“I am worthless. I am nothing–”

Skav stopped breathing

Arms around arms, chest to chest, heart to heart. To be touched was a fragile experience, a trigger if done wrong, a catalyst every other time. The overbearing mist of memory consumed them for a moment; the feeling of metal digging into their wrists and ankles, the burn of a rope, the mind-numbing consciousness of a sedative, everything happened at once and it was terrible. And then it was just their room, dark and slanted and bleary from the alcohol in their system. Blue was warmer than anything they had ever experienced. Blue was gentle, Blue was real. Blue wasn’t their past, but their present-– a solid force of a human that Skav had decided to share their memories with. They didn't want it to end, not yet. They moved too slowly, it seemed, after breaking out of their reminiscing, and Blue pulled away before they could speak or return the gesture or shove them away. A curious thing happened then. Skav felt as if a piece of their heart had been pulled away with the snake, and all the warmth was sucked from their body. Their chest was hollow with something missing now.

They felt so very alone.

”Oh.” They said apathetically, as if not at all shaken by the action. Skav settled back against the couch again, craving more time wrapped in Blue’s arms but finding the timing couldn't be worse as the other man had already started going on about their old home and mother. They listened with as much attention as they could muster, tangling their fingers tightly together as rage built against the faceless character known as Blue’s Mother. Wicked people deserved to rot, their mind whispered again and again. Skav could only agree.

Shivering, Skav leaned over and tipped the vodka bottle to their lips again, letting a few drops hit to back of their throat only due to the now-diminished state of the alcohol. A small amount still rolled across base, just aching the be swallowed down, but Skav was done with drinking for tonight. Their face felt red with intoxication and tears and something else entirely. They wanted to have some peace of mind for that they planned next. Silently, Skav scooted closer to Blue and raised an eyebrow, considering asking first but deciding against it at the last second. Actions speak louder than words, right?

With far-too gentle hands, they reached out and gripped Blue’s wrists, turning their arms over to inspect the veins of their arms and the scars of leftover fights and doses. Once satisfied with that picture, they let their eyes rise to gloss over his face. The dark eyes staring back were not their sister. Arya had eyes made for endless caves and stormy nights and rotten cellars. Blue’s were nothing like that. They held some humanity, and that was enough for Skav.

Awkwardly, they slide their arms beneath Blue’s and pulled him in again, feeling much more comfortable initiating the action than receiving it. The last person to have hugged them and to have gotten a hug FROM them was their mother. Skav didn't remember the warmth from back then, but they assumed it wasn't much different from the heat that resonated off Blue. They stopped whatever tears were left to cry from sliding out, if only to keep Blue’s shoulder dry, and leaned in as far as their body would let them. Something painful thumped through their veins, a quick heartbeat maybe. Skav shook around the noise– they didn't understand it– and then quietly said,

”Sorry I didn't ask first. I'm selfish.” Skav made no effort to move, instead leaning down until they were sure Blue couldn't see their face without turning in awkwardly. They made sure to keep some space between their chests, which really wasn't too hard seeing as Skav had to bend over anyways to get a good grip on the much shorter Blue. This was a good hug, they thought, good enough for them, hopefully good enough for Blue. ”Push me away if you hate it, snake.” They said with a forced laughed, ”I won't break from that.”

Skav leaned their face into Blue shoulder and sighed. They felt sort of like a parasite in this situation, trying to steal something away from the host they clung to. What was it they desired? Skav didn't really want much of anything. A bottle of alcohol every night, a single meal, a day of peace and a night of terror, that was all they craved. But now, all they wanted was something to share, and now, it was warmth. To fight the chill of unsavory hands and memories away. Skav believed it was more intoxicating than alcohol could ever be and they thought, briefly, that they should do this more often.

Skav continued the game without really thinking about it, and that– that was their first big mistake. ”My sister’s name is Arya.” They hesitated instantly on the name, arms going slack against Blue’s back, ”She's a year older than me. She's petite and very pretty– everyone said she looked like a doll wh-when we were younger. When I was eight and she was nine she handcuffed me to the fence gate outside our house and left me there until mom came home from work. When I was eleven and she was twelve, she locked me in the greenhouse and poked me with a hot knife until I screamed. When I was fourteen and she was fifteen, she dosed me with different drugs over and over and over again until I was paralyzed and unconscious and forced to the hospital.”

Skav’s muffled words caught and they shuddered, feeling no threat of tears but instead the dark room of their own mind as these memories swallowed them whole. The attack came as a silent killer, shutting down Skav’s will to be as nostalgia dragged them down into a dark place and suffocated them until they felt their lungs lurch for air. Skav breathed hoarsely against Blue’s shoulder, refusing to budge, and in silence managed to calm themself down enough to whisper, ”She's in the city and I don't know what to do.”

Skav’s arms tightened around Blue again and they shook despite their wish to remain calm, collected, and gentle. Their voice came out as a hoarse imitation of their usual dry tone, ”I don't want to play anymore, Blue. I don't want to…” They trailed off to burrow their face into the other’s shoulder again, finding comfort there, even if their hesitant body said otherwise. ”Sorry. This is not like me.”

---

---

---

---

Blue expects to flinch when Skav’s fingers grip his wrists, to recoil as if he’d been burnt, but he just lets them turn his arms over. His own gaze fixates itself on the bruises on his wrists, faded from purple to sickly yellow - souvenirs from a client that’d gotten far too enthusiastic, from strong hands that’d held him in place as he’s pinned against the wall, and—

He closes his eyes for just a moment, and lets out a deep sigh. The veins lining the insides of his elbows are like a spiderweb, haphazardly arranged in a mess of purpling bruises. It’s been awhile since he’s injected, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can resist the temptation. He remembers the taste of iron, the caustic tang of stomach acid, skin clammy with cold sweat. Going through withdrawal was hell, and it’s even worse when you have to do it behind bars. The methadone they gave him didn’t do much to help, and the day they lowered his dosage by a mere two milligrams, he couldn’t even muster the energy to stand up. By the time he got out, he wanted to stop, he truly did, if only to avoid the likelihood of withdrawals; but when he saw that needle sitting next to a baggie of china white (pure as driven snow), his fingers started to itch.

