singillatim | divinity says "destiny can't be earned"

— one

[ The bear has to be left behind. Of course it does, there's no way she's going to be able to lug that thing back all by herself: it's a bear. No matter how close it is to town. Hopefully the animal will remain undisturbed by any roaming predators before she has a chance to get back to it.

She's unsteady on her feet by the time she reaches town. Shaken and pale and the now unloaded flare gun still in her hand. She hit Tim, too. But she can't focus on that right now, she can't let herself. That bear— it's food.

The colour aura around is a bright and fizzling pale colours of white and yellow. She smells like flare-shell discharge and damp air and sweat. She's dazed and overwhelmed and exhausted. Merry trots at her side, tail between his legs: wary and cowed. ]

Hey, I uh— I need... help.

— two

[ When the bear's finally brought back to Milton, she heads to the Community Hall. It's only then that she really allows herself to breathe: she legit killed a bear and hit Tim. Like hit him. In the face. She's never raised her hand to anyone before but she just— she just got the maddest she'd ever been in her life, saw red and just—

she doesn't know. It's really put a damper on the whole 'coming back home' thing.

Silverpoint had been good for her, at least. But now she's— she doesn't know what happened out there in the woods.

She makes a bee-line for the fire and collapses into a nearby chair to warm herself. Merry flops down at her feet, sullen. The colours around her still remain pale of her shock and stun, but there's darker colours fading in: mournful purples and dark blues. Bringing home the bear-bacon doesn't feel at all like it's chalked up to be. ]

Edited 2025-06-15 12:21 (UTC)

[Levi had returned from Silverpoint before Kate did, so he's already getting back into the swing of things in Milton by then. Which includes spending a good amount of time by the fire in the hall after one of many patrols or hunting trips or whatever.

He doesn't have a colorful aura, but his skin is covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises. Nothing too bad is visible on his face/neck or hands.]

K-kate? Are you alright? Do you want me to bring you something?

[ She's exhausted, cold from the journey. Unsure if she's coming down from some sort of adrenaline crash or— or whatever it was that happened out there. Her hands are still shaking, but she curls them into fists to stop them.

She's slow to register Levi, not really sure how to answer. She stares at him for a long moment, taking him in. No, nothing too bad but he looks a little worse for wear, she guesses. Maybe he's been on another long trip? Or is he still tired from Silverpoint? ]

I, uh— I dunno. Um. [ She's still dazed. ] ... Are you okay?

Huh? Oh, yeah. The bruises...they're all old. They don't hurt. They showed up after that weird dream.

[ Kate swallows, slow to react and stares. Her brain takes her a minute to catch up. It's not the first time she's come across this. There was an Interloper in Silverpoint who'd had something like this, too. ]

Wait, you— you mean the one with Enola? And the three stones?

Yeah...I don't know what was up with that but that's when it happened. Its...

[He looks at a bruise on the back of his hand.]

I don't know. Weird.

[He's not sure if this or the weird glowing Kate and a few others were doing was worse.]

[ John happens to be gathering up pine needles for tea when he spots her, and the fact that she looks dazed and fucked up has him pausing in his work and putting bucket he'd been collecting in down... but he doesn't approach. He knows what he looks like. ]

I-I could help?

[ She hears the voice and turns, inhaling sharply as she voice's owner and taking a step back. Her expression frozen in a balance of exhaustion and fear at the sight of— she doesn't know. The being sounds like a man. But—

She doesn't have the energy left to scream. She doesn't have the energy to lift the flare gun in her hand — not that it would do anything, it's empty.

Her voice is hushed, shifting up in pitch. ]

Oh, God.

[ And they're offering to help?! She's lost it. She's official lost her shit. ]

John.

[ He holds up both hands, making sure to keep the one 'together' so that it looks like a hand and not a set of five tentacles coiled together. And while his mask-like face doesn't have a (visible) mouth, the eyes are all empathy. ]

I-I'm a friend of Arthur. Arthur? Have you met Arthur? O-or Noel. I'm not-

[ Beat. ]

A-are you hurt? Or just- [ A little frustrated but still not moving ] Please. Can I help you?

