sicparvasmagna | [March 23]

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[March 23]

Nate's been hit before. Nate's been hit a thousand goddamn times but this time he's pretty sure his entire face is broken. He'd known the guy was tall, he's not a complete moron, but there's a difference between tall and apparently made of fucking stone. He'd been impulsive and stupid and Sully would probably chew his ear off if he were here, but Nate doesn't need a verbal lashing because the physical one has been lesson enough.

His hand is broken. He can't move his fingers and the pain shoots up through his wrist and to his shoulder, throbbing harshly. He's broken bones before but this is somehow made worse by the embarrassment of it all, by the fact that he was put down quickly and without preamble, his ego as bruised as his fucking face. Which, is also broken. Nate's broken his nose before, been punched by enough steroid-loaded goons that it was just about inevitable, but this is worse. His cheekbone is fractured, swollen up around his eye so that he can hardly see out of it. Breathing hurts, talking hurts worse, and Nate's spat enough blood out onto the sidewalk to draw stares.

He needs to get off the street. That's the first point of call. He should probably go to the hospital, but he's nursing a hurt ego and a chip on his shoulder that steers him in the opposite direction instead. He just wants to go home. He wants to go home, cover his face in ice packs and then drink until he passes out, probably. He should text Sam, but his right fucking hand is broken and Nate's always been pretty useless with his left. The thought of trying to type anything legible is a lost cause, so he doesn't bother.

Instead, he picks himself up off the ground, blinks blood out of his eye and starts walking. At least his goddamn legs aren't broken.

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"Y'know, I accept that you probably are and you can say it about a hundred times if it makes you feel any better, but I'm still gonna hang around and worry 'cause that's what I do for the people I love," she answers simply, then points at the couch. "You're gonna go over there and you're gonna sit down and I'll help you get your shoes off."

And he can protest if he wants, maybe he'll be able to get his shoes off by himself and that's fine, but she isn't about to leave him here alone no matter how much he complains about it.

"Can you see properly?" she asks. "You wanna watch a movie or somethin'? I brought sandwiches, you should probably eat if you think you can stomach it and as long as none of your teeth are broken."

"Well, I'm no stranger to that. I still feel like I ought to lecture you, though," Lila says, but she doesn't. It would be hugely hypocritical of her to scold Nate for being reckless when she prides herself for that very thing.

She also realizes, now that she's gotten over her initial shock of finding him bloody and beaten, that she hasn't seen him in awhile. On purpose, on her end. So it's probably not her place either way. She'd been horrified after the enchantment had been lifted, maybe not entirely that she told him he was like a father to her, but the way she'd said it, and the way he'd rejected her affection. She doesn't blame him, who wants someone simpering to them about how they wish they were their parent? In short, it had been embarrassing, a feeling Lila does not appreciate. And deep down it hit too hard, making her think of Barron, who back home really had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. And how she'd never been kind to him the way he'd always been with her.

She lets them both into Bramford, ushering Nate into the elevator to take them up to her apartment. "Come on. Try not to get any blood on the couch, at least."

Sam drains a swig from his beer to brace himself a little. He doesn't like seeing Nathan like this. That they've probably both had worse is besides the point.

"Bones of steel, huh?" he asks. "Just when I think I've gotten used to this city."

He focuses on Nathan's hand, next, mostly checking to see if there's any bleeding or swelling before fixing the wrap job. He'd done pretty well, considering he'd only used one hand.

"You sound like Elena," he tells her, wrinkling his nose. He's gotten this lecture before, been ordered around like this before when he's been busted up and half-dead. He remembers the quirk of a smirk when she'd said her wedding vows, for better or worse with a hint of irony. He sits on the couch anyway, tipping his head back.

Taking his shoes off one-handed is more effort than it should be, so he settles for toeing them off his heels and not bothering with the laces. He glances up at her like he's making a point that he managed all by himself, and then he kicks them into a corner of the room. He's just glad Cassius didn't see fit to break his feet or his kneecaps or something. He doesn't know what he would have done if he couldn't walk.

