chokuto

[It can't be a good memory, that death. Yet Stiles states it factually, along with the description of the vampire so unfamiliar a creature to Sasuke. Eyes follow the movement of hands — attention rapt at the first flash of a blade, silver in the light. Not a common commodity in the resort.]

... If you believe it will help you determine that, I will.

[It makes sense; Stiles wouldn't be able to know unless he tested it. So he turns his right hand over, offering it out, the heel of the palm presented forth.]

Cut here. It'll be easier than doing it myself.

[He could use teeth on his thumb to achieve the same effect, if it's only to draw blood, but this allows Stiles to have control over the outcome he wants.]

[The suggestion unnerves Stiles. Frozen with indecision, he gazes down at the calloused palm presented between them, suddenly hyperaware of how easily the knife might be fumbled and slice the delicate, pale skin at the wrist. But this abrupt cognizance doesn’t stem from any kind of sanguine hunger to feed on Sasuke; instead, there is something darker and more sinister lurking out of sight beneath the surface of his consciousness. The American teen feels his flesh pebbling with goosebumps as he slowly flips the knife around to grasp the handle.]

The tip of your finger, [he says, a gentle warning, and tries to subdue the roar of triumph howling in his ears as the knife eases closer.] I’ll get you a band-aid after.

[But as the point hovers over the index finger, Stiles forces himself to pause. He’s struggling with himself—pupils dilated alarmingly, teeth grit against baser urges. When he finally sets the knife on the rough finger pad, his arm trembles with the restraint necessary to maintain a light prod. At last, a tiny bead of blood wells up. Stiles hurriedly pulls the knife away.]

Uh. Okay. Just—

[Cringing, he leans down and tries to scent the air. There is no reaction—nothing beyond the swell of vague disappointment still stewing in his heart for having failed to remove the finger altogether.]

Huh. I mean…I kinda doubted she turned me, but…

[The knife is returned to its spot. And as he said, Stiles takes a moment to dig out the first-aid kit once more.]

Here. [An appropriately sized band-aid is peeled open, decorated in flowers that are clearly meant to resemble female genitalia. Despite how trivial the cut may be, Stiles is tender as he dresses it.] Okay, this is just more proof for my current working theory. (Remember what I said about only telling people you trust?) The resort nurses claimed the doctor saved my life. But there’s no fucking way. Not with how much blood she would have drained me of. I think… I think I seriously died.

[Solemn, he looks up at Sasuke.]

There’s…another reason I’ve got this theory. I should give you a minute if you’ve got any questions first, though.

[That isn't a normal reaction, yet Sasuke struggles to place what it could mean — whether it suggests a deeper, lingering trauma to having his own blood drained, or whether it is something else. Stiles has endured too much in the past few weeks; it wouldn't be a reach to assume that his sensitivity to violence is heightened overall. Still, the reasoning doesn't quite settle in his own mind. It feels like there is something else laid underneath the dark of the boy's eyes.

The knife doesn't hurt at all, more of a pinch than true wound. He's bitten his own thumb countless times on the battlefield, let alone actual injuries he's suffered, so he looks indifferently at the swell of blood drawn. More important is Stiles' reaction — and it does not seem the boy is suffering any bloodlust.

Before the band-aid can be administered, Sasuke lifts his hand and licks off the drop of blood. Again, habitual as he would a nick he's created on his own finger for use in jutsu.]

I don't believe it would be in her best interest to turn you, if she could simply feed on you in the future. It would be smarter — to maintain that food resource. But I don't know what her motivations actually are.

[He watches Stiles, however, through that explanation, and through the gentle care of that band-aid wrapped around his finger. Needless, but kind.]

No. You can continue. What is it?

[Fortunately, Stiles had been busy fetching the first-aid kit when Sasuke licked the blood away; the American teen’s libido would have made an inappropriate entrance otherwise.]

She’s got a resort full of perverted assholes who’d gladly let her feed on them.

[That, and Carmilla stated something along the lines of Stiles making a good vampire—but he doesn’t want to give Sasuke a reason to worry.]

Okay, so… I know I’m dropping a ton of information on you—sorry, by the way—and I’ll try to keep this brief. Back home, I volunteered to die in a ritual to save my dad. The idea was that I’d be revived if everything went according to plan. Except there was a catch. (There’s always a catch.) The ritual would leave a…“permanent scar of darkness” on my heart. It’s what causes all those, uh, issues I mentioned before.

Here's the thing: I can feel it. As in—it feels worse now, somehow.

[His hand settles over his sternum, pressing there.]

I know it’s not really conclusive evidence, but my gut’s telling me it’s proof I died again.

[And maybe Sasuke is still lingering on what that “scar of darkness” might mean. Stiles, however, is charging ahead.]

Sasuke, do you get how bad things would get if certain guests learned we can be revived here? It’d be a friggin’ massacre. No real consequences for killing people.

[As Stiles predicts, his mind hangs on that phrase — permanent scar of darkness. It can only be what he sensed before, and if it is worse, then it is no wonder Sasuke picked up on it. Yet something severe enough to cause so many symptoms? The foreign influence of Stiles' world is unknown to him. He doesn't want to interrupt and ask whether there is some cure to it, but the other boy's logic is sound: if the ritual of death created the scar the first time, likely a second death would intensity it.

The other comment furrows his brow, somber with the consideration.]

It might. We don't know that we're the only two aware of this, and even if we are, it's only a matter of time before someone else learns. But I agree it isn't a fact we should share with the wider public.

[He hasn't moved from his kneeling position beside the bed in some time, and the look he turns up toward Stiles remains serious.]

