“Oh Hanzo,” the demon drawls, his smile all teeth—specifically, fang. “You do care.”
Then he’s launching himself from the table, intent on grasping Hanzo by the throat. All that anger, that worry—will he be able to taste it on his blood? It had been worth waiting just a little bit longer. He’d have almost been disappointed if the vampire had actually agreed to his terms.
He’s not sure what he’ll do with Hanzo yet. There’s power in this bond, and in the blood itself. Probably he’ll spare him after taking the sustenance he needs to destroy the facility. It would be such a waste to do away with him so soon, just when they’ve started to get to know one another.
He's already tensed, and by the time the demon launches himself at him he's already prepared, seeking to grasp him by the arm and throw him over his shoulder at the nearby wall. Is he prepared to nock an arrow and strike?
Maybe. But there's the risk that Jesse is still in there. Somewhere. If he's the one responsible for his final death, after all this time...
The demon hasn’t been in control of this body for long, but he knows the ins and outs of it well enough. That, and it’s an immortal body, capable of all sorts of fun things. What a treat.
He somehow manages to twist in the air after being thrown, despite the small amount of space available for it, his back hitting the wall with a loud thump as he lands on his feet and skids back into it. The smile is still there. If anything, it’s gotten bigger.
He takes that moment to reach out across their bond, plucking it like a harp string, projecting down the line a voice solid and clear—
I see you.
Then he’s lunging again, looking to sweep Hanzo’s feet out from under him.
It's the place to hit, his weakness if he has one. But he bounds back, lands on the table, sliding into a ready stance as muscle memory takes control of his body. Decades of training, shifting forward ahead of whatever sentiment might compel him to hold back, for Jesse's sake.
So a swift kick aimed at the demon's temple follows. Time to lock off whatever might call back across that bond, and put this creature in its place.
Then, only then, do they see to what remains of his fledgling.
The hit connects, snapping his head to the side, more like he’d been slapped rather than kicked with preternatural force. For a moment, he just stands like that, his face turned away and down. Then, slowly, he turns back and looks up. His eyes are already awash in black, deep and endless as the void, and it finishes taking over his sclera as he cocks his head.
“Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo…”
His smile is almost indulgent, the expression one would share with a precocious child.
Hanzo snarls behind the mask before leaping back, off the table on the other side. But rather than let that stand between them as a barricade, he swivels on his heel, pivoting to slam his heel into the edge of the heavy table, ramming it backwards towards his quarry.
He grunts as the table hits him, the sound turning into an almost breathless laugh. He’d at least gotten his hands up to lessen the blow, and the wood beneath his palms darkens and cracks, purple-crimson flames flickering out from the point of contact.
“What is it? Do I sound too much like him?”
His fingers curl against the wood as it flakes away from his touch. Burned. Corrupted.
“Knew you’d catch on eventually. You’re sharp. It’s one of the things he liked about you, y’know.”
He lets go of the table and leaps up onto it in one fluid motion. Not as well as he could though. There’s something inelegant about it. Hanzo had hit him in the one place he still hurts.
“But what if you’re wrong? I’ll tell you honest if you are, cross my heart.”
Liked. A deliberate choice, that tense, and he knows it is better to assume this thing is trying to wind him up than try to divine the truth from its use.
And it's easier to hide his pain behind the mask, his eyes cold and black as he stares this monster down...or up, now that it has some height on him again.
"The word of a demon?" he spits in return, muscles coiling briefly before he leaps up, landing on the table across from him with barely a sound.
The demon's smirk is entirely too pleased. It does feel nice to be acknowledged after so long, trapped and forgotten. Reduced to a tool in a mortal's arsenal.
"Believe it or not, I can be honest. When I'm of a mind to be. I already told you the truth about what happened to Jesse McCree."
This time, instead of words, it's sensory feedback that finds its way along their bond. A flash of pain, helplessness, and rage. Bonds at his wrists, his ankles. The burn of silver, over and over and over again. The hoarse sound of his screaming.
He darts in close as that all plays out, hand looking to clasp down bruisingly hard on Hanzo's shoulder.
They've never really tested the strength of the bond, what could be sent willingly rather than glimpsed by accident. It's vivid enough when they don't even try.
