Damian wheezed out a curse in return, fingers grabbing wildly at the edge of the table where his gun lay. He collapsed to his knees when Vaughn went for the gun, too busy sucking in long gasps of air to reach for his weapon until it was too late. By the time he had enough presence of mind to go for it again, the gun was already settled firmly in Vaughn's hands, pointed right at his head. His hand trembled as he set it on the table, using it to push himself gully to his feet.
"Please," his voice was ragged. There was fear in his eyes, for the first time since he'd been tackled. He was starting to realize who Vaughn was, starting to realize that he wasn't going to make it out of this house alive. "I'll give you anything you want, money or… or connections or power, just don't shoot me."
Vaughn breathed heavily, adjusting his grip on the gun to hold it firmly. He had it pointed right at Damian's face, his head tilting to the side. The man was begging? "You're begging?" he started, his tone predatory as he surveyed Damian. "Oh well I guess I should just let you go then…" His voice trailed off before he suddenly jerked and smashed the butt of the gun against the side of Damian's head.
"Are you fucking stupid or something?! Think you could just cry and beg for your worthless life and I'd simply walk back out the door? You didn't give Ilya that peace of mind, did you? You didn't give him the choice to walk away," he said, the disgust lacing through his voice. "No, no. I will be leaving here soon, but you? Oh no, you're going to die here. I'm going to have my fun with you, I think." He kept the gun in one hand as he stepped forward, grabbing Damian by the hair and partly dragging him up. "Living room, now. If you try anything, I will blow your fucking brains out."
Damian's knees buckled when the gun hit his temple, vision going grey around the edges. There was blood on it when Vaughn pulled it away. The skin at his temple had given way under the impact. Blood streaked down his cheeks and ran down his jaw, the left half of his face painted a bright red. He hissed when he was dragged up by the hair, hands coming up to push Vaughn away and doing down just as quick when the threat of begin shot was leveled against him.
They moved slowly through the house. Damian was mostly dead weight and it was impossible to tell if it was on purpose or not. He didn't stop talking. "So this is about him then." He sneered slightly, eyes scanning across the room like he might find some bit of Ilya. "What are you, his new lay? I knew that little whore was getting his rocks off somewhere else but I didn't realize he'd sleep his way into having someone kill me." If begging wouldn't work, then he would use his words like fists instead, to poke and prod until he found some weak spot to take advantage of. "Figures. He always was a priss, can't even get his hands dirty getting rid of me."
"Jesus fuck," Vaughn said with a roll of his eyes. "You don't know how to shut your goddamn mouth do you. I'd rather you go back to pissing yourself and begging." He shoved Damian back down on the floor, standing back over him with the gun trained on his face again. "New lay? You must be stupid. You obviously know who I am and why I'm here, Damian. Don't be fucking dim."
He paused for a moment, looking to Figure who was lingering practically on top of Damian, it's hands clawing around his throat. "You know, I think I'll let you decide. How do you want to die, Damian? Should I just shoot you and end it quick, or strangle you with my bare hands? Should I gut you like a fish, or maybe throw gasoline on you and burn you alive?" he questioned, clicking his tongue as he heard Figure snicker with delight.
Damian had the gall to laugh. "I just can't see why you picked him, he's so… useless." He struggled a little has he was shoved down, but ultimately there wasn't much he could do. Vaughn had him well and truly trapped, like a rat in a trap. "I mean… there's nothing he could give you to do this. All your other victims had something, even if it wasn't much." He hadn't gone over the all the files, but he tried to keep up with the case. Hell, he'd even lorded it over Ilya's head a couple times—how nobody would ever come for him.
He twisted where he was pinned beneath Vaughn's boot, paying no mind to any talk of death. He wasn't going to give in yet. "Ilya just pisses himself whenever you set a glass down too hard, all he's good for is a nice fuck. And I can't imagine he'd even give you that, I mean… he's a slut, but he has standards. 's hard to believe he'd give it up to a serial killer when he cries at the sight of a knife."
