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“I’m tired.”
Pausing in the middle of the snow-encased street, Banhammer glances back at him, an exasperated furrow to his thick brows.
Medkit stares back, unable to help the hollowness of his expression.
They’ve been walking through Blackrock for about an hour now, searching for a cab in order to get back to Medkit’s apartment. The air pricks at their skin with how frigid it is. Icy winds whips the free strands of Medkit’s ponytail around his head in a frenzy; Banhammer’s own locs blow away from his face, where that strong forehead that he’s flicked so many times is furrowed, that strong nose he’s pinched and nuzzled against in the moments of vulnerability he can count on one hand.
Those sharp, deep-set eyes he’s stared into during pensive arguments and throes of passion, and those lips that twitch downward, lips that he’s stared at multiple times, bitten into many more, and—
And kissed.
Then those lips open, and out comes the familiar words of dismissive insistence. “Don’t be a wuss, Meds, come on! The countdown’s gonna start in a couple minutes, ain’t it? Worst case scenario, we just gotta run over to ‘yer little shack and everything’ll be right as rain.”
Medkit closes his eyes, removes that familiar yet so distant face from his vision, and sighs slowly through his nose. His body deflates with the movement. His mind quiets. Exhaustion that seems to only exist mentally in his mind digs deeper into him, fraying him at his edges.
A moment of silence passes. He feels Banhammer’s presence come closer, hear those ridiculously tall combat boots he insists on wearing crunch against built up snow. White noise seems to buzz between his ears. It grows louder with each second, as the noises of civilization around him quiets to a mere rumble.
“...I said I’m tired.”
“Okay, and I heard ‘ya the first time. C’mon, if we hurry, we’ll make it!”
An impossibly cold hand grabs his own. A pained look flashes across Medkit’s face as his eye slips open, staring down at their intertwined hands. It feels like he’s being burned where he and Banhammer touch. It takes one, two, three tugs forward before he’s yanking his hand away, stumbling forward a bit while Banhammer pauses and blinks back at him with those wide, stupidly clueless eyes of his.
Medkit wishes he hadn’t bared his eyes this night. He doesn’t want to see what kind of expression Banhammer can make in the face of what he is about to say.
“Listen to me.” Medkit relents after a few moments of stiff silence, his voice strained and threadbare, but he can't find it in himself to continue.
His gaze instead flickers over Banhammer. The horrendously short white shirt he insisted on wearing that barely covers his burly figure. The yellow bomber jacket around his shoulders, a jacket Medkit himself personally helped to pick out, and the necklace-appearing collar Banhammer never seemed to wear after that last time.
Those gold chains; they match the golden watch on his wrist, adorned with diamonds around the rim. Further up to his shaking hands which would’ve been covered with mittens akin to paws had Banhammer not been vehemently against wearing them.
It’s as if fate had decided to place the memories of them right in front of his face, burning into his eye, tearing into his already worn-down mind. He remembers the emotions that came with all of it.
The exasperation he felt whenever Banhammer wore the same brand of shirt, specifically picked at the same length, for a minimum of four days. The mild amusement that overcame him when Banhammer showed off the yellow bomber jacker in the store around four or five Christmas’s ago, the demon rattling off all the reasons he should buy it even without being told a word of discouragement. The pride when Banhammer asked for his opinion on which watch to buy, the minutes he waited to calm the thudding of his heart in order to reply without the slip of a pleased curl to his lips or a lofty tone.
The uncontainable desire to fulfill his own interests when he purchased that necklace and offered it to Banhammer with no explanation, only to crack whatever feeble trust Banhammer might’ve put into him with his own actions.
Too many memories. Too many emotions. Too many reminders to what they had and were before life decided to screw them over. And over. And over and over and over until it just wasn’t fair anymore.
It’s a miracle the mittens hadn’t been worn. Medkit doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle seeing Banhammer adorned with the latest gift Medkit bestowed him a few weeks ago. It might’ve broken his resolve and dragged it across the snow, something that has happened far too many times for him to tolerate anymore.
Medkit glances up at Banhammer. Banhammer meets his gaze, face painted over with impatience and confusion.
