In which Griffin proves he's a dumb bitch, and Balakai gets territorial.

Word Count: 4436

CW: Murder, blood, violence, death

The witch shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his head down, not really interested in people, but too awake now to go back to sleep despite the fact that dawn was some three or so hours away. His back and wrist ached.  Really, he should have tried to sleep. He knew what would be waiting, however, and he just wasn't in the mood for more dreams. There were days when the pleasant memories of the past were just that and they had no hooks that could tether into his day-to-day life. He rarely let them. The knowledge that Julian knew he was alive had complicated things and now he couldn't get the thought out of his head. 

When the other witch had left him for dead, he'd accepted that, even the betrayal. Griffin was a horrible person and knew it. Life did not owe him any kind of happiness or good. The social contract of the world had failed him, his family, and everything in him that had trusted it had been burned away and drowned in darkness. He didn't believe in it anymore and thus did not expect it from anywhere or anyone. When Julian had betrayed him, he'd been more angry with himself for his foolish hope than anything else. He would always reap what he had no compunctions or regrets about sewing. There had been a certain freedom after that, to just move on and leave it behind. He'd left Boston and resigned to stay away for a few decades. No big deal. 

Julian would grow old and die like everyone else and Griffin would be rid of him. 

Now, he had to reassess his original plans as he was drawn back here after all this time and Julian was clearly very aware that he was alive and well. He'd gone to elaborate lengths to make sure that Griffin wouldn't notice him across the street until he was ready. They’d been playing a subtle game of cat-and-mouse even if Julian didn’t realize it yet.   

He knew Julian well enough, and his ambitions even better, but he hadn’t expected Julian to be that brazen; enough to leave such a clear bait trap for him. 

Maybe he should have. 

The blonde had always been sharp beneath the pretty, and dedicated to his ambitions most of all. Griffin just wasn't sure entirely what those were. Power, surely, but there were better ways to do that than fuck around in the Sinclaires' backyard and certainly draw their attention. It seemed so much messier than he'd been the first time and it pricked at him that there had to be another reason he was doing this here and now. And that he wanted Griffin to know that he was doing it, using his magic to garner power. If it was simply to finish what he'd started, he likely could have killed him any number of times since then. It stood to reason, then, that what he really wanted… was Griffin’s immortality. 
Good luck with that.  Even Death didn’t seem to know why he did not remain in the grave.

The witch wasn't really paying attention to where he was going, just moved from one pool of phosphorescent light to the next. The streets were quiet, but not silent because life here never really stopped. Then his attention sharpened. There was a ring of bright, familiar laughter. A couple stumbled out of a closing bar just beyond Griffin, turning to walk down the other street. One forgettable older man nondescript next to the bright, golden haired one who leaned on his shoulder. 

He'd aged a little since Griffin had seen him- Julian's face had lost some of the boyish youth and matured into graceful masculinity. His eyes bright, his face seamed with smiles as though the man he walked arm in arm with had said something utterly delightful, face faintly flushed with drink, or perhaps desire.

Griffin looked up and stopped dead, mostly hidden in the shadows of the overhanging trees. His breath caught in his chest, heart constricting. He did not love Julian. Never had. He wasn't even sure he was capable of the emotion. He had been lost in the bright and sweet of him, the soft echoing of memory that was so much like Christian that it had felt like capturing a piece of the life that they should have had. Burning jealousy flooded him.  Even though he hated him. Even though he needed Julian dead. That someone else would have their hands on him where he could see them made Griffin near blind with rage.

He took a breath, painful as it stretched the furrows in his back and while a voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to go the fuck home and leave this be, he couldn't. He'd kill them both and be done with all of this. Leave this fucking city and get paid. Go home, lose himself for a little while and just let the world pass him by until he got restless again. Caution fled on swift wings.  Warnings whispered in the back of his mind that he knew this was too convenient went unheeded. He did know. Certainly he did. 

It didn’t matter.

Whatever power Julian had harnessed would be his and he'd make it up to Balakai later that he hadn't let him be there when he killed the other witch. 

