Vaughn was quickly able to tell how anxious Ilya was getting. He slowly wrapped his arms around Ilya, tugging him into a little hug. He rested his chin on the top of Ilya’s head, a quiet and soothing ‘shh’ coming from his lips. He did his best to remember what he used to do for his little sister when she would get upset.
Gently, he stroked Ilya’s hair with tender hands. “It’s ok, you’re ok..” he soothed. He exhaled deeply before he spoke up again. “You said you didn’t want to do this, but you felt like you had to. Do you think witnessing this will help you?”
Ilya flinched when he was pulled close and hated himself for it, a little less than he hated himself for panicking and making Vaughn comfort him. He didn't say anything about it of course, because he was being shushed and he was being held and that took precedence over anything he had to say. He trembled like a leaf in Vaughn's arms, taking shudder little breaths and wincing when they hitched loud enough to make noise.
The petting helped, a little. Being touched was scary sometimes but Vaughn was very, very gentle and his voice was soft enough that the knot in Ilya's stomach unravled a little. This wasn't Damian. This wasn't someone who wanted to hurt him. He managed to nod in response to the question, hands coming up to grab a couple handfuls of Vaughn's shirt and cling. "I… y-y-yeah."
Vaughn was completely ok with Ilya clinging to him. If it would help Ilya calm down and feel better, then that would be alright. “If you think it will help, let’s do it then. I know it sounds really scary to go back there. It might be a little scary to see, but I promise that I won’t let him touch you, ok?” he asked in a reassuring tone.
His fingers gently brushed through Ilya’s hair still. Ilya’s hair was soft and smelled nice, and he tilted his head a bit more into it, shutting his eyes for a short moment. He licked his lips to wet them as his other hand began to gently scratch and rub Ilya’s back. His mom used to do that for him when he had nightmares, and it helped him, so he tried to do the same.
Ilya shook and shook in his arms, but he tried his best to listen anyways. It was nice to be able to cling and, even though he froze every time he felt Vaughn shift, it was nice to be held too. He was starting to think that everything about Vaughn was nice, except for the obvious messiness of his job. It took him a long time to answer, despite how nice it all was.
The problem lay with the promise. It soothed him, because of course it did, but he still couldn't quite manage to make himself accept it. Damian always found a way, always, and he believed in that as fervently as he wanted to believe Vaughn. "You promise, promise?"
“I promise promise,” Vaughn confirmed with a little hum. He wasn’t sure what else to do for Ilya, hoping that the male would calm down once he understood that he would protect him. He tilted his head a bit so he could try to see Ilya’s face. His hand left Ilya’s hair, and after a quick thought, he held out his hand, his pinky finger pointed out towards Ilya. “I pinky promise,” he stated.
His little sister always made him pinky promise. He didn’t know why she believed so passionately in the idea that hooking your pinky finger with another persons strengthened a verbal bond. Still, he always played along with her, and it became a little habit of his own, no matter how childish it seemed for a young adult- and serial killer- like him to be doing it.
Ilya couldn't meet his eyes because Vaughn had just thrust a pinky out at him and he had no idea what to do. He considered it for a few moments and then his face was breaking into a smile and his nose was wrinkling up and he was linking his pinky with Vaughn's. It wasn't even a particularly happy smile, or a very enthusiastic linking, he just didn't know how else to react. It was goofy. He hadn't expected goofy from Vaughn and he didn't know what else to do but smile, even though his eyes were still watery with tears.
"Okay." He squeezed Vaughn's finger slightly, giving their linked pinkies a considering look. "Okay, I… um… I trust you, and… and I trust this, even if it is… strange."
Vaughn could tell that Ilya was surprised. He was surprised with himself as well, a tad bit. He was barely like this- usually only acting goofy around his foster family. After they linked their pinkies together, he lingered with the touch a tad and then lowered his hand back down.
“You’ll be alright,” he hummed, reaching up slowly to brush his fingers through Ilya’s hair one last time before standing up. “I, uh, need to change. You can wait out by the counter, there’s a desk chair out there to sit at..” He shifted a bit where he stood, scratching at the nape of his neck as he looked over at the boxes of clothes nearby.
