concrete shoes, cyanide, t.n.t.

[goodfella]

Robin doesn't have a key to Ishiah's apartment - but Robin doesn't need one. They both know that a key would only slow him down.

Though he also does not wait for admittance before he enters, he does knock before he does, because he values his life greatly.

Finding Ishiah pouring over a table covered in maps - political, subway systems at first glance - Robin wastes no time in moving to his elbow, peeling off his gloves, but not his coat, and hanging his head over one hunched shoulder. He does not want to come home to someone like Ishiah angry like this (not unless that anger is directed at Ishiah himself,) but there is little that can remove it now that it has had a chance to fester. Now that he has helped Dean out of a pinch and back relative safety, and taken a taxi to Ishiah's apartment while poring over what he knows.

Was there anything he had missed?

"I am going to have to go and kill some things," he says, with dreadful, pleasureless honesty, and no small degree of self-criticism.

Comments

[priorcommitment]

While everything in the city carries with it a certain amount of uncertainty, Ishiah tends to keep a closest eye on the people, the ever-changing population beyond comprehension at first glance. They accept newcomers without any immediate fear or backlash. They go about their day unconcerned about the fact that the city remains functionally closed off from all else that exists — must exist, for the laws of physics to be what they are now. And frighteningly enough, Ishiah can't tell if they're hiding knowledge, or if they're simply ignorant.

It's worth closer examination.

But most thoughts come to a halt whenever Robin stops by. Only a brief pause is taken for Ishiah to settle his thoughts, jotting down a couple of notes in the corner of his political pamphlets before he turns to glance at Robin's face, hardly a couple of inches away.

For Ishiah, killing is often not a simple matter. (Then again, the same can be said for Robin.)

"Why?" he asks, setting his pen down and raising a hand to briefly brush by Robin's cheek.

[goodfella]

"Well, I already have," he says in belated wryness. Though even Ish will understand what is different here. What Robin did earlier was self-defense, safeguarding a friend against harm. What Robin plans to do is no less than premeditated murder. And it will not be the first time that he has made this decision, even after the mellowing that he's taken to in the last century.

He leans with acceptance into the tender touch against his face, dirty with dried sweat, before moving forward to nudge Ishiah to the side of his chair with one hip, intent on sharing the single chair on the one side of the table.

"Some vampires who are - were - regulars at the bar. I found them in the process of attacking Dean Winchester. More to the point, I was following Dean at a distance. They'd been cagier than normal, that usual group. Trying to avoid my ear. Not very skillfully. I should have followed a little closer."

[priorcommitment]

His brow raises in acknowledgment of Robin's admission, as unrelated as it is to Ishiah's actual question. The only type of killing that Ishiah is concerned about is the kind that Robin's keen on now, the kind that brings out the green of his eyes, the kind that's precise, carefully planned, premeditated. Shifting in his seat to allow room for Robin, Ishiah lets his arm rest on the back of the chair as Robin sits close enough to emanate his warmth.

But Ishiah doesn't offer further brushes just yet, aside from that of his gaze as he takes in the state of Robin's clothing.

This isn't yet to the level that the Leandros brothers drove Robin too, but slopes are often slippery.

"Did they bear a grudge specifically against Dean?" Ishiah asks, trying his best to look at the situation from a distance.

[goodfella]

He feels strangely better to be in that seat, his knees only giving a single knock before he settles his nerves tucked closely enough to be practically under one of Ishiah's arms. After a steady breath, Robin leans back again, against Ishiah's side and the sliver of the back of the chair that he's managed to wrestle for himself from the larger man.

"I don't know." Which bothers Robin immensely - not knowing much of anything bothers him immensely. In Darrow, this is simply the piece of straw that has managed to break the proverbial camel's back. "I don't know if that was the reason that they went after him, that is. I actually am fairly certain that they had a personal grudge against him; whether or not it's what caused them to target him above anyone else is what is in question. And regardless." Robin gives an emphatic shake of his head.

"I've got to make a decision. Tonight. One that I've been putting off. I'm really not ready for that."

