[center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=00a99d]『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/FJt85Te.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/pvtkADB.png?1[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   [@RedDusk][@banjoanjo][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟜, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕎𝕚𝕤𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕕, 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕   / /   𝕋𝕠𝕨𝕟   / /  ~𝟙𝟠𝟘𝟝[/color][/center][hr]

One moment Sander was wading uselessly through air and the next, everything around him went dark.
 
Even when he had been driven half-mad by the fire, Sander knew enough to recognize where the water had taken him. He was back here again, standing amidst the familiar riptide. The current was still raging, waves upon waves lapped against his body, but he remained unmoving. The water should have been cold. It should have hurt. Sander knew pain. He was familiar with it. 
 
But the water was gentle. It embraced him in a warmth that did not scorch nor drain. It protected him from the darkness beyond. Protection he didn’t even know he deserved. The comfort was strange. Half-forgotten. He knew pain. He knew fear, back when the tides were hungry and relentless. He did not know this. But it offered, nonetheless. 
 
Power still stretched into the embrace. He tasted the tainted drops on the tip of his tongue, drinking in the fire. This, he also knew. At least this did not change. The power was still the same as it condensed in his chest. 
 
It was his. The only thing that was really his from the beginning. 
 
It fitted. 
 
Cruel reality rushed back to him soon enough. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw red. Blood was thick in the air, both living and dead. But the fire in his chest wasn’t flaring out of control anymore. It burnt, and it hurt, but he was holding. His thoughts were lucid, and he knew. 
 
It got better. Finally, a gift from the water that he was actually grateful for. 
 
A brief smile flashed across his features, just as he plummeted. The fire held him still, so the asphalt beneath only cracked harmlessly against his bare back. The scents of blood were still tempting, though. Still too much. But at least now he knew enough to pinpoint where ‘too much’ was. As Sander got back to his feet, he toned the fire down to a more manageable level, and it obeyed. He let out a relieved breath, before turning his head to survey the battlefield. Too much blood. His gaze stopped briefly on a familiar head of aquamarine, and something knotted in his stomach when the sweet smell of fizzy drink was far stronger than he would have liked. But Kusari was already there, along with Lily. They were handling it. She would be fine. 
 
There was something in the forest, but it was too far out of his smell range.  Fortunately, the commotion died down soon enough, so Sander didn’t think too much about it. His thoughts trailed back to his roommate now. 
 
Just then, Christmas’ scent came back into range, along with the rumbling of car engine in the distance. Minutes later, the APC rounded a corner and stopped. Some strangers rushed out, but Sander paid them no mind as he approached the truck, waiting for Christmas just outside. 

Ernie didn't even glance back at Dean's question. He wasn't important anyway. If Cat's Cradle were actually in the area then getting everyone back to drop-off safely was their biggest priority. [color=00a99d]"Give me a second. Could you gather all the injured? Get them into the truck.[/color]"

He didn't leave the APC quite yet, choosing to wake his objective in the vehicle instead. The same salts used to rouse Christmas were hastily taken out and waved under the healer's nostrils. He didn't know how effective it'd be on the second use but hopefully it'd keep Christmas awake enough for one big group heal.

[color=00a99d]"Just a little longer."[/color]

Christmas blinked awake slowly, eyes unfocused and barely seeing. It was hard staying conscious. His limbs felt too heavy and his eyelids drifted downwards of their own volition. The air was cold and he was tired and maybe if he just rested a bit more the throbbing pain on the side of his head would go away. Blurred voices rang just outside the full comprehension of his thoughts and he fought to make sense of the sounds.

Ernie waved his hand in front of the healer's gaze. [color=00a99d]"Can you hear me?"[/color]

The words were slow to process, but they made sense after a few seconds. Christmas stared a moment longer, then tried to say "Yes." It came out as a slightly inflected [color 8493ca]"Mmgh"[/color] instead.

Meanwhile, Sander grew restless. The coffee scent was also a touch stronger than usual, which he initially just assumed that Christmas used his power. But he was beginning to doubt that, especially when one of the strangers began to ask for a healer. A Regular, too. He didn’t like this. 
 
With a few quick steps, Sander approached the vehicle, peering into the opened doors. What greeted him though, sent fire down his spine. Ernie was talking to a prone Christmas, and for some reason, they were both half-naked. Whatever happened, Sander had decided that he didn’t like this one bit. 
 
Red eyes gave the other occupants of the vehicle a customary glance, but Sander wasn’t really paying attention to any of them. Instead, he headed straight for Christmas, kneeling down beside the blond boy and pressed fingers against cold cheek. There were bandages around his roommate’s neck, too.
 
“[color=cyan]What happened?[/color]” -Sander asked, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Heated fingers against his face startled him, but Christmas was in state of mind to think about the "who"s and "what"s. He just turned his head a few centimeters towards the left and tried to hear a voice he distinctly recalled liking.