Ilya paused for a second before he leaned into the touch. Of course, by then it was mostly over, but he figured that it was the thought that counted. Vaughn's eyes had gone all warm when he leaned into him before and he'd just caused a problem so it felt right to make Vaughn happy too. He pushed himself up to his feet a few moments later, doing the whole song and dance of readjusting his sweater and dusting himself off and not looking at Vaughn's expression.
"I… yeah. Okay, thank you!" He even managed to put some pep into his words, glancing up at Vaughn for just a second before he made his way to the door. "You'll come and get me when you're ready?"
“Will do,” Vaughn hummed to Ilya, digging into the boxes already. Once he heard the door shut, he stripped out of his t-shirt and sweatpants. He took out a black sweatshirt, black t-shirt, and black joggers. After putting the clothes on, he stepped into the connected bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment, hands gripping the sides of the sink. Figure stood behind him, the large, tooth filled grin bright on its black hole of a face. “What do I use this time?” he asked in a low voice.
Figure seemed to hover over to the duffel bag, first holding up the mask, then holding up the rope. Vaughn exhaled sharply. “Are you serious?” he asked, tone laced with obvious annoyance and frustration. “Why mot something quick like a gun. I really have to use that? It’s going to traumatize the fuck out of Ilya.”
Figure snickered and shrugged its shoulders. ‘Isn’t meant to be, then?’ it hissed to him, and he grunted, shaking his head. “Fuck off. I just want to get this over with. I’ll use the fucking rope if I have to.”
He splashed his face off with water and slicked his hair back before headed back into the bedroom area. He pulled on black combat boots and tied them up before collecting his duffel bag and stepping into the main area behind the counter. “Ilya? Ready to go?”
Ilya had settled primly in the chair, surveying what he could see of the landscape through one of the big windows. He'd liked to take a walk later, scope everything out, maybe even find a garden, if there was one nearby. Vaughn's voice startled him a little—his shoulders curled, knees came up to shield his chest—but he relaxed again when he saw who was talking, offering a soft smile as he nodded.
"Yes, you… ah…" He looked Vaughn up and down, eyes lingering every now and then before he pulled them up again. "… you look nice. We're going to walk, right?"
Vaughn looked down at Ilya, brushing his damp hair back away from his eyes. “Thank you,” he said in a polite manner when he was complimented. “Mm.. We can walk if you want to. I have a car that I do use for jobs, but depending on how far away it is, we can do whatever.”
He stepped out from around the counter and to one of the fridge areas, taking out a cool bottle of water. He cracked it open and took a drink before stuffing it away in his duffel bag. While it would be much easier for him to drive, he wanted to do whatever Ilya would be more comfortable with.
Ilya didn't think he would mind either, though walking would mean less time spent inside the house. Less time crawling out of his skin while he waited to see what would happen. It also meant Vaughn had less time to get comfortable, though, and Ilya had caused him enough trouble today as it was. "We… ah…" He tugged at the hem of the hoodie, a little less smooth than his movements normally were. "… we can drive, if you'd like." He pushed himself up out of the chair, crossing over to where Vaughn stood so he could take his arm, the way he'd become so accustomed to doing. "You know where the house is?"
“I think driving might be best for now,” Vaughn agreed gently. He waited for Ilya to hold onto his arm before leading him out of the gas station, locking the doors up behind him. He walked around to the back of the building where there was a car parked. It was a black Chrysler 300 SRT8 that had been gifted to him for his last birthday by his foster parents. He opened up the back seat door and dropped the duffel bag inside.
“I do. I did a bit more research after we first met. I have the address,” he hummed, getting into the drivers side. Once Ilya was in the passenger seat, he started the car. He switched the radio to another classic rock station, keeping the volume low as he pulled out of the low quality parking lot.
Ilya took a few minutes to examine the inside of the car before, seemingly satisfied, he pressed his face to the window. It stayed there for the rest of the ride. He liked watching the scenery roll by, grasses and buildings and other cars, and he especially liked that he was allowed to watch it all without being yelled at.
His good mood had all but evaporated by the time they parked but that was to be expected. The house loomed too large over him, sucking all the happiness out of him until all he had left was fluttery anxiety. It took everything he had not to balk before the door, and even that was due more to the fact that he had grabbed Vaughn's arm in a death grip and refused to let go than any courage or determination on his part.
