Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was so easy to be kind when Reggie was around. It only seemed natural to help the weak and save kittens from the trees, be noble and spare the evil-doers, when it was the very example of his big brother Delsin always admired, even if not out loud. He would be contrary out of juvenile stubbornness, to tease and spite the by-the-book cop that Reggie was, even before he was admitted to the police academy. Despite his record, Delsin could always pick right from wrong, if not in terms of criminal law, then in terms of his own conscience. In any case, he could always count on big brother to drag him back home and explain what exactly he did wrong, in excruciating detail. No matter if it was a stolen apple from the common kitchen or a murder of a DUP officer. Reggie may not always have had the right words, but it was his kindness and compassion that made Delsin listen, and disappointment that made him feel guilt.

Delsin looked at the motionless body of Henry Daughtry on the marina wooden floor and couldn't find much compassion or guilt in himself anymore. He felt nothing hearing Hank's daughter cry out desperately for her father. Maybe a little disappointed that the girl wasn't a Conduit and couldn't kill Delsin with the same mindless rage he employed, right here and now. Death he would welcome now, if only it would stop the wailing sorrow that clawed at his insides and ripped all rational thought in pieces. He couldn't, though. At least, not yet.

Hank might have lead them into the trap, but it wasn't him who snapped its jaws. And there she was, speaking to the city as if she had any right to demand loyalty. Brooke Augustine sounded frightened over the speakers, her voice distorted and trembling, and Delsin thought viciously: “Good.„
His hands weren't shaking anymore, and his step did not waver when he walked through the charred remains of the DUP patrol, drinking in smoke fumes.

He noted absent-mindedly how much easier it was to take on a whole squad of trained dupes, when all it took them to piss their pants was a couple of exploding heads nearby. Delsin may have felt some muted satisfaction at their fear, but all he cared was the way to the concrete tower and paid little attention to the carnage in his wake.

He barely even remembers their battle with Augustine. Delsin's vision clears a bit, red blur fading slightly, when he sees his brother's killer defeated on the floor. Augustine is still alive, breathing heavily, and dusty from all the concrete dust. He uses no powers this time. No, he wants to be sure. So he goes for the head. Obviously, Augustine has no heart to speak of, but this cold and calculating mind he can destroy. He looks into her terrified eyes: oh yes, she still wants to live, not too proud to beg for mercy, but was that mercy ever given to Reggie? That's the thought in his mind when he drives a concrete shard into her eye socket: over, and over, and over again. He feels no joy, no vindication, only blind rage, and the wailing sorrow in his gut becomes even louder, squeezing the insides with its iron grip so hard, that Delsin can barely breathe. He slips on the floor beside Augustine's lifeless body and screams on a single note until his voice is merely a croak. He doesn't know at what point Fetch and Eugene enter the room, doesn't care. They look terrified, but it hardly registers in his grief-riddled mind.

He can't look them in the eye, so he, quite fittingly, sinks into the earth, seeps through the cracks in the floor and goes anywhere the wind will take him. He doesn't hear Fetch calling out for him, and even if he does, Delsin has no right to answer her call anymore.

In the end he isn't even surprised when Augustine's death brings no relief, only taste of chark in his mouth. Funny he could still feel it. Since his rage burned out, that's all he was now: cinder and ash.

Delsin drifts in and out of his solid form, almost in a trance. Eventually he finds himself at the city exit, heading towards the Salmon bay. He smiles bitterly: seems even all that happened can't make him forget his promise. Reggie wouldn't allow that too, goodie two shoes that he was.

The name is like a punch to the gut, and Delsin starts to run, thinking only of the immediate way through the ruined bridge and blissfully feels nothing while scraping his hands bloody on the wreckage and tumbling through the rubble, until he's breathless and utterly exhausted on the other side. As he lies, panting, his mind starts racing instead.