With the moon high and blood still wet under the patches of gauze Balakai had dressed him in, it took little more than a gesture and a whisper into the warm night air to summon silence around him.  Around a corner he followed them, the sound of his steps swallowed by shadow.  A few more blocks and into a slightly less busy area. He lost sight of them around another corner for only a moment, rounding it behind them and held in the darkness.

The pair had stopped, most of the way towards the end of a blind alley, half hidden in the darkness. Julian on his knees, hands braced on the other man's thighs. The man's hand was in his hair, as the blonde murmured something soft, playful. They both laughed in the hushed and secret way of lovers trying not to be caught. No light quite reached the inky blackness of the alley beyond them, and even the shadows that clung along the edges of the buildings seemed somehow more impenetrable than normal darkness.

Griffin's blood ran like ice. He'd changed a lot if this was his flavor now. Julian had been shy and self conscious. Or maybe not. Griffin hadn't really known him, had he? Only the version of him that suited the lovely and manipulative witch. It was possible that everything had been but a play and himself only the audience, all of Julian's actions and seeming innocence and inexperience just set dressing for the grand play he'd been directing. 

Griffin didn't really think. He moved his hands in the patterns that would call to the night and the power that existed, lurked, in the space between stars. Inky and black, ever hungry like the feelings that always clawed at the inside of him, as he muttered the first words of casting. He could feel the magic in the world around him and as his spell began to take shape, the first threads of the binding that would shut Julian off from his access to magic so that Griffin could deal with him at his leisure. 

Then he heard a disappointed tsking from behind him.

The knife that slid between Griffin's ribs was long and sharp- it split through the flesh with hardly any resistance until it scraped against the inside of his sternum. Julian's hand fisted in the back of his shirt, to keep him from pulling off the blade immediately. "I didn't actually think you would be so stupid." 

He sounded more disappointed than anything else. He gave Griffin a little shove forward and pulled the blade out, stepping to the side to avoid any of the blood splattering on his neat clothes. Julian moved into Griffin’s line of sight, settling on the edge of an overturned cardboard box. The knife still in one hand dripped blood onto the asphalt. It had been a killing blow, though perhaps not immediately. "You wouldn't believe the stories I've heard about you, love. Here I thought you were dead, that you'd simply taught me the wrong spell, or perhaps I wasn't strong enough and that's why I hadn't been able to grow stronger off you. But when I heard you were alive... well. I had to try again. You see, then it did work. So I'm thinking it must be you. What's so special about you, Grif?" 

He brushed his free hand through the loose glory of his golden hair.

Griffin choked, no sound as he tried to curse because the son-of-a-witch had lanced him through the lung and into his heart. The poor muscle was struggling to keep up pressure and it was going to fail as his chest cavity filled with blood. From experience, he knew he had minutes.  Only minutes, agonizing as they might be. The shaking of shock started almost before he hit the pavement on his knees, ungracefully landing on his ass with a hiss of sound because he couldn't make proper words. 

Which meant he couldn't cast. 

He felt around his pockets and realized that he'd left his phone at home. Plugged in beside the bed because he hadn't exactly planned this little outing. 

Balakai was right, he really was a dumb bitch.

Griffin contented himself with giving Julian the finger, leaning heavily on his right arm as a wave of nauseous dizziness swept over him. Fucking blood loss. Again.

Julian leaned forward and wiped his blade clean on Griffin's pant leg as the witch slumped over, then settled back on his seat and crossed his legs, ankle resting on opposite knee. The knife vanished under his jacket and he laced his fingers in front of him. "I'm going to watch this, I think. See what happens."

Breathing was hard and he felt the stutter of his heart as it tried to work, did not enjoy the horrible noise of his every breath and the fact that he couldn't even tell Julian to go fuck himself. That was much worse than the dying, though this wasn't really a lot of fun either. Dying when he didn't intend to was a real pain in the ass and he wasn't at all looking forward to what Julian was going to do with him once he was dead. Wait? Take off with him? 

He wondered how long before the Sinclaires gave up. If he was really lucky, the stalker would come looking. Maybe. If he was bored. 