Then, he feels arms around him - Skav’s arms. They tower over him, even sitting down, but Blue doesn’t feel intimidated, and it only takes him a moment to reciprocate the gesture. Once again, his hands find their way around the other, easily settling on their back. Skav’s voice quaked with such sincerity that it made his heart ache, though he isn’t quite sure if it’s for him, them, or both. There’s a long pause before Skav says anything else, and he feels a quiet sigh tickle the surface of his skin. The silence isn’t uncomfortable - natural, even. Blue just listens to the sound of Skav’s breathing, jagged inhalations gradually smoothing out into something a little more rhythmic. When they start to speak again, it sounds almost accidental, like they didn’t mean to say it. The existence of a sister is news to him, though his only reaction is to rub comforting circles into the other’s back.

As the recollection progresses, with each memory worse than the last, Blue could almost taste the bile climbing up the back of his throat. And here he thought his mom was a bitch, but what she did, or didn’t do, couldn’t even compare to this ‘Arya’. In his mind, he pictures a young Skav - long before they grew into their lanky limbs - trying desperately to squirm away from the sharp bite of a knife. Then, it flashes forward to glassy eyes and paralysed muscles. He’s seen enough overdoses to come up with a believable approximation. Dark, crushing terror is the first thing that comes to mind, and you don’t even realise it's happening until it’s too late. He’s only ever fucked up once, and a friend managed to save him with a syringe full of narcan, but the memory is seared into his mind, taunting him every time he pokes a needle into his arm. The fact that Skav has gone through much worse sends a shiver up his spine, but beneath it all, he feels anger, simmering, bubbling its way through his bloodstream. Why did bad people always get away with it? Who gave them the right to smash things up without consequence, to hurt others?

What he didn’t expect was for Skav to say that Arya was here in San Marzano. For one, two, three seconds, Blue thinks that he had misheard them, though his doubts are quickly put to rest when he hears the fear in Skav’s voice, and he feels his blood turn to ice. He doesn’t know much about her, just a vague patchwork of the things Skav had recounted to him, but already, a sense of dread was beginning to well up within him. If just talking about her elicits such a reaction, she must be a piece of work. Blue doesn’t know what to do, at this point, what does he even say in a situation like this? He feels a tremor shudder through Skav, and he just tries to calm them down the best he can, arms tightening around their torso. When he first tries to speak, the words die on his tongue. Should he even say anything? He’s so afraid of making things worse, of pushing Skav even further off the edge, but when they start to apologise, he feels like he has to say something.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to.” Blue tries to sound reassuring, voice kept at a quiet hush, but his thoughts keep getting shunted back to Arya. If she was in San Marzano, it’s not hard to guess why. How she managed to track down Skav, on the other hand, is a whole ‘nother matter. The fact that she even bothered to come all this way - it didn’t bode well in the slightest. Just what did she want from Skav? Blue wants to ask them, wants to understand all this, but he doesn’t think there’s a good way to phrase the question. There are too many things he wants to know, and in the end, he bites the bullet. The more he knows about the situation, the easier it’ll be for him to help. There really was no other way around this, and Blue hopes the vodka was doing its work. “When… when was the last time you saw her? Why is she looking for you?”

---

---

no no no no no

Skav clung to Blue desperately, because that was all they could think to do now. Shaking like mad, they wanted to scream it wasn't okay, it would never be okay. People like them were doomed to be suffocated by people like Arya and Blue's mother. Skav wasn't going to survive the summer, and that was that. That was God's will, that was natural selection. The weak die first to make way for the strong. Skav was weak, Arya was strong, that's how it was before and how it will remain. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay. Skav realized they were riding the coattails of a panic attack a second too late, and just after coming to terms with that they were aware of Blue's inquiry. When and where and why and how and how and how.

How were they going to die?

Knives and needles hung in front of their eyes. Skav hid their face in Blue's shoulder again.

"Saw her... I saw her last on the day my mom died. Three years ago." Skav breathed, trying to slow their rambling mind and heaving lungs. Subconsciously, their arms tightened around Blue's midsection, squeezing his tighter and tighter with each shuddering sigh. Only three years. Idly, they mused over how young they were, being only nineteen. Skav felt much too young to die. "That house was so quiet, so-so quiet, and I saw mom hanging-- no, I saw her shadow first, in the doorway, swinging, hanging on the fan. And when I went in to the room next door and I saw Arya staring out the window and she was smiling, and she turned to me and said 'свободный конец'--'loose end'." Skav's Russian was unpracticed and accent-less, but they translated the mush of a word easily. It was such a crystal clear memory, Skav felt sick reciting it so easily. Another tremor shot through them, stunned them, and Skav had to untangle their arms to save Blue from being crushed by the sheer force of the panic attack.

Still, they went on, tearless and stuttery, horribly apathetic. "She--she gave me a five minute head start. I think she expected to catch up, to find me outside in the town somewhere but I didn't leave the house. I locked myself in the guest bedroom closet and stayed there for-for God knows how many days, then I stole dad's Mustang and drove until it was out of gas and out of energy. I ended up outside of San Marzano, and here I am." They laughed, ignoring the horrid noise it was in favor of pulling far, far away from Blue. They scrambled back into the other arm of the couch and fought to breathe, staring wildly down at the man.

He wanted answers. He needed answers.

He won't help you, just die already and get it over with-- right on your own terms.

The knives are in the kitchen, in the bathroom, made out of glass and concrete. One slice and you're out forever.

Suicide is a sin.

