TW: Implied/Referenced Self harm, Blood Magic, Blood/Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death

~Chapter One: You Don't Have To Stay

Strife complains, a lot, he knows he does. It's hard to keep a lid on it when he's got nothing else to talk about and nothing else to do. Most days when Parvis invites him over he's either fixing something, cleaning something, or watching Parv stand around the altar with a tome or scroll or some other kind of literature on the intricacies of blood magic. He's not sure what he's supposed to be doing here anymore – or why he keeps being invited. Or why he keeps accepting the invitations. It feels like he's just waiting for another disaster to clean up.

And in his defense, he hadn't really thought that anyone was paying any attention to him. Neither the witches nor Parv spared him so much as a glance unless he was bringing something or taking something – like when he takes the wicked, curved blade from Parv's hands, drags him away from the altar and into bed. Or when he has to take whatever new potion or trinket or whatever that the witches have conjured to escape.

It's never pleasant. And he can tell both parties are bitter and resentful about him doing these kinds of things. Furtively whispering and glaring when his back is turned.

So he complains. About the state of the building mostly. The walls look like they could collapse if the wind so much as picked up, and there actually are places where the roof is sagging inward. The building, Parvis, and the witches, all of it feels like it's balanced on the edge of a knife. Something's going to happen soon, he just doesn't know what.

"You don't have to stay," Parvis tells him suddenly, interrupting Will's rather lengthy complaint about the temperature of the building. It's cold. Empty in most places. He wonders how Parv sleeps here. "You can leave if you like."

Will frowns, taken aback. But...Parvis had invited him here. Invited him to watch the mage work on his sanguimancy or vitalomancy or whatever they were calling it these days. He crosses his arms. "You want me to leave?"

Parv, perched on the edge of the altar, doesn't even turn to look at him. He's obviously distracted by the book in his hand and the swirling blood before him. He merely shrugs. "You don't have to stay."

The reply irks him for some reason. He's been coming here for months, watching, conversing, and fixing things for Parvis and the mage can't be bothered to care or even appreciate it? It's not that he wants a 'thank you' from Parv, although it'd be nice, but some acknowledgement of him being here or being a friend or colleague would make him feel like he was actually doing something, like he had a purpose in coming here and taking care of every damn person and thing here..

He huffs, and gathers his things, frustrated and sullen. "Fine."

When he's gone, the blood mage tosses the book aside and leans heavily against the altar. The blood settles and he frowns, looking solemnly into the deep and wet red.

~Chapter Two: Ancient Power

Strife tries not to think about Parvis, and stamps down any thoughts of returning until Xephos storms through his front door, eyes glowing and clothes swirling around him, moved by some unseen force. He looks very much like the old and powerful being that saved him so long ago. Of course, this time, he is the face of all-consuming rage. Although Strife fears what he's done to incur the wrath of whom he respects very highly, he stands his ground.

Xephos is not happy.

"I put you in charge of Parvis." He tells him. "And you've abandoned him!"

"He didn't want me there." Strife says, trying to defend himself in vain. He hugs a stack of papers to his chest, stroking the corners of them nervously as he tries to match Xephos' gaze. He's never been very good at eye contact, but he needs the facade of confidence that it provides. He needs to convince both Xephos and himself, that leaving Parvis was justified.

"He's out of control, Strife. This is unacceptable. I asked you to do one thing," Xephos crosses his arms, eyes still glowing, despite being seemingly calmer. "One thing, Strife."

"Why am I his babysitter?" Will asks him curtly. "What do you gain from having me watch him instead of just..." He gives an exasperated sigh, reluctant to say what he's thought.

"Getting rid of him?"

"Yes! He's destructive, and immoral." His words feel bitter and unfair, but he can't help himself. Parvis has done nothing but bleed and cut and kill. All for power. "What part does he play?"

Xephos considers him for a long moment. "You know the price of knowledge and understanding is a hefty one, Strife. You more than others. Just because you can't see that Parvis belongs here, doesn't mean you get to abandon your duties. You swore an oath."

"I know."

"Then keep it."

~Chapter Three: The Cost Of Things

He finds Parvis where he left him. Sort of. The castle – if it could be called that – seems to be in even worse condition than when he left. It's crumbling, and in several places is mysteriously charred. He lands carefully, dropping to the earth that used to be porous and laden with bugs and flowers and worms. The earth smells dry now, smells like dead things.

