deercountry | 13 . autumn catch-all

[Whether Faith is there because of him or her, Willow is unsure, but she regrets it immediately when the flutter of the crows' wings draw her gaze to the corpse. She startles, rocking the boat, and it's with no small effort she has to remind herself that none of this is real; that it's all some sick illusion of Never Mind's before she can steady herself again.]

No. I, uh. Um. Faith got dragged into it too. I died. Again. Because that was the only way she and Ozpin could get me to stop.

[ It's perversely disappointing that she doesn't even try to rip into him for all the shit he kicked off, and that he knows she won't be riled against the Pthumerians, either. There is nothing in this boat but quiet, listless misery at their own assorted failures.

Bleak as hell, honestly. He could say: I know the feeling. He could say: It's never gotten me to stop. ]

It's not a great club. Me and Ford traded disintegrations, did you hear? Messy stuff.

[ That's leaving aside the assassination and the Pthumerian on his ass. ]

[It's hard to rally much fury over July at this point. Fueled by Corruption, she had been more focused on being grateful for the return of her magic, and not having to worry about wolfwalking. In the aftermath, there's no one she blames more than herself.

It's hard to even summon much anger at the murder of Ford in a month where she was responsible for a number of deaths herself, and even more injuries.]

Yeah. I heard about that. He thought I was going to come after you myself at first.

Glad you didn't. [ He says this like it's small talk, like it's an almost funny bullet for them to have dodged. ] This'd be an even more awkward boat ride.

[ The water has gone red and unpleasant around their boat: it blooms with the oil of human fat, with thin strips of skin and scalped hair. This does not rattle him. But in the distance and now approaching are familiar bodies, the bodies of last time: a woman with peach-colored hair, darkened along the back with terrible gore; Augustine, tall and grave and ghost-pale in death; and a woman strung up to rot, her hair darkened from gold to an ugly wet brown with decay.

His expression draws tighter and more tired, at the sight. ]

Yeah... I think we both have enough regrets already.

[It would have ended badly, that much she's certain of, and she would have far more reason to be angry with him than she already does.]

Still, I probably would have eventually. I - I don't think I would've stopped on my own. It looked like you already had a pretty extensive parade of people looking for vengeance already, though.

[Willow may not have commented on any of the network posts that went up about the matter, but she did notice them upon her return. Just with all the chaos around her at the time, it seemed better to leave it alone.

She pulls her hand away from the side of the boat as the water turns. They've seen this before - they've seen all of this before, even if some of the faces are different this time around. It still doesn't make it any less horrible, and she draws a sharp breath.]

We're talking about the things we regret, why is this still getting worse?

[ He tips his head in agreement like this declaration doesn't bother him, and breathes an amused noise at a pretty extensive parade of people. No argument there. Still the water reddens and worsens around them, and John reaches up a hand to rub at the crease between his eyes.

He exhales a huff of irritation. He gives up. ]

It isn't enough of a confession to satisfy. We already know you would've come for me... and, not to talk myself up, that you probably wouldn't have won. [ There is no humor in his smile. ] Nothing personal. I am very good at killing people... Maybe the best. High score, you know?

[ He tips his hand to the banks, to his beloved's body on the shore, and his throat works with a hard swallow: there is a great and distant fury in him, hard behind his smile. He's so fucking tired. ]

Stopping has never been one of my skills, either. I've had a few people tell me that. Even the people who really mattered.

[It's fortunate, Willow thinks, that at the time she was still grateful enough to not have to worry about wolfwalking, and having her use of magic back that she didn't hold any real malice towards him by the time Faith and Ozpin stopped her. It still would have come later, she suspects. Probably after she had found a way to kill Chara.]

Yeah. I saw what you said on the network. That's still kind of a weird thing to brag about.

[She glances towards the bank and immediately regrets it. Is she ever tired of seeing horrifying bodies on the shore.]

Ever try to destroy the whole world because you didn't know when to stop?

[ It was mostly a joke, he wants to tell her, but he's halted by the question. Everything drops out of him, the building anger and the bitter smile both: he goes empty, goes remote. For a moment there is nothing but the soft sound of water against the sides of their boat.

