as the world caves in — johnnyflame

[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

The air was heavy with the saturated scent of blood, overpowering the smell of herbs and pine until he could taste the copper tinge on his tongue, weighing heavily until he could barely swallow without it clawing at his throat, begging for water that he surely didn’t need, if not for those only just injured during the attack—one that weighed heavily on his mind, even if he hadn’t been present.

Like many nights, Duskpool found himself staring at the night sky, restless, mind unyielding despite the calm after the storm, if this was the last of it. Duskpool wouldn’t be so sure. Damnit. His brows furrowed, helm pivoting to stare at the pines with a contemplative look, smoothing his expression into something more neutral, biting back a wince when it crinkled the healing flesh.

The molten copper-hued male veered his attention to the nursery where one of his adoptive kids slept with a brief of relief. He was thankful, but it didn’t mean he was any less angry at himself, watching his apprentice leave with the rest of the battle patrol. He knew. But that didn’t stop him from worrying like a damn idiot, already cursing himself for getting attached. He sure was doing a poor ass job at it. Duskpool let out a shaky laugh, shoulders quivering despite the throbbing along his shoulder.

When the group returned, Duskpool didn’t know what to feel, watching from afar as a breath of relief slipped pasted his scarred muzzle, pinched expression relaxing when his gaze landed on those he could consider close to, even if he didn’t like admitting it, but he sure as hell wouldn’t outright refuse if someone asked. The reality filled him with dread. What would happen? The obsidian-hued male sure as hell didn’t want to find out. “Turnin’ into a damn softie, Duskpool. The hell’s gotten into you?” He muttered, voice barely audible against the quiet hustle of nightlife. It was a rhetorical question. Something Duskpool could answer within a heartbeat if he wanted to, but it didn’t mean he liked it. The more he cared, the more he had to lose and the harder it would be to recover. Hell. Duskpool knew that better than anyone, grieving for past lives that had been cut short.

Posture stiffening, Duskpool turned, catching sight of Johnnyflame, blinking deadpan. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He inquired, brow raised. The male backtracked, shuffling until he eased off of his leg, biting back a wince at the throbbing sensation, annoyance filtering across his face until it smoothed into something akin to boredom. “How ya feelin’?” He prodded further, inspecting the other with a critical eye.

@Johnnyflame ​

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[Johnnyflame]

HE SAID, "WELL MY NAME'S JOHNNY, AND IT MIGHT BE A SIN
BUT I'LL TAKE YOUR BET, AND YOU'RE GONNA REGRET, CUZ IM THE BEST THERE'S EVER BEEN."​

---

It was the night after the fight with Windclan, and an unusual sight could be found in camp; Johnnyflame. The patched tabby rarely spent the nights away from his humans, but after the battle and the wounds he’d sustained he’d insisted on remaining in camp for a few nights just to heal his wounds enough to ensure they didn’t try keeping him inside for a few days. It was what a responsible Lead would do after all, but in reality he knew it was more than that. The idea of returning to camp and finding it’d been raided while he was away left his stomach in knots of apprehension, not because he thought his presence could change anything, but because the thought of not going down with the ship left him feeling phantom waves of guilt that kept him from leaving the forest.

Johnny had known many cats in his life, friends and enemies alike, and in a way he felt responsible for them all. It was in his nature to look out for others, to run headfirst into whatever challenge he met. But he’d never had the kind of connection to them that he had with Windclan. Maybe that was because his twolegs had moved around a lot, leaving some part of him apprehensive of throwing himself into that kind of thing, but Skyclan had brought it out of him so damn naturally that Johnny was entirely wrapped up in it now.

This place and it’s cats would take a part of him he’d never get back if he lost them.

The realization didn’t scare him, but maybe it should have. He’d always been a bit dense in that regard, too stubborn to see the obvious when it came to his instincts. And with every fibre of his being urging him to protect and love this place with everything he had, it was hard to tell himself to run away or put up walls- to do any of the things that might save his heart if things fell apart.

And so instead, he lay in the shadows of camp under the guise of ‘recuperation’’ in the makeshift nest he’d pulled together, not having wanted to take up room in either Dawnglares den or the warriors. Sleep was not on the agenda, however. Johnny lay sprawled lazily on his side as claws picked mindlessly at the side of the moss bed, the quietest form of fidgeting he could provide himself at the moment. Blazing yellow eyes were trained sharply on the camps entrance however, and a keen eye would note that it wasn’t just a bout of sleeplessness. Johnny was doing what he’d done since he was just a kit sitting on his twolegs fenceline; standing guard.

Well, laying guard, if you wanted to be specific, but the point still stood.

His attention only shifted when the approach of a clanmate made it obvious that someone had noticed he was up, and sunbright eyes shifted to find none other than Duskpool standing beside him.

”Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Despite technically being scolded by the older tom, Johnny grinned in response to the question, sitting up in his nest with a wince as he felt the scabs on his chest pull a bit.