You don't remember anything from that time you lost? Can you tell if there's anything else different for you?

[The questions invite Stiles to comb carefully through his memories.]

…No. [Frustration is evident in his tone; he feels like there are missing puzzle pieces here that could easily help them solve the mystery.] I’ve got nothing.

Last thing I remember? She’s holding me in her arms and I’m talking nonsense. Things started to get woozy. Then I’m waking up in the clinic, except it’s like a week later.

[Stiles can’t recall anything to suggest awareness during that time. Nor can he sense what Sasuke seems to be hinting at in regards to something different.]

Hey… I don’t really get how your, uh… [A general gesture at Sasuke’s eyes.] What can you see, exactly? Like…

[As open and honest as he’s been so far, this is a threshold he’d prefer not to cross. Explaining his fears of repossession—of the Nogitsune—might strain Sasuke’s good will.]

I dunno. Can you see anything, uh, weird?

[And this time, Stiles points at his head—oblivious about the tangible scar the shinobi has been able to detect.]

[A week without any recollection of what had happened, and with the clinic denying a serious injury. Sasuke believes the vampire must have done what was asked; what would be the purpose otherwise? And Stiles has further evidence to attest to it — marked by his question now.

Gaze turning up to look at the other boy, a line of thought wrinkles his brow.]

The red eye is called the Sharingan. [Dormant, now, but he knows Stiles has seen it.] The purple is the Rinnegan. They're something called dōjutsu, unique to my world, and the Sharingan in particular belongs to my family's bloodline. As for what they can see...

[Weird is one term for it, perhaps.]

It depends. They don't sense things reliably from other dimensions as they would where I come from, due to a few reasons, but — when we were returning from the clinic, I did notice... an aura around you. It was dark and oppressive. It didn't feel like power, which is what I expected when I first sensed it. I had never noticed anything of that nature around you before.

[He also didn't look for it, but he's certain he would have been able to tell.]

Edited 2024-03-18 00:01 (UTC)

[Quiet, he absorbs this new information. Sharingan. Rinnegan. Dōjutsu. Despite his current duress, Stiles remains fascinated by these abilities—and even begins searching for a notebook in order to record the details. But Sasuke continues speaking. Stiles finally locates a journal, binding so tight as to suggest it may be brand new, only for the teen to freeze as he’s picking it up. After a moment, it slips from nerveless fingers back to the floor. Thoughts of shinobi dōjutsu scatter like snow in a whiteout.]

Oh.

[It’s happening again, isn’t it? A sharp noise snaps out of Stiles—a bark of semi-hysterical laughter that only manages a few notes before its swallowed ruthlessly into stilted silence. Almost unconsciously, the boy practices deep breathing in an effort to thwart any potential panic attacks. And as he draws each pocket of stale air into his lungs, Stiles counts each digit of each hand, hoping desperately for proof that he’s dreaming.]

That’s a problem, [he says, voice too steady, and then there’s a whirlwind of movement as he all but throws himself off the bed again, tearing the shoebox out from under the mattress and throwing the lid over his shoulder.] This place plays tricks too, though. So who can say…?

[Seizing the mirror in a white-fisted grip, he tries to angle it so he can check the resort’s tattoo on the side of his neck. Unfortunately, the mirror’s smaller size makes it impossible.]

Sasuke. [Again, with that misleadingly calm voice—belied by the frantic look rounding out his eyes until color is devoured by white sclerae.] The mark on my neck. With my suit. Is the kanji for “onore” still there?

[Indeed it is, with the inking of the tattoo darker now than it should have been if totally inactive.]

[He doesn't know what his words have triggered in Stiles, but he can see the effect plainly, and concern only mounts higher. That scar of darkness — it must be tied into the problem, but how? Stiles produces a small mirror in a flash of silver, and his eyes fall to it reflexively, brow furrowed with question.

Onore. He looks to the place where Stiles indicates, then slowly nods. It is kanji he can read on Stiles' body, strange as that is given their different cultures. Oneself?]

Yes. It is. Why?

[The fear is stark on the other boy's face. He can recognize it now because Cy has told him what it means — that panic. Clearly, this holds heavy meaning to Stiles.]

[The confirmation does little to calm him. So what if the resort’s parody kanji still lingers? It proves nothing. And, in the wake of his experiences with Carmilla—where his Watch conveniently refused to activate—Stiles remains convinced the seemingly omniscient House will employ whatever tactics necessary to force cooperation among guests. Unless the oni somehow make an appearance here and rebrand him with an official “onore,” he can’t deny the possibility of possession.

But these are not problems to burden Sasuke with.

With a wordless nod in acknowledgement, he goes through the motions of returning the mirror to the shoebox and sliding the container under his bed for a final time.]

I don’t have answers yet.

[That, if nothing else, is a confession he owes the other boy.]

If I figure anything out, though… I’ll let you know. [Stiles has to remind himself to look at Sasuke—to offer a wan smile.] Thanks, buddy. You’ve helped me out a ton today. Don’t be a stranger, okay?

[It’s a clear, if gentle, dismissal.]

[The disengagement is acknowledged with a nod of his head, but Sasuke does not leave yet.]

Stiles. I'm not far. If you need assistance in the future, I'll be there.

[Only a room away — and suspecting who it is that had helped Stiles once before, he feels compelled to go on. If he knows Cy at all, he knows this is true for them both.]

There are people here who don't wish to see you hurt. You aren't alone in this.

[Then, rising to his feet, Sasuke is respectful to give the other boy space and privacy. He does not know him well enough to persist in his worry, or feel justified overstaying his welcome given what Stiles has just endured — so with that he will slip out, shutting the door gently behind him.]

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