Edited 2025-06-16 19:36 (UTC)

[ She doesn't know exactly what she's looking at. It's like a mask but it's real like a face and she doesn't get how a mask can be a face. Her voice doesn't manage to come down from it's higher pitch but one of the names mentioned does cause a flicker of recognition in her face. ]

You're... you're Arthur's friend? Arthur Lester? [ Arthur, who told her once there's magic and gods in his world. Although it makes her wonder: ] Are you a god?

[ Is she hurt? She... doesn't know how to answer the question. There's no blood on her, no visible injuries at least other than fingers that're growing redder from frostnip — sore and swollen from beating on the bear's downed body. ]

There— there was a bear. In the woods.

Shit.

[ Bears are serious fucking business. If there's one thing he's learned already, it's that. He almost moves forward, but he pauses, thinking to answer her before he tries to do anything. ]

Yes! Arthur Lester. I'm- [ He falters a little more. ] I was. Part of one, anyway. Here, I'm like everyone else. [ Beat. ] ...with some obvious exceptions.

[ The thing about John is that he's huge. And that means he's not so much wearing hand-me-down clothes as he's sort of draped a few sets of clothes on top of himself to make a laundry pile of an outfit that keeps him warm. He searches for a moment before he finds a sweater piece that seems large enough and he pulls it off without a thought. He'll offer it to her. ]

H-here, here! Y-you should wrap your fingers. They're getting red. That's bad. Is-

[ He glances back from where she came from. ]

Is the bear dead?

.... Oh. [ A little whistle of a sound, like someone still stuck in their stun who's just been told that apparently the weather's going to be wonderful tomorrow and there'll be a bake-sale in the town square. Sure, he's a god. Or was a god. Part of one? How can you be part of a god? ] Yeah. Yeah, I think that— that probably explains... um, a lot.

[ Like, she doesn't know exactly what gods are supposed to look like. But, well— some people think the Darkwalker might be a god and while he— John— he doesn't look exactly like the Darkwalker, there's— okay, yeah. He's kind of... scary...

And he's offering her a piece of sweater for her hands and Kate's stunned for a long moment before she accepts it. ]

... Thank you.

[ She follows the way he looks. ]

... Yeah. I, uh— [ She raises her hand, turns her wrist to show him the flare gun. ] Kinda just— um, in the face?

I... I left it. I can't, uh— move it?

Oh.

[ After a moment, he adds- ]

Good for you. A-about the- [ And he mimes a gun with his hand. ] I could help you move it if you want. I'm- [ the word doesn't seem descriptive enough but- ] I'm strong. Are you sure you don't need-

[ He pauses. ]

Do you think it won't be there in a couple of hours?

cw: supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states; paranoia; bear attack; animal death; eye injury (animal); ... animal corpse abuse?

[ There are cracks in the earth. Dotted along the landscape and churned up asphalt and makeshift graves of former Milton residents of the Costal Highway. By chance, she comes across one of the fissures, pausing to examine them and finding the pale-green vapours. It's weird. Green isn't the colour of danger. It's supposed to be red.

The journey back to Milton is a long one, with plenty of stops along the way. Kate withdraws slowly with suspicion and a low-burning ire she keeps pressed down. The group is smaller than those who journeyed down to Silverpoint. Plenty of people didn't stay long and left long before May came to an end, and some have stayed behind by the coast. She'd been tempted to stay longer, but she misses people back in Milton.

She'd reach out to some of them. She doesn't know if they got her messages. She hopes they did, or— sorta. Some of them were a mess. But the coast had been good for her.

By the time they've gotten through most of Lakeside, she hangs back in the group — Merry close to her side. Merry who whines and grumbled, unsettled by the separation from the others. By the time they've reached the Mines, she hangs back in the Mining Camp, urging the others to go forwards.

She doesn't trust them, wary of them—

The walk from the mines down to Milton is too quiet. She pulls her gloves off and pulls out her flare gun. It's loaded. She doesn't like the quiet. Even alone, she's sure there's... something, someone out there. And not even Merry is immune to the growing, gnawing feeling. It's like a swarm of hornets, an incessant prickling at the back of her neck, her jaw tight as she grinds her teeth.

Stop looking at me. she snaps at Merry, and the wolf-dog keeps his head and tail low.