He looks up to meet her eyes, her bright green to his inhuman black. He says, very deliberately, soft and low: ]

Ever succeed?

[It explains a lot, given the state of the river the last time they were here, and she's not sure why the response comes as a surprise but somehow it still does. Willow's eyebrows raise and for a moment, she's at a loss for words.]

Why did you do it?

[ He exhales a low breath and settles back against the side of the boat, which sends water slapping the wood again. It's pretty bad water, by this point.

There is a moment's silence, just water, and then he says: ]

The planet was most of the way gone already. That wasn't me. It was slow... the last agonal breathing, the death rattle dragging out forever... I was just the guy to pull the plug.

[ That's what he's been telling everyone for a long time now, anyway. ]

Fire and rebirth, like a phoenix. We rebuilt in the ashes. We made something new.

[Willow has helped prevent far too many apocalypses to see it as the mercy killing he is trying to present it as. The fact that he was not up front with any of them about what he was planning when they went out to sea certainly doesn't give her much reason to trust he's telling the entire truth this time either.

She's quiet for a long moment as she studies him, as though trying to determine whether or not he's being genuine in his explanation. Even if he is, it's hard to accept after so many years in Sunnydale, preventing the world from ending so many times. At least she regrets it when it was almost her that brought about the end herself. At least she doesn't think it was justified.]

That wasn't your decision to make. Do you regret it?

[ He's heard that one before. ]

There wasn't much to save. That window closed. We had our chance, and we lost it.

[ He says it with great and distant certainty, like he's said the sky is blue. This is a fact of reality, the ground under his feet. Still: when he looks at her again, he wears the worst attempt at a smile ever known to man. There is some great and still pain held in the tension at the edges of his eyes, his mouth, near to breaking. ]

But what's the theme of the river, right? There are always what-ifs.

Where I came from, something was always trying to end the world. It was practically an annual event. We always managed to stop it. Even when it looked really bad.

[Maybe his world could have been salvageable, it's impossible to say. It's too late to determine that now, though. Perhaps seated there in the boat, trying to pretend he's certain he's done the right thing when his expression makes it so painfully clear he's anything but, is not the time to torment him with the endless possibilities.]

Would you do it again?

[ He exhales a hah and shuts his eyes, lets some of what's in his face get put carefully away. Around them, the river is red and thick and hideous. ]

Yours were probably more exciting. Gods and demons and portals, right?

[ There is no humor in his smile. He wears it like ripped bandages over a wound. ]

Better than letting her die slow. If I could do it all over again... I wouldn't miss our chance.

Yeah. Gods, demons, portals. Ultimate evil, last time I was home. And I don't mean me.

[Willow exhales a slow breath. So he says he has regrets, and what ifs, but given the chance... he'd change nothing. It's a lot to swallow.

She's trying her best not to look at the water, or the shore, and instead keeps her focus on him.]

So. If you'd do it again, you don't really regret doing it in the first place, do you? So what are you leaving out?

[She gestures vaguely behind to worsening scene around them.]

We both know how this works, and I don't think either one of us wants to be stuck here much longer. You may as well just say it.

[ The idea of Willow as ultimate evil is laughable to him, but he doesn't crack a joke about it. He reaches up to rub the heels of his hands over his eyes, and never mind how it jostles the boat and sloshes the blood around them. ]

You misunderstand.

[ He drops his hands and looks at her, exhausted. ]

It was the only option left. [ He says this with hard and vicious determination, without a moment's give. ] We made the best - I made the best - I had to do it. But we could've caught it earlier... we could've kept our escape routes... I could have killed the motherfuckers who put us in that corner, and I could've made it count.

Of course I regret it. [ His voice has dropped so low, backed only by the shuffle of crows' wings as they feast. ] I have spent ten thousand years trying to make it right. Trying to finish this fucking fight, even when no one else is left to remember.

You know the sad thing? I envy you the demon portals. [ He sits back, decisive and disgusted with himself. ] All we had was flooding and nukes.

[Willow sighs. It's horrifying, of course. Most of what John does is, at the very least, mildly horrifying. Clearly, he's convinced that destroying the world was the only possible route to take, and she doesn't think anything she can say will convince him otherwise.]