When it comes through, it washes over him like a wave, and for a moment? It feels like his skin that silver-edged blade is cutting through. It is his throat hoarse from screams, his fury straining in futile struggle.
This is why such a bond is taboo. How easily it can be weaponized.
It's that grip that snaps him out of it, and with a cry he surges forward, striking out with the heel of his palm at the demon's jaw in order to jar him loose.
The demon steps back, letting go of Hanzo's shoulder while his other arm sweeps up to block and redirect the blow. In one movement, he turns his hand and grasps Hanzo's wrist, wrenching it down with force. The infernal heat that had scorched the table burns in his palms again, though not quite as strongly. Wouldn't want Hanzo being burnt to a crisp.
"Give me what I want, and I'll take Talon down for you. You got to want to see 'em burn bad as I do."
He aims a punch towards Hanzo's solar plexus, the grip of his other hand only tightening.
He can feel that heat threatening, charring the fabric of his sleeve as he attempts to twist free of that hold. But nothing changes the baleful look in his eyes.
"You know nothing of what I want, demon--"
The words cut off abruptly as that strike connects. Harder than it should. Another vampire's strike should bear substantial weight behind it, but this? He reels. If he drew breath he would not be able to, but it's enough to daze him all the same.
What is pain to a demon but at best a novelty, and at worst an inconvenience? He can be hurt though, truly—just not through the means most are capable of. Maybe if the scientist were still here she’d have a trick up her sleeve. Works for him just fine that Hanzo is too proud to call out for help.
His hand strikes out, lightning quick, and closes around the back of Hanzo’s neck to tug him in close. It’s a mockery of a lover’s embrace, the way he holds Hanzo there in the unyielding grip of both hands. His head ducks down, lips brushing the curve of his neck in a semblance of a kiss.
“I know exactly what you want, Shimada Hanzo. And he’s dead and gone now.”
Then he bares his teeth, having every intention of sinking them in deep.
Guilt and rage war within him as those teeth sink into skin, breaking the surface, and that familiar pulls draws potent, ancient blood to the surface.
I should have stayed with him.
He thinks he can get away with this--!!
...I deserve this.
No, he deserves to die, for what he did!
The thoughts rage against one another, as he lifts his hands, grasping handfuls of thick hair to attempt to wrench him back. But the rush of sensation that always comes with being fed on is a dizzying thing, dangerous even to their own kind. His power literally bleeds out of him into this...this creature that's left where Jesse once stood.
The demon had experienced this in a vague, distant way through the filter of Jesse’s perception. But the reality of it, the physicality of the blood and the spiritual pull of a soul calling to a soul… add in Hanzo’s anger and guilt, and the effect is intoxicating. He could drain him down to the last drop, like the human earlier in the evening, and it would be nothing. Entirely too easy.
But no. Even as he greedily drinks, the infernal flame in his palms goes out. Hanzo will make it out of the wreckage of this place with him. He’ll make sure of that.
It’s with surprise, and a hint of annoyance, that he feels something unwanted struggle towards awareness as he drinks. A familiar presence, weak yet stubbornly roused by the familiarity of Hanzo’s presence and his blood. His brow furrows, and he shoves it back down and away from consciousness.
He’ll have to watch that, going forward.
Finally, Hanzo’s blood and the power therein flowing through him, the demon pulls back and flashes an almost drunken grin at the man in his arms. His bottom lip is stained crimson.
“Just like old times, ain’t it?”
The fire starts at his feet this time, spreading to the barriers of the walls fast enough that the floor might as well be covered in oil. A small circle remains around the two of them, however, perfect and unbroken even as the walls crack and peel, the metal fixtures beginning to melt.
The flames lick up and around them, an unholy light that sting the eyes, the heat sweltering. Perhaps it is that same heat that causes the image of that face to flicker and waver in his vision, or perhaps it's the loss of blood.
He can feel his strength waning, the slump into the demon's hold that he still struggles against for all he has left, but there's no fighting this. He's won. Isn't this what you wanted?
No. Not like this. Never like this.
He'll never have the opportunity to tell Jesse the truth, to see the battle won. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking he could make a difference at all, rather than simply being a source of power for this thing to tear its way through Talon. The bitter taste of regret is a familiar one, and it's all he has left as that darkness closes in at the edges of his vision.