"I won't last the summer." Skav hissed, squeezing their cloudy eyes shut tightly, "No one needs a loose end in the family. Kill one and their secrets die with them, get it?" They curled in on themself and suffered through the panic attack that was fully upon them, fighting to breathe but fighting harder to give Blue an answer they deserved.

Then it hit them. Skav rose their head and stared dumbly ahead, all pretenses of apathy and panic gone in favor of chilling realization. They gaped, they swallowed, they didn't breathe, then in broken Russian they pointed at Blue and said, "свободный конец." Skav could cry again if they had the energy to. Instead, they stood and instantly stumbled, crashing onto their knees with a loud bang. "I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. A drunk fucking idiot. I've killed you too, haven't I? Oh God, Oh dear God-- stupid, stupid--" They slammed a hand against their forehead and winced. Skav shouldn't have been so blindly eager to share, to get drunk without keeping themself under control.

"Blue," They cried; it was a broken, ugly noise, "The man you killed, the men in the bar, they said her name-- I heard it. I might have been high as shit but I heard it, and that means they know her, or they're working for her. They saw you too-- dammit." Skav surged to their feet and stumbled up against a wall. "What am I supposed to do? If she finds out I told you what she did she'll kill you too-- you shouldn't, you don't--"

And then Skav the Crow panicked.

They clutched at the wall and shook. They ran their fingers over and over their head until the skin felt raw and turned over fruitless plans in their head. They imagined the dead body of Blue and nearly threw up right then and there without warning. "I don't know what to do." They whispered, "I've killed you, I've killed you. You don't deserve that, no, no, no. I've killed you." They scratched at their scarred arms, picked apart the healed flesh and remembered how each was obtained. Some Arya, some not. The 'not's gave them a fledgling feeling of balance, too small to cling to. Skav pressed their face into their hands and clutched for air that didn't exist again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

---

---

---

---

Blue knows something’s wrong - he can sense it when he feels arms tighten around him, and he almost wants to pull away. Hot puffs of air brush against his skin, Skav’s breathing grows shallower by the second, more erratic. They don’t say anything for a long moment, which just makes Blue want to probe further, if only to make sure they stay lucid and responsive. But before he can ask again, Skav starts talking, syllables spilling past their lips in a panicked jumble. They sounds haphazard, barely put together, jagged like broken shards of glass. It takes a moment for it all to sink in - between the too-tight grip around his torso and the torrent of words - that by the time he realises, Skav has already scrambled away from him, tearing themselves free from his grasp. He thinks they look like an animal, cornered and helpless, and the fear he sees behind their eyes makes him sick to the stomach.

“Skav—” Blue starts to say, but he’s quickly cut off. Skav makes their way across the room, or they try to, at least. They’d fallen to their knees almost as soon as they stood, the dingy wood panelling beneath them letting out a groan of protest. By now, Blue could barely piece together what they were trying to say. Something about loose ends? It feels like a vice tightening around his chest, like all the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. Was he in danger too? The question refuses to vacate his mind, howling with the incessant blare of a faulty car horn. He can barely hear anything else, after that. Skav’s lips are moving, but it’s as if he’s underwater. Everything sounds far away, muffled, and the world feels like it’s spinning - a combination of vertigo and vodka. He doesn’t even notice how hard he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes iron, and the lancet of pain that shoots through his jaw is just enough to snap him out of it.

“Skav.” He tries again, despite every fibre of his being screaming that nothing good could come of this. His knees scrape painfully against the floor as he kneels down beside them, reaching out to place a hand on their back. “Skav, listen to me. I’m h—”

Then, they start to claw at their scars, and Blue has to will himself not to recoil. The sight is unsettling, horrifying even, but it’s all he can do to ignore it. He grabs Skav by the shoulders, trying to stop their frantic motions. “Stop. You need to stop. It’s okay.” One of his hands reaches up to rest against their jaw, the other clamping around their wrist. His lips try to curve into a reassuring smile, and he hopes it doesn’t look too manic. It takes no small amount of effort to heave the words from his mouth, and even then, they sound like a lie. He doesn’t know if it’s going to be okay. He doesn’t know what Arya was capable of. He doesn’t know what to do. “Look at me, look at me. You’ve gotta stop, alright? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Violence is about the only thing Blue understands these days, though he doubts hitting Skav would be a good idea. If it made things worse… he just might have to wash his hands of this business. He wants to help them, he really does, but it's something easier said than done. He’d only ever have to deal with his brother’s bad trips - tainted LSD, expired mushrooms. This… this was something else entirely. He’s seen his fair share of blood and broken bones, knowing just what to do to mend such injuries, but whatever’s going on in Skav’s head right now is beyond his scope of knowledge. The best he can do is try and keep his voice even, calm them as much as he can, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always the option to knock them out cold.

“It’s okay, big guy. We can fix this.” Blue repeats again and again like a mantra, cupping the other’s face with both hands. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay’. For a moment, his smile falters. He suddenly looks lost, like the script in his head’s only run up to here. Can they fix this? Maybe if he keeps believing they can, but they’re not getting anywhere with how Skav was acting. The vodka certainly hadn’t done them any good. Maybe it was a bad idea to let them drink after the whole fiasco back at Quincy’s. Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut, none of this would’ve happened. Numerous possibilities whirred through his head in a flurry of dizzying motion, but then he suddenly remembers the task at hand. There were better things to worry about than what he could’ve done. “Hey, listen. She can’t do anything to us, yeah? We’re gonna be fine, but you need to calm down. Just… breathe.”

---

---

Skav stared ahead blindly, now wordless and instead too desolate of air to even react to Blue's cooing. How foolish they were, to forget how to breathe, to forget an essential to living, how wondrously idiotic they could become. It was so impossible to even grasp at the idea of simply being when their mind was filled to the brim with memories. Idly, they saw Blue's confusion, Blue's concern, and struggled to not worry them any further. They had an explanation, they just couldn't give it; it was extremely difficult to speak when you couldn't breathe, after all.