"Who said that?" he jokes, rolling his head to smile at her a little lopsidedly. One of his eyes is still swollen but it's better than it was, and he can see, if a little blearily. "Teeth're fine," he assures her, making grabby hands for the sandwich. He's starving he realises with surprise. Getting your ass kicked gives a guy an appetite, who knew?

"I'd pay to watch that," he says. He can see it now, Marcus reciting an exorcism while Cassius stands around looking like the smug fuck he is. He gets the idea he's not used to anybody talking or fighting back, and maybe that's why Nate had been so determined to get back on his feet, no matter how much he wanted to curl up in a ball and never get up again.

Nate is definitely sure that the whiskey in his apartment isn't green, thank god. He doesn't know that he'd be able to stomach that today. It does make him smile though, remembering what an entertaining drunk Marcus is.

"He told me to lick his shoes," Nate says, and just remembering it flares up the anger again. Nate's usually pretty good at letting things roll off his shoulders, but bullies piss him off, especially when they keep calling him a lowcolour, whatever the fuck that i.

She's relatively quiet as they walk, and in all honesty Nate is grateful for it. His head hurts and the blotches in his vision are starting to make him feel a little woozy. What he really wants is to go to sleep for days, but he knows that's probably a bad idea right now, so he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright.

They get to Bramford and Nate remembers suddenly that this is exactly where Cassius was trying to get to before he took a detour to ruin Nate's face. He glances around but there's no one else here for the moment, which is lucky. If he were to show up, Nate would paint on the bravado again quick as he could, but the thought of having to do that right now is exhausting.

When they get to elevator he leans against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment to fight off the dizziness as it starts to move. He's grateful when it's over and he can follow Lila inside, though he does give her a weak smile at the joke. "I'll try to keep it on my person."

He's beginning to think there isn't any getting used to this city. Every time he thinks he's got it figured out, something else ridiculous happens, and it's getting exhausting trying to stay ahead of the curve. Now there are giant with gold hair and gold eyes who seem to like nothing more than watching Nate bleed, so that's fun.

"Mmm," Nate murmurs, holding his hand out and letting Sam fix the wrappings. He knows he's done a shit job of it to begin with, but he doesn't care all that much. "Punching him was a bad move."

He'd felt several bones break in his hand the minute he made contact, but he'd only had a minute to handle the shock of it before he'd gone to town on his face. "Lila healed the breaks, I'll be fine."

"I'll remind you to send her flowers," Sam declares. "Jesus, you look like shit," he adds. He's already said it once before, but it bears repeating. He grabs his cigarettes and lights up. "Did you take anything for the pain?"

That gives Marcus pause, trying to imagine what sort of person would be able to tell another to lick their shoes with a straight face and genuinely mean it. It's only a few words, barely an explanation of the entire encounter, and yet Marcus is able to see why it would have angered Nate enough to get into a fight with someone it might have been better to ignore. Because a comment like that would have irritated Marcus, too, who has also never done particularly well with bullies.

He'd shot his own father at age seven just to avoid bearing the brunt of the man's evil after he'd killed Marcus' mother.

"That's dangerous," he says thoughtfully after a moment. "A man like that wandering around." Men with that sort of attitude are dangerous enough without being impossible to put them down. No one should be so arrogant, though it's not as if Marcus is known for his modesty.

There are plenty of dangerous things in Darrow beside the people, but nothing has ever left him in this state. He knows that a lot of it is his own fault; he should have walked away when he first had the chance, should have kept his mouth shut when Cassius first spoke, should have known better than to throw a punch at someone who has nine inches of height on him. But he's never been known for being responsible and Nate has fought worse, so he thought he'd be okay.

He's learned the hard way that things were a lot different back home, when he usually had a gun and backup.

