Post by Michael Vael on Oct 21, 2024 21:10:18 GMT -5
[nospaces]
ONESHOT for Michael Vael & Dane Wayland [break][break]
[break][break]
Summary: Absolutely no point to this (lmao) and not [break]
even the one-shot I meant to get finished for Michael [break]
but hell, whatever I guess skdfjhdsk~[break][break]
CW: Cursing & injury[break][break]
[newclass=.coyotes b]color:#556779;[/newclass]
[newclass=.coyotes u]color:#688c6a;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;[/newclass]
NOBODY CARES FOR COYOTES
ONESHOT for Michael Vael & Dane Wayland [break][break]
[break][break]Summary: Absolutely no point to this (lmao) and not [break]
even the one-shot I meant to get finished for Michael [break]
but hell, whatever I guess skdfjhdsk~[break][break]
CW: Cursing & injury[break][break]
[break]
[attr="class","coyotes"]Michael shucked on a flannel, plucked a cigarette between his lips, and stepped from the bunkhouse and into the October night. The air was growing crisp at this hour but it was still mild enough to be pleasant. A full moon hung high in the sky, casting the ranch around him in a white-blue glow. Stars prickled bright between drifts of light cloud cover but — he didn't look. At some point in the past two years, he'd forced himself to ignore their pull. He'd gotten better at it but, even after so much time, the stubborn avoidance still required (even more stubborn) instruction. [break][break]
Even now, as he stepped toward the main house, dug his lighter from his pocket, and listened for the faint yipping of faraway coyotes, he had to stifle the want to tip his head and give them a familiar wander. [break][break]
As he neared his family home, movement caught his eye. His step slowed, then quickened again when he realized there was a slim figure climbing the couple of front porch steps. His gaze, suddenly flinty, snapped down the driveway. The gate was closed and there was no sign of a vehicle parked along it. His gaze snapped back. [break][break]
"Hey," he called out, unlit cigarette dropping forgotten from his lips as he lengthened his stride. The man paused, hand raised to knock at the front door. With a lack of focus and reflex that was blatantly noticeable (even at this distance), he spun around to find a source for the voice. He squinted into the night, swayed on his feet, and startled (a bit belatedly) when Michael took a few big steps and vaulted himself over the side of the porch and into the light. "Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, voice stark, and he stepped closer with no attempt to be anything but intimidating. [break][break]
"Uh," the man started dumbly. His brow pinched as if he were confused. He sucked in a breath, visibly suppressed a violent shudder, and Michael raked his gaze down the length of him; noting his mess of dark, sweat-dampened hair, the lack of color in his face, the way he clutched an obviously-wrecked arm to his side, and the stream of crimson that slipped from his jacket and down his wrist. At his feet and across his shoes, it dripped in a quick and steady 'plip, plip' from the ends of trembling fingertips. [break][break]
For a moment, Michael almost let himself slip — felt himself want to dip into the creeping concern he was keeping cautiously at bay. But... he stopped himself. Clenched his teeth tighter. If this man was Gifted and in-need of quick help, it couldn't be kind help. He'd need to be gone as soon as possible, before someone else caught wind, and Michael didn't want to give him any reason to think he might be welcome for the night (like he no doubt would have been years ago). If he wasn't Gifted, he was a Hunter... and Michael... well... [break][break]
Michael wasn't yet certain what he'd do then. [break][break]
"They said you have a healer."[break][break]
He didn't wait a beat. Only let his nostrils flare with a deep breath before he lifted his chin and gritted back, "And I said, who the fuck are you?" With each word, he let his voice grow harder. Impatient. His fingers curled at his side, flexing into and out of a prickling palm.[break][break]
"One... of you..."[break]
"Yeah? And what's that mean?"[break][break]
Another pause. But this one was broken by a weak, breathy laugh. The guy's lips twitched and he shook his head, looking entirely too smug for a fleeting moment, as if he'd just gotten a joke. Michael didn't think he was in nearly the right state to be chuckling about anything. The sound of it threatened something hotter in his chest.[break][break]
"You... you, ah... must be Duck."[break][break]
Michael stiffened, lids fluttering over his eyes (that he could feel vacating and growing steely). His mouth pinched tight. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he grit his teeth in a hard, brutal grind against one another. He could taste something acidic and foul want to creep up his throat. Something resentful leech all the heat from him and make him cold.[break][break]