It's been a long while since he's been here but he remembers too easily where the door is, disguised as stone. If there was adequate light, instead of the dark moonlight he's traveled by, he's not sure the door would blend in so easily - what with the stone walls in disrepair, and the protections he's placed, magical and not, still holding. In any case, he lets himself in.

Inside is concerning, but it's not like he wasn't prepared. Xephos had warned him. He had been here too.

Everything looks like it hasn't been touched in a very long time. It's only been a month, but it looks like it's been longer. The magic has a tendency to do that. It's greedy and hungry, and if you let it get too strong it takes root and it changes the way things are and are meant to be.

The chests and the pipes look sickly, bowed in some places, and oozing mildew and other mysterious substances. Disturbingly, the pipes have been extended, branching across the walls and the ceiling, most of them leading nowhere. They're evidence of what is probably Parvis' descent into a confused fervor, the blood magic's grip on him worsening. They look like veins and arteries, and the gentle wind outside sounds a little too much like labored breaths.

When he approaches the altar and mounts the steps, he finds it empty. Bone dry. Strangely, it looks as if no one had used it at all. This does come as a surprise to Strife, and it suddenly feels urgent that he find the missing blood mage. He descends, and searches the castle carefully, determined. He had thought the blood magic would overcome him, claim it for its own, and if the altar was dry...

When he finds him, Parvis is lying in his bed. For a moment, Strife is afraid that he's come too late, that he's dead. He's not seen Parvis this still in all the time he's known him, nor has he seen him looking so peaceful. Not that it isn't a gruesome looking scene, his body pale and thin, lying in sheets stained with blood, and a pile of long-dead witches not six feet away.

Strife reaches for him, carefully kneeling next to the bed and only daring to brush his fingers against Parv's hand. The blood mage wakes, startled, and reaches for something that isn't there, his hand searching his hip.

"Will," he gasps when he sees him, his voice raw sounding. "The magic. The – the blood."

"I know." Strife tries to console him, moving his hand to rest on Parv's, but the mage shrinks back, fearful.

"Don't - don't. Don't touch me." He warns him. "I - the magic – it killed the..." He glances and gestures in the direction of the corpses, bloody and bloated, and immediately looks ill.

"It's okay." Strife clasps his hands around Parv's. They're cold. "You can't hurt me."

~Chapter Four: The Wrong Magic

"How come you can touch me?" Parvis asks quietly, tea in hand as he settles into the couch. Strife had been hesitant to bring him here at first, knowing that the magic is still lingering in him and will likely have an effect on the tower, but as much as it was parasitic, so was life. Life would return in time.

"I told you. I dabbled." After a moment of silence, he realizes the answer is probably too evasive. He stops sketching at his desk, a new building for the compound, and turns in his seat to look at Parv. "I...used to do magic. I still do sometimes. Not blood magic, not anymore."

"Why not?" Parvis folds his legs, his knees against his chest. He's wearing Strife's clothing, since his others were soaked and stained with blood and sweat. The shirt fits strangely, tight across his chest but quite loose elsewhere, and the sweatpants he's wearing are a little short on him. He rests his mug on his knee. "The...they did magic. A lot of magic. And..."

"It's different. It's the wrong magic." Strife tells him, trying to explain, but at the same time trying to watch what he says. How had Xephos explained it to him so well?

"So, what, you can stop me because you did a ritual like years ago in college?"

This is difficult. He doesn't want to divulge this kind of information to Parvis, for some indiscernible reason. It's private and part of him is embarrassed that he let things go so far and another part of him is ashamed to have to admit his weaknesses. But, then, it doesn't really matter what he thinks, does it? This is what he's supposed to do. He sighs.

"I didn't do a ritual, Parv. I did every ritual. Every spell. Anything I could find, and more." He grits his teeth in discomfort, forcing the words through them. "I made my own up, I made spells."

Parvis laughs awkwardly. "I knew you were a perfectionist, Will, but jeez."

"The same thing that happened to you, happened to me, okay?" Strife turns and shrugs like the conversations over, even though he knows it's not that easy.

"Ha, I'm having a hard time picturing you slaughtering innocents and using their blood to power your evil deeds." Parv is still trying to make this a joke, a light hearted conversation.

Strife just stares in response. "I don't find it that hard."