“This... this shouldn’t go on.”
The confusion on Banhammer’s face increases. Medkit forces himself to continue despite the nausea welling up inside of him, to drag out the thoughts that have been tormenting him for deities know how long.
He inhales the icy air, lets his hollow gaze look over the festive lights surrounding them. The people shouldering past them, some with lovers, some with family, and some without. Energy buzzes all around them, everyone awaiting with bated breath for a new beginning, a fresh start to life.
Medkit supposes he’s about to take his first step towards one as well.
“Perhaps the timing isn’t the best. I could’ve waited longer. Tolerated a little more. Maybe this would’ve worked out if I held on.”
Ten, nine, eight.
The chanting of voices echo in the background, ringing in Medkit’s ears. He sees the first crack in Banhammer’s expression. Denial.
“…I’m being silly, aren’t I? It’s been more than five years. If anything was destined to work out, it shouldn’t take so… so long. Get so… so bad.”
Seven, six, five.
“I’ve never felt so held down in my life. So… restrained. Caged? Blackrock, Lost temple, and whatever the hell is going on with the deities; everything seems to stand against me. I—I don’t even believe we stand with each other, do we?”
The lights amid the city all shut off, leaving them in complete and utter darkness. Medkit takes in a deep breath, finally able to hold Banhammer’s gaze.
His shaken, utterly disbelieving gaze.
Four, three two.
“Medkit—"
“—I’m tired... Tired of us.”
One.
An explosion of lights shoots into the sky with a thunderous bang. The cheers of the people deafen the ears of all around. Every clock announces the coming of a new year.
And amidst all this, the two of them stand. Emotions work their way across Banhammer’s illuminated face, shifting from denial to shock then something somewhere in the middle as if he cannot comprehend the words that came out of Medkit’s mouth.
Well, Medkit supposes that isn’t his problem. He said what he had to say. Whether Banhammer accepts such words or not doesn’t affect what he intends to do.
Medkit sighs, the knot in his chest somewhat loosened.
“…I will no longer reside in Lost Temple anymore nor Crossroads. Save the effort and do not look for me.”
Then, with a final, long look at Banhammer – who wavers so precariously where he stands, it’s a surprise he hasn’t fallen over yet – Medkit says, “Thank you. For your time. And... and for refusing to arrest me despite my insistence… I suppose this is where we part ways. Goodbye, Banhammer.”
And it is as he is walking away that Medkit wishes his last memory of the warden hadn’t been one of a scrunched up face and clenched fists, a tense jaw and hopelessly confused eyes. He never wanted to see those eyes. Never wanted to see what rejection would look like on Banhammer’s face. But what has been done is done, so he ignores the unsteady crunch of boots against snow behind him. Pays no mind to the booming call of his name, the way that familiar voice nearly cracks near the end from what could be fury or frustration.
He keeps his gaze facing forward and continues his way towards the crowd of demons cheering and hollering and celebrating, his shoulders lighter. His eye flicks up at the giant fireball blazing atop the massive tree and reflecting its glow.
A new start, huh? Doesn’t sound half bad.
Fifteen years later.
Medkit’s doing better. He hasn’t completely separated himself from Lost Temple, but he has reduced his role to one of a simple supervisor, one that rarely requires his presence.
Acquaintances have come and gone.
Sword still clings to his side, and at some point in these fifteen years, Medkit had accepted the affections he drowned in, cradling the glass of Sword’s heart with steady hands. The odd pairing of Hyperlaser and Katana wormed their way into his circle as well, most probably due to their similar age and experiences. Though Medkit doesn’t hold them as closely as Sword, he accepts their companionship without much fuss.
He hasn’t married yet, despite having the time to. The idea is… in all honesty, appealing. He wouldn’t mind having someone to wake up next to. Someone to hold. Someone to hug to his chest and never allow to leave.
However, it’s apparent how much his earlier years affected him whenever he takes the time to know someone with the hopes of such intimacy. Most of his relationships were carefully deconstructed before anything could become of it, and Medkit doesn’t mind the fact at all, especially since most of them just didn’t feel right. While there were cracks and heavy fractures, there was no shattering. No broken shards spilled over his feet.