"They...will come for you..." he rasps out at last, the last words on his lips before finally going still in the demon's arms, consciousness fleeing those half-lidded eyes.
He chuckles as he sets Hanzo down in that ring clear of flame. It’s nothing for him to direct the fire where he wants it to go, to keep it away from burning his prize. He kicks in the door to the hall, the burning following in his wake. If there are people there—if there are creatures, anything alive—they won’t miss his grin, sharp and wild before the force of his power slams into them, weighing the air down with dry, almost suffocating heat. That's when he strikes, intent on taking out every last living thing. Hanzo’s blood gave him everything he needs, but what’s a little more? And it’s not just the blood itself he subsists on. It’s the fear. It’s the death.
He’ll feast on everyone and everything he can get his hands on in the immediate area, only going back for Hanzo when he’s done. He throws the vampire over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes-style, before progressing through the facility. Whatever is left behind him is left at the mercy of the fire.
The important members of the base retreat, locking themselves away and watching the progress as the demon makes its way through their defenses like it's nothing. This power is like nothing they've witnessed, no vampire or spirit or returned being of their ilk.
Better to let him pass. Let him walk. See what he chooses to do before pulling the switched. They could do it now, if it would even work, but Moira suggests staying their hand until they're put in immediate danger. What's a few low-level acolytes compared to what they're learning?
Hanzo wouldn't agree, would have argued against it. But Hanzo is out cold, lost to a deep, dark, gnawing cold not unlike the touch of true death. This must have been what Jesse felt when he crumpled to the floor of the hotel that night.
Not that he has the ability to reflect on that, at the moment.
At one point, just before entering one of the garages and commandeering a vehicle, the demon turns to look up at a security camera. His dark eyes bore into the lens, and he smiles just a second before snapping his fingers and melting it from the inside out. He’s absolutely drunk on power and destruction, alongside the fear and pain of everyone who had been unlucky enough to cross his path along the way. He frankly can’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.
He chooses the sleekest, fastest model available and rests a hand on the dash, his power moving through the circuitry and the basic mechanics of it until he finds what he’s looking for. A GPS unit, or perhaps a spell used to keep tabs on the car’s whereabouts. Whichever it is, a concentrated burst of energy is enough to short it out, and he tosses Hanzo into the backseat before speeding away. The skyline behind them is bright as dawn from the fire, which will keep burning until there’s little left but warped metal and ash.
The hotel he chooses is nice. Busy. Full of dozens upon dozens of humans, making it suitable for his purposes should Hanzo wake before they move. He manages to stay awake past dawn himself, but he can’t make it past noon when the sun is at its strongest. It seems his body won’t be denied some of its basic needs regardless of what he does. So after leaving Hanzo in the bed, he sets himself up in the living room, working until he’s forced to lean back and close his eyes.
There’s so much to plan. So much to do, now that he has everything he needs in his hands and no one who can deny him any of it.
He's not sure of where he is when he wakes, but most assuredly he had not been expecting to wake at all. Once the demon sank his fangs into him and drew him down to the dregs, he was certain the creature would finish the job.
Why hadn't he?
He still feels sluggish. Movement is impossible for the moment, as his body attempts to recover enough energy to survive. To thrust him out into the night to feed, to feast, and replenish what was lost. But it's not just the hunger, is it?
There's a chill at his core he can't shake, and he's not certain if it will take him first, or if the frenzy will. He's not certain which would be preferable at this point, either.
The demon’s eyes open the moment Hanzo’s does, and he takes a moment to wait and see what the man is capable of. If anything. The answer is apparent before long, and he makes a quick phone call before standing to go check in on his sire.
He’d done this purposefully, the scene a familiar one. Comfortable even. The two of them in a hotel room. Hanzo free of any restraints. Nothing keeping him trapped, physically, other than his condition. He slips his hands into the pockets of stolen jeans as he looks down at Hanzo with a smile.
“Well look at you. Put you down for the count, didn’t I?”
He reaches out to tap Hanzo on the center of his chest.
“Bet you’re feelin’ it now, but I’ll make it up to you.”
The moment the demon appears he tenses. It's clear he'd love nothing more than to tear out his throat, were it not for the body he was currently inhabiting.