Griffin’s arm gave out, sending him properly sprawling to the ground. His mismatched eyes found Julian's and the other man had such a benevolently placid look on his face, curious and sweet and it was impossible, even now, to reconcile that image with the nightmares of which Griffin knew him capable. He could hear his heart slowing in his ears and finally he was pulled into the familiar dark, his last sight of that lovely smile.

When Griffin woke, it was flat on his back in the middle of the living room of the brownstone he rented. Dawn was just beginning to break through the windows and above him Balakai crouched, not quite touching him, eyes a deep shade of scarlet.

He ached. Felt sick for all that his stomach was empty. He blinked up at the demon and his brows furrowed. There was the taste of blood in his mouth and it made his stomach roll uneasily. 

It hurt to breathe.

Balakai met his eyes, steady and unblinking and angry. A sort of smoldering, fierce rage that was more than when he'd ripped the witch limb from limb. When he was sure he had Griffin's attention, he spoke. His voice rumbled low and furious and edged with a snarl, teeth flashing sharp.  "What the fuck do you think you were doing, getting killed? Didn't I fucking tell you that was mine?" 

He shifted his weight forward, letting his knees come down out of his crouch to land on Griffin's upper arms, digging in to hold him down. His hands slid up his chest to curl fingers around his throat. 

"Mine," he snarled, and squeezed.

Griffin's eyes went wide in fear, real and immediate. It was all human and he tried to scramble to move, to do anything, as the cold flood of dread washed over him. 

"I didn't-" It was hopeless. He was still far too weak and there was nothing he could do as he felt the hands at his throat, vice like. His fingers scrabbled ineffectually at the wood floor, at the demon’s thighs as he held him down. He felt the edges of his vision turn kind of gray and fuzzy, his ears ringing as he fought to draw weak breaths into damaged lungs and just couldn't. 

Once more he felt himself slip into shadow. 

Balakai was still standing over Griffin- or perhaps, standing over him again- when the witch woke again but this time he failed to notice. He was on his feet, wearing one of Griffin's shirts and his own skinny jeans, barefoot on the hardwood. His eyes were dark and his voice threaded with a snarl as he raised it in argument.

"Give it a few hours, Relic, and cool your fucking heels. He's fine." Balakai snapped at the other demon in the foyer with his little bevy of humans. Though without the slender pale one this time, he noted.

"Fine? That's your definition of fine, Balakai? He's fucking dead. Again." There was utter disgust in the voice of the summoned daemon and while he didn't have the same kind of raw power that Balakai did, Relic had other skills and a proper Summoner now. It would have been a really nasty fight if it came to it.

"Don't be a drama queen, Sinclaire," Griffin croaked, his voice raw and more breath than actual sound. "Happens all the time."

"Jesus fuck!" The raven haired, former assassin almost jumped out of his skin as the witch tried to sit up and failed, groaning. 

Griffin made a grabby hands motion for the beer that Balakai had left on the coffee table, mostly ignoring everyone else. 

"Tell your goons to wait outside. They'll get dirt on my floors and sanctimony is impossible to get out of the carpet." Dying back to back had not been kind, leaving his skin a sick paraffin color and his eyes dull. There were still dark bruises around his neck, though no scars from that, and when he raised his hand it shook. "The hell do you want, anyway? Can't a man die in peace?" 

Balakai glared down at Griffin when he spoke, not at all startled. His upper lip lifted in a little flash of teeth that was still deeply displeased. He leaned over and picked up the beer, dangling it above Griffin's head just within reach. "See, I told you. He's fine."

The hellhound practically vibrated with restraint- like if Relic hadn't been there, he might have killed Griffin again. Or at least maimed him a little. Relic was the weaker in raw power, but he'd had centuries longer to hone the use of his skills in a human body, in a human world. Balakai was a creature mostly of raw, unhoned power. He preferred to fight with tooth and claw, maybe a little shadow thrown around for fun, but he wasn't particularly deft. He'd not spent his couple of decades here fighting- he'd spent them debauching and didn't really want to change that.  

He, at least, had enough of a sense of self preservation not to start that fight if he didn’t have to.