”Shouldn’t you?” he shot back, but there was nothing even close to malicious in it.”And okay, I suppose. It’s not the worst I’ve had by far.” he snorted, quick to dismiss it. And that was true- the infection from the rat bites had been far worse, and even among scuffles with other cats this hadn’t been the worst.

But it still fucking hurt.

Clawmarks down his cheek that would leave scars beneath his left eyes. A nick on his chin. The slashes down his neck and chest were probably the worst of it from when the shecat had gotten her hind legs between them, but there were a few scratches and shallow punctures on his shoulders that made it difficult for him to lay on any one side for more than a while without finding them itchy and irritated. He knew he looked like he was in rough shape, but he took satisfaction in the fact that the Windclan rat he’d been fighting had come away just as damaged and bloody. He looked forward to meeting her again and settling the score.

”I’m no medicine cat, but I figure I’ll live to see tomorrow. How about you- feelin' any better?” he asked as his gaze shifted to look over the other, as if the inspection itself would give him the answer.

It did not, and thus golden eyes met copper with expectant curiosity.

---

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[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

The comment drew out a low-sounding snort from the male at the hypocrisy of his statement. He supposed both of them were running from something, although Duskpool had no right to ask, merely offering a shrug of his shoulders despite the twinge of pain the motion brought. He doubted anyone would notice him leaving during the night, shrouded in darkness with nothing but molten copper to shine beneath flickering lights that loom above them, omnisciently.

He sighed, easing to the ground, muscles quivering until he sat, hunched over, gaze sweeping towards the entrance with unfeathered longing. To leave camp to a nest that, no doubt had grown cold underneath a decaying pine with nothing but nature’s sound as his lullaby. He sure as hell missed them, but he would be damned if he broke a promise, even if it made his skin prickle with unease, mind hallowed, begging to run until the morning sun appeared over the horizon.

With a drawn-out sigh, Duskpool pivoted, helm cocked, staring at Johnnyflame with a critical hue, much like before, but peering at the nest beneath him—lost in thought. A deadpan optic blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts with a huff. “Might not be the worst, but I bet they sure as hell hurt like a bitch.” He remarked. “Pain is pain, even if it isn’t the worst of ‘em.” He grumbled, jerking a limb to pull flush against his frame, rigid claws digging into the well-worn ground. Hell. He should know that his mind veering to his unfortunate talk with Cherrykit when he’d been nest-ridden, energy long spent other than to nearly rip out his fur in the need to do something than sit there and wait for his blasted wounds to heal when she inquired about his wounds. Duskpool offered a brief explanation about it then.

Shaking his helm, the large brute grunted, muscles quivering as he moved into a more comfortable position, shoulders drawn back to peer at the pines, tattered ears pressed firmly against his helm.

“...I’m elated to hear that.” He muttered. Truly. He wouldn’t know what he would have done if he lost another friend, albeit Duskpool would never admit that out loud, and even then, it would be with clenched teeth, afraid to admit it out loud for his own peace of mind. But at least, Johnnyflame could return home, albeit with the haunted thrumming beneath heated skin when tomorrow came.

“Fine.” He grumbled, nose crinkling at the turn of conversation, molten copper skimming his own wounds with a bored expression, almost annoyed that they were still healing. “I’ll be back on duties in a few days. Perfect timing, I’ll say. One less idiot to take up more space.”

Duskpool gestured towards his eye, covered in cobwebs, tone deadpan. “Seems like I’ll be workin’ with one eye from now on.” He remarked. Sure as hell was going to be a pain to get used to, but he would have given up a long time ago if he wasn’t so damn stubborn to suffer. “Looks like I was lucky—” He snorted, molten copper narrowing. Don’t feel fuckin’ lucky, but it’s better than nothing. He mused. “Could have been worse.” He shrugged, molten copper flickering to the other tom, gaze lingering on the marred flesh, heart twinging at the thought. What could have happened if he was there? He sighed. No point in worrying. What’s done is done. He might be physically strong, but he wasn’t strong enough to change the past.

“Enough about me.” He drawled out, peering at Johnnyflame with a narrowed hue. “You should be restin’.” He commented, a repeat of his earlier comment. “If you wanna head home, better to replenish that energy you lost during the fight, otherwise those wounds of yours won’t heal.” A superstition, but Duskpool’s attempt to show his concern that wasn’t one of his kits. ​

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[Johnnyflame]

HE SAID, "WELL MY NAME'S JOHNNY, AND IT MIGHT BE A SIN
BUT I'LL TAKE YOUR BET, AND YOU'RE GONNA REGRET, CUZ IM THE BEST THERE'S EVER BEEN."​

---

Pain definitely was pain, but Johnny had never been one to magnify his aches and injuries. He would obviously let healers work on him whenever he realized the damage needed proper tending (a mistake he'd learned from letting the rat bite go too long) but he didn't like to make his problems anyone elses. Accept when he was legitimately sick- then he was a total kitten (his twolegs words, not his) and all he wanted was whine to cuddle and sleep.

But, since Duskpool had insisted...