All in all, Medkit feels… okay.
And then he appears.
It’s a slow Wednesday morning when Medkit finds the mind to go grocery shopping again. After leaving the toil of work and repairing bits and pieces of his mental anguish, it seems his appetite has returned full-force. And because his curiosity is the one thing that never falters, Medkit takes the time to explore his new palate with open arms, finding enjoyment in trying new recipes, improving his skills in the kitchen.
He eats… well, he eats quite the embarrassing amount nowadays, so most of his groceries are bought in amounts that put a harsh dent in his bank account, but Medkit figures he might as well fulfill his stomach with all the bux he has to throw around.
He’s in the candy aisle, perusing the hard candies with a hefty bag of lollipops cradled in his arms, when he hears it.
“Look, I know you ain’t supposed ‘ta have too much sugar, but why don’t we get ourselves a little treat be’fer we head back, yeah? Don’t that sound like a good idea?”
An oddly... familiar voice? The hard clicking of thick-soled boots comes closer to him, echoed with the excited, somewhat boisterous cackle of a child. Medkit frowns in confusion at the familiarity of the voice, but merely shifts to the side in case he’s in the way, his attention turning back to the candies.
“Alright, sweetheart, which one ‘ya want? Go on and grab one, then we’ll get the hell outta here.”
Lighter footsteps seem to barrel his way, and Medkit pauses at the child tumbling into his peripheral. A child – perhaps up to his hip, if not a little more – whom of which tugs out a bag of candy with surprising ferociousness and sends more bags dropping to the floor.
Blinking, the child pauses amid the mess. Then, glancing elsewhere, she stares at whoever must be walking up to them, and Medkit shakes his head with a huff, kneeling down to help pick up the bags one by one.
“Oi, oi, we got it! Don’t bother ‘yerself!” That familiar voice says hastily, “The hell you tearing out bags for, Spike? C’mon, you know how to pick up after yourself—”
The man goes quiet the moment Medkit looks up, and he finds himself staring at a child who’s picking up the spilled bags with an hefty, all too familiar jut of her lip.
Narrowed, starkly grey eyes flick towards him. Blue grey horns that are short, fierce spikes sit atop her head, one chipped at the top, said horns framed by especially wavy, dark hair tied into a pig-tail above her forehead. There are bandages on her visible arms and legs, as well as one large, white piece of gauze slapped onto her forehead, and the child carefully takes the candy bag in his hand with a murmur of thanks.
Four eyes.
Four eyes?
Medkit’s head snaps up so quickly, he nearly loses his balance, heart in his throat, expression shifting into a look of utter disbelief because there simply is no way that—
Banhammer.
Medkit stares at the demon in front of him from his crouched position, jaw slack, eye wide. The wall he had put up against the memories of the past begins to crack, and those four, deep-seated eyes he used to spend so much time looking into stare back pensively.
This demon; he looks... different. Startling so.
Locs that used to reach waist-length are now chopped and short, thick and curly near the ends. The start of a full beard lines a sharp jaw, neatly trimmed, and Banhammer, in general, seems to have grown burlier, the curvature of muscle along his upper body on full display due to the awfully – still awfully – short white shirt he adorns. And those jeans. Grey. Familiar.
“...Ah.” Is all Medkit manages to get out, still blinking up at demon before him, and just like that, memories of that night fifteen years ago flash through his head. The bustle of the city. The frigidness of the night. The chanting of the people and the words Medkit had forced from his chest.
The sheer disbelief that had been on Banhammer’s face.
Looking at the demon now, the mental conflict flashing across wary eyes, Medkit feels apprehension bubble away in his gut as he slowly stands to his feet, taking his basket with him as he goes.
“...Hello.”
Banhammer’s jaw works itself. Medkit spots the quick, pulsing motion of the demon’s fist before it falls stiff, eyes the way Banhammer glances at the child by Medkit’s feet and motions her over with a mere flick of his head.
With a curious glance at Medkit, the child Banhammer had referred to as Spike made her way over. Its then that Medkit realizes that there isn’t a similarity to be had save for the eyes, confused gaze flickering between the child and Banhammer who puts a hand on her head and murmurs something to her.
