Don't Run from Me [Clockwise Dream]

''You know'', Samael said softly, closing his eyes as he did so in the attempt to gain some distance, for for all his anger, and courage, and need to know, he was still afraid, still shaking slightly on the inside. The red glow of Deith's eyes however, followed him even there, brighter in the darkness of his head than it had been in the dim light of the room. It had unnerved him, the sudden change unfamiliar on his friend's face, and what he had saw scared him, made something heavy get stuck in his throat. And yet, he still spoke. He refused to run, even as his hand shook, as he raised it to his eyes, then dragged it through his hair.

Having calmed himself down somewhat, he opened his eyes again, looking at Deith with determination written all over his face. He would not run. No matter what. He had already decided. This was who he was. Whether it was right or wrong, it did not matter. It was what it was, and what it was was what he was going to do.

''When you have lived your whole life on this island'', he continued speaking, his voice much stronger now than it was a moment ago, ''the words such as 'I am not human' don't mean to you as much as they should'', he said, slowly stretching his body, which had grown stiff for sitting in one position for so long, his legs now extended in front of him, instead of being tucked beneath him.

''Or, well'', he then said, humming as he corrected himself. ''Not as much as they mean to others, out there'', he waved his hand, which had fallen asleep, too, somewhat. Groaning, he stretched his hands above his head. ''There is no 'should' about it, really'', he concluded in the end. ''Not here, anyway. And by here, I mean the bar, this time, not the whole of the Island.'' He liked to think that the whole of the Island was good, too, at least about this, or at least better than the rest of the world, considering that he had grown up here for nothing but for his parents choosing to stay here instead of somewhere out there.

The rest of the Island was not important now, though. The bar was, in a way, but more important for Deith, he felt, was what he thought. Not that those two were all that separate, he had come to see. Taking another deep breath, Samael kept talking.

''I live at work at a place named 'Of Angles and Demons''', he said, staring directly at Deith, his gaze not moving for the rest of his speech.

He was not sure what happened to his anger, but ever since Deith's memories had played inside his head, he could not feel it anymore. Maybe the explanation was really all he needed. Perhaps he now felt just a bit too much sympathy to continue being angry. And it was there, the sympathy-which he refused to let turn into pity-despite the fear, the heaviness in his chest. He understood even better now all those things that his father had tried to explain to him last night, about accepting meaning more than being mindful of those who had been victims before.

''Do you really think you're the first demon I met?'', he asked, staring at the man even harder. ''You're not'', he answered before Deith would even try. ''And to be honest, you're probably not even the first killer I met'', he said, his voice shaking only slightly at the very end of that sentence. His determination however, did not waver. ''Considering the kind of people who live here, who come here, to the Island, to the bar... it's just not that probable you're the first, you know'', he said, huffing slightly at the end of that sentence, before frowning again, this time at himself.

''It's just that I haven't realized it before'', he said, clenching his fist by his side, half-wondering how he could have not, though in the end, he knew what it was that had finally made him see. ''Considering that I haven't really become friends with any of them'', he finished, then, sighing.

''Come on now'', he said, then, standing up and stretching himself once more. ''It's probably lunch time by now, and that hangover of yours would probably do with some food.''

There was more he could say, he knew. More to be said in general, too, about the fact that Deith had killed people in the past, and all the other stuff too. About the fact that he had just tried to kill someone, his lover at that. About all of that and much more. About the fact that Deith probably needed some help for all that one of the bar's rules was not interfere.

All of that, however, he decided, could wait until they got some food.

''You coming or not? I am not dragging food down here just so you know, and am locking the door again once I'm on the other side, too'', he said, looking back at Deith over his shoulders once again.

''Yeah, I get that'', Samael said softly, sighing at the door, before he turned back towards the other man. He had seen it, after all, all that had happened, the images much clearer, and faster to show it all than words could ever be. But still.

''I just thought I should get some food in you before we started on that'', he said, his voice controlled, but his body twitching, for for all he wanted to step closer to Deith and offer him comfort, he could not make himself do so, unsure of how to go about touching him, what he would accept, and what was acceptable as a whole. Not that that other one mattered to him much. It was more an echo of thought than anything else, in the end.

''I get that you need help trust me'', he said, giving up in the end on touching the man, simply because he did not know how. A hug seemed to much, everything else too awkward. If Deith had reached for him, he would not reject it. As it was now, however, they were stuck in a stand still.

''A lot of, probably'', he continued, trying to balance his words so that they do not upset Deith even more, yet still show what he meant clearly. ''And I know it did not really work the last time'', he said, frowning then as he thought about the asylum from Deith's memories. ''But there are medications for that'', he said, trying to look the other man in the eye, but his head was yet again hung low. ''As well as doctors, and mind healers and mind menders, and about a thousand other people whose sole purpose and power is to help those with the problems like yours. I know at least one on the top of my head, I think, and if I don't, well, my dad can help us find some, I'm sure'', his voice stopped there, for a moment, before he continued again.

''The point is, you can get better'', he said, pulling the key to the door out of his pocket and turning around so he could put it in the lock. ''And I am not the one to judge. I won't judge. None of us will'', he said, knowing without a doubt that this was true. His father would frown, just like ha had last night, worried somewhat, but that would be his only step towards what a parent would usually do in this situation. His mother would be the tigress that she was and make Deith lots of food if he ever managed to drag him up to the apartment this morning-day? what time was it anyway-and his brother would most probably not be there. He was not sure of whether Michael would try to turn the whole thing into a joke or actually be serious if he were there, though, but the point was that he would not judge Deith either. He was not that dissimilar to Samael, after all, for all that they fought, and even though he had not yet had his moment of clarity forced on him like Samael had had through Deith's story, he still had an open mind.

''So, yeah, I am inviting you up for food'', he said, unlocking the door and pulling them open in one move. ''Are you coming, or not?''