There comes a time where you fade to the blackness,
And when you starin' at that phone in your lap,
And you're hopin'
But them people never call you back.
But that's just how the story unfolds,
You get another hand soon after you fold,
And when your plans unravel in the sand,
What would you wish for if you had one chance?

- B.O.B feat Hayley Williams, Airplanes

20

"You say one more damn thing and I'm going to make sure that you won't ever be able to sit on your ass again."

"I'm not sure if I should be disturbed by the fact that you're threatening to spank me. I don't get turned on by that shit, never have and I won't be changing for you."

Death growled, forcefully slinging Strife down to the ground. Strife gurgled as his older brother's grip tightened on the collar of his shirt before he threw him, momentarily cutting off his air flow, and grunted as he landed in the dirt outside beside Jessica's barn, panting. Cutting his eyes at Death, Strife propped himself up on his elbows, massaging his now very sore neck, and grunted in surprise when he felt a foot land upon his back to push him back onto the ground. Without thinking, a snarl escaped him and he yelped as he was then slammed back into the dirt.

This was how things normally went between the two of them. Strife would say something wrong -what was it last time; "holy mother function, look at the asymptotes on that mother function"- and Death would either deck him on the spot or drag him away to try and talk sense into him. Apparently that 'sense' did not include asking why a witch was sitting in Jessica's house. The White Horseman had believed it was a good question; all he had said was "Why the hell does she look like that if she's a witch? Doesn't she need the pointy nose and stringy black hair with a broom?" That was when Death had given him a second's warning before snatching the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the house and out to the barn, where he was probably going to rip his insides out.

Again, it wasn't his fault. After transporting that annoying, hell-driven woman named Valir from the fields to the house, Strife was tired and annoyed from dealing with humans. Sera had shouted at him when he had threatened to knock Valir unconscious to keep her from struggling on Turmoil and calling him dirty words; Strife had retorted that he really didn't want to hear either and had ended up not only blindfolding the woman, but shoving a rag down her throat. They had spent three hours walking back on foot; four people on the back of a horse was practically impossible after all even with Turmoil's strength. He had no clue how Sera had dealt with it since she seemed to know both Thomas and Valir, and she had carried the little boy all the way to Jessica's house. All Strife had done was listen to insults from a strange woman that Sera had said lived by herself most of the time. It wasn't like those insults had stopped when they had reached Jessica's home and the blindfold and gag was removed.

When they returned to Jessica's, they found that Death was miraculously healed and a witch was sitting on the couch with a little girl as the Pale Horseman explained things to Jessica that Strife had been told not to reveal to anyone. But Death apparently can. And when Strife asked how the hell a simple human witch had the power to stop a possession from the one and only Legion himself, he was scolded. Were they the ones who had tangoed with Demon Lords only a few centuries ago? No. He'd been the one to get information from Legion after exchanging part of a soul he had desired, a soul that had belonged to an angel. It was hard enough getting it.

Strife had tried to busy himself instead of listening to the women chat with who older brother. Sera, however, wouldn't let him sit anywhere near her within reaching distance after he had tried to lay an arm across her shoulders that day. It wasn't like she didn't need the help; she was watching the small Rosaline and Thomas and taking care of them. Strife wasn't that destructive. She wanted him at least a fifteen foot radius away from the two children as she built little towers out of wooden blocks with them, one accusing eye rested upon him as he tried to take interest in a nearby book.

It was his boredom that had caused him to accuse Mama being more than a witch.

And that was when Death had dragged him away, claiming that he was more trouble than what was worth. What would Death know? He was the one drooling over a human woman that he could never have.

"Let me up, dammit!" Strife hissed, glancing up at his older, stone-faced brother as he tried to push himself up. "I was just asking a question! You know it's the truth! There's no way that she's just a damn witch! Only an angel's magic can reverse a possession, after it's been done! Not during! I was just stating the obvious! You know that she's not telling the damn-!"