The moment she sees the bear, the swarm of hornets in her head blurs into a high-pitched screech. Everything is too sharp and bright. The colours that glow around her: warnings of mustard-yellow bleed into red and white-hot. She's not afraid. She's angry, strung too tight and her fingers are already burning from the cold. Merry's barking furiously, trying to ward the animal off.

She's not running, she's screaming furiously — stalking forwards as the bear rears up and charges. She raises her arms, her hands don't even shake.

Click.

The sound is deafening. A hot red-white dazzling flash of light. It sinks into the bear's skull, through the eye. The bear crumples with a grunt. Kate's throwing off her pack, blind to the animal's death and charging forwards as she grabs a strewn branch from the snow — still screaming into the open air as she starts to beat the downed beast.

The flare fizzles and roars from the eye socket, smoke trailing. The flare is red and white and Kate's red and white and on the ground is red and white and red and white and— ]

[The days are long and ugly; Tim doesn't give himself time to mourn what he had feverishly looked forward to in many dark moments: light. The Territories have so much of it now that waking up is a nearly insurmountable challenge. There's nothing to look forward to this summer. There's only certainties that are thorns in his sides.

The certainty that Bruce would rather look through him than at him. The truth that he's chased away one person dear to him, and that he's gone and lost another. The fact that night won't come, not for a while, and that Tim will have to find his relief in the darkness some other way. It's ugly.

He wanders the woods, intent on reaching the mines. Just to prove he can.

He moves with a stilted gait- not quite a limp. But the old gift from the Forest Talkers attack had made itself known after the big hunt. And Tim's arm- the one that never did correctly heal- is deadweight at his side for most of the trek. Laelaps worries. No doubt she can smell the wild animals probably agitated by the fights.

Both Tim and Laelaps jump.

The silence was broken by thunder, the mechanical kind that has Tim cringing through phantom pains in ways he never had before. But the training is there, still a part of him just as the depression is. He hears screaming. He runs.

First he recognizes the flare- white and red and sputtering and dying. He recognizes the bear- dead. But Tim still runs forward with his heavy lean because Kate is... is... he doesn't recognize whatever she must think she's doing but she's] Kate!!

Kate, it's dead! [he's learned his lesson in assuming: he won't tell her she's okay. His aura is an echo of that flare gun's orange- alert and an eyesore impossible to ignore. It's peppered with dusty pink. And it's all held together by a distrusting string of electric yellow.] You hit the mark, Kate, the bear's dead.

[ In all honestly, there's very little she can do to the bear with her fists, even if it lies dead. Despite the fury and intent behind her actions, her hands are small and untrained beating at thick muscle and fur. But she keeps hitting, screams curling into something raw and ragged as her throat strains and goes dry. Merry is backing off, ears flat and tail down as he licks at his mouth — torn between loyalty of keeping close and the need to create distance.

She snaps to the voice, body tense and pupils blown and for a brief moment the colours around her are blinding white and the startling jolt of a lightning strike. Her breaths are shallow and quick — everything is too quick and too sharp. A brief wild moment of stun twisting back into anger and the red cracks through, dark and acidic.

There is Tim and there's not Tim, but a threat.

A threat that wanted to kill Edward Little, and could have. A threat that didn't care about what she wanted, but acted on his own accord. A threat that feels like a betrayal because he told her once— Don't let me hurt you again, Kate. I don't like hurting people.

What a joke.

She's pushing herself up from the bear, back onto her feet — face twisting in anger. The bear is forgotten about, and her vision spins and blurs around the edges — focusing in on him. Breathless, she makes a run for him — hands outstretched and fingers straining to grab him — a determined attempted to tackle him to the ground. ]

[The yellow sparks against the orange streaks and rosy blush and it's then that Tim realizes, yes, he has learned his lesson. He stops his approach just to signal to Laelaps to buzz right off but that gesture is entirely unneeded. She pads over to her brother. Alpha that she thinks she is, she presses an open mouth of long teeth to Merry's muzzle: move.

Which is the opposite of what Tim can do.