Ernie stiffened at the sudden arrival and retracted his hand, opting to rummage through his backpack instead. He hated that false peace that constantly exuded from Sander, like the bastard was trying to lull him into some sense of security. Wary eyes regarded the taller Aberration's body. Scorch marks and debris scarred his sweatpants but other than that there wasn't a single scratch on him. No blood, not even from that subnatural he'd apparently attacked. Truly a monster.

Clenching his jaw, Ernie pointed to the unconscious forms of David and Hazel. Better for the actual perpetrators to get ripped apart than him. He practically spat out the words. [color=00a99d]"Him, then her."[/color]

Sander followed the finger, before finally turning back to regard its owner with cold eyes –“[color=cyan]Aren’t you suppose to protect him?[/color]” 

It didn't work. Ernie paled beneath the blood coating his cheeks and looked away bitterly.

[color=00a99d]"I...tried,"[/color] he muttered, wincing internally at how pathetic the words sounded when spoken out loud. That was entire truth. And that was what made it sound so weak. His power couldn't do anything against invisible enemies. Couldn't do anything against matter disintegrators. His indurability only protected himself and he couldn't use it to help anyone even if he wanted to.

He wanted to believe that he had wanted to. He wanted to believe that he'd tried his best.

Heat flared along the line of his spine, and for all his newfound control, Sander felt he was losing. This wasn’t the rage given to him by the mark on his throat. This was his, and his alone. And it was telling him to break Ernie’s jaws, there and then. 
 
“[color=cyan]You [i]tried?[/i][/color]” -He snarled, his temper slowly winning out. –“[color=cyan]Did you really?[/color]” -Almost without volition, Sander reached out with an arm and grabbed Ernie’s by the throat, fingers digging in with enough force to hurt, but not to harm. Not yet. 

A choked yelp escaped the long-haired boy's lips, a startled and frightened expression lining his face as he staggered backwards. He grasped the other teen's hands, trying to wrench them off but it did nothing. At least the effects of his rope saved him from any pain from Sander's grip, though that only marginally helped with Ernie's psyche. All the panic and rage from before flared with a horrid, new intensity.

[color=00a99d][i]What happened to not wanting to hurt me, you asshole?[/i][/color]

Those words never came out. Ernie glared back with a furious snarl to match Sander's.

[color=00a99d]"Wh-- th... fuck!"[/color] he gasped out and started bashing at Sander's head with both fists.

The civilians in the truck gasped. One screamed, and another shouted for the two to stop--the man in the green baseball cap.

[color f7976a]"Hey, you two!"[/color] he called out again, backing up against the wall despite his words.

Dean echoed his words with another call to stop.

The noises were getting louder, and Christmas felt a small sting of fear at the rough tones and panicked sounds. He tried again to speak as his vision cleared briefly, now sliding images into and out of clarity. The words failed to come out properly again. Another quiet [color 8493ca]"Ngh...?"[/color] in place of "What's going on?"

The negative reactions of everyone else in the truck, along with Christmas’, were lost on Sander. His focus right then was on Ernie, and he wasn’t going to let this one slip. The impacts against his head was little more than gentle patting, since his power was still active. The fire, and more important, his control of it, had given him the courage he needed to confront Ernie and resolve matters once and for all. 
 
Ernie would never hurt Christmas again. 
 
“[color=cyan]Well? Give me an answer. Did you really try?[/color]” 

Ernie felt tears of fright begin to prickle. No one had stopped Hazel when she nearly killed them. No one was going to stop Sander if he succeeded where she had failed.

And no one would miss Ernie when he was dead.

Sander, that fucker, that [i]FUCKER[/i], was so self-assured that day. Even now, people were fucking screaming at him and he didn't even bat an eyelid. Sander had an important power. He was strong. Only the strong were special. And Ernie, the sad, weak, pathetic, idiotic little shit he was, had never been anything Sander was. To have the strength to break down everything in his path and get off scot-free. His power, [i]he[/i], had never been enough for anything or anyone, not even himself. Especially not himself. Fuck, he couldn't even [i]beat[/i] anyone unless he had someone like Zoe standing behind him, or if his target was some stupid, defenseless Regular. He was a bully in every pathetic sense of the word, only able to exercise control over anything that was lesser than what little strength he had. It was his destiny to get constantly tossed around by the strong, because he could never do the tossing himself.

[color=00a99d]"...tried. It...wasn't enough..."[/color]

It had never been enough. It would never be enough.

He had failed Liam. He had failed Christmas, and Sander through that. It was redundant to say that he'd failed himself, when he was constantly enduring a cycle of that torturous, emotional bullshit that always sped up whenever his Stigma started itching. A cycle that would just keep going until he died in this stupid truck surrounded by stupid Regulars.

Because really, if he was ever going to change he would have done so in the heated frenzy of the battlefield, right? He'd told himself, told Marcus and Christmas and so many other gullible shitheads, that he'd become better. He'd been hoping for a miracle in this battle. And all he received was a reminder of that frustrated rage that he only ever had the balls to release at those who couldn't defend themselves. A reminder of all the infinite reasons of why he was a useless little bitch that should have died so many occasions before this. He had no reason to keep living. He had no family or real friends to return to. It was just him, his rope and that fucking Stigma that was hellbent on destroying everything he had before he could even receive the chance to give a shit.