Fetch and Eugene must've started looking for him the moment he disappeared, it's unlikely that they would stay to enjoy the spoils of their victory. Not when their friend was a complete and utter wreck. Not that he had any right to call himself their friend anymore. No, he can't let them near, not now, not ever again. It would be easy for him to slip into the red haze of rage again, even easier to drag Fetch and Eugene after him. Delsin shudders when he imagines the consequences. He is sure they will be better off without him, so it's better if they don't catch up. He has little time to finish his business with the Akomish people, so he must hurry.

With that resolution made Delsin stands up and runs. He never quite stops running after that.

Chapter Text

The concrete power was on his fingertips, disgusting and solid, weighing down on his thoughts. It served its purpose: Augustine was dead and the Akomish were free from their agony. Delsin knew he would never use it again, even if his life depended on it. What was his life now anyway?

„I am one whiny son of a bitch,“ Delsin confessed to an almost empty glass of whiskey. The glass stayed silent, but the whiskey tasted just right - of burnt wood and oblivion. „I helped the helpless, got rid of the zealous bitch who terrorised the state, my friends adore me and my tribe is ready to welcome me back with open arms. Whoopdy-fucking-doo.“

Delsin chuckled, not nearly drunk enough for his liking (damn that accelerated healing, right?), and tried to gain the bartender's attention for a refill. He looked cautiously at the poorly dressed guy at the counter, as if trying to remember something. Delsin grinned crookedly, he long stopped caring if people recognized him or not, and eventually they weren't any more. Amazing what some untidy stubble and long hair (his favourite beanie left somewhere in a dingy Oklahoma motel) can do to your public image. Reggie would slap him upside the head if he saw him now. But then again, if Reggie saw him now, Delsin would be in quite a different situation. For instance, not pumping himself full of cheap whiskey in vain hope to ease the clawing grip on his insides, that's been there ever since Reggie let go of his hand.

He sighed wistfully, suddenly on the brink of tears. Something must have reflected on his face, because the next minute the bartender was on his end of the counter with another glass of whiskey. He wasn't a talkative sort, and Delsin could appreciate that, so they just exchanged nods and a couple of hours later fucked in the closet. Pity-fuck wasn't his favourite thing, but now he will take what he can get. Good thing that the guy didn't mind to be called „Reggie“ too. Delsin considered it an accomplishment that he didn't sob himself ugly on a guy's shoulder, this time at least. It wasn't exactly a healthy coping mechanism, but big brother sure wasn't there to reproach him for it.

„Delsin, right?“ the bartender asked casually, once they were finished and relatively modest again.

„Yeah.“ he replied, almost surprised. „That obvious?“

„No, I hardly recognised you with all the... entourage.“ Well doesn't a simple bartender know some long words. Delsin felt a surge of defensive anger, now acutely aware of where the conversation was heading.

„I don't think that word means what you think it means, smart-ass. Out with it, then.“ Sure, let the bastard laugh and judge - he obviously knew whose name Delsin cried out only minutes before.

The guy seemed taken aback by unexpected bite in his words, but continued nonetheless. „Just wanted to say I'm sorry. About your brother.“ Seeing a look of surprise at his words, he clarified. „It's my job to hear what people say over whiskey, you sure didn't seem upset over anything else.“

„Is it your job to give clients pity-fucks too?“ Delsin threw out the cigarette he just lit and walked out the door. Self-loathing and guilt he was used to, this new humiliation he wanted to burn. At least usually his fucks had the decency not to recognise him.

There was a vent in the kitchen, and he sifted through it, thankful for familiar heat in his bones and the feeling of his skin turning to embers. The vent spew him out on the roof and Delsin followed the airflow, wondering if he will be able just to stay like that and let the wind scatter the ashes until he was no longer. He'd gotten rather good at it too. While he couldn't just up and disperse in all directions, he sure felt more comfortable in this form, so he tried to keep it the longer he could. Guilt and sorrow couldn't eat away at him if there was nothing to burn.

