open | so make mine a pain in the neck

[burying]

Who: Kieren Walker + You!
What: Kieren returns to Milton after his self-exile. Catch-all for August.
When: Mid-August, onwards.
Where: Various.

Content Warnings: Will be added to specific prompts!



wildcards fine with plotting, hmu! | permissions are here | contact: heolstor / _heolstor for questions/plotting

Comments

✞ HERE’S TO YOU, YOU OLD WRECK

[burying]

cw: allusions to suicide

[ A few days before the usual Feasts that Methuselah holds, he makes the journey back. Treks through the quiet, snowy woods where he’d hidden himself away. Part of him still doesn’t know why he’s going back. That maybe he should just… stay out here, lost in the deep, dark parts of this world — existing quietly, not being a bother to anyone. Keeping a safe distance from anyone he gives a shit about and doesn’t give a shit about. Because he still does, even the ones he doesn’t know. They’re all in danger of him, and the sensation of blood and gore on his hands still feels to fresh and makes him shudder all over again and he’s scared about it happening again.

He doesn’t deserve the kindness. Not after what he did.

He can’t forgive himself. And all he can ever think of doing is leaving, is running off and maybe not coming back. It’s etched into the history of him. Quite literally. But this time he’d left a note. He would stay, he wouldn’t leave like that again.

There are people he cares about here. So against what’s inside of him telling him to stay away, he walks back to Milton — a pack against his back and a gnawing feeling in his stomach that grows the closer he gets to town.

He stops by the churchyard. There are fresh graves now, the ones who died in June. Kieren silently steps amongst them, looking for one in particular. Simone Vitucci. When he finds it, he unshoulders his pack and places it down. He has nothing to give but a sprig of spruce-fir. Gingerly lowering himself to sit in the snow before the grace, he pulls his knees to his chest. ]

I’m sorry.

[meadqueen]

[Randvi doesn't always know how to honour people here, but after the horrible events of the previous month, she had taken to leaving offerings at the graves on occasion.

This time, there is someone else there when she arrives. She doesn't know the boy well, but recognizes his lanky form even from behind.

Before she can think better of it she calls out quietly:] Kieren Walker.

[burying]

[ Kieren turns his head to look, peering over his shoulder as his name's called. For a moment, he's a deer in the headlights. He recognises the woman, even if he doesn't know her. She spoke during the trial.

He swallows thickly and gets to his feet again — painfully slow and careful. ]

... Yeah?

[guidemyway]

[The few weeks have definitely been awkward since all the chaos died down. It hadn't exactly been easy for anyone, but Ruby knew it had weighed heavier on some than others.

She's out on patrol when she catches sight of Kieren in the graveyard and she feels a little lump form in her stomach. She knows bigger things happened than their little encounter in June, but she still felt a little bad about how desperate she had been in those moments.

She awkwardly approaches as he sits down by the grave and only after an awkward silence manages to speak up.]

Hey.

You made it back.

[burying]

[ He heard the footsteps approach, and there's a painful feeling in his stomach as he works himself up to look around to see who it is. As soon as he catches sight of her, he looks quickly back round again — keeping his eyes on the grave in front of him.

Guilt makes a home in him so easily. He remembers only too well what happened the last time they saw one another, and Kieren knows it's just one more thing to feel shit about. ]

... Yeah. [ It's quietly spoken, his lips purse for a long moment. ] Suppose I couldn't stay away forever.

[wolf_lover]

[Not too far off, there was a rather large brown wolf who seemed to be having far too good of a time in the snow. He kept zooming around as if running just for the sake of it. Connor couldn't help it. He was still so happy that he could shapeshift again and into his main form no less!

He was rolling around in the snow when he caught scent of someone nearby. Ears perked up and nose quivering, he followed it towards the graveyard. Going inside, he saw some guy he'd not see before sitting in front of a grave and looking morose. Well, there was only one thing to do, at least when you were Connor and prone to following your instincts no matter where they led.

So he went over to Kieren, crunching through the snow on big paws. He came right up to him and pawed at him gently. Still, even gentle as he was being, Connor was a great big fluffy brown wolf with sharp teeth. That could freak some people out and he hadn't even thought of if it would do the same to Kieren or not.]

[burying]

[ There's movement in the snow. It... doesn't sound like a person, and Kieren's freezing, lifting his head a little to listen to the sounds of it. A different kind of gait, more— more like a dog? Something that's not on two legs. He's perfectly still, eyes trying to peer round but he doesn't dare turn his head.