[priorcommitment]

"You'll be forced into a decision one way or another. Inaction is every bit as much of an action, this time," Ishiah muses, finally allowing his arm to settle fully over Robin's shoulders, the pad of his thumb brushing against his upper arm, although the peri makes no greater move to pull Robin closer still. It's not the grime that's the problem — there's an answer that Ishiah prefers here, that of momentarily staying his hand, but the longer time that Robin's spent in the city is better to make a decision with. Ishiah doesn't want even the barest fluctuation in his aura to sway Robin's choice.

"But, there's one thing I would say," he adds, lips carefully even. "This Dean of yours doesn't seem to have the strongest sense of self-preservation. Am I wrong?"

He could be wrong. But there are signs to look for in movement, hints that raise suspicions even if Ishiah isn't completely sure. Robin should be, though. Certainly by now.

[goodfella]

"You are right, of course," Robin murmurs reluctantly, reaching up with the opposite arm to grasp Ishiah's draping hand in a gentle, uncertain grip. He feels an ache behind his temples, the kind which not even squinting seems to chase away, and he sighs.

"And I see what you are getting at. He's tired, Ishiah." The statement is made with some sympathy. "He told me what happened to him. He's tired. His cup ranneth over, and now he's all used up. He is lived out, struggled out, smiled out, talked out, quipped out, existed so far from any normal state for so long that maybe he's needed the weight of mortal silences to get realized back into hisself. I know the feeling. I also know that if he doesn't try to fill himself back up again, he is making a mistake. It is still his mistake to make."

As it would be, Robin knows, when Caliban reached the same stage. Robin can only wish that being there for either of them might prolong what may be the inevitable.

"What do you want me to say about it?"

[priorcommitment]

Glancing briefly towards their hands, Ishiah allows the concession — if it can be even called that. He holds fast to Robin's hand, thumb running neatly over the knuckles, feeling slight grime there. It's pretty clear that his apartment was indeed the first place Robin went, and Ishiah finds that he can't begrudge that.

If anything, he appreciates it.

But he does feel, in turn, that tonight's conversation is one where he needs to do little else but offer himself as a wall of support. The answers are perfectly within Robin's reach, however much he's likely been avoiding them before Ishiah's arrival. Talk of being lived out is hardly understandable to Ishiah, but to Robin, it's a reality that he continues to toe dangerously, feet on the edge of a cliff. (That's the only part that scares Ishiah. There's only so much one can do to help another back.)

"I want you to be honest with him, as honest as you can be. Sometimes it requires harsh experiences to learn a lesson, but it'd be a blessing, for some definition thereof, if you could share your wisdom with him. You've seen that mistake more often than I have." His hand squeezes a little tighter around Robin's, this time for his own sake.

[goodfella]

Giving one squeeze, finally firm, Robin stands up. He doesn't yet move away, or drop the hand clutched in his own, but he stands slightly aside from Ishiah, looking down with an expression of mild consternation. It is only half from the stabbing headache.

Too much going on tonight, and Robin's had it too easy.

"He's not Caliban. I know he isn't Cal. That's the problem. I don't know what to be honest about; I don't know how he will take to it. It's not even my place. He has people to his name that know him better, he has more than just his brother and an early serial number of a universally reviled series to his name. Frankly, he isn't half the worst monster ever to evolve sentience."

Which is not to say that Robin is as fond of Caliban as he is because he is half-Auphe. And Ishiah certainly knows better.

"It's as unbelievable to say it as it is to believe that I mean it, but maybe it's just not my job to worry about fixing what's wrong. But it is my fucking job to uphold my promise that I'm not going to stand by and let human beings be picked off like wildebeests at a watering hole. Also, I'm using your shower. Right now. You better have some decent shampoo in there, none of that two-in-one shit."

[priorcommitment]

It's a bit more difficult for Ishiah to fall in line with Robin's thoughts this time. After all, Dean isn't inherently a monster in a practical sense of the term. Humans, for all their fragility, are also perhaps the most malleable of sentient creatures, and Ishiah's seen any of their number come back from situations one would never expect such brief lives to withstand. There's a reason why they've taken over the earth to the extent that they have.

And insofar as there's a chance, it's almost criminal — almost, but not quite, and no longer as a rule — to let that go so easily. Ishiah doesn't know Dean Winchester; he knows that there's a life there worth saving.