"Right...okay." He taps the side of his cup anxiously, and turns his gaze to the rest of the room, avoiding Will's eyes. They're in the only part of the tower that's a living space and not a working space. A single floor with a kitchen, a small dining table, and couch. Behind a wall and a door, there's the smallest bedroom Parvis has ever seen. And both spaces are invaded with Will's work, a drawing table tucked into the corner here, and a simple desk with reports and files piled onto it, in the bedroom. "So, what happened?"

"You were there." Strife replies, and reluctantly gets up from the desk. "Why don't you tell me?"

Parvis looks like he's been reprimanded, pouting and clutching his tea. "There was just...so much of it. So much to learn. I was so close...I needed to know."

And although he already knows the answer, Strife sits next to him and asks, "Know what?"

He shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't remember. I don't even know...if I knew what I was looking for."

Silence. The two of them avoiding each other's gazes, uncomfortable.

"There's a saying, sort of. Where I come from." Will fiddles with his clothing as he talks. He's not even sure if any of this will make sense when he says it out loud. "What we know is what we give."

"And?"

"Shut up," Strife elbows him. "Just listen. I'm just saying – it means that everything we know, is because we've given up something else. You give up your time and money to go to school. You give up your sleep to read books, you give your energy to talk to people."

Parv mutters into his mug, "I still don't see how this relates."

"With blood magic, you're giving up your life. It's just another way to learn." He frowns. "Some people try and get around it, but in the end you realize that the only way you're going to learn what blood magic has to offer you – to teach you, is to die."

"But I didn't die."

Strife feels bad, Parvis looks disturbed by this. "No, and you don't know, do you? You don't know what you went looking for. You didn't learn."

"But why am I still killing people?" He grips the handle of the mug, and Will can see him working his jaw. "People are still dying and it's my fault. I spent months reading and bleeding over that dammed altar and I've gotten nothing out of it except for more blood. Fuck! All of this was pointless. And now? I'm tired and sick all of the time and I can't touch people. I'm useless."

"You're not useless, Parvis. Coming out of blood magic alive, you're still going to learn something." Strife awkwardly tries to comfort him, putting a hand on Parv's back. "You have to learn when to stop. Stop wanting to know, because it's keeping the magic fed. You have to realize that some things are not worth dying for."

~Chapter Five: Quiet, Uncomfortable

"Wait, I still don't think I understand." Parvis says suddenly. They're in the middle of what's become a nightly affair; Strife teaching Parvis how to prepare a few simple meals. It feels somewhat domestic, despite what's happened, and what could still happen, but keeping Parv within reaching distance while he recovers...it just feels right. And of course they'd gotten bored with sitting around the tower.

"It's not really necessary," Strife explains idly, staring into the frothing pot. "Some people think the salt lowers the boiling point of water, making it quicker to boil and cook – but in reality it actually raises it – and not even significantly. It's just a few degrees. But, it does flavor the pasta a little, so it's nice to add."

"Not the pasta, Will," he groans. "I mean, well...I guess I still don't get why you aren't affected by – you know. Me touching you?"

"O – oh," Strife puts down the small container of salt, looking embarrassed, and mutters, "How was I supposed to follow that?"

"You were supposed to say 'About what, Parvis?' and then let me explain." Parvis shoves him lightly, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, I just assumed we were still talking about cooking and - and...salt." Strife hunches his shoulders, looking down at the stove and stirring the pasta. "I assumed my cooking student would be paying attention and learning, like he's supposed to be doing. You have to learn to feed yourse –"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Back to my question."

"E – excuse me –" Looking offended, Strife turns away from the food cooking, and frowns at Parvis.

"Come on," Parv whines, not the least bit bothered by Will looking indignant and tense. "Just tell me why you don't die when I touch you, and I'll cook your stupid fettuccine all by myself – without setting anything on fire. I promise."

"Parv – Alex, I'm not even sure myself." Neither Strife nor Parvis look happy with the answer. "My only guess would be because I've had that kind of magic in me – or maybe because I died." Strife shrugs, stirring again.

"Wait, what?" Parvis replies, loudly, and pulling on Strife's sleeve to get his attention. "You had this? Where things died around you and - and when you touched them? And you died? When did you die – why – why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Yes, I had it." He says carefully. "I got as deep into that stuff as you did. And – well, I died. From it."