And the beast comes right up to him, pawing at him gently. Kieren trembles, horrified. Oh, shit. He's actually going to die, it's a fucking wolf.

He makes a strange little sound in the back of his throat, half-whine and half-whisper. Jesus, there's a wolf and it's pawing at him and maybe it won't think he's food because he's dead. He probably doesn't smell right to it. Maybe. He won't smell good to eat.

... Christ, he needs to move.

From not moving at all, Kieren dives away from the wolf — scrambling away in the snow with a strangled cry. He clambers backwards, trying to put as much space as he can. Fuck, fuck fuck— ]

damian is going to be mean i am sorry

[thefifthchild]

Do you think that helps her?

[Damian lingers unseen in the graveyard, only revealing himself to cast judgement. A few paces behind Kieran, he glances down at the graves of everyone killed by their collective hands.

His voice is flat - not quite sharp, but there's a hint of iron to it. He didn't have an opinion on Kieran before. He does now.]

it's fine, Kieren thinks he deserves it

[burying]

[ His head lifts a little at the voice. He looks back just a little, but not quite the whole way. Sorry doesn't help, no. It doesn't make anything better. He remembers Jem throwing a glass at him because he said sorry — anger and grief all mixed together. She didn't want his apologies. ]

No. [ His voice is quiet, weary. ] It doesn't help at all.

She's not even here to forgive me if she wanted to.

[tinstar]

[Raylan wasn't bothered by graveyards, wary only of the philosophical way minds tended to go when they stared at them for too long. He was here on a walk, an idle nagging half thought pushing him to half wonder if his unused grave from in front of the Givens Home would be here among the headstones. The larger part of him doubted it, but that didn't stop the niggling paranoia in the back of his head.

Spotting Kieran near by, Raylan shifts direction and comes up a few feet away beside him. He waits a beat, looking over the name scrawled onto the marker.]

A friend? [No, he doubted it. His best guess was on 'the victim' but it seemed a little on the nose to come out swinging like that.]

[burying]

[ Kieren jumps a little, despite himself. His head lifting a little in the direction of the voice. He stares for a moment, a little wide-eyed — the deer in the headlights before looking apologetic for being so jumpy. His gaze soon turns back onto the grave, though. ]

... I didn't even know her. [ He shakes his head a little. ] Maybe... in passing, I guess. Bit like how everyone knows everyone in small places like this.

cw: suicide mention

[readytosee]

[He's not sure why he's here, honestly. The man he's looking for isn't among the gravemarkers. He'd checked already. Run here a day or two after his dream during the Aurora. The one that had felt so real, kneeling in the forest with his closest friend dying in his arms.

But Casper hadn't even been there, when the man had died. Shot himself, they said. It's the only possible explanation, since the gun could only work in his hands. So much love lost between them. So much regret. Maybe this place was giving him another chance to say goodbye.

It isn't until the boy speaks that Casper even notices someone else in the churchyard. He starts a little, pulling off his glasses and wiping his eyes quickly.]

Apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt you.

[burying]

[ Kieren startles himself, despite himself — turning around slightly in the direction of the sound, of the voice. He pulls one of his arms from his knees, presses it to the snow, ready to push himself up and run if he needs to. He knows it's quiet, he knows it's out of the way.

He's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, even over a month on from it all. He still wouldn't blame them.

But there's nothing but an apology, and Kieren swallows thickly, takes a steadying breath. ]

No, it's okay. [ His voice cracks a little as he forces a smile. ] I mean, it's a free space. Uh. You know. Well, you know what I mean.

[ He doesn't have the monopoly over the church yard. ]

✞ MAKE MINE AN 'ALL OUT OF LUCK'

[burying]

cw: n/a

[ By the time he shuffles back to his cabin on Basin Outlook, his stomach’s all in knots. The cabin is cold and dark as he steps inside, dust on the air. He can’t tell if anyone’s been in here since he left. He left a note, he thinks and he’s sure someone must have found it. Someone must have come across it. It’s the first thing he goes to look for, leaving the door wide open behind him as she drops his pack and hurries for where he’d left it: on the mantle, above the fire.