Once upon a time, Skav happened upon a homeless veteran in the streets of San Manzano. They passed by at first with only a simple nod and the slip of a dollar, but the man was oddly unresponsive to Skav's pity. This stranger stared ahead, blind, in a mist of something like nostalgia but much more deadly. It took them a moment to realize the man was suffocating on his own useless lungs, panicking at the sight of something invisible, something that happened once before in their life. Without much else to do, Skav waited for the man to come down from their breathlessness, apathetic and curious, and from there they discovered a new illness-- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. To put a scientific word to their demons was grounding, even if it could be a misdiagnosis. Perhaps it would hold the same affect for Blue, who was clinging to words and touch alone while Skav was grasping for air.

It wasn't impossible to come back from an attack alone. Skav had practiced it many times when sleepless nights caught up to them. Repeating words to themself helped, nice words, forgettable words, over and over and over again until they lost meaning and Skav focused more on remembering what that word was then the storm of memory that thundered through their mind. Pinches to bare skin, drinking, and laying outside under the starless night were all scenarios that had helped them in the past, but Blue was here now. None of those practices will work. Find something new. Their mind whispered, something out of routine. Something grounding. Okay it's okay it's okay it's okay. Skav shudders, sucking in a shaking breath and sighing it out in a hot gust. Blue's eyes bore into their's, dark and stormy. 'It's okay, it's okay, it's okay', he said.

"She'll. Hurt. You." Skav wheezed back.

'Love your neighbor as yourself.' Mark 12:31. Skav faltered, shoulders drooping as the verse twisted in their mind. Killing is something they had tried to stray away from, because it was wrong to draw blood. Sure, they fought, they were aggressive and sharp and ready to defend, but they never wanted to kill. They breathed violence, but never enough to murder. And yet... They partook in the downfall of this man in front of them. Skav brought shaky hands up to rest on Blue's, lifeless and cold. They clung to his fingers as he cradled their face and breathed in another long, shaky sigh. There was warmth here, life. Blood and soul. Drugs and sex. Blue Blue Blue Blue. Skav could see the torture now, Arya's flawless smile and dainty hands wrapped tight around Blue's throat. Needles upon needles of poison and antidote. A snake mask, lifeless and cold.

Skav shook like mad and squeezed their eyes shut, whispering, "She'll find you, she'll find you. I'm sorry, Blue." They wanted, for once, to cry, to dispel all these awful emotions, but no tears came. They breathed in again, and then out.

They couldn't live if they couldn't breathe, and they couldn't find more reasons to live if they were dead. Skav tried to push down the dread in their chest, to clear their head, to just be, but it was hard. Fingers tightened around Blue's, clammy and shaky and clueless, and Skav tried again. In and out. They focused on the man's voice and breathed, in and out. They opened their eyes to stare ahead and breathed, in and out. They felt the invisible hands on their head, on their throat, on their body fade and breathed. In. And. Out.

"Blue." Skav rasped, and they sucked in one large gulp of air and held it. The panic passed and, suddenly, they were exhausted. Free, free, free, but exhausted. Who knew clinging to life could take so much out of someone. Their fingers slipped, curling into fists at their side, and in a hollow voice they commanded, "Let go of me." Not waiting to be gently released, Skav pulled back out of their hands and rubbed at their sweat-shiny face, searching for words but finding only mouthfuls of blessed life. Their lungs ached with each swell, and they just wanted to lean back and sleep off the remaining tremors of fear.

"This... This is what she did to me." Skav leveled their gaze with Blue, feeling cold and empty, "She broke me." Broken. Like an old toy, broken. Ripped apart, sewn back together, ripped apart again. Skav pushes back the rising bile as they remembered the night Arya compared them to a bunny, no, a hare. Quick to run, easily snapped. заяц. They pressed a finger to their temple, then put it to their pulse to feel an erratic heart beat, which they silently willed to slow down. It took them a moment to notice the blood currently crusting under their nails, and another to realize they had formed new scratches around the old scars on their right arm. They saw blood and winced, but curiously felt no pain, no sickness, nothing.

Feeling would return in the morning.

Skav scooted back until their back hit the couch, and then they slowly rose up onto it, laying face first on the lumpy cushions. Now devoid of energy, they waved a single hand to the bare bed on the other end of the room and turned their head to stare out at Blue. "Sleep." They whispered, "In the morning-- I'll be fine in the morning." They didn't say 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry', but they did think it. Over and over and over again. And then they thought of nothing. Sleep hit them like a truck, and suddenly, they were gone. Motionless. Dreamless. Asleep.

---

---

---

---

The words seem to catch in his throat like invisible fishhooks. He’d never seen Skav like this - their usual composure shattering into a thousand jagged fragments. A voice at the back of his mind screams at him to stop, to leave before he cuts himself on the razor-sharp pieces of something irrevocably broken; yet against every fibre of instinct, Blue holds on. Yes, Skav’s breakdown was a storm, a buzzing, electric current of fear and panic, freezing winds that sliced at your skin with every gust, but the safest place to be in a storm was right in the center of it. He’s quiet now, though - frantic attempts at offering refuge giving way to silence. Blue wants to think that it’s what’s best for Skav, that it’s better to just keep his mouth shut and wait till the worst has passed, but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. What could he say, in a situation like this?

With every word that Skav manages to force past their lips, Blue feels an icy sense of unease begin to claw its way up the notches of his spine. If ‘Arya’ already knew they were in San Marzano… No, he doesn’t want to think about think about that; doesn’t want to think about how a mere recollection was enough to do this to Skav. But the question here was: just what is he supposed to be afraid of? Fear can be useful - he of all people should know - but fear of the unknown would ultimately commend itself as a devastating weapon. It was what kept him awake at night, why his heart starts to pound whenever a door is left ajar. Most days, Blue’s paranoia is unfounded - a rat scurrying around behind the drywall instead of bloodstained intent. Skav was different; they’ve always been solid, constant and unwavering in their apathy, but now, they’re just… not.