He said nothing. Just breathed. And finally, the man shuffled and screwed shut an eye. "Look, I... didn't want to come here either. Horses are creepy. Even more, ah... creepy at night." Misplaced humor. Not the place, not the time, and certainly not the person to dish it to. "But I was told you g—" Michael's lip curled and he sucked at his teeth. "Yeah. We got one. She's asleep. And I ain't wakin' her for the likes of you."[break][break]
The guy's lips parted around the start of a stammer, eyes looking — for the briefest second — like they might roll. Whether the faint flicker was a momentary tip toward losing consciousness, or if he feeling a bit disgruntled, Michael couldn't rightly tell. And it didn't matter. "So... okay, if yo—"[break][break]
Michael shook his head, face twisting. "Way I see it, you got plenty of fuckin' blood in you and she does quick fuckin' work. So," he crossed his arms across his chest, hands balled in tight fists that he crushed against his ribs. "If it's all the fuckin' same, I think I'll wait 'til you pass out before I even bother her from her bed. Hell," he lifted a shoulder, mouth thinning into a fleeting, unfriendly frown. "Maybe I'll wait a little longer. Tell 'em you didn't get here in time and we found you at the fuckin' gate."[break][break]
The man's eye drug slowly between his unflinching ones and then dropped. He nodded, slow and weak. With a wobble, he cast his gaze around him and — after a stumbling start — crossed the porch to the nearest chair and lowered himself painstakingly into it. "Fair enough," he conceded, voice barely above a whisper but somehow amused despite the obvious strain. [break][break]
Which was more than infuriating. [break][break]
"And stop bleeding on our shit," Michael growled, unfolding his arms and closing the distance between them with quick, loaded steps. He curled his fingers in the guy's collar and yanked him from the seat, then tugged him along to fling him (with little ceremony) back down the steps. "Can sit your ass in the damn dirt."[break][break]
He expected him to stumble and fall. Wanted him to. But the guy just managed to catch himself with a bent knee, hissing and jerking at the obvious jolt to his break (or whatever other mangling) he was hiding beneath his clothes. After a long moment... once he reeled his pained shaking to a more controlled tremble... he maneuvered himself to a sitting and folded his legs beneath him. Across his face, tipped toward his lap while he breathed, was a fresh sheen of sweat, one Michael could see dripping from his nose and threatening above his eyes. [break][break]
He watched him impassively. Leaned himself (with a marked amount of apathy) against a porch beam and crossed his ankles. Seconds passed, then minutes, and neither man spoke, until finally the guy tipped his face to blink up at the sky. He pulled a long, steadying breath and let his gaze flicker to Michael without moving his head. "For the record, I think it's.... pretty fucked up what they did to your family. To your niece."[break][break]
Michael's gaze flickered back, meeting the man's eye and holding it firm. Whatever he knew about his family, their situation, him — he didn't care. And he certainly didn't want to hear anything he had to say about it. "Do you want me to give my mama more work? Beat your ass before she takes her look at you? I'll tell her I found you that way and she'll pretend she believes that the truth."[break][break]
The guy chortled, the sound of a gurgle somewhere deep in his throat, and he shook his head, attention flitting skyward once more. "No, no... I suppose I don't," he breathed, still fucking amused, then shrugged his better shoulder. "Normally I wouldn't care, even like this... but, ah," he sucked in another shivering breath and blinked rapidly. Michael searched his profile gravely. "Man, this one... this one hurts something else. I'm not having fun with it. And... I'm being genuine, I swear." He chuckled again, more privately — just a barely-there quake of his shoulders as he dropped his head to look back in his lap and let his wet, stringy bangs fall in front of his eyes. "Dying... it can make a man very sincere... you... know that?" Another shake of his shoulders, even slighter than before. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. "No one ever believes that."[break][break]
The skin around Michael's eyes tightened as he tried to keep steeled. Tried not to feel. He swallowed and considered saying nothing once more. That was probably best. But, after a moment, he uncrossed his ankles and moved from the steps and to the side. He propped his forearms on the porch railing and lowered himself into a more comfortable lean upon them. He clasped his hands in a loose hold before him, fingers laced, and finally drug his eye from the man and to the sky he'd been studying. No ignoring it now. "Pretty fucked up what y'all do to everyone," he muttered, voice not quite as severe as before but still worlds removed from friendly (or even neutral).[break][break]