It’s not there. And he thinks thank Christ, because maybe that means someone did find it. They found it and took it and—

Something white catches his eye below him, half in the fireplace. Neatly folded paper, covered in ash, a little singed. Kieren bends to reach for it with a shaking hand. His note. Fallen from where he’d put it, slightly charred by the embers of the last fire he’d lit. Kieren stares at it with wide eyes, horrified. Surely not. Surely someone found it. Surely it’s not been here all this time, surely— ]

Fuck. [ He breathes out the word and rises. Guilt sinks in quickly, and Kieren has never felt more stupid in his entire life. He left a note. He did it this time. He left it so people would know he’d be okay, that he just needed to not be here for a while, just so—

It snarls up in him. Kieren feels his throat tightening. Idiot. And all this time it’s been nothing but being numb and hiding and—

He grabs and wrenches over a nearby dining chair in his anger, and it clatters and scrapes loudly against the floor. And it's not enough, and he feels so useless and he's grabbing a jar of paintbrushes from the kitchen table and hurling it across the room, letting it smash against the wall. Fuck—! His hands going behind his head as he stands there for a long moment.

He’s fucked it up. Big time. He tried and he still couldn’t do it right. ]

[satanicpanics]

[ When Kieren disappeared, Eddie hadn’t found his note. It seems like no one found the note. Eddie just automatically assumed the worst, because that’s all this place has ever given him reason to believe. When was the last time something truly good happened? There’s always someone sick or dying or missing, there’s always concerns over the food situation and the people who live outside of Milton. It’s exhausting, and for a month, Kieren’s joined Eddie’s growing list of missing people he refuses to stop keeping an eye out for.

This time, it actually works out. Because Eddie is in the area when Kieren comes shuffling back into his cabin, just in time to hear the smashing glass. ]

Hey, Kieren.

[ He was fully prepared to give him shit about disappearing, but whatever anger and frustrating was burning in his chest curls and extinguishes itself. He remembers what happened directly before Kieren disappeared, and it’s clear that thee’s still just too much going on here, he doesn’t need to add more to this guy’s plate.

Instead, he holds his hands up defensively, and speaks and approaches cautiously as if he’s dealing with a wounded animal. But he manages a half-smile, and a half-joke: ]

You know, I was just thinking that I could really use a vacation. You’re gonna have to give me your recommendations.

[ And then, in a bit of an afterthought, he tips his head towards the ashes of the extinguished fire. ]

I can light that for you if you want.

[burying]

[ Kieren jumps a little at the voice and he whips round, eyes wide for a moment. Y'know, he's really glad he's not one of those folks who broadcast their thoughts everywhere. Because all that'd be coming out of his mind right now is oh for fuck's sake several times over, along with a few different variations of it. ]

Eddie, I— [ ... And he's got nothing, his head dropping as he pulls his hands away from the back of his head with a groan. No one's known where he's been this whole bloody time, including Eddie, of all people.

Now he really feels like shit. Kieren swallows, sheepish and shitty and awkward. He doesn't even know where to start until Eddie tips his head towards the fireplace. That'd probably be a good idea. Even if it's going to be more for Eddie than Kieren. ]

... Yeah, let me get some stuff for it. [ He hovers for a moment before turning, reaching for a small pile close to the fireplace and starts shoving tinder and wood in there. ] Here. You can... do your thing.

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey's headed back from the forests around the basin towards Milton itself. After all, there's better hunting out there. He's got the corpse of a rabbit slung over his shoulder as he makes his way back towards town...when he spots someone.

Kieren.

Hickey's not sure whether to be pleased to see him or annoyed that he has no idea where Kieren's been the past month. Maybe he'll figure it out when he meets Kieren, as he walks towards the man, small frown on his face. Hickey's mood settles on 'annoyed' as he goes to not-so-lightly punch Kieren in the shoulder. ]

Asshole. Idiot. We've got those lunatics in the woods carving people up and you vanish?

[burying]

[ Ah. Shit. ]

... Hey. [ It comes out like a little whine, than anything else. It doesn't hurt since he can't feel it, but his hand goes up to his shoulder to rub it like it does — more of a memory reflex than anything.

(He's still not clocked he's even colder than usual. Whatever colder than a corpse is.)

Kieren's stunned for a long moment, and really he's got nothing in the face of that. He could argue back, considering Kieren himself also technically carved someone up... in a fashion. Not that he exactly wanted to, but it's.. not dissimilar vibes. ]

I— I left a note.

[ Which... ended up falling of the mantlepiece. ]

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe is out running around as a wolf, sniffing around familiar places, when she hears noise from Kieren’s cabin. She approaches slowly, hackles up and a growl rumbling low in her throat, but then she smells it. In this form, she’s never seen a human that smelled this way. It must be Kieren.