“Hey-” When Blue finally finds his voice again, it’s much too late. Skav is pulling away from him, a light sheen of sweat visible on their hairline. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, just listens to what the other has to say. Blue has had his fair share of adversary, sure, but he was lucky enough to have a brother who’d kept him off the streets - alive. He didn’t cut him with knives, cuff him to a fence, or pump him full of poison. He might’ve given him that initial push, but he didn’t break him, no. Blue did this all by himself. He was the one that’d made the decision to dive headfirst into the toxic underbelly of San Marzano. Skav, on the other hand, it seemed they never had the luxury of choosing.

That’s why he doesn’t press any further. Their words, quiet as they were, held the solemn, booming finality of an ‘Amen’. As far as anyone’s concerned, this conversation was over, and Blue wasn’t about to cross a line so clearly drawn. Part of him is afraid of he might end up saying. Violence is what he’s accustomed to - loud, rough words to ward off anyone who gets too close, teeth tearing at skin and flesh. Then there’s the opposite, too - whispered promises and roguish smirks that always leave his customers wanting more. But right now, neither approach would do him any good. Pry too much, and even the most patient snap. So it’s all he can do to back off, jaw set, crown dipping in an almost mechanical nod.

“Right. Sleep.” Blue drags a hand down the side of his face, and draws into his lungs a trembling breath. He doesn’t miss Skav’s gesture towards the other side of the room, but he’d never liked sleeping in beds. Years ago, when he still lived with his mother, the bathroom was the only place he could get any sleep, the only room with a lock on the door, the only place that made him feel safe. Up till now, the habit persists, having taken root in his psyche like a viral infection. A little unsteadily, he climbs back onto his feet, pushing past the sudden wave of vertigo that hits him. Blue feels like he wants, no, needs to say something, but when he tries, the words seem to die in his throat. Instead, he just shoots one last look at Skav before retreating to a dusty, little corner of the apartment. He ends up with his back snug against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest.

It's still raining, he notices, and it isn’t long before consciousness starts slipping away.

---

When he wakes up, it feels like he never even fell asleep. Outside, the sun is already shining, burning a hole in the atmosphere. Blue finds himself curled on the floor, his left hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt. For a long moment, he doesn’t get up, gaze sliding towards the figure lying on the couch. The sight makes him furrow his brow. Skav? What were they doing here? His memories are still dark at the edges, yet to be illuminated by the morning sun. There’s a dull, throbbing pain that lingers near the base of his skull, and every last square inch of his body ached with scars both old and new. On the floor next to him, lies a bloodied piece of cloth. Subconsciously, he brings a hand up to his jugular, touching fingers to the still-healing cut there. As soon as he touches it, the side of his neck flares with pain. That’s when memories of the night before start trickling in, slowly at first, and then all at once. The bar, the Bomber, everything. Pushing himself upright, he shifts his attention to the only other person in the apartment.

He’s not sure when it started, but they’ve long since fallen into the habit of not letting each other die. There’s nothing noble about it, Blue thinks. It’s blood, stitches, car chases, and the two of them scraping through by the skin of their teeth on a weekly basis. Maybe that’s how it has to be, here in San Marzano, caught between an endless war of Bomber versus Razor.

Then, just like that, something in his brain clicks. What if they just… left? It almost seemed like San Marzano itself was saturated with drugs, violence, and bloodshed, so deeply ingrained that it exerted an unseeable, oppressive force over its denizens. It’s true that he’d grown up here, but San Marzano has always been a shithole, and he had little love for it, if any at all. Of course, this isn’t the first time he’d thought about leaving. Just that the prospect of riding cross-country on a twitchy, little motorbike didn’t seem like the best idea. But now, he didn’t have to, did he? With the Qrow, both of them could get out of here for good. And after that, it’s just a matter of keeping each other alive - which he supposed was the hard part.

Sighing, Blue cards fingers through his hair in a fruitless attempt to work out the knots. If they were really going to do this, they had to do it quick. From the looks of it, ‘Arya’ was getting dangerously close to finding Skav; and part of him wants to leave as soon as possible. If they waited any longer… he’s scared might end up changing his mind again.

Sometimes it’s better to run and hide than face your demons.

Blue pads across the room, coming to a stop right next to the couch. He reaches out to place a hand on Skav’s shoulder, but stops halfway. Even unconscious, they look troubled, like their mind was a prison instead of somewhere they could seek refuge. He withdraws his hand after that, seemingly deciding against touching them.

“Hey, wake up.” Blue murmurs, then repeats it again, a little louder this time. When he’s sure Skav has regained a reasonable degree of consciousness, there’s a moment of hesitation before he speaks again, but his words are said with a near-manic earnest, like he had to force himself into believing in them. “We can leave, you know? San Marzano. We can get out of here and no one would know.”

Skav’s sleep was dreamless, thankfully. Perhaps God was offering them a break, giving them a sweet few hours of rest in exchange for the night of panic and fear He had put them through already. So the night passed on aimlessly, without even the slightest hint of an image slicing through Skav’s mind, and then suddenly they were awake and staring blankly at the stained cushion of the back of the couch. They didn’t dare move, too stunned by the fact that they were not in their own bed for a moment. The anxiety spurred along with the weight of an awful, awful hangover and Skav swallowed down a wish to vomit as their eyes drifted upwards and focused on the familiar, bare ceiling of their apartment. Something heavy settled on their chest and, slowly, they realized it was relief. Relief that they were home, relief that the sun was out. Relief that, somehow, they managed to keep the contents of their stomach down and hold onto their sanity long enough to school their exhausted expression into one of apathy.

And then there was a noise.