"I need this," he said quietly as they reached the threshold. His voice shook. "I need this, I need to see it, and… and he's not going to touch me, right?"
Vaughn drove steadily to the house. Normally, on a car ride to a victims place, he would be chatting with Figure a bit to figure out a general game plan. Then, the rest of the time would be spent in blissful silence, where he could reflect about the actions that he would soon be making. Having his time to think was something that was very important to him. Silence was important to him. Considering all of the voices that he heard quite often, when he got even just a moment of silence, he felt like he was in some sort of euphoric heaven.
When they arrived at the house, he made sure to park on the street a couple of houses down, now wanting to draw too much attention to his vehicle. After he collected his duffel bag from the back seat, the pair headed to the front door of the home. He looked down at Ilya upon hearing his soft voice. “That’s right. We pinky promised on that,” he reminded Ilya with a faint little smile.
Ilya didn't quite have the strength to smile back, so he nodded instead, clutching at Vaughn a little more tightly than he strictly needed to. "Yeah. He's… he's not going to touch me. You're not going to let him touch me, it's… It's going to be okay." He gave himself a moment, a single moment, just to let that ruminate, and then he was crouching down to grab the spare key from underneath the fake rock.
The entryway seemed to stretch out forever as the door swung open, dark and imposing. He did his best to bury himself in Vaughn's side as they shuffled inside together, eyes set firmly on the floor. It was suffocating. It smelled like too many things that Ilya didn't like and he felt like he was choking on it. "We can leave soon, right? It's… it's going to be fast, and… and then… then we go home."
Vaughn waited as Ilya unlocked the front door, and they stepped inside. He glanced down at Ilya before making his way further into the home. He reached a kitchen area, setting his duffel bag down on the table. The whole house reeked of booze. It reminded him of his own childhood home.
He glanced down at Ilya at the mention of the job being quick. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can,” he replied. He had been told to kill Damian with a rope, so that wasn’t the quickest thing. But he had done it before so he was sure that he could do it again. Then, he took note of another thing Ilya said. Ilya referred to the gas station as home. A little smile came to his lips. “Yeah, we can make it quick and then go home.”
(Do you want to skip to like an hour ahead in time to when Damian comes home?)
(Sure!)
.
Ilya had barricaded himself in the spare room by the time Damian got home, close enough to where Vaughn lay in wait to watch but still separated from it all. It was his normal hiding spot, when things got bad. Damian always checked the closets where he'd hid before and forgot about the spare altogether.
He whined quietly when he heard the heavy footsteps stomp in the door, the normal sounds of Damian shedding all his layers. First his jacket, clanging as the zipper hit the coat rack, and then the loud bang of his shoes being tossed off to the side. He slammed his gun down on the counter the way he always did, loud enough to make Ilya flinch even though he was all tucked away.
"Ilya!?" He sounded mad and that made Ilya shake, pulling the hodie a little tighter around himself. "You were supposed to have dinner on the table, you dumb slut. What's the hold up?"
Vaughn was hidden away behind a wall, out of sight. He was at the top of the stairs, just around the corner, rope in hand. When Damian would come up the stairs, he would jump out and strike. He had his mask on to cover his facial features, Figure looking like his twin beside him. 'Looks like the man of the hour is home,' the hallucination purred as it peered down the stairs, teeth glinting in the light from the setting sun.
He heard the noises of things being messily dropped down onto surfaces. 'Remember, he's a police officer. Watch for a weapon,' the hissing voice warned him, and he nodded in acknowledgement. When he heard the words that Damian was saying, he clenched his jaw and adjusted the mask, inhaling deeply. He got a firm grip on the rope, wrapping it around one of his hands once or twice so it couldn't be ripped from his hands as easily. He was ready to do this.
Damian made his way through the house loudly, yelling and slamming into walls until he'd cleared the bottom floor of the house. He cursed when Ilya was nowhere to be found and then there was the sound of the fridge opening and closing, a beer cap quietly being popped off. "I'm coming for you, Illy~" He called as he made his way up the stairs, voice a mocking sing-song. He swayed as he made his way up the steps. Obviously this wasn't his first drink of the day. "Come out come out wherever you are little bird, or you're not gonna like the kind of fun we have."