The child glances back at Medkit for a moment, something unnerving about how sharply those grey eyes render him, and then she’s hoisting the basket Banhammer hands her and scurrying out down the aisle.
“...I thought you said I’d never see you around these parts again.”
Without a moment to spare, Banhammer’s words throw them back fifteen years into the past, and Medkit cannot help but wince, the low, even volume of Banhammer’s voice, far more unreadable than anything he remembers hearing from the demon.
“I...” Medkit begins carefully as he wracks mind, rifles for something in his memories that may help him avoid saying the wrong thing. “...I suppose so.”
Banhammer’s stare bores into him, makes it feel like he’s being crushed into the ground instead of standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle. Medkit glances away for a moment before forcing himself to once again meet Banhammer’s unreadable gaze, swallowing nervously with a click.
It’s unnerving; how long Banhammer stays quiet.
A small part of his brain tells Medkit this isn’t normal. Questions why Banhammer isn’t blurting out the first thought that comes to mind, but why would he? Medkit may have known Banhammer fifteen years ago, but he definitely doesn’t know this demon. This... silent, somewhat contemplative demon supposedly with a child.
“...You look better.”
Medkit blinks in surprise. “Pardon?”
“Your eyebags,” Banhammer points out, slipping his hands into his pockets. He seems to heave with a barely audible sigh, eyes drifting away from Medkit, “ain’t as bad. You seem to have gotten better off after shoving everyone outta ‘yer life.”
Resentment subtly coats Banhammer’s tone, but its such a small amount that it confuses Medkit. Banhammer; he had been such a big feeler, hadn’t he? Blurting out opinions and jeers with barely a thought about the message he could be sending across, and it was nearly impossible to miss his current mood, his facial expressions as telling as they come.
“I...I suppose so?” Medkit finds himself repeating, frowning confusedly as Banhammer looks at him again and raises an single brow. “I mean, have you been... uh... you certainly look much... different.”
Curses.
Medkit fights the urge to backtrack, grip on the basket tightening.
“Different, huh?” Banhammer mutters, gaze drifting off. Unlike Medkit’s expectations, he doesn’t continue, eyes clouding over with thought before coming back into focus and flicking back to Medkit.
“You know, for the first couple of years, I thought of socking you in your face the moment we met again... Well, still do. But it—” Banhammer pauses then, his scowl deepening. “Never mind. I got someone waitin’ on me.”
Ah. The child.
An inkling of curiosity takes root in Medkit’s mind. He wishes – if not briefly – to inquire about the little demon he saw, but something in his gut tells him that would be like stepping on a landmine. A sensitive topic.
Banhammer was never one to share much about his personal life. Despite how long they’ve been separated, Medkit doesn’t think that has changed much, and he doesn’t want to make this encounter any more uncomfortable than it already is.
It’s a miracle Banhammer’s even bothering to exchange words right now, instead of socking Medkit as aforementioned. Medkit counts his blessings.
A tense silence envelops them. They stare at each other for a moment.
An emotion flashes across Banhammer’s face; something that has his brows furrowing and eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. Nose crinkling and face pinched. Whatever he is feeling – it isn’t good.
It’s a surprise when Banhammer merely sighs, running a hand through his hair, and turns on his heel. “I’m outta here.”
And Medkit – Medkit doesn’t know what encouraged his next few words. Perhaps it’s the novelty of seeing someone after more than a decade. Perhaps it’s his own selfishness – his own curiosity that many times becomes a curse – that has him saying these next few words.
“Ah, yes. I’ll... I’ll see you around?”
Banhammer glances back at his voice. He doesn’t smile nor frown. Scowl or laugh. He simply raises a brow and goes his way.
The sound of those shorter, more conventional combat boots click against the floor and ring through the aisle. Suddenly, the air seems far too cold. Yet Medkit cannot get over the feeling that something important - something that will most likely come around and tear into him later - just occurred. He doesn't know to feel about that. Rather not think about it, actually.
Medkit groans, dragging a hand over his face. Without a doubt, a smoke is in order, if not to calm the racing of his startled heart.