The witch gave the demon a scathing look as he toyed with the bottle and the look on his face wasn't lost on Griffin. This wasn't the last that he was going to hear of this. He could almost feel the wrath radiating off of the hound. He was a little curious who would win that fight and a twisted part of him wondered if he could get them to come to blows without getting himself killed again. That felt like a whole lot more effort than for which he had any kind of energy. 

"Not fine. Alive." He met Balakai's dark eyes for a long moment before looking away and a little all over shiver shook him as he levered himself into a sitting position on the couch. 

"How long was I dead this time?" He dragged his hands over his face and leaned back, eyes closed. 

Relic's eye narrowed as he watched the subtle play between the two. He didn't give a solitary fuck what kind of trouble Griffin Summerville got himself into, but he was well aware of Balakai's vices and the pair of them in his back yard together wasn't something he wanted any part of. It could only end badly for anyone caught in the crossfire. "Two days."

"One day." 

Balakai spoke the same time Relic did, and he arched a brow at the daemon. Something about him settled a little and he dropped onto the arm of the couch next to Griffin, shoving the bottle into his hands. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Relic.

Relic gave a long suffering sigh and raked a hand through the lengths of his dark hair, glaring daggers at the demon. His gaze fell to Griffin's neck and the dark storm of bruises there and he did the math. 

"Two days since the alley." He nodded for the five men with him to wait outside like Griffin had asked, mostly because he wasn't terribly interested in them getting hurt if any of the supernaturals in the room decided to get jumpy. He didn't trust Balakai.

The witch didn't open his eyes, just brought the half bottle of tepid beer to his lips and drank it in slow sips. His ears were still ringing and he felt like complete shit. He needed to eat and sleep and shower; not necessarily in that order. "And Julian?"

"Spooked when we came to collect you. We lost him." Relic studied Griffin's face, looking for hints as to what might be going on in his head. "He got the drop on you?"

"Not for the first time," Griffin replied with a long sigh, cracking his eyes to watch Balakai sidelong. "I didn't think he saw me, but in retrospect I'm guessing he's been watching for a while. Seems I inspire stalkers. Yay me." 

Balakai had ceased to watch Relic now that Griffin was up and sort of moving. He watched him drink, then made a soft "tch," and slid to his feet. He prowled out of the living room to the kitchen, turning his back on Relic in clear dismissal as the humans filed out. He rattled around the kitchen for a moment as they talked, and when he came back it was with two more beers and a protein bar. He set both open beers on the coffee table within easy reach of himself and Griffin. The wrapper crinkled as he opened the protein bar and broke off a piece. He nudged Griffin's beer out of the way, and set the piece to his lips. 

"Eat," he growled.

Griffin's eyes narrowed dangerously and had Relic Sinclaire not been in the room this might have gone differently. He wasn't sure he much cared to be bossed around right now, even if he needed the nutrition and Balakai taking some kind of care of him was novel. He wasn't about to invite the Sinclaire to know more of their dynamic than needed, however, because they weren't friends. Even if he wasn't sure how he wanted to feel about Balakai right now, he'd take the murdering demon over the righteous one. 

"How'd I even get here?" He asked as he chewed on the bar, voice flat. "Last thing I remember, Julian was enjoying watching me gurgle and die."

Relic nodded toward Balakai. "Got a text from the mutt that you'd gotten yourself into trouble with Rhodes. The point was for us to stay out of this mess, but it wasn't too much trouble to drive near enough to spook him. He also doesn't want trouble with us." His lips curled just a little in a satisfied grin.

"Dragged your sorry ass back. You're welcome." Balakai muttered, and broke off another piece, waiting with a sort of aggressive patience for Griffin to finish the first piece before he held the next bite up to his lips.

"You can leave now, you know." The demon didn't take his eyes off Griffin, but the tilt of his head and shoulders indicated that he wasn't talking to the witch. "I told you to stay out. You're the one who decided to come nosing around."

Relic's smile vanished and he resumed the expression of unveiled disgust. "I need Summerville alive and in one piece. Think you can manage that?" It wasn’t an overt threat, but it wasn’t a particularly subtle one either. 