It was so fucking cruel. So unfair. But it was the only thing that was propelling his actions right now.

Ernie reached into his backpack, feeling around desperately for the USARILN issued knife he'd kept earlier. It was pulled out and unsheathed within seconds, and with a muted roar, he took a wild slash at Sander's face.

The blade cut at him, and Sander let it. Sharpened steel couldn’t pierce his hide, not when the blood was still boiling in his veins. The knife did leave a faint mark in its wake, just one red line that ran across his face, but he knew it would fade soon enough. 
 
Violence only called for more violence, though. The blood high stirred, and Sander had to clamp down on it. 
 
“[color=cyan]Are you telling the truth?[/color]” -He pressed, leaning toward the other Aberration. –"[color=cyan]Look at me, Ernie, and tell me you’re not lying.[/color]” 

Ernie's knife barely made a scratch. He truly was going to die here. The tears began dripping down his face, barely visible as they left lined smears through the blood. Stigma and instinct told him to try harder, told him all the places he needed to slash and stab. But the knife had long clattered out of his hands by then. He could do nothing but talk, and pray that it satisfied this monster.

[color=00a99d]"...all true,"[/color] his breath hitched and it took every ounce of mental effort to not start bawling. His rage had left his grasp along with the knife. There was nothing but pitiful fear now, [color=00a99d]"Wasn't...strong enough..."[/color]

Moving hurt his head, so Christmas didn't dare sit up, not when he was feeling dizzy, too, as a bit of adrenaline kicked back in and fueled a sputter of energy. He was afraid of whatever chaos was going on around him, his sight dominated by people standing sideways and fighting with each other. There were more screams from sources around him, and more shuffling movement as other people tried to back away from the tense scene right next to him.

His hand tumbled uselessly off the narrow bench he laid on and it took concentrated effort to grab at the loose clothes he could identify as Sander's now. The voices were clearing up just enough for him to piece two and two together. The tug didn't last long, and his hand dropped again, the surge of energy nauseating him in the process. He groaned in the aftermath.

Sander said nothing for the longest of time. What there was to say? The things between him and Ernie could not be solved with words alone. At this point, he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Maybe one of these days, the water would give Ernie control, too. He wouldn’t know. He hoped it would. But he was ready, otherwise. 
 
For the heady scent of coffee and the warmth of another person next to him, he would do anything. 
 
His fingers tightened, briefly, before Sander let Ernie go in a rough shove. He turned back to Christmas afterward, responding to the tug that was barely there. Dried blood coated the blond boy’s skin, so Sander used his blood absorption to clean what he could. 

Another escape from Death's blood-coated hands. Another one to join the rest he didn't deserve. Never deserved them. At this point, Ernie didn't know whether to be resentful or relieved. But the cowardly preservation instinct in him overrode that tiny speck of dignity he still had. Relief it was.

Ernie fell backwards, scrambling for the backpack before clambering past Sander to leave the APC. He was going to take this chance for granted, definitely. He didn't know if it would be in ten minutes or ten days. But it was definitely going to happen. At this moment, that was what he hated most about himself.

Ernie didn't look back as he hit the ground outside the truck. He just ran. Away? To Zoe? To Cal and Marcus? It didn't matter where. He just needed to leave that monster far behind him.

With the situation defused, Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Between a sub whose eyes were glowing red and another with a strange golden rope, he hadn't really wanted to intervene. Who knew how their magical abilities worked? He still wanted to find a healer, but not because he thought his grandpa could be healed at this point. More like he needed to know if anyone here could bring back the dead like Benediction.

It didn't seem a good time to ask when tempers had barely settled.

[color f7976a]"Shouldn't we find a healer to help him?"[/color] he nodded at the woozy, blond-haired white mark, grimacing slightly at the amount of blood all over the small teenager's body. For the kid's sake, Dean hoped it wasn't [i]all[/i] his blood.

A faint glow emanated from Sander as he picked up the remnants of blood clinging to Christmas’ wishalloy. It worried him, since there was too much of it, and he couldn’t be sure it was all Christmas’ or someone else. There was a wound on the healer’s neck, after all. That was a bad spot. 
 
“[color=cyan]He’s the healer.[/color]” -Sander gave an offhanded answer to the stranger, sparing him a glance before turning right back to Christmas. 

[color f7976a]"Oh..."[/color] And after the debacle he'd just witnessed, asking this healer to bring back the dead was likely to get him killed--that was, if this kid could even manage that. 

Despite the heat and rising blood pressure, Dean held his tongue. He'd give in to the irrational anger and blame and grief in due time. This wasn't the moment and this wasn't the place, especially not among what amounted to the deadly child soldiers of a new age.

He watched the barely conscious healer swipe weakly at the taller boy's leg again and turned away, pulling his girlfriend into a tight hug instead because he needed to remember what he was still grateful for.