Hopefully the kid isn't looking out the window, because she changes back right on his front step, quickly dressing in the emergency outfit tucked into the cloth pack wrapped around her torso.

That's how Chloe winds up pounding on Kieren’s door in a faded red t-shirt, yoga pants and jelly sandals, all smelling faintly of dog.]

I know you're in there! My feet are freezing!

[burying]

[ Fortunately for Chloe, Kieren's not looking out his window. He'd probably never admit to it even if he was, for both of their sakes. He's carefully cleaning up, clearing glass is a painstaking process when you can't feel much. He's an idiot.

He jumps at the knock at his door, and the voice that soon follows. Shit. There's a bit of hovering before he sheepishly moves to the door, head already hanging low because this absolutely going to be a riot.

He opens the door, taking one look at her — gaze moving down to look at her feet. ]

... what you doing dressed like that?

[ Chloe, it's freezing out. Probably. He doesn't actually know. ]

[notarat]

[ Billy is far from the first to show up at Kieren's place. It's only when word gets out - let's be real, he likely heard about it from Hickey - that he ends up at the other's doorstep. He can kind of figure what the general response is going to be to Kieren vanishing like that all of a sudden and then showing back up in town just as suddenly, so he's definitely letting everyone else go ahead to deliver that exact response before Billy himself knocks on the door of Kieren's home, long after Kieren's tantrum.

Not being the first person is often much more efficient, he has found.

When Kieren opens the door, Billy will hold up a bag he's carrying with him. ]

I brought you a 'welcome back' gift. [ Hurrah!

.. Though maybe slightly less hurrah when you take the fact that Billy is saying it kind of dryly into consideration. ]

[burying]

[ At this point, he's used to the visitors. People seem to be coming over before he can really get a chance to get his head on straight and go out and find people himself. He owes them that. To go over and see the people he knows. But they keep coming round, and he knows the whole town must know by now.

It's just one more thing to feel bad about.

He's weary when he opens the door. He can't hide the expression on his face: a kind of quiet cringe, tinged with guilt. Kieren pauses for a moment, looking at the bag ]

... Is it a punch in the face?

[ He's only half-joking. ]

cw: themes of suicide

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin hasn't given up on finding the kid, though his ability to look for him has been frustratingly hindered by the state of his own body. He was once a man capable of immense physical exertion and prowess, and although he hasn't fully lost it, he's... noticeably less, now. Tired, fatigued, ill. The condition of his body and what inhabits it keeps him ailing, especially in this environment.

Still, he tries. He's spent the past several weeks not forgetting about the missing boy or what might have happened to him. He asks questions. He explores seemingly abandoned buildings. But there's been no sign of him.

There's one option, which is that someone here took it upon themselves to get rid of a dangerous threat after what was revealed at that trial, and did it quickly. But the other option, and the worse one, is that Kieren's still alive somewhere. Held. The cosmonaut, of all people, knows what kinds of horrible things could be done to a person like Kieren.

(There's a third option, though. The one that maybe haunts him more than anything. The one that he's also familiar with in the form of a bullet-shaped scar in his abdomen, tissue discolored the same way those lines on Kieren's wrists are, and he can't stop thinking about the poor kid weeping when he'd been caught with deer blood all over his face. This time it was human — a woman. Konstantin saw it happen. This time, he wonders if Kieren Walker will be able to come back from such an incident.)

He's frequently near the boy's home out on Basin Overlook, wandering the area, looking for anything he'd missed. Looking for anyone suspicious who might return to the cabin to get something, or maybe plant some evidence. If it sounds paranoid, well, he's fucking lived it — and he'd rather just be paranoid than be right. If someone's holding him, hurting him... Konstantin will find him. He's done it before. His co-pilot — kept alive in a back room, hooked to machines...

The clues to the truth are always there. One just has to be patient, and smart. If Kieren is... still alive, this town isn't big enough to hide him forever, and he's not giving up.

He hears a commotion. Like a crash, and then another one, something shattering. The cosmonaut tenses, realising in seconds that it's coming from the cabin several feet away. Immediately he's heading there, crouched over, quickly shuffling out of sight of a window and waiting a few long moments before he makes his way to the door to peer in. There's a knife in his pack, and he slowly starts reaching for it.

It's Kieren, standing there amongst the small wreckage of broken things. Konstantin exhales loudly, stunned, standing up straight again and immediately stepping into the doorframe. ]

Kieren! Shit. You're alive.

