Help me get this guy up, and youse can go home."

August sighs, watching them work. He'd like to help, except, he can't.

When it's done, and the trees made its parting shots, he shuts his eyes for a second. He reaches up and pats Itzhak's face. "Yeah. We did." He accepts the help getting up, hugs Itzhak. "I think you're going back to the hospital. Sorry. Let them get you better. Once I'm not dying, I'll come see you if you're still stuck in there."