He's shoving aside the anticlimactic horror show of finding Kate Marsh kicking the literal crap out of a dead bear to face the reality of her charging right at him. Tim anticipates it'll feel nothing like a linebacker trying to see him eat dirt. He angles his body to evade the collision if at all possible-- it's her hands that he's concerned about.

But he doesn't want to grab and twist at her wrists or elbows or

so Tim grits his teeth and shoulders through the crash, and he doesn't grunt at how badly his knees just wanted to buckle.]

Do you think you can- use your words?

[All he sees is-- hatred. Which is fine. It's fine. Fair, even.

But.] You're not you right now. [And he wants to understand, so following the droning commentary of what's obvious, Tim uses the first opening... to step back. Disengage.

To give her space away from him, all pink and plum with sick worry as he lowers his voice to reach her. His knee hurts now: fantastic.] What happened?

Edited 2025-06-16 20:02 (UTC)

[ Merry hesitates. He understands the order, but he understands that something is very wrong here in a way he doesn't understand. The emotions in play here are unfamiliar to him from Kate, foreign. He doesn't like this, and he's reluctant to move away. But he can be swayed by his sister, whining and head ducking away from her teeth to move away from his owner — still small and cowed and anxious.

It absolutely doesn't feel anything like a line-backer. She's barely anything soaking wet, but she throws herself into him and even if it knocks the wind out of her, it doesn't deter her. Tim tries to get away, Kate isn't going to let him. ]

You did. [ She breathes it, scathing and seething. The red crackles and splinters into black like cracks in a mirror. ] You and your bullshit.

[ And she's grabbing at him, whatever part she can get when she's close enough. Grabbing and shoving and smacking at his chest and shoulders. Her hands hurt, sore from beating at the bear and her fingers are cold — her gloves are forgotten in the snow, somewhere. ]

You were gonna kill him—! [ No guesses on who. Her voice rises into a strained, raw yell — her screaming making her voice go hoarse. ] You would have taken him away from me—! And for what? For what?!

You. Lied. You're a liar.

[He's stunned. For a short moment that stretches too long, Tim is frozen and willing himself to not... run off, tail between his legs.

Kate is spitting mad and that's fine, though his ears are ringing with the white noise of disbelief because this sweet, quiet girl has cursed him out- it's fine, though Tim grunts and swallows back a wince when she lands a hit just above his collarbone, basically slamming a heavy hand on his throat.

He needs (to leave, to not make anything any worse, which is all he does)

to put distance between them.

Between this and... whatever is wrong. Truly wrong.

Tim lifts his arms-- she grabs at his sleeves and he's too slow, too weak to effectively bat her away. So he frowns (because he's being torn apart: he was going to kill you he can't shout. He wasn't going to stop until he killed you!) because he can't

tear her down further.

Tim shuffles back. Tries to. He needs space. They need space.

He can't deny he's a rotten liar. Can't deny he's full of bull either, and Tim schools his expression- his voice- to a crisp blankness.] Kate, can you think back to what happened immediately before you shot the bear?

[He tries,] This isn't like you. And I can't help if I don't know what's wrong.

[ Maybe, at some point, she'll look back and feel shame. Maybe she'll be mortified about swearing. Maybe. She's not thinking about that, or anything beyond this moment of trying to— she doesn't know. It's a kind of blindness, this anger. It's just too bright lights and too sharp feelings she doesn't know what to do with other than last out. To lash out at a threat in her way— the edges of her snapped and broken.

And he can't even acknowledge it, he can't even say anything and it's bullshit. He just keeps trying to get away from her and it doesn't matter how many times she manages to smack him, it doesn't feel like it's enough. He's not talking to her, she's not listening to him. ]

What do you care, what do you ever care?

[ In her mind it's a garbled mess of static and screeching — jarring and jumbled. She's grabbing at his arms, gripping onto him — fingers curling and nails digging in. ]

You didn't think what I wanted, did you stop for one minute to think what I'd want? Did you think it'd make me feel better? If you killed him?

[ Like she'd thank him profusely for vanquishing the monster? Like he'd been some big hero who'd rescued her? Did he honestly think that's how it'd work?

He'd kill Edward Little and that'd be all totally cool because Edward Little was the bad guy anyway and not the guy who'd literally stepped up, who'd saved her countless times. But no, Tim's got it. It didn't matter what Kate wanted, Tim did it make him feel better. ]

You weren't doing it for me, you didn't care what I wanted. You were just doing it for you.