"You killed yourself?" He looks incredulous, and sort of...sad, eyebrows stitched together in the kind of pity and worry that is exactly why Will hesitates to tell people what happened. There's no point in it, at least with other people. Parvis is different, he's his charge. In a way.

"Yeah." Strife is quiet, uncomfortable with the topic.

"Does that mean –"

"No, Parvis. I don't know what you – or I – were looking for. I'm alive, someone...someone brought me back." He shrugs. "I thought the same thing was going to happen to you. I thought I was going to find you in that castle, and that you would be dying or dead."

"But I didn't kill myself. I didn't even try." Parvis puts a hand on Strife's shoulder, trying to comfort him. He can't be sure what Will's thinking or has been thinking. He must have worried, even though he tried to act like worrying over him, and the fervor of blood magic, were both beneath him. And what must he have thought, when he realized that Parvis had resisted the magic's pull, and lived?

"Proof of your stubborn nature," Strife jokes, and points to one of the cupboards. "Now get the colander. You said you'd do the rest of this, and I'm keeping you on your word."

"Yes, sir."

~Chapter Six: Please Stay

It's an accident – it really is. He doesn't mean to walk in on Parvis, he just kind of forgets Parvis is living with him temporarily. He'd given him his bedroom – since he had no spare – and was sleeping on the couch until he got around to finishing a place for Parv to stay. Strife had just forgotten, after a long day of planning and building and cleaning and even farming some, making his way upstairs at almost half past midnight and turning instinctively towards his bedroom.

And like a huge asshole, he lets himself in and walks in on Parvis, eyes red and face wet from crying. He freezes like a panicked deer, realizing his mistake, but still wanting to stay, and comfort Parv. He's almost glad he's walked in, wishes he'd known sooner that the person he was trying to help heal, was still hurting from this mess. Of course, that means moot if he's unwanted. He can't force Parv to accept his sympathy or poorly thought-out attempts at care and comfort. He just has to be here until Parvis wants it, seeks it out.

Strife takes an anxious step back towards the door, seeing the surprised look on Parvis' face when he looks up at him. Will struggles to excuse himself. "O – oh, crap, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – it was accident. I mean, I can stay if - if you want, as maybe someone to talk to? Or I can leave immediately. And stop talking. I'll stop talking. Sorry."

Parv doesn't reply at first, and Will takes that as his cue to leave, starting to move back into the other room, but the blood mage - or former blood mage finally speaks up.

"No, please." He rubs his eyes, looking tired. "Please stay."

Slowly and uncertainly, Strife steps back into the room and makes his way over to the bed. He hovers there, not sure what to do with himself, and Parv laughs, his voice still tinged with bitter sadness. "Sit down, god. Stop acting like you're in trouble."

"Sorry," Strife perches on the edge of the bed, and they sit in odd silence.

After a long moment, Parvis sighs. "I don't know how you did this."

He waits, knowing Parv will probably explain. It takes a minute, while he tries to keep his breathing even and stop himself from crying again. But he gets there. "I don't know how you just...stopped. Stopped wanting to know."

Will frowns, empathetic. It hadn't been that easy, letting go of the chance to learn, to acquire such powerful knowledge. But it had definitely helped that he had actually lain there and slowly slipped into unconsciousness, realizing he wasn't going to wake up, when it was already too late. But telling any of that to Parvis doesn't seem like it'll help. He pats Parv's knee. "You kind of...have to find something else. Turn your attention and your energy, to something new or something you used to do. When you realize, I guess, what else is out there to learn or do or whatever, you just kinda accept that you don't need to know what the magic is hiding.

"Does...that make sense?"

Wordlessly, Parvis shrugs and wipes his eyes more. Probably not then. It was the kind of thing you had to understand from doing, more than from hearing it.

"Do you want – like a hug or something?" Strife offers nervously.

"A hug would be nice."

~Chapter Seven: The Conclusion

Dawn is gentle on the horizon, the sun barely cresting the forest canopy in the east. Their breath comes in a soft mist. Parv's more significantly than Will's, since he sighs loudly, following in Will's wake. He's upset about being woken up this early, but his companion and current roommate and caretaker had insisted that it was important. Well, at the very least, it would hopefully make up for being woken up.

"If you were a...uhmmm...flower. What kind would you be?" Parv asks with another sigh, kicking and scattering a few rocks.