"Aye, they do. The ones on my neck make it hard to turn my head without the scabs pullin'. Makes it itch a lot." he admitted, the physical vulnerability not an easy thing to just air out with another. He figured he trusted the smokey tomcat enough though, and that if he wanted that trust to continue growing, lowering what few walls Johnny was actually in possession of probably wouldn't hurt.

As the other spoke of their own wounds at last, Johnny was relieved to hear that they'd be back to their regular duties in only a few days. He was no healer (as he'd already made clear), but having a part of your body ripped out or whatever had to be a lot worse than whatever bullshit wounds the bobtail was sporting in that moment. To hear they were already approved to be back out in the world was surprising, but in a good way. It meant that Dusk was healing well, and quite frankly Johnny was glad that they were finally healthy enough to join in on regular clan activities.

"Bet you'll be glad to get back out in the forest. Won't have Dawnglare livin' up to his namesake every time he's gotta look you over. That cat weirds me out- I can barely understand half the crap he says and then he looks at me like [/i]i'm[/i] the idiot." he huffed with a roll of his eyes, pointedly remembering their first meeting when the cat insulted him and then just walked off.

At the mention of luck and things being worse, Johnny felt the pinpricks of guilt in his stomach take hold. He wished he'd been there, that he'd had the luck to come across the beast just as he had the fox attacking Deer and Thistle. Johnny was hardly anything- just a short, stocky little livewire with a big heart- but he would fought with everything he had if it could have spared Dusk from having to shoulder such fearsome wounds.

"Could have been." he agreed with a hum. "Glad it wasn't, though. Who else would I have these fun little late night talks with?" he mused, glancing toward the other and referencing the last time they'd met out when the sun was falling, back when Johnny had insisted Duskpool sleep in camp.

He hoped that once they were cleared for work again, they'd still keep to that instead of returning to the hollowed out tree on the edge of twoleg place.

As Duskpool went on to tell him to rest, scolding him for not properly regaining his strength, Johnny couldn't help but feel a little grateful. He wasn't used to having anyone but his twolegs properly fuss over him, and it was nice to have someone grumbling in his ear to sit still and relax.

"Okay, okay, I'll rest- but only if you do too." My nests big enough for us both if we squish, and I won't mind if you kick in your sleep.."[/b]

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[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The obsidian-hued brute grunted, listening to the other with a twitch of his torn ear, molten copper gazing out across camp, flickering now and then towards the other when he divulged in the scabs along his neck. Duskpool didn't comment, simply offering the tom a single nod of his helm, optic fluttering.

With a grunt, Duskpool offered a few words, expression deadpan. “Sure is a pain in the ass.” He understood the vulnerability, mentioning something that could screw you over if said to the wrong cat. The cobwebs decorating his eye were a salutary reminder of that. He bit back an annoyed puff at the thought of getting used to seeing things one-sided, knowing damn well it’d be more difficult, but Duskpool wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, not something like this.

He snorted, tossing his head back to stare at the sky, optic crinkling. “Losin’ my head sittin’ in that damn den of his.” He grunted, muzzle crinkling at the thought of being cooped up any longer and he’d simply lose his head. He despised being stationary with nothin’ to do but listen to the sound of breathing lengths away from his temporary nest to the inability to do anything. He hated being a sittin’ duck. Made his damn skin near crawl.

“He has an odd way of thinkin’.” He rumbled, tail flickering. “Only a few understand that jargon of his. Sure as hell I’m not one of em’ but he’s got a decent eye for herbs.” He rumbled. “He’s best thinkin’ we’re all idiots.” His helm pivoted to watch the other, annoyance flickering across deadpan features for the briefest of moments before settling, indifference. He cursed the lack of vision, still not quite used to others speaking to him where he couldn’t see, but he was managing just fine.

He shrugged. “With that personality of yours, I’m sure ya would have found someone.” He was just a warrior in a dozen, nothing special about him but the divots of his skin reflecting all the battles he’d been in. Death would have been a kinder fate. He thought darkly, expression hardening. Not that he deserved it. Shaking his helm subtly, Duskpool snorted, glancing wearily at the other.

He couldn’t help the prickle of unease pattering across marred flesh, optic shifting to the nest Johnnyflame rested in, albeit quickly put together, but still enough to classify it as a nest. Right. His expression molded into one of indifference, glancing briefly at the wounds decorating the chimera’s frame.

He rumbled, concerned, but otherwise said nothing, knowing the other wouldn’t have suggested it if they weren’t sure. But doubt crept in, not for sharing a nest, but for the wounds that decorate the other’s frame, scabbed and healing, still delicate. “Not much of a kicker.” He responded, tone mildly humorous, clambering to his paws with a grunt, muscles quivering beneath obsidian smokey fur.

“I’ve gotten enough rest to last me a while ( more than he’d like ), but if that’s what gets you to sleep.” He grunted, glancing wearily at the nest before jerking his helm for the other to move a bit. He sure as hell wasn’t takin’ a chance in ripping those wounds, an accident maybe, but something that’ll cost the other. ​

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