It's just a body now. Jesse's gone. He was likely devoured by this...this thing. All that remains is the physical essence of the bond, the blood shared, and he should do away with what remains. He knows that.
The black drains from his eyes and his expression changes, going soft and fond. The kind of unguarded look Jesse might have only allowed himself to show that night in bed, both of their defenses down just that once. He brushes a lock of Hanzo’s hair from his face.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t, Han. I know better.”
Then the doorbell rings, and the deviousness returns, though his eyes stay the same.
“I ordered you a little somethin’. Stay put, yeah?”
All he feels is rage at that look. How well he remembers it, the way Jesse had looked at him that night. There had been a promise then of something more, a promise never fulfilled. Those are things the demon has no right to, and here he is, twisting them deep like a knife.
His teeth grit as he turns his head away from the brief touch -- "Don't use that name, you..." -- but then an interruption comes in the form of someone approaching. The call at the door.
What new devilry is this? He tries to push himself upward, but every inch of him burns. Freezes. Aches. Even fitting words together without slurring is a challenge, and whatever the demon has called down upon them both now, he has no way to defend against.
It's the growing sense of helplessness. That's the worst of it.
He stands and gives Hanzo one last look back over his shoulder from the doorway. He's a prideful thing. The demon knows their kind well. How his state must be rankling at that pride now.
With a smirk, he disappears back into the main room of their suite—because of course he’d gotten the best option they had available. The couple he’d killed on the way here had plenty of assets, and it’ll be days before anyone starts seriously looking into their whereabouts. He’ll have ditched the credit cards by then.
There’s two voices, Jesse’s and another, and then the sound of a metal cart. The scuffle that follows the door shutting is brief, and he reenters the bedroom with a hotel employee in his grasp. The man moves where he’s led, a dazed and vaguely frightened look on his face as he stares ahead at nothing. Over his shoulder, the demon grins down at Hanzo.
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Then he’s launching himself from the table, intent on grasping Hanzo by the throat. All that anger, that worry—will he be able to taste it on his blood? It had been worth waiting just a little bit longer. He’d have almost been disappointed if the vampire had actually agreed to his terms.
He’s not sure what he’ll do with Hanzo yet. There’s power in this bond, and in the blood itself. Probably he’ll spare him after taking the sustenance he needs to destroy the facility. It would be such a waste to do away with him so soon, just when they’ve started to get to know one another.
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Maybe. But there's the risk that Jesse is still in there. Somewhere. If he's the one responsible for his final death, after all this time...
No. All he need do is subdue him, surely.
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He somehow manages to twist in the air after being thrown, despite the small amount of space available for it, his back hitting the wall with a loud thump as he lands on his feet and skids back into it. The smile is still there. If anything, it’s gotten bigger.
He takes that moment to reach out across their bond, plucking it like a harp string, projecting down the line a voice solid and clear—
I see you.
Then he’s lunging again, looking to sweep Hanzo’s feet out from under him.
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So a swift kick aimed at the demon's temple follows. Time to lock off whatever might call back across that bond, and put this creature in its place.
Then, only then, do they see to what remains of his fledgling.
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“Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo…”
His smile is almost indulgent, the expression one would share with a precocious child.
“You’re wastin’ my time, darlin’.”
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Hanzo snarls behind the mask before leaping back, off the table on the other side. But rather than let that stand between them as a barricade, he swivels on his heel, pivoting to slam his heel into the edge of the heavy table, ramming it backwards towards his quarry.
"I know what you are."
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“What is it? Do I sound too much like him?”
His fingers curl against the wood as it flakes away from his touch. Burned. Corrupted.
“Knew you’d catch on eventually. You’re sharp. It’s one of the things he liked about you, y’know.”
He lets go of the table and leaps up onto it in one fluid motion. Not as well as he could though. There’s something inelegant about it. Hanzo had hit him in the one place he still hurts.
“But what if you’re wrong? I’ll tell you honest if you are, cross my heart.”
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And it's easier to hide his pain behind the mask, his eyes cold and black as he stares this monster down...or up, now that it has some height on him again.
"The word of a demon?" he spits in return, muscles coiling briefly before he leaps up, landing on the table across from him with barely a sound.