[If Tim had worked more at eating his fill, if he had kept up the routines he knew by heart, he knows he'd be able to stop her. Worse still, he'd be willing to. But Tim hadn't. He had never wanted to hurt anyone. The frozen wasteland around them took enough from everyone and Tim... Tim could always do without.

Kate has a vice grip on his bad arm, and if Tim jerks it back he'll only exacerbate the persistent discomfort of ill-healed bone. Tim pulls his lips thin and breathes out the hiss of a bitch of a yell that's building up behind his ribs.

His shoulders hurt, his leg is screaming. His arm hurts. Weak. He's weak and his body is betraying him.]

I was worried.

[His body is betraying him and his mind is--

but Tim doesn't shout that, no, he didn't stop to think about what she wanted because she deserves better than what she wanted and

and he stumbles, his knees unwilling to hold him up. It's like his body knows he's not worth the trouble, too.

Kate is going to wear herself out. She's not trained to fight. To rain blows down again and again and again-- Tim gasps as the beating starts to morph to sharp, stinging strikes. He finally, finally, has to grab hold of one of her hands-- it's bare and red and he needs her to stop though his stomach twists as he keeps his practiced, cold hold on her. An expert restraint as he tries again- he's always trying-] Kate! We can talk about it later. [They won't.]

What happened on your way back from Silverpoint? Kate, think about it!

[ It's not that she doesn't believe him. It's that she can't. She can't listen to him, can't believe him. And she doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to hear about anything else other than the answer she wants out of him.

He grabs hold of one of her hands and she's instantly trying to wrench it free — there's no panic in her eyes when he does it. Her eyes widen, but there's only anger that leaks out. Outraged that he's done it, a new drive to

Whatever adrenaline's in her that keeps her going isn't letting up any time soon. No, he won't talk about it later. She doesn't want to talk about it later. She wants to talk about it now, and it's so enraging he won't.

A stumbling is an inch, and she'll take that mile.

Her hands burn. And the colours around her are thick and dark. ]

You said you didn't want to hurt me, that you— [ Not to let him hurt her. She didn't let anything. He just did. ] and you did. You're not supposed to hurt the people you love.

[ Her free hand curls, inexperienced. She's never hit anyone, before this. Never raised her hand to anyone. She doesn't know how to fight, other than the furious and almost desperate strikes she throws at him.

And she throws this hand too, smacking him in the face. ]

I still don't! [He hears himself shout, the desperation of losing filling his lungs with the need to-- and then Tim hears his jaw snap shut. And he thinks it's the cold dunk of realization, of this new, fresh dawning dread of being forced to look in the mirror and see that he's a monster.

You don't hurt the people you love. Those are the words he had tried to get her to see the truth in- those are the words he had bellowed at Edward not too long ago. Those are the words that make Tim retreat into a tiny and cowering corner of himself, his hands to the fire, because if they're true then he's unloved on top of being unwanted. Bruce has proved it, time and again. And Tim had hoped Kate would do better than... do better than... him.

But that's not it.

Tim's jaw snaps shut painfully enough for him to feel the raw cold burn of his damn fucking skull rattling around all empty. He's on the ground, his hands flying up to cover his mouth because he swears his teeth are about to-- but when Tim spits, blind and burning, all he feels is the warm metallic rush of red from a bitten tongue and split lip.

Again.

You'd think he'd learn his lesson and-- and Tim blinks wildly, head dipped as he stares at blood drops on the white of snow.

Kate Marsh just decked the devil out of him.

His heart is-- Tim laughs. His shoulders ache and his body aches and his bones ache and he's going to die because he's going to end up with an infected tooth and he-- says-- breathes- quickly adds,] I deserved it. I deserved that. I know. I know.

[He scrambles-- woozy, queasy... but he can't stand. He's stunned.

Help? Him? Thinking he could help? Him??! Tim blinks, giddy despite it all. Says, boyish and impish and stunned,] Good hit.

[Would you believe it. He has the... darndest sense of deja vu...]