In his periphery, he could see the man nod. But he didn't look back at him. Didn't care what meaning he was supposed to assign it. Didn't want him to think agreeing on the matter, or pretending to agree on the matter more likely, would win him any sort of sympathy. Or get him to call his mother down sooner. [break][break]
They lapsed into more silence, broken only by the occasional, ragged heave and audible shudder. Long minutes passed. Michael had just about run out of stars he could name and his jaw had just about released all its tension... when the guy started again. [break][break]
"The man who uh, did your tattoos..." Michael grimaced, gaze falling reluctantly. He reset his mouth, shook his fingers tighter, and glared. The man was waiting for his look and, when Michael met it, he smiled. It was thin and lacking sincerity. But Michael didn't think it was pointed. Or meant to be unsettling. "He's my dad."[break][break]
Michael blinked hard, then he snorted. "And you think that'll do you favors here?" He muttered low, the words on his tongue before he could even consider biting them back. Inwardly though, cautious thought followed on their heels. He wondered if the information was, in fact, a threat. A loaded promise. 'When my father hears about this'. [break][break]
"Threats" had never worked on Michael before. They'd only ever served to wind him tighter and make him angrier quicker. Stoked him hotter and encouraged him rather than discouraged. But. He had to be more mindful now. He wasn't simply toeing with someone in a bar parking lot. And a threat to him was no longer a threat to just him.[break][break]
The guy huffed a laugh. But he didn't answer. Maybe he felt he didn't need to. "I was about the girl's age when he did mine." Michael's eyes narrowed, lip wanting to twitch. The guy's smile broadened marginally; just enough to flash a sliver of teeth. "You want to see it?"[break][break]
"No," Michael half-growled, half-scoffed. But the guy — tapping into some sudden, miraculous reserve of energy — was already moving; dirt crunching beneath him as scrabbled to get his feet under him. He managed to stand, turned his back, and Michael straightened, brow knitting at the center with wary bewilderment. "I said no," he repeated, moving slowly back to the steps. The man simply laughed as he — using only his good arm — struggled to scrunch his layers of sweaty clothes up and close to his neck. Michael started another protest, more firm and assertive than before, but it quieted when the man tipped forward so the moonlight could bear more directly down and illuminate more clearly his bare skin.[break][break]
In the half-dark, he couldn't make out what the animal was supposed to be, but he didn't need any more light to see that the filthy ink covered damn-near all of him. The bottoms of the tattoo dipped close to the waist of his slacks and disappeared beneath the clothes bunched in the fist between his shoulder blades. Stretched the width of him.[break][break]
Michael blinked, lips parting. [break][break]
Daniel's tattoo was the biggest of theirs and it was the size of his palm. Michael had been there, with him, when he'd earned the growth. He'd watched the ink wriggle and flex, like something alive, beneath his skin. Heard it quietly rip in a way he hadn't really expected to be audible. Watched the spittle gather at the corners of his brother's mouth as he shook, sweated, and fought through the pain. Felt an almost alien amount of panic flutter in his chest, crashing against a much more acceptable fury, as he imagined Abigail or Marianne's face twisted the same way.[break][break]
Was this what they had to look forward to? What they'd inevitably look like, eventually?[break][break]
"Your..." Michael couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. When he started, he could hear it, and he cleared his throat. Swallowed. Cocked his head, realigned himself, and began stronger. "Your father must not like you very much." The shirt fell and the man's shoulders jumped. But Michael didn't hear an accompanying laugh and the man didn't turn. "Yeah, but... it's... okay... ah... it's very mutual, so... uh," the words grew quieter, more spaced apart, and finally hushed. The guy teetered dangerously. His legs folded at the knee, dropped him an inch, but then he jerked back up. Swayed. And Michael, acting more on instinct than anything else, stepped off the porch to make a grab for him as he toppled forward. [break][break]
But he was too far, too late, and the man sprawled face-first in the dirt. Landed hard without a noise and remained still. "Ah, fuck," Michael pivoted on his heel, cleared the steps with one stride, and shoved himself into the house and toward the stairs.