That evening was lingering at the back of his mind for a long while. Delsin couldn't quite figure out why, not until he was standing gingerly at the gates of the cemetery, where the Akomish buried their people. He wasn't even sure he could call himself one, not after he took off the moment his powers were gravely needed no more, leaving the family who that day lost both of Rowe brothers. Even if he wasn't one of them, he sure can visit. They must have made a gravestone for Reggie (and what an odd expression - „Reggie's gravestone“ - Delsin cringed painfully), even with the body not found. He had to say it, even if it's completely moronic to confess his feelings to a boulder with his brother's name on it. No one ever accused Delsin Rowe of making good life decisions, and this one might as well bring him some closure. If not... well at least he will finally say it out loud, even if there's no one to hear it.

It's been an hour, and he still couldn't find the damn stone. Frustrated, and tired (always so fucking tired, weren't Conduits supposed to have enhanced endurance?), Delsin found himself in front of their parents' graves. They used to bring flowers here every year, and it's a bit surprising to see an almost fresh bouquet now. He didn't question it - must have been other Akomish to bring condolences or something. He didn't care. Something finally snapped in him, and Delsin sank onto his knees. He kept whispering how sorry he was, again and again, and again, hot tears streaming down his cheeks for the first time in months (at least not when he was in a drunken stupor or hatefucking someone in a dingy motel, probably still drunk), his body shaking violently. How pissed they must be at him. Reggie took care of him until the end, and Delsin couldn't protect him with all of his fancy powers that were only good for wreaking havoc. There was sand in his eyes, and dust on his tongue, and Delsin felt like coughing up a fucking dune, before he slipped down, drifted off right there, with his head on the ground and body crumpled in fetal position.

Waking up he saw Reggie on his knees next to him, looking sad, relieved and on the verge of tears all the once. Delsin only chuckled, sounding exhausted rather than amused.

„Hey Reggie.“ Tongue was like a sandpaper in his mouth, and he cringed, clearing his throat. „Aren't you a persistent little fucker. Am I dead yet?“

The look of utter shock on Reggie's face was very funny for some reason. Delsin sluggishly thought that he's going to be thoroughly reprimanded for dying so early, when Reggie spent so much effort on sacrificing himself for his sake. It didn't matter. For all he knew they could be stuck in some hellish purgatory something, and it wouldn't matter, because angry dead Reggie was better than none.

"Delsin, what the hell?"Angry and concerned, yeah, that was his Reggie alright. Only then Delsin noticed dark morning sky, heavy with rain, felt exhaustion still nestled in his bones, and turned to Reggie, who for some inexplicable reason was still there, and looked like he was torn between shaking the soul out of his younger brother and hugging him.

"Reg..." Delsin started almost choking on the name, but cut himself off, mumbling, irate and scared. "Yeah, hallucinating, great. Because that's what I needed."

There was no way he could have survived the fall, much less waited for him in the village. He would've hunted Delsin like a shitty brat and dragged him home... Then he noticed the cane. Well that explained a lot.

Fuck, no, he was not going to fall for this, only to have Reggie disappear after his mind cleared. Delsin shook his head violently, trying to banish the picture of his very much alive brother in front of him.

"Delsin, that's enough! It's me, I'm here!" And then there were hands on his shoulders, arms hugging him so tightly, they almost squeezed all air from his lungs.That was quite a feat for a hallucination, but it was the voice that finally got to him. It was thick with panic and worry, and held so much affection. Delsin couldn't be that cruel even to himself.

He finally sagged in his brother's arms, feeling completely and utterly empty.

"Fucking hell, bro..." he breathed, chuckling hysterically, paying no attention to tears that started streaming down his face with renewed vigour. He wanted to shake Reggie and ask why he didn't look for him, and then he wanted to spring up and ask why the hell Reggie was hugging him in the first place, after all he did, after all the people he killed. He wanted to say that he really, really didn't deserve such affection after all the feverish nights he sobbed Reggie's name in the pillow or someone else’s shoulder. He wanted to say a lot of things. Instead, he just whispered in the crook of his brother's neck, his voice small and pathetic. "I missed you so, so fucking much."

And there were tender fingers in his hair, a chaste kiss on the forehead and a lot of strangled silence. Eventually Reggie whispered back, his voice thick with emotion, hardly recognizable now: „Me too, Del. Me too.“