"I didn't choose him. I don't choose victims. I chose you, because I saw you were a piece of shit who deserves to be punished," Vaughn said, tilting his mask in the slightest to be able to spit at Damian in disgust before moving the mask back in place. "I don't take payment. I do this because I want to, not for the money. You cops really are stupid, huh?" He shook his head with a slight bit of laughter.
His brow furrowed under his mask as Damian went on and on about Ilya. He idly thought that he hoped Ilya couldn't hear was Damian was saying, as it would surely upset him. But it was quite annoying to him too. He knew he was a disgusting killer, sure, but he wasn't as bad as men like Damian were. Figure brushed against Vaughn's fingers, and they twitched like they usually did. He wanted to be done with this. He jerked forward, releasing his frustration on Damian in the form on harsh blows to his face. Damian reminded him too much of his own father, and how his father would talk about his mother like she was nothing. So he did his best to imagine Damian as his own dad as he struck him over and over and over.
Damian talked for as long as he could, until blood was gurgling in the back of his throat as his face was little more than pulp, and then he started laughing. It was a horrible sound. Loud, for one thing, and raspy, closer to a wheeze than anything. He'd tried to shield himself at first, hands coming up over his face, but he'd been overpowered easily enough. Beneath the cruelty and the bravado there was really nothing special about it at all. He was a pig, nothing more to it than that. A pig who pretended like he was something more than a common abuser.
Ilya couldn't hear most of what was happening, which should have been a relief but wasn't. At least when they'd been crashing down the stairs he knew what was happening. Now there was nothing but the house's normal quiet, punctuated only by the terrifying sound of Damian's laughter.
The sound had him shaking where he sat, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and eventually it was all too much. He had to see, had to know, so he made his way slowly down the stairs, noting the pool of blood with ever increasing fear. If Vaughn died he didn't know what he'd do. "Um… V-Vaughn?" He peeked into the kitchen, where Damian's gun was absent from the table. "Are you… c-can we go h-home now?"
Vaughn breathed heavily as he slowed, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably. Figure hissed softly, sounding disappointed that Vaughn hadn't used the rope on Damian. He rolled his eyes. It didn't matter to him, he didn't care. As long as Damian was dead. He pressed his fingers to the side of Damian's throat, pleased to find there was no pulse anymore. Damian was practically unrecognizable with the way that Vaughn had practically bashed his face in with his fists. His fists were bruised, and he couldn't tell what blood on his clothes was his and what was Damian's.
He heard Ilya's gentle voice and tensed. Ilya hadn't seen all he had done yet and he stood, keeping the gun on him. He tucked it away in the duffel bag that was nearby and wiped his hands off on his pants a bit. He pulled off his mask, not wanting Ilya to see the frightening sight that was carved into it. He hadn't allowed Ilya to look at it before, worried the sensitive male would be terrified by the eerie appearance of it. He grabbed his duffel bag and headed towards where Ilya's voice came from.
"Ilya? We can go home now. He's gone," he said in a soft tone. His hair was an absolute mess, and his skin was peppered with specks of blood. There was a bruise already forming on his cheekbone, along with blood spilling from his nose, a slice near his right eyebrow, and a little cut on his bottom lip. That was from either the tumble down the stairs or the punch from Damian. Besides that, he seemed to have a very slight limp in his step, feeling like he may have twisted his ankle a tad when falling down the stairs, and the glass shard still sticking out of his skin on his side.
Ilya took one look at Vaughn and rushed over, hands flitting across the man's body in the space of a second. His fingers feathered across the bruise on his cheeks and then ran down his neck his shoulders, fast paced and nervous. He cupped the shard of glass for a few moments, fingers curling protectively around the wound, and then took Vaughn's hands and there was just so much. "Your hands," he murmured, already starting to sound distressed. His eyes couldn't settle on anything, they kept going from injury to injury to injury. There was so much blood, too much, and Vaughn must have been in so much pain. "Your face, are you okay? Can I help?" His words came fast and frantic, on the edge of panic. "I don't… I don't like you, like this. I don't like that you're so h-hurt."