Carefully keeping his hands still and fighting the instinct to brush dirt off his clothing, Ishiah follows after Robin, listening to his tirade. Trading a small, complex problem for a broad stroke. His brow furrows.

But maybe it really is, as Robin says, not their job.

"The two-in-one works just fine for me, but there should be unopened bottles in the lower cabinet," Ishiah says, following Robin in the direction of the shower. "You have a headache," he adds. An implicit offer of help.

[goodfella]

"What I have," Robin murmurs, never one to miss a chance for dramatizing, "Is a fistful of glass shards being shoved forcefully into both eye-sockets." And he is already removing his jacket, followed by tie and buttoned shirt, all folded over an elbow until he reaches the bathroom door, and tosses them over that, instead.

"The two-in-one is keeping you from evolving as a being. You must eventually move forward." The topic is an easy distraction ... but does not last as long as it might have, at one time. It is difficult to play the fool with Ishiah at length. Easy in the moment, but difficult at length. Ishiah knows too much better.

"I am going after them. I have to go after them. I don't know what I will find out when I do, and I don't know what I will do if I find out what I think I will find out. I didn't want to have to be that person here. But if those vampires are feeding on humans, then they have no doubt taken hundreds of lives. And I know that neither of us will shed a tear over the fall of a predator ... to a better one."

[priorcommitment]

"Eloquently put," Ishiah says after a pause, his own gaze skirting to the ceiling and brow furrowing — the sentiment is a realistic one, but of the two of them, Ishiah's always tended more towards idealism. Staying close to the earth in the short term, but with an eye on launching high in time. "If they are indeed indiscriminately taking lives, particularly when there's no need to take a drink to that point, I'd hardly argue with you."

He steps forward, one arm curving around Robin's waist while the other raises up, thumb poised to rub circles against Robin's temple, soothing and regular. Lips drop down briefly to the slight curve where neck and shoulder meet, every action placating, meant to settle Robin's ruffled hair.

He'll need it, either way — hunting or otherwise.

"I'll go with you," Ishiah decides, hand dropping down as he makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt, letting the fabric fall free.

[goodfella]

"Hardly argue with me. But you might. A little." Which is what causes Robin the small but niggling bit of concern that it does. Niggling enough that it cuts through the more immediate pleasantness of Ishiah's rough hands on him. Months was not much of anything to Robin in the long run, but long enough still feels the loss of a truly caring touch more keenly now that he has it back.

There had been a lot of hands, in between arriving in Darrow and now. And now, more than ever, Robin realizes in what way each one was nevertheless lacking.

As soon as Ishiah's shirt parts to allow him a good look at the stretch of pale skin beneath, Robin's own touch searches forward, smoothing over the planes of Ishiah's belly.

"Do you want to go with me? I would like very much to argue that there isn't any need and I can more than handle myself. But these aren't exactly Revenants that I suspect I will be dealing with, and beyond that, I don't know what to suspect. An unfortunate truth of dealing with this place."

And Robin is prideful, certainly, but far from reckless.

[priorcommitment]

"I might. A little. I don't have anything but your rather biased account right now," Ishiah points out, certainly belaboring the obvious, and there's more still that goes unsaid — the fact that Ishiah isn't only concerned about the welfare of the vampires, but certainly doubly concerned after Robin's own well-being, something which Robin himself protects to varying degrees, sometimes rising and falling on whim. And so Ishiah doesn't mind putting on a little bit of pressure, giving a little tug, pulling Robin away from any potential cliff.

When he feels the warmth of Robin's palms spreading across his skin, Ishiah reaches out to pull him closer, their bodies flush as one large hand spreads over the small of Robin's back and the other massages at the base of Robin's neck, doing away with the tension.

"I want to go with you," he murmurs, slightly softer as he ducks his head to kiss underneath the straight line of Robin's jaw. "As you said, we don't really know this city. We don't really know. The tether's a little shorter now — I'm banking on the idea that you might've missed me enough lately to endure it."

[goodfella]

"Biased?" grunts Robin, but allows it to slide, quickly finding himself drawn into a cradle of warm arms and against Ishiah's bare chest. He ought to be struggling away to his shower, but he isn't. It is too comfortable, like this.