Edited 2025-06-16 23:22 (UTC)

[ Liar, Kate thinks. Because how can she think anything else? How could she, with all of this. And there's no reason in her, no sense. Nothing but that blind anger as she swings and her fist collides with him and there's the sting and scrape of pain because her hand's so cold and tender.

And it still doesn't feel like it's enough.

She's breathing hard, shallow and hard and it feels like her heart's going to explode in her chest and it's an endless loop of things snapping within her. Tim falls back and she's relentless, moving forwards, after him—

It's not enough, not when she's so angry—

The snow is white, and red.

He's laughing, and she's dropping down to him and reaching for him. She grabs a fistful of coat, shakes him once — face a snarl because she's furious that he's laughing. Like it's a joke, like it's all a big joke and he doesn't care. He's just proving it again that he doesn't care.

It's blood, she realises.

Kate goes rigid, the colours do too. She freezes, staring at the blood at his mouth. Like he's grown another head, like she's looking at something and she has no idea what it is. That it's so foreign and unknown to her. She's staring at him and there's blood. She doesn't realise she's holding her breath.

Her eyes close and she shudders, her body shakes with it. The next breaths she takes are long, laboured — as if something's finally given up, a sharp drop in adrenaline. By the time she opens her eyes again, her pupils are no longer blown.

She releases her hold on him, confused and unsure. There's blood.

You don't hurt the people you—

Kate relents, rocking backwards to sit and scooting away from him.

A daze of faint purple and sickly yellow begin to bleed in at the edges of her, something sickly and stunned, chasing away the black and red. There's pink, too. Soft rosegold. Her hands are burning and she's staring at him as if in a stupor, weary. Her throat feels so dry. ]

[Tim winces but she doesn't strike again. She just growls. He has half a mind to feel bad about it but can't because he feels so bad about everything else that it doesn't even matter.

She looks and sounds like a feral, ferocious, rabid little bunny.

Tim's breath hitches and even that hurts his jaw and he wonders if he's ever going to scrape together any semblance of lucidity again. Kate wants him dead. And that's fine.

She's on the ground, and Tim is dizzy but trying not to be. His mouth is a revolting warmth-- he only wants cold, he figures. He only wants something cold against his burning chin and cheek and tongue and skin and teeth. Tim lifts a hand, says,] Don't... don't curl your fingers over your thumb. [He'll show her how to make a fist.

Or else she'll hurt herself some more.] When you... you ball your fists, you tuck your thumb over your knuckles. Or else... or else you might break it.

[It seems to sober him up. The idea that she might have-- hurt herself-- Tim tries to scramble forward. Then when he can't, he tries to stand. He must have landed wrong somehow when he went down; it doesn't matter. Everything about him is supposed to hurt.

Tim is standing, wiping at his mouth or else he'll be drooling like some... dog.

(He can't go forward or reach for Kate. Tim, wiping at his mouth, knows this: he wants. Wants something dark. Something cold.)

His thoughts aren't with his body and this isn't funny, and Tim says, again and plain,] Nice aim. Good hit. You got the bear. You got me. But Merry is worried.

[Looking at Kate he sees pink and can't trust it. Looking at himself he sees pink, and can't trust himself.

He peels off his gloves. Offers them to her the way he would offer meat to Laelaps back when she had no name and hated him and everyone and-- just like everything else, it hurts.

And that's okay.]

Here, put those on.

[ Once the shock wears off a little and she's warmed up by the fire in the Community Hall, Kate heads out again. There's people she needs to see. Some are going to be more difficult than others, all things considered.

The first person isn't difficult, and it's someone she's actually looking forward to seeing. The Post Office isn't far from the Community Hall, either. So it makes sense for it to be her first stop. She opens the door and peeks inside, half-hovering in the doorway.

The colour of the aura around her warm and brighten at the sight of the woman behind the bar: soft golden yellows and baby pinks of joy and affection and relief. Not like she had any suspicion anything would happen. Wynnona is... well, she's Wynonna. ]

So, like— I don't have any ID. [ The smile at her lips is tired and pale. ] Am I actually allowed in here?

divinity says "destiny can't be earned"

if I implore you, could I be your lamb? — open, post-what lies beneath / try honesty

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— tim drake

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— wynonna earp