Another push from Death's boot caused Strife's face to land in the dirt, effectively shutting him up as he choked on the light earth. Thankfully, Death must have grew bored of torturing him because he moved away, freeing Strife. The White Horseman sat up, struggling to get the dirt off his tongue, and glared at Death as his brother stood nearby, arms crossed over the neon orange shirt he was wearing as he patiently waited for Strife to recover. Strife couldn't help but to lift up a hand, flicking his brother the bird.

Without even hesitating, Death's boot found his gut as quick as lightning itself and Strife grunted as he fell over onto his side. As he grasped at the pain lingering there, trying to catch his breath, Death exclaimed, "Do it again and I'll hit you lower."

Strife dry chuckled. "Ah brother, I'm teaching you well."

"The category of threats have always been in my vocabulary." Death paused, allowing Strife time to at least sit up straight, before crouching down in front of him. His orange eyes searched Strife as he struggled to recover. "It would seem that my normal ways to quiet you are much more efficient."

"Ya think?"

A small smile flickered across the Pale Horseman's features. Strife scowled. It was easy to understand why the three women -even Sera for hell's sake- seemed to enjoy talking to Death. Even with his pale skin, brilliant, unnatural orange eyes, and straight black hair, the Kinslayer had a face to envy. There was something that seemed a lot like perfection in every single damned thing that he did, even when it was something as disgusting as picking his nose. It had to be that hard, prickly shield that Death always had up that made every female he walked by swoon though Strife was sure that his brother's naturally good looks didn't help. The worse part was that anyone could tell that he had recently been sick; his eyes contained bags underneath and he was slightly paler than normal and he still managed to make the women blush and fidget. It wasn't fair. He got every damn thing that he wished for. What did Strife get? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Looking off toward the woods on the other side of the prairie, Death studied it for a moment, allowing Strife time to drown in his jealous thoughts and mentally picture bashing in the Firstborn's nose several times over to ruin his perfection. "When will War return?"

"Three days? I don't know. This is the beginning of the second day," Strife grumbled, getting to his feet. "Abbygail said something about arriving sometime tomorrow tonight."

"Good. He needs to return as quickly as possible."

Strife snorted. "War's a big boy. He grew out of his diapers years ago, brother. He can take care of himself."

"Have you forgotten already." Death's criticizing gaze caused Strife to fall silent, not helping but to think that maybe the perfection gene that Death had apparently received had skipped him. "Have you truly forgotten how we were turned into humans already?"

Bowing his head, the White Horseman decided it was best not to look at Death. Of course he had. The ash hadn't been his biggest concern for a while now. He had been caught up struggling with his newfound guilt of murdering Turbulence and killing an entire race, working the strange jobs John seemed to give him, and pursuing the stubborn purple and white striped tigress. Was this what it was like as a human? Even when he was a Nephilim and trying to succeed in every challenge that was presented to him, he had never felt like he was short on time. As a human, he felt some days that the sun had rose and fell way too quickly, like it was making sure that he hadn't finished what he wanted, and other days he felt like moved too slow and he was too tired to accomplish anything mentally challenging. Since the ash wasn't right there, he had forgotten the damage that it could too.

Making a disappointed noise, Death turned his back to him. "Some day Strife, you are going to have to grow up."

"Grow up? I was created grown up. Shit, Death, I helped you raise War."

"You can mature psychically and not mentally."

Pursing his lips, Strife stared at his brother before flinging up his arms. "Seriously? You're going to throw that shit around at me? I'm just as mature as you; I just don't choose to act like it every single moment of the day."

"It would help," Death commented sourly as he began walking toward the barn. "Come, let us search for the ash."

Strife hesitated. Being reminded of the ash and then encouraged to chase it down did not sound like a good plan to him. What would happen if the ash got them again? Brief recollections of what some of their attackers had looked like flashed through his mind and he cringed when the bear-like creature swung at him mentally, creating the wound on his arm. He did not want to relive that moment.

"What are you doing? Don't tell me you're scared." Death's voice, laced with sarcasm and annoyance, broke Strife of his reminisce and the White Horseman nervously began following the Pale Horseman.

"Well, no. But is it really a good idea to do this?"

"If we don't, then no one will. We are the only ones who truly know of the ash's existence besides from the two Guardians and both of them are currently busy. It's our duty as Horsemen to try and find this ash... and eventually destroy it."