[break][break]
Even now, as he stepped toward the main house, dug his lighter from his pocket, and listened for the faint yipping of faraway coyotes, he had to stifle the want to tip his head and give them a familiar wander. [break][break]
As he neared his family home, movement caught his eye. His step slowed, then quickened again when he realized there was a slim figure climbing the couple of front porch steps. His gaze, suddenly flinty, snapped down the driveway. The gate was closed and there was no sign of a vehicle parked along it. His gaze snapped back. [break][break]
"Hey," he called out, unlit cigarette dropping forgotten from his lips as he lengthened his stride. The man paused, hand raised to knock at the front door. With a lack of focus and reflex that was blatantly noticeable (even at this distance), he spun around to find a source for the voice. He squinted into the night, swayed on his feet, and startled (a bit belatedly) when Michael took a few big steps and vaulted himself over the side of the porch and into the light. "Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, voice stark, and he stepped closer with no attempt to be anything but intimidating. [break][break]
"Uh," the man started dumbly. His brow pinched as if he were confused. He sucked in a breath, visibly suppressed a violent shudder, and Michael raked his gaze down the length of him; noting his mess of dark, sweat-dampened hair, the lack of color in his face, the way he clutched an obviously-wrecked arm to his side, and the stream of crimson that slipped from his jacket and down his wrist. At his feet and across his shoes, it dripped in a quick and steady 'plip, plip' from the ends of trembling fingertips. [break][break]
For a moment, Michael almost let himself slip — felt himself want to dip into the creeping concern he was keeping cautiously at bay. But... he stopped himself. Clenched his teeth tighter. If this man was Gifted and in-need of quick help, it couldn't be kind help. He'd need to be gone as soon as possible, before someone else caught wind, and Michael didn't want to give him any reason to think he might be welcome for the night (like he no doubt would have been years ago). If he wasn't Gifted, he was a Hunter... and Michael... well... [break][break]
Michael wasn't yet certain what he'd do then. [break][break]
"They said you have a healer."[break][break]
He didn't wait a beat. Only let his nostrils flare with a deep breath before he lifted his chin and gritted back, "And I said, who the fuck are you?" With each word, he let his voice grow harder. Impatient. His fingers curled at his side, flexing into and out of a prickling palm.[break][break]
"One... of you..."[break]
"Yeah? And what's that mean?"[break][break]
Another pause. But this one was broken by a weak, breathy laugh. The guy's lips twitched and he shook his head, looking entirely too smug for a fleeting moment, as if he'd just gotten a joke. Michael didn't think he was in nearly the right state to be chuckling about anything. The sound of it threatened something hotter in his chest.[break][break]
"You... you, ah... must be Duck."[break][break]
Michael stiffened, lids fluttering over his eyes (that he could feel vacating and growing steely). His mouth pinched tight. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he grit his teeth in a hard, brutal grind against one another. He could taste something acidic and foul want to creep up his throat. Something resentful leech all the heat from him and make him cold.[break][break]
He said nothing. Just breathed. And finally, the man shuffled and screwed shut an eye. "Look, I... didn't want to come here either. Horses are creepy. Even more, ah... creepy at night." Misplaced humor. Not the place, not the time, and certainly not the person to dish it to. "But I was told you g—" Michael's lip curled and he sucked at his teeth. "Yeah. We got one. She's asleep. And I ain't wakin' her for the likes of you."[break][break]
The guy's lips parted around the start of a stammer, eyes looking — for the briefest second — like they might roll. Whether the faint flicker was a momentary tip toward losing consciousness, or if he feeling a bit disgruntled, Michael couldn't rightly tell. And it didn't matter. "So... okay, if yo—"[break][break]