Shuffling. Fabric against plaster. Feet on cold hardwood floor. Skav held their breath and slowly tipped their face back towards the cushion, squeezing their eyes shut as a presence moved towards them. There was a long moment of complete silence-- no. Nothingness, not silence. Skav could hear the person breathing, hear them shifting, hear them thinking. The endless minute swelled within them as they struggled to figure out a plan of attack of escape. Skav’s knife was not on their body, and there were no weapons hidden under the cushion before them. They remembered a vodka bottle from last night was nearby but had no clue how far it could have rolled away during the passing hours. The seconds of thought finally melted away to a feeling of pure confusion as the figure behind them whispered,

“Hey, wake up.”

Familiarity swarmed them like a wave, crashing upon Skav’s frantic mind with enough force to knock the wind from their lungs. They shifted once, blinking away the haze of adrenaline, but they were once again plunged into uncertainty when that near-manic voice above them began speaking of leaving. Running away. Running away. Skav let out a soft, shallow breath and shifted once more, sitting up as slowly as humanly possible in order to avoid getting sick all over their friend.

There was something odd about the way Blue rambled. Skav’s head tilted once, blinking slow as they processed his words again. Leaving San Marzano… Could it be so easy? Skav hadn’t really thought about it before…. Before--

Memories of last night’s meltdown flashed before their eyes. Arya’s name was scribbled on the back of their eyelids as they blinked rapidly and, after glancing down at their arms, reopened scars were sluggishly forming scabs in order to avoid infection. That's right.
Arya was in San Marzano, and she was looking for them. Skav AND Blue, now that he knew basically everything. If they stayed in one place for too long, if they stayed in the city for too long, they were bound to be found. They were basically already dead.

“Dear God.” Skav mumbled, rubbing their arms slowly, feeling each bump and memory beneath their fingertips in order to stay grounded. Arya was near, their mind wanted to cry, but they had to stay focused. Skav had no wish to go through another crack in their facade, especially around someone who was suddenly offering a brilliant idea.

“Leave… Leaving San Marzano.” Skav repeated, lifting a thumb to the bottom of their lip and pressing lightly. It was an oddly human gesture for them and led to a thoughtful expression that was often hidden behind a veil of feathers and red glass. “The Qrow is a good car if you didn’t completely trash it last night-- it could carry us for a good few states. We’d have to go today, and stock up on shit here or on the road. Yes, yeah…”

They stood suddenly, staring out at the glistening sunlight of the west coast. A future they hadn’t noticed was laying out there in the world. Hope. The Lord was offering Skav a friend to finally watch their back and a way out, and they crossed themself silently before turning to stare down at Blue with their usual apathetic stare but it slowly split into a half-inspired smirk, “You are a genius, snake. An absolute genius.”

And then they were off towards the kitchen, stumbling across the floor on unsteady feet as their hangover fought against their every move. They paused for a moment next to the sink, groaning as bile filled their throat and then subsided with the loss of motion, and after the feeling to be sick passed Skav moved and began throwing open cabinets. Nonperishable foods sat in most of them-- cans of beans and soups that were so ignored that they appeared dusty in the slanting afternoon light. A whole three shelves of these cabinets were filled with boxes of various pasta and Skav muttered something about “donations” before they began placing the goods onto the counter.

“I have some things here already-- food and a shit ton of old vodka and wine.” They pulled a few dozen plastic bags from below the sink and began piling in boxes and cans and bottles, eyes zipping from counter to the rest of the room quickly, “And besides that I don’t have much to pack. If we--if we are actually doing this Blue, together, then what would we need to get from your place?” They turned quick and met Blue’s stare expectantly, looking a bit manic themself from the entire idea of getting the hell out of dodge.

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Blue can’t help but let out a scoff, shaking his head in mock disbelief. He suddenly feels the need to point out how he isn’t that bad a driver - besides, he wasn’t the one who’d managed to get themselves roofied by a couple of Bombers - but the urge quickly vanishes when Skav gets up from their spot on the couch to make a beeline for the kitchen. He follows behind them like a shadow, partly because he’s curious, but also because they looked about as steady as a toddler hopped up on NyQuil. If they do end up tripping over their own feet, he wants to make sure that they didn’t crack their skull open on the kitchen counter. For a moment, he just watches Skav extricate a seemingly infinite number of canned goods from every nook and cranny. Just how long could these things last? Blue picks up one of the dust-covered cans, and turns it over to read the label. “Corn chowder.” He arches a quizzical eyebrow, pursing his lips a little. Just how long did these things last? Some of the labels were so faded that he could barely tell what they were. “These’ll be good for the road if they haven’t already gone rank.”

With all this, they’d be set for a month, at least. Blue helps with the packing, lugging a plastic bag filled with provisions off to the side to make room. Still, they wouldn’t be able to live off canned food forever - they needed money. He doesn’t have much, of course, having spent most of it in pursuit of his next high, but he did have a few stacks of tens and twenties hidden away at his place. Briefly, his thoughts flicker back to the Interceptor. It’s been with him through thick and thin, salvaged from the chopping block of, well… a chop shop. He’s already lost count of how many times it had gotten him out of a too-tight scrape, weaving through alleys and sideroads like a jackrabbit fleeing from a coyote. Now, however, he had to face the possibility of leaving it behind. Two vehicles meant twice the gas, and that was a problem. But Blue just pushes the thought to the back of his mind, trusting that he’ll make the right choice when it actually came down to it. After all, there were other things to worry about - like getting the hell out of San Marzano.

“Uh, yeah. I got some cash at my apartment.” Blue doesn’t bother to mention the stash of coke and molly he has squirrelled away in his freezer - the last thing he needed was another lecture about the horrors of drug use. “You wanna get the rest of your shit? I’ll just get dressed and take these to the Qrow, then you can drive me to my place.”