Vaughn's breath caught in his throat when Ilya rushed to him. He stayed still, his adrenaline still a bit high after what happened. When Ilya took his hands, he looked down at them and chewed on his bottom lip a bit, ignoring the little pinch he felt form the cut. His knuckles were bruised, some of them being split open from having hit Damian so hard for that long of a time.
He gave Ilya's hands a gentle, tender squeeze to try to reassure him. "I'm ok. I'm sorry," he started. "Lets just go, ok? We can't be here for much longer, someone might have heard and the police could already be on their way. I can get clean and fixed up back at the gas station, alright?" He did really just want to go home. He wanted to go home, take a shower, clean his wounds up a bit, and collapse in bed for the rest of the day.
Ilya squeezed back, peering over Vaughn's shoulder worriedly. "Okay, okay, just…" He led Vaughn over to the table so he could ease him down into one of the chairs. There were a few moments of silence after that, which he used to flit around the kitchen and grab some paper towels that Vaughn could use to pack the wound. His hip wasn't bleeding too badly, which was a good sign, but his nose was still oozing onto his shirt. "… Just give me a second, please. I… um…" He took a step back, eyes flicking over to the hallway that led into the living room. "…I need to see him."
He took another step, another, moving slowly like he was worried he'd scare Vaughn with any sudden movements. "I'll be right back, just… um… just sit for me, for a little. Please."
Vaughn stepped over to the table and sat slowly, clenching his jaw to keep from grunting in pain. He was given the paper towels and he thanked Ilya, pressing one to his nose to hopefully stop the bleeding. He didn't think his nose was broken, which was good at least. When Ilya said that he needed to see Damian, his brows arched a bit and he tilted his head up to look at Ilya. "I'll stay here. But just-.." he paused to exhale and run a hand through his messy hair. "… I want to warn you that he looks pretty bad. Just to give you a heads up."
"Yeah, I…" He swallowed, fingers drumming against his thighs. "I figured he might, you… you were with him, for a long time." He took another step, another, and then all of a sudden he was in the living room and the thing that must have been Damian was in front of him. He gagged quietly, looking at the smashed mess of his face, but it was the smell that made him feel the most sick. Blood had leaked out of him to form a pool on the floor and the scent Ilya worked so hard to keep at bay was flooding through the house, tainting every inch of the place.
He crept past the corpse to grab supplies and didn't spare the dead man a glance as he pulled into the kitchen again, arms full of bandages, antiseptic, gauze, everything he could scavenge from the bathroom medicine cabinet. No pills, since he didn't think Vaughn would like feeling fuzzy headed any more than he did. "Here. Let's… um… let's go, are you alright to drive?" He stepped in close, leaning against Vaughn like he wasn't covered in blood as he pulled the man to his feet.
Vaughn waited for Ilya, looking up at Figure as he did. 'You didn't listen to what I said, but you did good. His face looks like he went through a meat grinder,' it hissed and cackled breathily. He hummed a tad, tilting his head to the side as he stuffed the bloodied paper towel into his pocket. He wouldn't leave it and risk giving away his DNA. "Yeah, well I would have hung him from a tree by his neck in the back yard if I had more time," he replied to the shadow softly.
When Ilya came back, he accepted the help and eased to his feet, grunting as he did so. "Yeah, I'll be ok to drive. It's not far," he said, releasing a sharp breath afterwards. He was still trying to catch his breath, but he thought that he was mostly ok. He didn't want to tell Ilya, but he had been through much worse. He had been shot and stabbed more properly before. He had to use the rope on a previous target, and almost got hung himself when the man surprised him, wrapped it around Vaughn's neck, and drug him up a tree. Thankfully, he was only up there for a moment and was able to cut himself down quickly, it was a little taste of bitter death on his tongue.
They left the house, piling into the car. Vaughn had triple checked to make sure that he had left nothing in the house that could identify him. He knew it would be traced back to his work, but he didn't need his exact identity to be pointed out just yet. They soon arrived back at the gas station and headed immediately to the back room. He could not wait to get in the shower and get clean from all of the blood and grime from the kill.