"That entirely depends on him. Fuck off."

Relic looked at Griffin who wasn't paying him any mind and rolled his eyes. "Get your shit together, Griffin. This has been a mess even for you." He turned on a heel and left, clearly done with them for the time being and happy to be dismissed. 

"No gag reflex, huh? I'd still like to see that, not gonna lie," Griffin commented as he heard the door slam shut behind the Sinclaire, though there was no grin attached to the snark. Now that Relic was gone he was watching Balakai with a different intensity, very still and reserved.

Blakai gave a soft snort of satisfaction as Relic left, though it had not been precisely a win. He didn't like being under the eye of House Sinclaire, even if Relic alone wouldn't have had the power to keep him from doing anything he really wanted to do. The fact that Griffin's attention was almost entirely on him and not the demon now settled the snarling territoriality of him though, and he met the witch's regard unflinchingly, though his eyes had brightened towards amber.

"Eat." He insisted, tapping the next piece of the protein bar on Griffin's lower lip. Little bites, nothing that would overwhelm the recently dead's stomach probably. He didn't have a lot of experience with the newly resurrected except for Griffin, but he knew what healing from major shit looked like.

"Not planning to kill me immediately?" The witch asked a little churlishly, expression discontent. He took the bite anyway because he didn't really have another choice.

"No. Not at the moment." He didn't touch Griffin, didn't move closer to him for the moment, still perched on the arm of the couch, knees up against his chest and bare toes digging into the crack between the cushions.

The witch gave a slow sigh and let his head fall back, eyes cracked but still watching the demon. "I didn't do it on purpose. I'm sorry." 

Was he? He had to really think about it because he wasn't one who gave apologies often. There was something in the stillness and possessiveness of Balakai, though, that almost read as hurt. It was anger, that much he knew, but he'd told him he wouldn't let Julian kill him again and he didn't like breaking his word for any reason, no matter how insane the circumstances had been.

"I don't care."

The words were surprisingly calm. Now, the world felt like it was right. Or at least, better. Griffin was alive and while he didn't look good he was lucid and moving. There was no one in the house besides them anymore, no hostiles invading Balakai’s territory.

Griffin gave a long suffering sigh. 

"Fine." He shifted to push himself off of the couch. "I'm going back to sleep." 

He just didn't have the energy for this right now. The roller coaster. Balakai snarling two seconds ago and almost normal now. The witch looked down at the fresh beer on the table and snagged it before he wavered on his feet and slowly tried to make his way to the stairs. The room tilted and he had to stop several times as his vision tried to narrow, but a few seconds to let it settle and he made it to the bottom stairs before a coughing fit left him breathless, heart racing. 

He drew his hand back and saw it spattered with blood and cursed. He hated healing lungs.

Balakai arched a brow and just watched him go until he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. Then, leisurely, he picked up his own beer and wandered over. He dropped down next to the witch, not offering to help. He took a swig of beer and offered another piece of protein bar.

"Finish this and I'll help you into bed."

Griffin didn't argue, just took the bar and made himself eat it before washing it down with a long swig of the beer. Being so recently dead and seeing Julian was making him act like an emotional cunt and he wasn't fond of it. It flirted too dangerously with the kind of person that he loathed and he would toss himself into a volcano before he lived like this. He'd worked far too hard to burn it all away to let the annoying bits of humanity creep up on him. 

"He's going to try again. Julian. Seems to wanna know what makes me tick. Joke's on him," he said with a mirthless little smile. "Not even the Avatar of Death knows why I'm like this. Julian's gonna be disappointed."

By the time Griffin finished the protein bar, Balakai had finished his beer. He set the bottle on the floor and sighed, getting to his feet. He leaned down to catch Griffin under the arm, giving him a moment to brace himself before he pulled him to his feet.

"Good. Because you said I could watch you kill him."

"Oh I'm not just going to kill him," Griffin said, his voice dropping low and his expression sharpening as they made their slow way up the stairs. "I'm going to murder him very slowly. He asked me to beg once. I think I'll return the favor."