Michael shook his head, face twisting. "Way I see it, you got plenty of fuckin' blood in you and she does quick fuckin' work. So," he crossed his arms across his chest, hands balled in tight fists that he crushed against his ribs. "If it's all the fuckin' same, I think I'll wait 'til you pass out before I even bother her from her bed. Hell," he lifted a shoulder, mouth thinning into a fleeting, unfriendly frown. "Maybe I'll wait a little longer. Tell 'em you didn't get here in time and we found you at the fuckin' gate."[break][break]
The man's eye drug slowly between his unflinching ones and then dropped. He nodded, slow and weak. With a wobble, he cast his gaze around him and — after a stumbling start — crossed the porch to the nearest chair and lowered himself painstakingly into it. "Fair enough," he conceded, voice barely above a whisper but somehow amused despite the obvious strain. [break][break]
Which was more than infuriating. [break][break]
"And stop bleeding on our shit," Michael growled, unfolding his arms and closing the distance between them with quick, loaded steps. He curled his fingers in the guy's collar and yanked him from the seat, then tugged him along to fling him (with little ceremony) back down the steps. "Can sit your ass in the damn dirt."[break][break]
He expected him to stumble and fall. Wanted him to. But the guy just managed to catch himself with a bent knee, hissing and jerking at the obvious jolt to his break (or whatever other mangling) he was hiding beneath his clothes. After a long moment... once he reeled his pained shaking to a more controlled tremble... he maneuvered himself to a sitting and folded his legs beneath him. Across his face, tipped toward his lap while he breathed, was a fresh sheen of sweat, one Michael could see dripping from his nose and threatening above his eyes. [break][break]
He watched him impassively. Leaned himself (with a marked amount of apathy) against a porch beam and crossed his ankles. Seconds passed, then minutes, and neither man spoke, until finally the guy tipped his face to blink up at the sky. He pulled a long, steadying breath and let his gaze flicker to Michael without moving his head. "For the record, I think it's.... pretty fucked up what they did to your family. To your niece."[break][break]
Michael's gaze flickered back, meeting the man's eye and holding it firm. Whatever he knew about his family, their situation, him — he didn't care. And he certainly didn't want to hear anything he had to say about it. "Do you want me to give my mama more work? Beat your ass before she takes her look at you? I'll tell her I found you that way and she'll pretend she believes that the truth."[break][break]
The guy chortled, the sound of a gurgle somewhere deep in his throat, and he shook his head, attention flitting skyward once more. "No, no... I suppose I don't," he breathed, still fucking amused, then shrugged his better shoulder. "Normally I wouldn't care, even like this... but, ah," he sucked in another shivering breath and blinked rapidly. Michael searched his profile gravely. "Man, this one... this one hurts something else. I'm not having fun with it. And... I'm being genuine, I swear." He chuckled again, more privately — just a barely-there quake of his shoulders as he dropped his head to look back in his lap and let his wet, stringy bangs fall in front of his eyes. "Dying... it can make a man very sincere... you... know that?" Another shake of his shoulders, even slighter than before. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. "No one ever believes that."[break][break]
The skin around Michael's eyes tightened as he tried to keep steeled. Tried not to feel. He swallowed and considered saying nothing once more. That was probably best. But, after a moment, he uncrossed his ankles and moved from the steps and to the side. He propped his forearms on the porch railing and lowered himself into a more comfortable lean upon them. He clasped his hands in a loose hold before him, fingers laced, and finally drug his eye from the man and to the sky he'd been studying. No ignoring it now. "Pretty fucked up what y'all do to everyone," he muttered, voice not quite as severe as before but still worlds removed from friendly (or even neutral).[break][break]
In his periphery, he could see the man nod. But he didn't look back at him. Didn't care what meaning he was supposed to assign it. Didn't want him to think agreeing on the matter, or pretending to agree on the matter more likely, would win him any sort of sympathy. Or get him to call his mother down sooner. [break][break]