"I liked you better sick," Strife commented sourly as Death reached the barn doors, opening them dramatically to peer inside with curiosity. It took the White Horseman a moment to remember that his older brother had yet to ever walk into Jessica's barn; it was an impressive sight. With its high ceiling and almost endless amounts of horses, Strife could see that Death was already annoyed at the chaos and disorder that was there. Smiling because he knew what was wrong, Strife slipped past his brother. "Don't try to fix it, brother. We don't have time." Feeling Death's glare between his shoulder blades, he grabbed a bridle that Jessica had assigned to a horse and tossed it. "Besides, I've got something to show you."

"What could it possibly be besides from this mess?" Strife looked back to see Death picking his way through the aisle, obviously disgusted. It was just a tad bit disorganized; it was funny to think  that Jessica kept the house so cleaned when the barn literally had almost everything that someone could think of lying around.

A horse snorted nearby and Strife glanced to see Turmoil gazing at him expectantly. The Andalusian had been attacked by Rosaline and Jessica; like some of the others, his mane had been braided into an erotic network of braids that looked similar to a spiderweb. Strife hadn't been happy when he walked out to find that. It was bad enough that Turmoil looked girly enough as a completely white horse, but the braided tail and mane only seemed to worsen it by three times. Death snickered when he saw it, recognizing the White Horse with all his finery, and Turmoil snapped at him, succeeding in pulling away a small piece of orange fabric and earning a yelp. The Pale Horseman paused long enough in walking to slap at the horse, who only tossed his head about, holding his prize firmly. "Damn horse!"

"You asked for it," Strife muttered as they neared one of the last stalls.

"What? Speak up brother so when I beat you, I won't feel as bad."

Rolling his eyes, Strife peered into the stall carefully. He had only seen the horse once -Jessica claimed that she wanted minimal reaction with the horse until it recovered- but the similarities between Despair and itself were impossibly close. Either Strife was insane or the horse was Death's. However, it was possible that the creature had withered away by now. It had been incredibly skinny the last time Strife had seen him...

"What are you looking at?" Death's annoyed voice warned him before he was pushed to the side, causing him to the stumble slightly as Death shoved his way into Strife's earlier position.

As the Pale Horseman froze, shock written across his face, Strife smiled and gestured to the horse. "Death, meet Despair."

At the sound of its name, the horse's head swiveled to look at them, ears flicking forward curiously. With its butt facing toward them, it was hard to tell how skinny the horse was until he began turning to face them, giving them the horrifying view of the extent his skinniness was. Bones jutted out of his hide and every outline of his muscles was painfully obvious as he twitched flies from his skin. Black and white spots decorated his fur and his eyes contained an almost deathly look to them, being clouded and slightly off. Jessica had already gotten a hold of its mane and tail; she had cut the mane until one could barely run their hands through it and the poor horse's tail was only about an arm length long. His legs were unnaturally long , still partially bandaged from wounds that he had received earlier, and his chest large; he was a horse built to run. When Strife had mentioned the horse's condition earlier, Jessica claimed that a thoroughbred horse (which she thought it was) was easy to get out of shape. She predicted that the horse probably hadn't had human interaction for a long time by the way that it acted. Strife knew better than that.

When he saw Death, Despair nickered. Lively, as if he had just rose from the grave, the horse picked up his legs several times, creating a happy jig, and bounced forward. Almost affectionately, the thoroughbred nudged the still frozen Death's forehead before reaching out and clamping onto a piece of black hair, yanking gently. Death was still frozen in bewilderment and the reins in his hands fell to the ground with a thump.

Deciding that it would be best to leave Death alone, Strife turned to his horse, who was basically giving him the evil eye. "Oh, stop looking at me like that," Strife scolded. "You know that you would miss me just as much if you thought I was dead."

Turmoil's pearl white eyes stared at him for a moment. He snorted and Strife wasn't expecting the teeth that connected to his backend after a couple of seconds. Slapping a hand over the spot that his horse had just bit, the White Horseman spun back around, wagging a finger at the Andalusian horse as he flared his nostrils in warning. "Nuh-uh! That's private property, mister!"