"A little shorter, you say. You couldn't fit a piece of paper between us, the way you seem to be wanting things right now. Not that I am going to bitch about it. Much. For now."

The hands trapped between their bodies slide around to Ishiah's back, grasping at his broad shoulders when they reach them, so that Robin can pull himself up to wrap legs around Ishiah's waist and hold himself there, faces of a height.

"Glad to see that I am not the only one willing to always push my luck. But my hair still needs washed, and you don't even want to know what is under my nails right now. Your guess is as good as mine."

[priorcommitment]

"You came to my apartment," Ishiah points out, no real tension in his voice — yet. There's always opportunity for them to clash at a later time, and they often do, both quick to flare in emotion, but for the time being, Ishiah rakes his fingernails down the line of Robin's spine, stepping forward until he can rest part of Robin's weight against the wall. "I was studying. I had every intention of continuing until you decided you'd had enough space for the day."

With one hand quickly threading through Robin's curls, Ishiah leans forward to press a kiss to the bow of Robin's lips, tongue slowly sweeping along the curve with a soft breath. "I think my shower might be large enough for the two of us," Ishiah considers, glancing over as he catches his breath. "Barely. But I can wash your hair."

He turns back, brows raising in boyish inquiry.

[goodfella]

"If I hadn't, you would be calling me, wanting to know where I was, when I might have been in the middle of a nest of leeches. Not exactly how I want to make myself known, to the strains of a ring-tone echoing out of the silence." And all of this is half-true, even. But Robin is far too distracted by the feel of blunt nails dragged down the sensitive skin at the midline of his back. It parts his lips in pleasure willingly for the kiss, which he returns briefly before giving a wriggle between Ishiah's body and the wall, turning his head toward the nearby bathroom door.

"If it is as big as a broom closet, I say that barely is just big enough. I like this idea of hair-washing. I haven't since last I had it cut, which has been ... too long, come to think of it." He smiles up at Ishiah's raised brows.

"Now that I've had the time to consider, it may be better anyway to wait until dawn for something like snooping around for vampires."

[priorcommitment]

"You could put your phone on vibrate," Ishiah points out, leaning forward to suck sharply at the underside of Robin's jaw, where the skin feels deceptively soft. As much as their physiologies differ, Robin still has that faint pulse running along the side of his neck, and it feels incredibly human in a way that Ishiah appreciates. He chases after the scent there, like freshly mown grass and overturned earth, even through all the accumulated dirt and grime. He might pay for it later, but for now, Ishiah can't regret the raised bruise under his lips now painted on Robin's skin.

One hand shifts, squeezing around the curve of his ass, still playful.

"Am I washing your hair in the shower? Or do you want a second shampooing after that? Since we have plenty of time until dawn."

[goodfella]

Conversation pertaining to cellular phones is quickly put to rest by Ishiah's mouth against his neck, lips and teeth prying until Robin can feel the heat of what promises to be a dark enough bruise to be noticeable in the morning. Another puck might be cranky about it, not liking wearing the mark, but Robin invites tell-tale, cannot think of a better conversation piece for the next workday.

The hand cupping around the fabric of his pants urges him forward and into a laugh, and he drops his legs to slide down Ishiah's front and slip out from between his body and the wall, nimble fingers working at the front of Ishiah's blue jeans first. He has them over the other man's hips in a heartbeat.

"Right now, I am chiefly interested in the shower as a way to avoid the necessity of doing laundry if we take this to the bed, instead - I'll be honest. I've got months to make up."

[priorcommitment]

"I can tell that you're on edge, but I see no problem with that," Ishiah replies, a description that's more frank than it is encouraging, if only because he knows that Robin shouldn't need any more of the latter, judging by the smile that stretches across his face. Leaning in to press a shorter, lighter kiss to the corner of Robin's jaw, Ishiah backs away enough to step out of his jeans, then turns in the direction of the shower, letting the water run until the temperature's hot enough for steam to rise and cloud the room.

"I have a few different types of shampoo under the sink," he says again with a nod, standing to full height and tilting his head to enjoy the view of Robin from a few paces away, all toned muscle and smooth skin, average in all the measurable ways and incomparable in the rest.