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"Believe it or not, I can be honest. When I'm of a mind to be. I already told you the truth about what happened to Jesse McCree."
This time, instead of words, it's sensory feedback that finds its way along their bond. A flash of pain, helplessness, and rage. Bonds at his wrists, his ankles. The burn of silver, over and over and over again. The hoarse sound of his screaming.
He darts in close as that all plays out, hand looking to clasp down bruisingly hard on Hanzo's shoulder.
"I did him a favor, y'know."
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When it comes through, it washes over him like a wave, and for a moment? It feels like his skin that silver-edged blade is cutting through. It is his throat hoarse from screams, his fury straining in futile struggle.
This is why such a bond is taboo. How easily it can be weaponized.
It's that grip that snaps him out of it, and with a cry he surges forward, striking out with the heel of his palm at the demon's jaw in order to jar him loose.
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"Give me what I want, and I'll take Talon down for you. You got to want to see 'em burn bad as I do."
He aims a punch towards Hanzo's solar plexus, the grip of his other hand only tightening.
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"You know nothing of what I want, demon--"
The words cut off abruptly as that strike connects. Harder than it should. Another vampire's strike should bear substantial weight behind it, but this? He reels. If he drew breath he would not be able to, but it's enough to daze him all the same.
How? How is he this strong?
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His hand strikes out, lightning quick, and closes around the back of Hanzo’s neck to tug him in close. It’s a mockery of a lover’s embrace, the way he holds Hanzo there in the unyielding grip of both hands. His head ducks down, lips brushing the curve of his neck in a semblance of a kiss.
“I know exactly what you want, Shimada Hanzo. And he’s dead and gone now.”
Then he bares his teeth, having every intention of sinking them in deep.
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I should have stayed with him.
He thinks he can get away with this--!!
...I deserve this.
No, he deserves to die, for what he did!
The thoughts rage against one another, as he lifts his hands, grasping handfuls of thick hair to attempt to wrench him back. But the rush of sensation that always comes with being fed on is a dizzying thing, dangerous even to their own kind. His power literally bleeds out of him into this...this creature that's left where Jesse once stood.
His fault. This is his fault...
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But no. Even as he greedily drinks, the infernal flame in his palms goes out. Hanzo will make it out of the wreckage of this place with him. He’ll make sure of that.
It’s with surprise, and a hint of annoyance, that he feels something unwanted struggle towards awareness as he drinks. A familiar presence, weak yet stubbornly roused by the familiarity of Hanzo’s presence and his blood. His brow furrows, and he shoves it back down and away from consciousness.
He’ll have to watch that, going forward.
Finally, Hanzo’s blood and the power therein flowing through him, the demon pulls back and flashes an almost drunken grin at the man in his arms. His bottom lip is stained crimson.
“Just like old times, ain’t it?”
The fire starts at his feet this time, spreading to the barriers of the walls fast enough that the floor might as well be covered in oil. A small circle remains around the two of them, however, perfect and unbroken even as the walls crack and peel, the metal fixtures beginning to melt.
“Now things get fun.”
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He can feel his strength waning, the slump into the demon's hold that he still struggles against for all he has left, but there's no fighting this. He's won. Isn't this what you wanted?
No. Not like this. Never like this.
He'll never have the opportunity to tell Jesse the truth, to see the battle won. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking he could make a difference at all, rather than simply being a source of power for this thing to tear its way through Talon. The bitter taste of regret is a familiar one, and it's all he has left as that darkness closes in at the edges of his vision.
"They...will come for you..." he rasps out at last, the last words on his lips before finally going still in the demon's arms, consciousness fleeing those half-lidded eyes.
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He chuckles as he sets Hanzo down in that ring clear of flame. It’s nothing for him to direct the fire where he wants it to go, to keep it away from burning his prize. He kicks in the door to the hall, the burning following in his wake. If there are people there—if there are creatures, anything alive—they won’t miss his grin, sharp and wild before the force of his power slams into them, weighing the air down with dry, almost suffocating heat. That's when he strikes, intent on taking out every last living thing. Hanzo’s blood gave him everything he needs, but what’s a little more? And it’s not just the blood itself he subsists on. It’s the fear. It’s the death.