Suddenly, a creak snapped throughout the barn, impossibly loud.

Almost every horse in the barn threw their head up, ears flicked forward as they froze. The three that didn't were the Horsemen's mounts; Turmoil straightened, lifting his head up slowly like he was in thought as he stared in the direction that the noise had came from with a curious gaze, the tiny Remorse slung herself against her stall with a loud nicker, the pitch black Arabian mare flinging her head out of her stall after a few more kicks, and Despair, who had just been taken out, simply swung himself toward the sound, pushing Death behind him as his ears flatten against his skull and he dropped his head down low, his protective stance surprisingly intimidating despite his lack of health. Strife unlatched Turmoil's stall as a second thought as he walked into the center of the aisle, studying the far wall across from them.

"What was that?" Death hissed, throwing a glance at his brother, already patting himself down for Harvester, which he had left inside of Jessica's house.

Placing a firm hand upon Redemption, Strife allowed his gaze to shift upward as he noticed a shadow beginning to crawl slowly up the side of the barn through the cracks of the wood. Though none of the cracks were big enough for him to see through, the White Horseman could tell that whatever creature that was scaling the wall was definitely large. What was more disturbing was the fact that it knew that they were there. It froze when it heard Death's voice, pausing as if it was wondering if it had been seen. Not good. Glancing down the aisle full of horses, he smiled. He had an idea.

Strife lifted a finger and pressed it against his lips to quiet his brother. Death cocked his head in response. Turning to his horse, Strife patted the side of the white stallion, motioning for him to stay put. When Turmoil's ears flicked up in understanding, Strife couldn't be happier.

More creaking began to fill the still silent barn as the creature started to move again, slowly reaching the roof in only a couple of brief seconds. It was bigger than what he had originally thought. Sneaking over to Remorse's stall, Strife placed a hand upon the latch and looked at the mare expectantly as she glared at him, ears flattened as she waited. He jerked his head toward the opened barn door. Remorse's glare gradually turned into a creepy horse smile as she realized what he was silently asking. As he prepared to open the door, she leaned back upon her haunches, bunching up her muscles.

He flung open the door when the creature reached the middle of the barn, immediately heading to another stall and flinging open that door too. Death caught on quickly; he began opening the doors as quickly as he possibly could, slapping his hands together when some of the horses refused to move. Turmoil and Despair stayed where they had been in the beginning, heads lifted to watch the creature that had completely froze. Soon the majority of the horses were thundering toward the opened door. Their hooves were deafening against the concrete as they charged, following Remorse as she lead them bravely through the door and straight into the jaws of danger.

The two Horsemen had been running behind the herd of horses, opening stalls as they went. However, when Strife saw what was awaiting them outside, he shouted for Death to stop, snatching both Redemption and Mercy from his hips.

Outside, waiting for them, was a nightmare.

Strife instantly recognized Coyote as the insanely huge, decayed, mostly rotted beast flung itself onto the herd of horses, causing the animals to scatter with panicked nickers and whinnies. With a bark, the Demon Lord lifted its prize up into the air, some poor pony of Jessica's. Without hesitating, Strife trained both pistols on the demon's eye; both bullets hit their mark and a loud squelching noise sounded as they entered the beast's rotted body. The Demon Lord of Fear yelped, slinging the horse in the air as it slung its head back, shaking off the bullet wounds. Then, with a thundering growl and ignoring the horses that galloped underneath its feet, the massive coyote snapped its gaze onto the two Horsemen standing in the barn door, drool, dead skin, and blood all dripping off its body.

"Why do I always feel like you bring trouble to me?" Death grunted, taking a step back.

Fighting this Demon Lord was relatively easy. As long you didn't think of your fear, there was nothing that it could do against you. He had learned a long time that eye contact with it meant that it knew. So, with a clear mind, Strife knew that he could easily defeat the Demon Lord and send it back into the fiery depths of Hell without too much of a problem. And it was scared of something as well. Fire. All Strife needed was to light something up and the Demon Lord would leave them alone.