Ilya worried over him for the whole walk inside, though he was quiet for most of it. He didn't leave as they piled into the backroom, not even when Vaughn started to head for the bathroom. He was going to follow and he was going to take care of Vaughn because Vaughn had gotten hurt for him. Those knuckles had been bruised killing his monster and he'd be damned if he let Vaughn tuck himself away and tend to his wounds all alone.
"I want to help," he mumbled, grabbing the back of Vaughn's shirt as they centered in the middle of the small bathroom. It was very presumptuous, to go like he had any right to be there,. His heart beat a little too hard in his chest, fingers twitching slightly where they held onto Vaughn. "I… I want to be with you, please. Can I do that?"
Vaughn was very much like a hurt dog or wolf when he got hurt. He liked to hide away and clean his wounds all alone, then come back to the light when he was feeling strong once again. When Ilya followed him into the bathroom and grabbed the back of his shirt. He looked over his shoulder, slowly turning before he leaned back against the sink, hands gripping the sides. His head tilted to the side. "I know you want to but I have to shower.." he hummed slowly, squinting up at the bright bathroom lights for a moment. They made his head pound, and he wondered if he had a concussion from hitting his head or if it was because of the blood loss.
"I know." His voice was a little smaller. "I can wait here, or… or right outside, but please let me help. I'm good at it, I know… I know how." It wasn't a very good explanation but it was what he had in him to say. He was worried and being worried made his thoughts move too fast and too slow in his head, so while he was supposed to be laying out the reasons he should be here he was too busy focusing in on the way Vaughn used the sink for support. What if he collapsed in the shower? What if he bled out or fainted and Ilya couldn't be there to help him. "Please, I promise… I promise I won't be any trouble, I can make you… better."
Vaughn exhaled heavily, standing up a bit more straight as he watched and listened to Ilya. He knew if he denied Ilya of this, the male would be upset for the rest of the night. “Well, if you promise…” he started before leaning over to turn on the shower water. “Can you at least give me a moment to get undressed, and then you can come back in?”
The curtain for the shower wasn’t see through, so Ilya would be fine to be in there. Once Ilya left, he slowly began to get undressed. He peeled off his sweatshirt and looked at the shard of glass sticking out of his side. It wasn’t bleeding too bad, but he still shouldn’t remove it until he was out of the shower and it could get treated right away. He took off his boots, pants, and boxers, setting them neatly on the counter top of the sink. He then got into the shower, shutting the curtain so only a faint silhouette of his figure showed. “Ilya, you can come in now,” he called out, shutting his eyes before dipping his head so the water hit his hair and face.
(sorry for posting it twice, there was an application error smh. i leave this site for like half a year and there’s still those annoying things)
(it's chill dude, they happen from time to time. Kinda crazy honestly, but sometimes it's hard to code a good website)
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Ilya waited a few seconds just for good measure before he slipped inside again, keeping his eyes away from the shower so he could be sure to avoid any impropriety. He didn't want to make Vaughn uncomfortable, and anyways, there were better things to be doing. He stacked all the supplies up on the edge of the sink, in order of use. Washcloth, antiseptic, gauze, and bandages for the stab wound, neosporin and bandaids for the eyebrow cut and the knuckles, a little penlight he'd found below the seat to check for a head injury. It wasn't a very wide variety of stuff, but there was enough of everything that they wouldn't run out.
"Thank you," he said when everything was in its place, voice just loud enough to be heard over the shower. "I know this is… not normal. And… and I know you're humoring me, so… thanks."
(yeah you’re right on that)
Vaughn continued to stand under the steaming stream as Ilya got situated and set up in the bathroom. He brushed a hand through his hair before leaning it against the wall, successfully leaving blood on the white tile wall. The water at the bottom appeared to be shades of pink and red. He doubted that most of the blood was his. He wasn’t that hurt. He would be completely ok.