Blue makes for the bathroom, picking up the pieces of clothing he’d left discarded on the floor last night. They smell a little musty, still slightly damp from getting soaked through with rainwater, but they’d have to do. His t-shirt had taken the brunt of the damage, a large, brick red stain clearly visible against the grey fabric. Instead of putting it back on, he just dumps it on the floor, shrugging his jacket on over Skav’s shirt, and frowns when he sees himself in the grimy bathroom mirror. There’s a new, jagged rip across the sleeve of his jacket, almost like a Medal of Honor, a brand new battle scar to add to the collection. He feels like he should be proud, somehow - but for what? Stabbing the life out of someone just to survive? His entire existence has been built on the back of bloodshed, and this hole in his jacket was nothing but an inconvenience.

After that, he doesn’t see fit to linger a second more, fishing both Skav’s and his own knives out of the sink, and heads back outside to the kitchen. “Your knife, Sasquatch.” Blue drawls, holding it out for Skav as he passes them. Then, he grabs two provision-filled plastic bags in each hand, hoisting them off the floor with a rather unflattering grunt. His mind is running a million miles an hour, countless thoughts bleeding together into a single, shapeless blur. There were too many things to do, and not enough time. But instead of panicking, he just… carries on. With an almost single-minded purpose, pausing to lace up his boots, and makes his way out of the apartment, down the stairs to where he’d left the Qrow parked last night. The key to the Qrow - he should probably return that soon - is still tucked away in his back pocket, and he uses it to unlock the trunk, dumping the bags inside.

“You ready?” Blue calls when he stomps back into the apartment, a little too excited. San Marzano has left him with a patchwork of bruises and scars, but that’s not it. There’s a constant ache deep inside his bones, a cold weight dragging him down. And now, they were finally going to get out of here. It doesn’t feel real. For so long, he’d thought about leaving the city, but there was nothing for him out there, nowhere for him to go. Things are different now, a streak of neon that cuts through the darkness. Maybe they’d actually be able to make it. No one outside of San Marzano knew about him, or the Razors, for that matter. A new life… God, Blue feels like a kid again just thinking it. But he doesn’t want to get too far ahead of himself, not when there was still a chance for everything to go to shit. Schooling his emotions the best he can, Blue grabs another plastic bag, using his free hand to pass Skav their car keys. “Don’t know if you still remember, but my place is just a couple blocks down from The Grotto. Shouldn’t take long.”

“They’re nonperishable, snake. They won’t be going bad anytime soon.” Skav shook a particularly old can of clam chowder in Blue’s face, expression one of schooled nothingness. Mentally, they were ringing church bells and dancing through meadows. They were seeing a future and holding onto it tightly, hoping, hoping to actually experience it and see it. A future with the Qrow, a future with a manic Blue, a future with the sky above them clear of smog and full of music and life and God. It was an intoxicating vision. Skav never imagined that they could ever have a life outside of this mask and this city ever since Arya ruined them, but now it all seemed to make sense. Running again-- why had the thought never crossed their mind? As Skav packed away more boxes and cans and bottles into plastic bags, they stole glances at Blue, committing the details of this man to memory once more.

It was hard to remember that they were younger than the boy when he was a solid five foot six and emotional.

Skav was, in age, still a child. They hadn’t even hit twenty yet and here they were, downing alcohol almost every night and committing gang atrocities. Was there anything else teenagers did? Skav couldn’t remember what a normal life was like, really. Most teens were not often packing up to get out of town because their sister was a sociopath bent on killing secrets. Some would be in college, pursuing higher education, and others would be finding an honest living elsewhere. Skav tried to imagine themself as a student, sitting in a class with books bought by their mother and father and learning about the human psyche with a few dozen other listeners. It wasn’t realistic in the slightest, but it was still something to think about. Skav shoved the image in the back of their mind for later dissection as they grabbed hold of the remaining few plastic bags and moved them closer to the door.

They turned slowly, fully intent to start working on packing away the few belongings that were scattered across the room, and nodded as Blue went off to collect his own belonging from the bathroom. Skav really didn’t have much to pack besides food and a few colorful sweaters-- when they first ran away they had nothing but the clothes on their back and their father’s stolen (or, perhaps at that point, inherited), and now everything seemed to be the same.

Feet drifted aimlessly across hard floor, digging into the pile of clothes Skav left in front of the bathroom silently. There were only two that weren’t bloodstained, and the rest had gone ratty and dull with age and experience. They folded the sweaters slowly, appreciating the heavy fabric they bore, and passed them to the side, thinking hard about what else they would really need. Their knife was--

Skav nearly clocked Blue when they felt the swish of wind and suddenly saw the flash of metal, but their feathers smoothed at the familiar glint of the multicolored butterfly knife. ”Thank you.” They mumbled, slipping the knife into their back pocket smoothly. Watching Blue walk off, Skav suddenly remembered the cash they had stashed beneath their mattress. As the boy left their apartment with a few bags, they wandered over and shoved the thick futon up, staring down at the three stacks of bills that had been pressed tight under pressure. There should be about three thousand dollars there, saved up from both honest work and gang mission

s. It wasn’t much for the grand journey they were about to take, but Skav figured it wouldn’t hurt. They gathered up the cash and moved back towards the pile of clothes to readjust their binder and sweater. The money was tucked between their chest and the tight material, and after taking a deep breath Skav decided, instead, to wrap the cash up within one of their two sweaters. Nothing else of value came to mind, and by the time Blue reappeared in the apartment they were all set with another couple plastic bags in hand and their mask (quickly and horribly washed) back on their head.

”I remember. Let’s go.” They gathered up the keys and trekked back down on to the street. The Qrow sat pretty and pristine as always, glittering in the San Marzano sun for the last time. Skav couldn’t help but smirk at the car as they popped open the trunk and pushed the multiple bags into the empty space. ”As soon as we’re done at your place we are out, capiche? No coming back…” Again, a thrill spilled through their body, shaking them to the core, and it grew into a symphony of hope as Skav slipped into the driver’s seat and the engine roared to life.

They were going to be out of this city, out of Arya’s hands, in only a matter of hours. Hope was loud and swelling, and Skav wanted to hold on to it as much as they could.