Whistling for Turmoil, Strife took a step forward, placing one of his pistols back into their holster. Death shouted behind him, something along the lines of look up, but Strife ignored him, too focused upon listening to Turmoil's approaching hooves to pay any heed to his older brother. As the white horse began to race by, Strife reached out for him, only to be jerked back by something that wrapped about his waist, knocking his breath free from his lungs with the force. Turmoil let loose a high pitched screech as he was lifted in the air as well. His hand touched something silky and almost sticky about his waist and he furrowed his brows, kicking free his legs as he recognized spiderwebs. What? Swinging around in the hold of whatever that had him, Strife's eyes widen in surprise.

Was it sad that the first thing that he saw was an enormous pair of breasts? They were freakin' huge. The realization that the breasts belonged to the same thing that had lifted him up in the air with spiderwebs sank in and he ripped his gaze away, focusing his gaze upon unnatural purple eyes. Mormo. Holy Hell, what was she doing here? Her black spider legs shifted up to adjust herself better on the side of the barn that she had no problem hanging off of, bringing both Strife and Turmoil up higher so she could see them better. She creeped him out every time that he saw her. Besides from having an incredible power over magic, she was half spider and half woman; what human like qualities that she had, she made sure that they were as exposed as they possibly could be without being completely naked. Strife didn't mind that much. But she was purple; when was the last time that you saw a purple person?

"Oh, hello, White Horseman," Mormo purred, bringing him up close by lifting her arm so she could place a finger underneath his chin. He wondered briefly if she realized that he had a pistol, but he kept it hidden behind his back anyways. "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Don't tell me you had an affair with a Demon Lord!" Death shouted somewhere down below. "What did I tell you about that?"

"Make sure you don't get any diseases?"

Before Mormo could comment, Strife grasped the spiderwebs and ripped them away with as much strength as he could. The witch demon lurched forward to catch him; slinging around his arm with the pistol, he pulled the trigger once he could see the fury in her eyes. She jerked back, screeching as she pulled at her face. Spider legs shifted and yanked all about him as she moved away, their clicking and clacking absolutely horrifying.

Twisting in midair, Strife managed to roll on the ground to lessen the impact of hitting it at full force. He turned his focus back upon Mormo as she recovered from taking a bullet to the face, her wrath literally causing dark thunderclouds to darken above her. She hovered about him, still holding Turmoil like a prize. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" He struggled to remember how to defeat her. She wasn't like a regular witch, one that could be burnt or have water thrown on it. No, Mormo was the mother of all witches; she couldn't be defeated that easily. How do you kill spiders? You squish them.

A growl ripped through the air behind him and Strife whipped around just in time to see Coyote beginning to run toward him. Drool and blood alike dripped from its jaws, slapping noises coming from the loose skin along its body as it ran. Panic gripped him. When he was a Horseman, taking on the weaker two of the Demon Lords would have been a piece of cake. Outsmart the witch and freak out the dog/dead zombie/thing and he would okay. As a human, however, things would be a little harder. He could die. It wasn't like his older, supposedly smarter and stronger brother was helping him any; Death and Despair alike had yet to move from their spot underneath the barn door. Strife was all by himself in this situation.

Suddenly, a loud roar broke through Coyote's thunderous gallop and a white and purple striped blur jumped on its head, bringing down the huge Demon Lord by its momentum as it swung by its claws digging into the side of its face. A sickening crack of the Demon's neck snapping echoed as the tiger spun, flinging herself up perfectly a top the demon's head with a snarl. Sera. Strife forced the smile from his face as Coyote and the tigress collided with the ground, making a loud thumping noise, and aimed once more up at Mormo, who was in the process of lifting her hand to cast a spell, mouthing the words. Placing a bullet perfectly between her boobs, he smiled as she died for a second, his attack not being enough to actually return her to Hell. But it did manage to knock her off the side of the barn.

Turmoil picked himself off the ground quickly, luckily unharmed. The witch, however, just appeared to be dazed, lying on her back with her spider legs twitching often. Strife waved his brother over to him as he turned to check on Sera. He wasn't prepared to see that the tigress was being thrown in his direction, yowling at the top of her lungs as Coyote flung her by the back of her scruff.