He’ll feast on everyone and everything he can get his hands on in the immediate area, only going back for Hanzo when he’s done. He throws the vampire over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes-style, before progressing through the facility. Whatever is left behind him is left at the mercy of the fire.
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Better to let him pass. Let him walk. See what he chooses to do before pulling the switched. They could do it now, if it would even work, but Moira suggests staying their hand until they're put in immediate danger. What's a few low-level acolytes compared to what they're learning?
Hanzo wouldn't agree, would have argued against it. But Hanzo is out cold, lost to a deep, dark, gnawing cold not unlike the touch of true death. This must have been what Jesse felt when he crumpled to the floor of the hotel that night.
Not that he has the ability to reflect on that, at the moment.
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He chooses the sleekest, fastest model available and rests a hand on the dash, his power moving through the circuitry and the basic mechanics of it until he finds what he’s looking for. A GPS unit, or perhaps a spell used to keep tabs on the car’s whereabouts. Whichever it is, a concentrated burst of energy is enough to short it out, and he tosses Hanzo into the backseat before speeding away. The skyline behind them is bright as dawn from the fire, which will keep burning until there’s little left but warped metal and ash.
The hotel he chooses is nice. Busy. Full of dozens upon dozens of humans, making it suitable for his purposes should Hanzo wake before they move. He manages to stay awake past dawn himself, but he can’t make it past noon when the sun is at its strongest. It seems his body won’t be denied some of its basic needs regardless of what he does. So after leaving Hanzo in the bed, he sets himself up in the living room, working until he’s forced to lean back and close his eyes.
There’s so much to plan. So much to do, now that he has everything he needs in his hands and no one who can deny him any of it.
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Why hadn't he?
He still feels sluggish. Movement is impossible for the moment, as his body attempts to recover enough energy to survive. To thrust him out into the night to feed, to feast, and replenish what was lost. But it's not just the hunger, is it?
There's a chill at his core he can't shake, and he's not certain if it will take him first, or if the frenzy will. He's not certain which would be preferable at this point, either.
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The demon’s eyes open the moment Hanzo’s does, and he takes a moment to wait and see what the man is capable of. If anything. The answer is apparent before long, and he makes a quick phone call before standing to go check in on his sire.
He’d done this purposefully, the scene a familiar one. Comfortable even. The two of them in a hotel room. Hanzo free of any restraints. Nothing keeping him trapped, physically, other than his condition. He slips his hands into the pockets of stolen jeans as he looks down at Hanzo with a smile.
“Well look at you. Put you down for the count, didn’t I?”
He reaches out to tap Hanzo on the center of his chest.
“Bet you’re feelin’ it now, but I’ll make it up to you.”
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It's just a body now. Jesse's gone. He was likely devoured by this...this thing. All that remains is the physical essence of the bond, the blood shared, and he should do away with what remains. He knows that.
Instead, he rasps out,
"Why...didn't you kill me?"
It wants something. Their kind always does.
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The black drains from his eyes and his expression changes, going soft and fond. The kind of unguarded look Jesse might have only allowed himself to show that night in bed, both of their defenses down just that once. He brushes a lock of Hanzo’s hair from his face.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t, Han. I know better.”
Then the doorbell rings, and the deviousness returns, though his eyes stay the same.
“I ordered you a little somethin’. Stay put, yeah?”
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His teeth grit as he turns his head away from the brief touch -- "Don't use that name, you..." -- but then an interruption comes in the form of someone approaching. The call at the door.
What new devilry is this? He tries to push himself upward, but every inch of him burns. Freezes. Aches. Even fitting words together without slurring is a challenge, and whatever the demon has called down upon them both now, he has no way to defend against.
It's the growing sense of helplessness. That's the worst of it.
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With a smirk, he disappears back into the main room of their suite—because of course he’d gotten the best option they had available. The couple he’d killed on the way here had plenty of assets, and it’ll be days before anyone starts seriously looking into their whereabouts. He’ll have ditched the credit cards by then.
There’s two voices, Jesse’s and another, and then the sound of a metal cart. The scuffle that follows the door shutting is brief, and he reenters the bedroom with a hotel employee in his grasp. The man moves where he’s led, a dazed and vaguely frightened look on his face as he stares ahead at nothing. Over his shoulder, the demon grins down at Hanzo.
“I got you room service.”
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