Vaughn resisted the urge to sneer as Damian drunkenly made his way through the home. Figure, on the other hand, snickered softly. It barely even sounded like a laugh, and more like a pitched, raspy hiss. He rolled his eyes at it before he heard the man making his way up the stairs. 'Be ready, Finley. Don't waste a single second,' the hallucination hissed near his ear, slinking around the corner to watch Damian stumble up the stairs.
Vaughn adjusted his grip on the rope, holding his breath as Damian got near the top of the steps. He clenched his jaw out of pure hatred for the words coming out of the sick man's mouth. As Damian neared the top step, Vaughn moved into action, suddenly appearing around the corner. He kept low, throwing his full weight against Damian, his arms latching around the man's torso. The force of it caused the both of them to go tumbling down the stairs, landing with a thud. He hissed from the pained feeling, but did his best to move into action once again.
Falling down the stairs was something he had done many times. It was like a ritual, of sorts. His killings always started at the stairs. That's where his own personal nightmare started. It was almost like he was rewriting what had happened to him- imagining that instead of being the vulnerable child that was shoved backwards down the stairs by a father, away from an even more vulnerable sister.
Damian barely had time to grunt before he was collapsing down the stairs, drunk enough that what was happening didn't register until the end. Even drunk he was still a cop, though. As soon as they landed he was fighting the grapple, feet kicking out, fist coming back to punch Vaughn square in the cheek. The angle was bad but Damian was strong enough to get some force behind it anyways, he hit hard enough that something gave a sickly crack.
Ilya curled in on himself tightly in his makeshift hiding spot, suddenly unable to face what was happening. Vaughn was big and strong but Damian was bigger and stronger and a cop and what was Ilya thinking? Damian was the strongest person he'd ever met and the cruelest and Vaughn was sweet and soft and smaller, no matter how badly Ilya wanted to pretend otherwise.
Vaughn grunted as his senses quickly flicked back into reality. He believed them to be evenly matched. While Damian did have size and experience on his side, he was also intoxicated. Vaughn felt the complete opposite, his head completely clear as adrenaline ran through his veins. His appearance had to at least throw Damian off for a moment, he thought. The sudden surprise of a black figure in a chilling mask jumping out from the dark was not something easily prepared for.
His head snapped back from the blow to his cheek, and he shifted his weight backwards a tad. He growled a tad under his breath, lunging back to get some sort of an upper hand, landing on the floor behind where Damian was. Once there, he yanked the rope around Damian's throat, jerking it backwards tightly as a way to strangle him and cut of airflow. The fibers of the rope dug into the skin on his palms from his tight grip, leaving little cuts in their wake.
Damian was quick to push himself up when Vaughn was off him, groping around for anything he might use as a weapon. The rope was around his neck before he found anything particularly helpful. One hand went to the rope, wrapping around it and pulling it as far forward as he could to keep his airway from being completely cut off. The other found a shard of his beer bottle, which had shattered when he tumbled ass backwards down the stairs.
It was a small fragment, two inches long and without a defined point, but the sides were still sharp enough to draw blood when he slammed it into Vaughn's hip, elbowing him in the stomach for good measure as he struggled to tear the rope off his neck.
Vaughn hissed in pain when Damian stuck the glass into his hip. He was quite frustrated at the moment. Why wouldn't this sick man just die? "Fuck you!" he snarled, it being directed towards Figure for making him use a rope, but it could obviously be taken as directed towards Damian. He jerked back with the rope further, grunting when Damian elbowed him in the stomach. He shifted his legs, digging the heels of his combat boots into Damian's arms and wrists to keep them down against the floor as best as he could.
He glanced around for a quick moment, breathing heavily from the adrenaline rush he was having. He saw the gun that was rested on the table. Fuck what Figure wanted, he needed to disable this man at least a little bit. Suddenly, he shoved the man away from him and scrambled to his feet, the glass still sticking into his side. It gushed blood, the blood dripping onto the floor and making it slick as he bolted for the gun, Figure cackling somewhere behind him.