They lapsed into more silence, broken only by the occasional, ragged heave and audible shudder. Long minutes passed. Michael had just about run out of stars he could name and his jaw had just about released all its tension... when the guy started again. [break][break]
"The man who uh, did your tattoos..." Michael grimaced, gaze falling reluctantly. He reset his mouth, shook his fingers tighter, and glared. The man was waiting for his look and, when Michael met it, he smiled. It was thin and lacking sincerity. But Michael didn't think it was pointed. Or meant to be unsettling. "He's my dad."[break][break]
Michael blinked hard, then he snorted. "And you think that'll do you favors here?" He muttered low, the words on his tongue before he could even consider biting them back. Inwardly though, cautious thought followed on their heels. He wondered if the information was, in fact, a threat. A loaded promise. 'When my father hears about this'. [break][break]
"Threats" had never worked on Michael before. They'd only ever served to wind him tighter and make him angrier quicker. Stoked him hotter and encouraged him rather than discouraged. But. He had to be more mindful now. He wasn't simply toeing with someone in a bar parking lot. And a threat to him was no longer a threat to just him.[break][break]
The guy huffed a laugh. But he didn't answer. Maybe he felt he didn't need to. "I was about the girl's age when he did mine." Michael's eyes narrowed, lip wanting to twitch. The guy's smile broadened marginally; just enough to flash a sliver of teeth. "You want to see it?"[break][break]
"No," Michael half-growled, half-scoffed. But the guy — tapping into some sudden, miraculous reserve of energy — was already moving; dirt crunching beneath him as scrabbled to get his feet under him. He managed to stand, turned his back, and Michael straightened, brow knitting at the center with wary bewilderment. "I said no," he repeated, moving slowly back to the steps. The man simply laughed as he — using only his good arm — struggled to scrunch his layers of sweaty clothes up and close to his neck. Michael started another protest, more firm and assertive than before, but it quieted when the man tipped forward so the moonlight could bear more directly down and illuminate more clearly his bare skin.[break][break]
In the half-dark, he couldn't make out what the animal was supposed to be, but he didn't need any more light to see that the filthy ink covered damn-near all of him. The bottoms of the tattoo dipped close to the waist of his slacks and disappeared beneath the clothes bunched in the fist between his shoulder blades. Stretched the width of him.[break][break]
Michael blinked, lips parting. [break][break]
Daniel's tattoo was the biggest of theirs and it was the size of his palm. Michael had been there, with him, when he'd earned the growth. He'd watched the ink wriggle and flex, like something alive, beneath his skin. Heard it quietly rip in a way he hadn't really expected to be audible. Watched the spittle gather at the corners of his brother's mouth as he shook, sweated, and fought through the pain. Felt an almost alien amount of panic flutter in his chest, crashing against a much more acceptable fury, as he imagined Abigail or Marianne's face twisted the same way.[break][break]
Was this what they had to look forward to? What they'd inevitably look like, eventually?[break][break]
"Your..." Michael couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. When he started, he could hear it, and he cleared his throat. Swallowed. Cocked his head, realigned himself, and began stronger. "Your father must not like you very much." The shirt fell and the man's shoulders jumped. But Michael didn't hear an accompanying laugh and the man didn't turn. "Yeah, but... it's... okay... ah... it's very mutual, so... uh," the words grew quieter, more spaced apart, and finally hushed. The guy teetered dangerously. His legs folded at the knee, dropped him an inch, but then he jerked back up. Swayed. And Michael, acting more on instinct than anything else, stepped off the porch to make a grab for him as he toppled forward. [break][break]
But he was too far, too late, and the man sprawled face-first in the dirt. Landed hard without a noise and remained still. "Ah, fuck," Michael pivoted on his heel, cleared the steps with one stride, and shoved himself into the house and toward the stairs.
[break][break]
[newclass=.coyotes b]color:#556779;[/newclass]
[newclass=.coyotes u]color:#688c6a;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;[/newclass]