[burying]

[ The jar smashing against the wall doesn't making him feel better, either. There's nothing but anger at himself with nowhere to really go — he feels useless with it. He's fucked up, he knows he has. He doesn't know if this is even something he's going to fix. No one's known where he's been this whole time? Even after leaving the note?

He doesn't know what to do with himself, everything at a constant boil within him. The note's still in one of his hands, crumpled now as well as ash-covered. Christ, what's he supposed to do? He's at a complete loss.

It's a hopeless, awful feeling.

Until a voice makes him jump and he's staring with wide-eyes, slack-jawed. Something in face screaming guilt and horror — like he's been caught doing something terrible. Konstantin. He doesn't know what to do, how to react.

His hands drop from his head and he just... stands there, words failing him. He's got nothing. Nothing he can say. Except, maybe: ]

I'm sorry.

superstitious cowardly lot

[ployboy]

[ Tim had done it. He had killed  a man and loved the process. The kicker being that, before being able to pull the trigger, the wolf-head had eaten him and puked him back out in the cold. Harkness wasn't as good as dead, despite being still alive. To Tim, and to anyone with half a brain who could see what he's done, the man was dead. Dead-dead. He should be dead, he will stay dead, Tim has killed Harkness, he just hasn't pulled the trigger. He can't wait to pull that trigger.

He could be disappointed in himself. Or ashamed. Or any other number of negative things, but Anti-Life swirls in his head sometimes, and Tim remembers that he had agreed with it.

And so, what he's done is right.

In Milton, Tim had let one of hundreds of tiny opportunities pass him by. And now an innocent person was dead.

Control isn't an illusion, not when one is made to obsess over it for so long that a life without it is inconceivable. Control is like air. It's everywhere. Necessary for life.

And yet Tim had just met the guy during the Blizzard, had spoken about Afghanistan for the first time, and had let secrets fester. He never tried to regain control over something that so obviously should've been controlled. --don't look at him as if it's a disgusting thought; he'd say the same damn about Miss M, about Powergirl, about Superman for fuck's sake and he has done it, and it felt sick and wrong then and it feels less so now but don't you dare tell him you wouldn't. A threat is a threat is a girl who can't sleep without terror and a woman whose skull was bashed open and an undead boy who maybe stumbles across his afterlife with the same lack of resolve he had had when living.

Tim hadn't interacted with Kieren much at all. One town meeting, he had locked eyes with the guy briefly, just after the Big Bad Wolf came clean over his identity. And then he'd just run into the guy here and there, he guesses. And then Tim had felt all morose and numb and he had walked through the churchyard which he hadn't kept clean since several months ago, and Kieren had been there. Tim had nodded a hey, said nothing, and went about his own business.

The business is this:

He knows how to maneuver in leather, the old Red Robin attire being as heavy as his burdens had been back then. There's Alfred to thank for knowing design, and how to make a hockey mask distort his voice just so, cardboard and good ol' PVC dampening and amplifying pitch and volume. From the mouth and sides, the small pipes formed horns. Like an Oni, with a very furry face. Bruce had had days where he lost his goddamn mind and had paraded around in pink-- fucking pink!-- and so there's very, very little shame in playing dress up with furs.

(They're dyed an off-red. With the cheap hair products boasting PERMANENT color, he figures he can get two months before risking turning pink.)

And just like with Boomerang, Tim had no intention of laying a hand on Kieren Walker.

Which brings us to now. Here.

Lakeside. Late August, or maybe early September. The nights are longer, darker. And maybe Kieren has been Here for a day, or for several. It's irrelevant. Kieren is alone. It is dark, but not impossible to see. There is clutter here, in this building. Tim had made sure of it, what seemed now like so long ago. (Control is like air. You can learn how to change its direction and take advantage of the current.)

He's not Tim, though, or Red Robin. He is this... thing, lifting a heavy head and his tusks from the wooden beam of the loft that he is perched on.

He brandishes the throwing stars (because of course he's crafted batarangs, he's been here for a year), and with leather gloves he expertly throws two to the door in which Kieren just entered. There is clutter here, in this building.

The clutter, having been held back by ropes, avalanches and rests to obscure a good portion of the door. There's no immediate way out. But the clutter is loud and burdensome, only. Kieren won't be harmed. Maybe.

Above, the masked figure is crouched in silence. It is red, like blood. It is a gargoyle.]