Just her paw managed to hit him but it was enough to sling him back at least ten yards. As he landed awkwardly upon the ground in a painful heap, his cowboy hat falling nearby, he caught a glance of Death and Despair galloping toward him, his eldest brother sitting straight and proudly without a saddle or reins as he called out to Strife, asking for a pistol. It was then that he realized Redemption failed to be in his hands. Pushing himself up into his hands and ignoring the pain that lingered in his body, he held his arm up with Mercy and grunted as Despair darted by, Death's hand roughly grabbing the pistol and yanking it free. Rolling over onto his back, Strife was about to jump into his feet when a large paw slapped over his chest.

Half expecting it to be Coyote, Strife growled in a warning tone, reaching up to grasp the limb. He was surprised when a snarl, entirely catlike and most certainly not a dog, answered him immediately and a set of massive claws unsheathed themselves. They pricked into his chest, bunching up his button up shirt, and then ripped clean through his skin. Warmth spread across his chest; blood. His gaze flickered up, shocked, and he found Sera hovering him.

But only it wasn't Sera.

In a way, it was her; the purple stripes across her face were almost an exact match (not that he had them memorized or anything) and the tigress was the same size that she had always been. It was the feral look in her eyes that told Strife that it wasn't her. Normally he could get lost in her eyes -tigress or human. As a human her beautiful blue eyes were easy to fall in, as a tigress, he had to struggle not to drown in their gorgeous lavender hues. They were just too perfect. But, right now, he could only see the panic and fear that had settled in them, dancing brightly in her lavender eyes like little stars. Never had he seen anything like that in the Guardian's eyes. It unsettled him, but it was her pupils that worried him the most. The white of her eyes were completely visible -something that he hadn't ever considered with her before- and her pupils were tiny slits. She almost looked like a true animal and it frightened him.

With a wild snarl, she shoved him back, her claws digging even deeper into his chest. His hand slipped off her leg as she roared, her snout crinkling as her ears pinned flat against her skull and her head grew near, and his fingers brushed the front of his shirt. When he returned to trying to push her back, his own blood smearing against her light fur with a stunning boldness. As her teeth neared him, dangerously large and hideous, his words found him for the first time through his panting and frantically beating heart.

"Sera," he breathed out, hardly loud enough for himself to hear. She heard though; the tigress paused, her face relaxing slightly as she pulled back just a little and her hold loosening just a little on his chest. "Sera, it's me. Strife."

For a couple of seconds recognition flickered through her face. Sera's gaze searched his face silently and he relaxed as time passed, wondering if she was pulling through whatever spell that had been laid upon her. Because it had to be a spell. That, or Coyote had finally gotten to her and her fear was beginning to control her, but he didn't understand in that case. Was Sera even scared of anything? While he found that highly unlikely, the fear that was creeping back in her eyes after he stopped speaking was beginning to tell him different.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's going to be okay, I promise you. Just don't try to kill me okay?" He tried to soothe her with his voice, understanding that she was attempting to grasp reality.

However, it was one word that threw everything off.

She hissed and Strife's eyes widened when she lurched forward. Her teeth sank into his left shoulder as if he was nothing more than water; a scream bubbled up past his lips and he found himself completely helpless as she began to shake her head side-to-side. Ripping skin filled the air And as pain sparked through his shoulders, her teeth slicing through not only his skin but through his muscle. His screams only got louder when the tigress began flinging him about, dragging him across the ground and causing something to tear another injury through his back. Every time he managed to catch a glimpse of her eyes all he saw was fear and some sort of sick satisfaction. What the hell was going through her head right now?

Strife's free hand found the tip of her nose and he pushed at her in desperation. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't going to be escaping this any time soon. It was almost as if she was in an absolute bloodlust; she was making some sort of grunting noise as she continuously ripped through his shoulder like she just couldn't get enough of it. Angrily her claws scratched down at his legs and lower body, tearing at the ground and creating a gash across one of his shins. All of her slinging had caused him to lose all sense of direction and he struggled to stay conscious as pain and blood loss began to overcome him. His shouts had became breathless uttering a long time ago it felt like; he wished that she would recognize his voice like earlier and just stop. This was just great. Dying from the woman you love biting through your shoulder. It sounded like some sick vampire romance novel.