Will pauses, stopping on the small stone path, both to let Parvis catch up and to consider his question. In contrast to Parv, Will's awake and on, caffeinated and having been up for an hour or so now. He rubs his hands together, warming them idly. "I don't know. Why? Are you planning on stealing my credit card or something? What's up with 20 Questions?"

"Jeez," He says as he stops next to him. "It's just a question. You'd be a sunflower, by the way."

Will snorts in mild amusement, turning back to the well-trod path before them and hurrying on. He'd woken him up with a small shake, unusually chipper. He was always so gruff or quiet. Or uncertain. Having Strife be the one to wake Parv up, pushing him out of bed and helpfully tossing a few articles of clothing at him, was odd when it was usually the other who did such things, his eager and wide-eyed nature leading to a lack of a good night's sleep for Will.

"Why do we have to hike through a mile of mud at five-thirty in the morning again? And to the smelly barn?" Parvis asked plaintively, curling his threadbare jacket tighter around himself.

"Just wait and see." Will tells him patiently, without even turning his head.

More sighing. More puffs of condensation in the cold air.

A few minutes later, and Will has led Parv into the furthest corner of the barn. He's excited, that much is obvious to Parv, who's known him long enough to be able to see it. It's kind of strange how he can see that despite the muttering and lack of visible excitement or eagerness, the fact that Will bothered to wake him up and drag him down here and the way he pulls lightly on his arm, over to the ladder, tells him that he is excited. Practically bursting with it.

But god - what for?

A smelly barn full of horses pooping in their stalls? Stacks of hay and bags of alfalfa? The subtle smell of old and worn leather clings to everything. The wood floorboards creak and the walls do too, against the dawn's breezes. There's dirt and dust and hay in everything, and bugs flying around and spiderwebs in the corners, and the sound of a rat somewhere, chewing on wood.

"Shhh," Will hushes him, even putting a finger to his lips, as they get to the upper level. There's more hay and a few other scattered supplies up here. Extra tack and stands with heavy blankets for winter. Perhaps even less interesting than the horse poop on the lower level, but Will motions and nudges Parvis over to a corner, where the roof slopes down low and forces them to crouch and shuffle awkwardly.

"Come look." He whispers softly, as he pushes the end of one of the two-string hay bales an inch or two out of the way.

Nestled in a soft pile of loose hay and a tattered old t-shirt is a small litter of kittens. Three - no, four kittens asleep and curled up around each other. Will crosses his legs, watching them and getting comfortable. He gives Parv a small, uncertain smile, not sure if it's actually been worth the trip.

"They're - uh, two and a...half weeks now?" He explains, still whispering. "I came out to check on them earlier, but - this is the first time the mother's let me get close. She, uh, she let me pick one up. So I thought I'd come show you. Maybe...not as interesting as I thought."

"Where's mom?" Parv asks, but he's not quite as good at keeping his voice down, it seems. One of the kittens, tortoiseshelled and with pale blue eyes, wiggles and shifts, before lifting their head and looking at the two of them. It mews out a soft squeak. As if summoned, a full grown cat, similarly colored, hops up onto the bales beside Parv, and then down to the makeshift nest. She noses the kittens, checking them over, before laying down in the hay and rolling onto her back, staring pointedly at Will.

Parvis glances between the two of them. "What's that mean?"

"Uhh, I'm hoping...it means we can hold them." He replies, as he slowly reaches and gently pets the kitten that's woken up. The mother blinks slowly, but doesn't move. Will carefully and gently slides a hand under the kitten, cradling them and picking them up. He watches the mother, trying to gauge her reaction, but she turns and goes to lick one of the others of her brood.

"That's good, right?" Parvis whispers. "She trusts us? So she's looking away? Right?"

"I think so. Here, hold this one." Will moves and starts to place the tiny kitten into Parv's arms before he can react - before he can warn him in time.

"No - no!" Parvis whispers loudly. "The...the magic..." He trails off. The small animal in his arms struggles to turn and look up at him, eyes wide and their paws trying to find purchase in his skin. It squeaks at him again, and Parv gapes openly.

"It didn't...it's not dead." He says with bewildered awe. Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he looks up at Will accusingly. "You could have killed it!"

Apparently unconcerned, Will grins back at him, and shrugs. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I thought you weren't ready."

"Asshole." Parv mutters.

"Anytime."

Credit to heartlesswriting on Ao3