"Shouldn't have tried to hit him," Nate says with half a shrug. He's lucky he has friends like Lila who could repair most of the damage without needing to go to hospital. Nate doesn't do well with being cooped up, particularly not in a hospital bed. "Healed the worst of it, though." He flexes the fingers of his right hand gently. They're still bloody and a little stiff, but at least the bones are mended.

Nate's not sure Lila is the kind of girl who would appreciate flowers, but he does make a note to thank her. He would have survived just fine either way, but it does save him going to hospital or trying to set his nose himself, which would have been a whole lot of awful. For the most part he's not fond of magic; it's messed with him more than once and if he could avoid it entirely he'd be a happy man, but he has to admit that it's benefited him this time.

"Look who's talking," Nate replies, scoffing a little. He's broken bones before and stumbled home to Elena half-dead before too, but even he has to admit that this is up there on the scale of Looking Like Shit. He's just glad no fucking bridges collapsed underneath him on the way home, that would have topped off his day.

He gestures vaguely, shaking his head. "Advil. Not so bad now." It was worse before Lila got to him, when the pain was rolling over him in waves. It hurts now, but he can bear it well enough.

"Well, I can grab you something stronger than beer if you need it," he assures. He chooses, very manfully, not to react to Nathan's little dig. Because he's the world's best big brother.

"I'm taking that as the highest compliment," Beth answers sweetly, because she can't imagine anything nicer than being compared to the woman Nate married. Even if he might also call her a pain in the butt or something like that, it's clear to anyone who really listens that he loves Elena and so Beth is perfectly happy with that comment.

Swinging back toward the door, she picks up the bag from the deli and then goes to sit with Nate, unpacking the sandwiches and holding his out toward him. Maybe he doesn't need a babysitter, but she'd come here planning to hang out with him anyway, so it's not like she has any reason to leave, any pressing appointment she has to get to. It'll be safer for her to stay with him, she thinks, just in case he does have a concussion despite what he says.

"Besides, if you showed up at my place and I looked like this, I know you'd worry," she points out. "You can't pretend you wouldn't." And that just makes sense to her. People worry about each other, even when they insist they're fine.

"No, perhaps not," Marcus agrees. "Though I won't say he doesn't deserve being hit by someone."

He's quiet for a moment, absorbing what else Nate has said, and Marcus can't deny such an ability would have been useful to him at home. Nate, though, has never struck him as anything but a particularly adventurous regular man, and he narrows his eyes slightly, looking him over.

"You healed the worst of it?" he asks. "Or someone else?"

What he wouldn't give to have been able to heal Gabriel. To banish the Baptist from his soul and to heal his body, to brush away the burns and the bruises with just a little spot of magic. The boy's death will follow him for the rest of his life, as will the murders of Mother Bernadette and all the lovely women of that convent.

He casts her a cursory glance, a small smile on his lips. He'd said it in mock annoyance, but in Nate's eyes it just about is the highest compliment he could give. He thinks Elena would like Beth a lot, and it pleases him that even if they haven't ever met, Beth recognises what he means. He hasn't told her a lot about Elena - he hasn't told anyone in Darrow a lot, in truth - but clearly she's read between the lines.

Nate takes the sandwich from her, unwrapping it eagerly and taking a bite. His jaw protests a little but he ploughs on anyway. Food is more important than discomfort, and Nate's not about to turn down a good sandwich. She's bought the ones he likes, even.

She does have a point there. However, Nate is of the opinion that this is an entirely different situation, being that it's him with a pummelled in face, not her. He doesn't need to pretend he wouldn't worry, he'd worry a lot, but that doesn't mean this is the same. "Yeah but that would be something to worry about," he protests, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. "This is different. This is practically par for the course." Admittedly, it has been a while since he had to nurse wounds like this, but it's hardly the first time. It's not even the second, or third, or... he could go on.