And suddenly it stopped. He was flung to the side like an unwanted toy, fire burning through his entire body as he struggled to breath. The darkening sky above him promised a storm; he wondered if it would wash away his pain. A face appeared above him and his mind barely recognized Death.

"Wow, you look awful," his older brother snickered.

Cutting an eye at him, Strife sighed and managed to slowly move his arms up above his head. The change in position opened his lungs and lessened the pain throughout his chest. "Thanks," he whispered.

Hands threw themselves on his chest and whatever breath that he had whooshed out like a faucet, efficiently leaving him without any oxygen whatsoever. Hearing disappeared for a couple of seconds and his vision became blurry; another face moved over him but this time he wasn't able to make any of the person out besides from their brown hair that framed their face. Their fingers danced across his injuries, checking to see how mortifying they were, and he was rather disturbed when he felt their finger press much too deep into his shoulder. As his pain grew, a numbness began to spread across him.

"Oh my God, Strife! Strife! Dammit! I'm sorry! I don't know what the hell came over me! Death! Go get Mama before it's too late!"

Strife was half aware of footsteps that's ran off; he could somewhat hear the horses that were still nickering in fright somewhere in the background. Everything was so fuzzy and he struggled to remember who was still sitting beside him.

"Turbulence..." The name slipped off his lips so easily. The person froze, hands pausing from unbuttoning his shirt.

"No. I'm not Turbulence, Strife."

He grunted, lifting his hand the best that he could to try and take the person's hand. It took him several minutes; by that time, the person had given up and was already taking a knife to the once very decent shirt. The ripping noise splintered through Strife's head, causing the ache to grow in his head. He managed to find their hand after they had discarded his shirt, their weight pressing painfully into his major wound. Their hand was slippy from his own blood but he worked his fingers through theirs to cling tightly.

"I've missed you, Turbulence," he said breathlessly. "Please... please, forgive me."

"Strife, I tore a damn hole through your body. I won't let myself forgive me for doing that to you." They untangled their fingers from his and pulled away. Somehow his mind realized that this wasn't Turbulence hovering over him working her normal magic to fix him up; no, this was someone else that had grown on him not too long ago. He struggled to remember their name. "I'm such a damn idiot! I should have know that the Demon Lords would get involved in this shit. Someone would try to hunt down you Horsemen... Dammit," the woman scolded herself.

"Sera..." The woman's name hit him hard and he whispered it out in shock mostly. Sera. The cold-hearted woman who had avoided every little advance that he had ever attempted on her with her bitterness and stubbornness.

"Sh, I'm here, don't worry."

She was working hard on his wounds, now pressing his shirt against the laceration to try and lessen the blood flow. He managed to train his gaze on Sera as she did her thing to help. Unshed tears were sparkling in her eyes and her body shook like she was scared. Of what? It couldn't be because she had almost killed him. Hell, they had been at it since they met the first time. She was too tough to notice his death.

"You're pretty, you know." The words slipped through his mouth again, only half aware that he had even said it.

Her reaction surprised him. He knew that she was going to freeze, to pause and make sure that he had truly said what he had just whispered out loud, that much he had known for absolutely sure. What he hadn't predicated was when she shifted, leaning down and pressing her forehead against his with her eyes squeezed shut. Tears rolled from them freely. He closed his own eyes, struggling to comprehend what was happening, and moved his hand up to touch her cheek. She shuttered, whimpering a little, and grasped his hand tightly within hers. He wasn't expecting it when she pressed her lips against his forehead, allowing them to linger there long enough for her to mouth, "I'm sorry," before pulling away, her hand clutching to his as he began to lose his strength.

As things went dark, he found himself enveloped by Sera's warm presence. There wasn't much light, but more of a strangling darkness that left him panting for air as it closed around him slowly.

He slipped away hearing his name on Sera's lips.