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Blue only pulls his mask on when they get back downstairs. The first thing he notices when he steps outside is the heat - a thick, humid curtain between his skin and the latex of his mask, but he doesn’t mind. Behind the mask, no one knows who he really is. This hissing, green facade of a cobra spoke of scales and cold blood, of sharp teeth and even sharper knives. Without it, he feels weak, vulnerable. There’s a fine line separating Blue of the 33rd Street Razors and plain ol’ Blue; so tenuous that sometimes, even he can’t tell the two apart. As the latter, he always feels a need to run, both metaphorically and literally. He hides from people, things, himself. Whether Blue finds himself burning rubber on the Interceptor, or at the end of a needle, he’s always running from something.

He’s doing it again now, of course. Running. But seeing the shiny, black chassis of the Qrow… it gave him the feeling that he actually had something to hope for. Here in the sun, the looming, amorphous threat of ‘Arya’ almost seemed to evaporate into nothing. For the first time in his life, he’ll get to see what lies beyond the craggy skyline of San Marzano. No longer would he be running for the sake of running, endlessly chasing the electric burn of adrenaline through his veins. Their decision to leave was impulsive, spur of the moment; now that they were actually doing it, however, it seemed like there was never any other option. Leaving won’t solve their problems, not permanently, anyway. But if nothing else, maybe a change of scenery was what they needed to start building a new existence.

Before he can venture any further down the rabbit hole, the sweltering heat pulls Blue’s thoughts back to the present. He hears what Skav says, and snorts, walking round to the passenger side of the car. If Skav thought he wanted to stay in this place any longer than they did… “Yeah, yeah. I don’t need you to tell me that. We’ll be outta here before the sun sets.”

The interior of the Qrow feels like an oven, warmed by golden rays of sun. Blue starts to sweat the moment he climbs into the car, and he has to roll the windows down to allow some form of air ventilation. He probably should’ve seen it coming - leaving the Qrow parked under the blazing sun for so long - but he hadn’t anticipated packing his bags, and skipping town. He’d expected to go back to his shitty apartment, his shitty life, to pretend like nothing ever happened. It’d only be far too easy for him to keep his mouth shut, and let Skav deal with their own problems themselves. The devil you know was, after all, better than the devil you don’t. He knew San Marzano as well as the back of his hand, and he grew up here. He knew how to survive here, even managed carved out a little niche for himself amongst the denizens of this city. Just below the surface of his skin, he feels a skittering sensation, something strange and unfamiliar. Nerves?

...No, he knows what it is. The chill in his bones, and the phantom taste of bile creeping up his throat. Abruptly, his thoughts snap back to the stash he had stowed away back home. No longer was he thinking of the future; instead, he was thinking of what he had to do now. When was the last time he got his fix? Yesterday? The day before? He wasn’t thinking, was he - when he came up with this “brilliant” plan? Blue doesn’t even realise he’s grinding his teeth together until he hears the Qrow roar to life, but the low, rumbling noise of an idle engine that follows is a welcome distraction. He’s grateful for the mask, too. With some effort, he’s able to quash the rising nausea, palms growing clammy with sweat. By the time the car finally starts moving, he’s back to his usual self. He knows that sooner or later, he’d have to deal with this, but now, there’s something more deserving of his attention, and that was getting out of San Marzano for good.

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“You wanna make a left here.” Blue reminds, leaning forward in his seat as they approach their destination. Both sides of the street are lined by brick buildings, faded graffiti spreading across the walls like lichen. He notes that the neighbourhood looks even uglier in the day than it does at night. Without darkness to provide cover, all its flaws stick out like a sore thumb - cracked asphalt, broken windows. But really, he doesn’t spend much time home, anyway. Blue only comes back here when he absolutely needs to, though he supposes this is one of those times.

When the Qrow pulls up to the curb, Blue doesn’t waste any time in climbing out, booted feet landing on the asphalt with a muffled thud. It takes him awhile to shimmy open the front door of the apartment block, its rusted hinges giving off a loud screech of protest when he finally manages to do so. Suffice to say, the interior isn’t a pretty sight. There’s wallpaper peeling off the walls, a roach hurriedly scurrying into a too-wide gap between floor panels, and the staircase leading up to the second and third floors look to be about two seconds away from falling apart. “Watch your step. Some piece of shit threw up on the stairs last Tuesday.” Blue drawls, and makes a vague flapping gesture with his right hand for emphasis. There’s a pause as he remembers the incident, lips pressing into a tight frown underneath the latex of his mask. “Took me forever to get that shit off my shoes.”

Apartment 3-A. Blue fishes a single key from his back pocket, and slides it into the surprisingly new lock on the door. Thankfully, the door to Blue’s apartment opens a little easier, though he does have to put in a little elbow grease to force it closed again. “Make yourself at home - just don’t touch the mold on that wall over there. It can sense human life.”

The first place he heads for is the ratty, old mattress carelessly shoved in the corner of the room. Blue’s switchblade flicks open with a quiet ‘snikt!’, and he slices a line down the side of the mattress. He manages to extract a few stacks of tens and twenties from it. Then, he heads for the kitchenette, pulling out empty jars and cereal boxes. It’s no surprise that Blue has money squirrelled away in every little nook and cranny of the apartment. In the end, Blue scrounges up about as much as Skav had, dumping handfuls of loose, crumpled bills on the kitchen counter. “Think this’ll be enough?” He asks without looking at Skav, brushing past them to gather up whatever he could fit into a plastic bag. He doesn’t have much - a few t-shirts, ripped jeans, a half-empty bottle of perfume he’d snatched from the drugstore. But there's one last thing that he absolutely couldn’t forget. From the depths of his freezer, he retrieves a ziploc bag containing two syringes and something wrapped in aluminium foil. It ends up going in the bag along with all his clothes.

When he finally finds everything he needs, Blue returns to where Skav is, holding one plastic bag in his hand, and another, smaller bag cradled under his arm - the one with the money. “We’re doing this for real, right?”