Nate doesn't know what kind of someone could punch a guy like that and not walk away in much the same way Nate did. Unless he found one of those superhero types, but he thinks it's probably in their job description not to go around punching newcomers, even if they are assholes.

He smiles a little, surprised to hear a priest say something like that to begin with, even an excommunicated one. He can't remember how many times Father Duffy lectured Nate about fighting, and here's Marcus, advocating for someone to punch Cassius in his perfect teeth.

He'd expected him to question the healing, but now that he has, Nate's not all that sure how to proceed. Magic is common enough in Darrow and he expects that Marcus will come across it quickly enough, but he doesn't know if he has yet, if this will be something that freaks him out. Then again, the guy exorcised demons for a living so Nate guesses there's probably not a lot that freaks him out. "A friend," he says vaguely. Telling him about magic is one thing, telling him who is something else. Lila's abilities aren't his secret to tell.

"There are people here who can do stuff," he explains, waving a hand. "Magic stuff. I was smart enough to make friends with one or two." In reality, his friendship with Lila had come as something of an accident, and he hadn't seen the proper extent of her magic until she'd had to bust him out of prison. But he sure is glad for it now. "She fixed up the broken bones, at least."

Nate shakes his head, taking another sip of his beer. He doesn't need anything stronger. It's just bruising and swelling, a little stiffness. Nothing he hasn't dealt with a thousand times before. Sam should know that just about better than anyone.

"I'm good," he tells him, leaning back into the couch. At the very least he has an apartment to recuperate in now, with a bed and a couch and a shower. It's already way better than any of the other times he's been badly injured, trying to patch himself up in the middle of a fire-fight or in the middle of the fucking desert.

He rolls his beer bottle in his fingers. "Most excitement I've had in a while, actually." His face hurts and his hand hurts and none of that is ideal, but he can't deny that he'd enjoyed the adrenaline rush at the time. He hasn't been in a fight in almost a year, hasn't had anything out of the ordinary happen except for the thousand parties the people in this city like to throw and an occasional bout of crazy city magic.

"Nathan, you know there are better cures for boredom than picking fights with giants?" Sam points out. Maybe that's why he's not panicking, though: he and his brother have been through a lot together, even if Nathan doesn't remember the most recent nonsense. If Lila hadn't fixed the breaks, maybe that'd be a different story. But his concern has petered out and now that he knows Nathan's not going to drop dead, he's content to return to their normal routine.

Even if Nathan hadn't gotten the snacks.

"I've met the Musketeers," Marcus says. "Well, two thirds of them, anyway, so magic doesn't particularly surprise me at this point. I just wasn't sure if it was yours."

Wouldn't that have been something? An ex-priest with a crush on a man he assumes to be straight, is fifteen years his junior, and can do magic. The entire situation amuses him at the best of times, though, so it would have just been one little extra tidbit to add to all of that. It's a hopeless crush, he feels almost entirely sure of that, but it's still rather nice all the same. To not be so caught up in the Church and its politics that he can allow himself to feel that pleasant little tug in his stomach whenever he sees someone. It's been a good long while since he's had that.

"I'm glad she did," he says honestly, then glances up at the apartment block that's coming into view. Though he's a little worried about Nate's present state, the information that someone magic has helped to heal him eases the knot of tension in Marcus' chest a little. If anything were seriously wrong, he feels as if she would have fixed it for him already. "Is this you, then? Tell me it is, I'd love for nothing more than to be able to plant you down on the couch and pour you a drink."

"Hey, how's it different?" she asks in protest, her sandwich unwrapped and in her lap, but untouched as of yet. "Just because you've never seen it doesn't mean I can't kick ass with the best of 'em."

She pauses then to take a bite, then shrugs her shoulders as she considers what she's just said. Once she's chewed and swallowed, she continues, "Okay, maybe the ass kicking is a bit of a stretch, but I bet I'm at least as good a shot as you are. Maybe better."