He paused and listened closely at the sound of Ilya’s voice. “You’re welcome,” was what he replied with, going back to drowning out the whispers with the sound of the water. He leaned forward against the wall, shutting his eyes for a moment as the water ran down his scarred back. He was so tired. He thought the shower would be quick and then he could get fixed up and sleep. He glanced down to where the glass was sticking out of his skin. It wouldn’t hurt to go on ahead and pull it out. So, reaching down, he got ahold of the shard, and in a quick motion he yanked it from his skin.
“Fuck me-“ he cursed out quietly from the sharp pain that shot down his side, resisting the urge to hit his fist against the wall tiles. A bit of blood spurted out, getting caught up in the water stream and flecking against the cream shower curtain. He reached a toned arm out of the shower, the piece of glass in his fingers, and dropped it into a little trash can next to the shower.
“Got that out of the way..” He mumbled, coughing shortly after. That caused him to grunt, and he grimaced slightly before going back to washing his hair.
Ilya winced when he heard the curse, giving the shower curtain a worried glance before the glass was being tossed and he was realizing what had happened. He freaked out, just a little, just for a few seconds, and then grabbed a washcloth and thrust it into the shower. His eyes were squeezed shut as hard as he could manage. His hand was shaking, just a little, but it wasn't so noticeable and anyways, he pulled his hand out the second Vaughn had taken it from him.
"You… um… you should put pressure on that." It wasn't what he wanted to say—what he wanted to say was something along the lines of 'that was stupid' or 'why did you do that' or maybe even 'oh my god'—but he knew better than to criticize.He bit his cheek instead, passing another washcloth after a few moments. "Like… like a lot, are you okay? How deep was it?"
Vaughn heard the movement of the shower curtain and his head jerked in the direction of it. He looked at the cloth and slowly took it from Ilya, humming in an obedient tone and pressing it to his side. The water stung, but it was good that it was getting cleaned off. He could hear the worry in Ilya’s voice and felt a tad bit of guilt for making him worry. Before answering, he glanced at the blood that he splattered on the tiles. “I don’t think it’s deep. Might need a couple of stitches, but that would be it,” he replied as steadily as he could. He didn’t want to admit that he was feeling a little light headed.
He quickly finished up in the shower before shutting off the water, watching the blood and water trickle down the drain. He stuck his head out from the shower curtain, water droplets on his lashes and his soaked hair messily pushed back- though a couple of locks found their way to fall across his face. “Could you hand me a towel please?”
Ilya poked around until he found a needle when Vaughn mentioned stitches, but otherwise he was too busy worrying to do much. The glass shard wasn't that big—he'd peeked over at it a few times, just to make sure—but it had a lot of blood on it and he couldn't tell is it was because Vaughn was bleeding a lot, which would be bad, or because it had stabbed in deeper than Vaughn was letting on, which would be much worse. He startled when a head came out next instead of a hand, letting out a little squeak as his cheeks went pink. Vaughn was pretty. Very pretty, with the drops clinging to his long lashes and his hair falling in dark curls across his forehead.
He had to force himself to stand before he could yank his eyes away, shoving the towel into the shower with stiffer movements than were, perhaps, warranted. "Yeah, yes, here, um… you… you should let me look at the wound, I… I'm good at… at stitches and… helping." He scooted back, clearing the toilet so Vaughn would have a place to sit down. "And you shouldn't be standing anyways, you've lost a… a lot of blood."
Vaughn apologized quietly when Ilya squeaked from surprise. He waited a moment for the towel before taking it and ducking back behind the curtain. He took the towel, drying his hair a little bit before wrapping it around his hips.
He pulled open the shower curtain, looking down at Ilya. “I’m ok, but yeah, I’ll sit down so we can do this,” he said in a calm tone. He stepped out and sat on the toilet seat, adjusting the towel so it would stay up without him having to hold onto it. He sniffled softly, reaching up to brush his fingers against the bruise forming on his cheekbone. He frowned and tilted his head down, looking at the floor.