How is there even still a fight now? The world was destroyed, and if there's no one left to remember it... who's still fighting?

[She draws a deep breath. The world ending through more mundane means, she's not sure she would have a solution for anyway. Nuclear weapons and floods are a little outside of her usual wheelhouse.]

Yeah, I guess I have to admit it. I'm not sure what we'd do if it was a less... supernatural type of apocalypse?

[ The question closes his expression to something still and bitter. For a moment, set into the blacks of his eyes, it's a frightening look. ]

The ones who left us there to die.

[ He sits back even as the horizon starts to fade. This little pocket world is crumbling around them, its toll paid and its purpose fulfilled. The sky is nothing but the abstract whirl of crow's wings. ]

You know the story of Noah and the ark? [ He tips his head to her, his eyes flat with unnatural light and with a great, horrible distance. His little smile does not touch those eyes at all. ] How pissed do you think Noah would've been if someone stole his boat?

[It's not directed at her, she assumes, but the situation. Still, the expression in John's eyes gives Willow pause as she considers his words. Probably better to step lightly here so it doesn't become directed at her.

She isn't going to push, but it sounds like he was going to destroy the world and ditch before he was destroyed right along with it. With the mention of Noah's ark, she assumes he had a selection of those he would save right along with him.]

Ohh, I can imagine. How did you even manage to survive?

We didn't.

[ They don't have long now; they speak under the rush of wingbeats. Good. He's done with this place. He'd been done with it the first time, back at the very start. ]

People act like this town is a clean slate, but I've seen a clean slate. Nobody got back up but me. I had to work it out from there, in the ashes... How can I say I regret it, right? After all that?

[ World of confessions, right? That's the trial, that's the task. So he looks at her, that bitter anger in his eyes, and says low and splintered: ] How can they expect me to start over?

[In light of his experiences, calling Trench a clean slate is clearly particularly traumatizing for John, and maybe, she thinks, it's understandable. She looks back at him, trying to maintain her calm in the face of his anger. It's fine. It's not directed at her.]

This place is what we make of it. If you want a fresh start, away from your old home, and all the problems you faced there, then you can have it. If you don't... Well, I don't know. It's not like there isn't plenty of new threats and problems here. Are you really sure you want to pick up that same path again? Especially given it's not the same threats, or the same people you knew before? Especially since there's people you care about getting caught up in the crossfire?

[He does care about them, doesn't he? All these young people he's rallied to his side, and the people from his own world who have found themselves here as well? She's relatively sure he does, otherwise the river wouldn't have such an affect on him, and probably, Never Mind wouldn't be putting them through this again.]

[ His voice has gone low under the building noise of the crows. There are so many of them they black out the sky. ]

That assumes we're at a crossroads, right? But how can I be anyone else while they're here?

[ There's a note of frustration to it; he reaches up to rub at his eyes, and it breaks the intensity in his face. He huffs a sigh into his palm. When he lifts his face away to look at her again, he's put the fury somewhere out of sight: now there's only a dull exhaustion left. ]

I'm not game to start over. I've got nothing but unfinished business. [ His mouth twists, wry. ] Maybe that's why they love showing me ghosts.

It doesn't change who you are. You're still you, and this place isn't going to take that away from you. But you do realize there's more to who you are than the fight you had at home, right? And bringing it here, trying to pick fights with the Pthumerians? What's that doing besides hurting the people around you?

[Willow's tone is quiet, and gentle under the sound of beat of the crows' wings, and their cries.]

Maybe it's not about starting over, but about moving forward from it. I'm not saying that's an easy thing to do, but hanging onto old grudges that you can't satisfy from here is just going to drive you insane.

[ He exhales a low breath, looking back at her. The King Undying dips his head just once in a tired nod, something old and anguished in the lines of his face. ]

Don't I know it.

[ But he doesn't believe her, that he's more than his fight. That he could ever just walk away. It's worse, in ways he could not express to her, to think that he could simply shrug off that weight.

There is a swirl of black feathers, and the vision ends. ]

13 . autumn catch-all

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cw: gore, Nona the Ninth spoilers

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