Her aim is scary good. Before Daryl it had been pretty decent, but then he'd taught her how to use the crossbow and ever since then it's been almost second nature to her. And even though she may seem mostly sweet, she's also not the type of person to walk away from a conflict if there's someone who needs help, someone who might need defending. Beth will take a few hits for that.

He laughs a little at that, though he knows for a fact that she can kick ass. Maybe he hasn't seen her punching any giants but he knows what kind of world she comes from, has watched her fight through an amount of emotional trauma that no one should have to go through, watched her deal with everything this city has managed to throw at her. He knows she's strong, but he still doesn't want to picture he with a black eye.

"Oh, you wanna bet?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. She's undoubtedly had to shoot a zombie or two in her time, but so has Nate. He shot his first gun when he was a teenager and he's had a gun in his hand more often than not since then. It's not necessarily something he's proud of, but somewhere along the way it became something of a necessity.

If he stops to think about the amount of blood on his hands for too long he starts to lose his mind, so he doesn't. But he knows he's a good shot. Better than good. "When my face is less broken," he starts, nudging her, "you're on."

Nate hasn't met the Musketeers. What the fuck has he been doing in this city for a year if he hasn't met the goddamn Musketeers? He makes a note to ask Marcus more about that later, determined to track them down himself and find some obscure reason to talk to them. Maybe he'll just follow them and accidentally bump into them on the street, that always seems to go down a treat in this city. People here are way nicer than anyone Nate ever knew back home.

He doesn't ask for detail about who Lila is, for which Nate is grateful. He could lie, but it's pretty debatable whether he's any good at that, and it feels wrong to lie to a priest.

Nate glances up at Candlewood in front of them and nods. "Home sweet home," he says, and maybe it's just a shoebox of a bare apartment but it is more home than he's ever had before. And getting sweeter by the minute with Marcus's offer to pour him a drink.

He leads him upstairs, fumbles for the key in his pocket and eventually gets the door open, letting Marcus in. "Make yourself at home."

"Probably," he admits. He hadn't planned to go out there and pick a fight with a giant to cure his boredom. The guy just happened to be there and being an asshole, and Nate couldn't bring himself to walk away.

He's glad to see that Sam has relaxed now though. The initial concern on his face had been something Nate hasn't seen in a long time, not since they were kids. He used to look at him like that when Nate got into fights with the other kids at the orphanage and met Sam on the roof after. It had been a little odd to see it here; Nathan's a grown man and for the most part he's looked after himself for the last fifteen years or so. Sam wasn't there and while Sully stepped in, he never tried all that hard to stop Nate's reckless streak.

He remembers again how Sam has told him he's supposed to be retired now, married and settled down, talking about starting a family. Maybe he hadn't heeded Sully or Sam, but apparently he heeded Elena.

"I'll keep that in mind if I see him again."

"Do," Sam insists. "What even happened? To my understanding, you haven't gotten into any fights in years." And even then, it had sounded like the only real fights he'd gotten into were for his life trying to find treasure or escape with said treasure. Which Sam hadn't really liked hearing, for more than one reason, but still. Nathan hadn't been bruised and bloodied when he'd told him the stories.

"Is that sarcasm?" Nate asks, raising an eyebrow. He could assume that Sam is talking about Other Nate, the one that he apparently knows in the future. But Sam knows that Nate doesn't remember that, so it wouldn't make any sense to reference it like that. Nate came to Darrow after being in the desert because he got in a fight on a goddamn plane and fell out of the sky. If that's not a fight, he doesn't know what the hell counts anymore.

"My face seems to encourage people to hit it," he muses, only half-joking. He knows it's more likely his tendency to run his mouth than anything else, but he has gotten hit an awful lot in his life, and he doesn't think that can all be blamed on him. "This asshole turned up and he was being an asshole," Nate explains, repeating for emphasis. "Said a bunch of crap about me being a good for nothing lowcolour - whatever that means - and then told me get on my knees and lick his shoes. So I hit him."

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[March 23]

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