stilljustandrew | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's been dark for hours when they get to the empty warehouse. Andrew's visibly on edge, looking into the shadows and trying to stare in all directions at once, until Jonathan finds the unbolted door that let him out the first time and lets them both in now.

"We're gonna need some light," he says in an undertone as Jonathan closes the door behind them.

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His mouth falls open. No sound comes out except the hushed hiss of swiftly indrawn breath.

"I --

"You mean that?"

"To the end," Jonathan assures him. "It was always you and me, remember? Way back before we met Warren."

Yeah, he tries to say, but his throat's closed up and he can't make a sound.

He nods instead. It isn't enough.

With a shaky breath, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Jonathan.

Jonathan hugs him back, tightly, and there's a deep and true affection in the gesture.

It's several seconds before he lets go.

"Okay," he says, and sniffs hard. "Okay. Clock's ticking. Let's do this."

"Is that what Gummi told you?" Jonathan asks quietly, moving towards their equipment. "That the clock's ticking?"

"He said there's a time limit," Andrew agrees, hunkering next to the bowl and reaching for one of the bags. "Didn't say how long. And it'd kind of suck if we missed it by, like, thirty seconds."

"He's like that," Jonathan says wryly. "Always with the cryptic and half-useful. What's the best ritual for this?"

"It's a pretty straightforward Summoning," he says. "No circle, even. Just the burnt offering and the incantation. I'm just hoping I got the name right."

"And that the name she gave us is enough." He shrugs slightly. "Best we've got to work with, anyway."

"That's the thing," he says, frowning. "The name definitely matches up with Ciatheklar, but the circumstance doesn't really seem to fit. She's supposed to be the patron of blood avengers. People who've ... had friends or family members killed."

"Well, everyone in our business's lost friends," he points out. "But that doesn't have much to do with what she was talking to me about..."

"I guess if she's not the right one, maybe we can ask her who the right one is?"

He's using the knife to shred a handful of stiff dried leaves into the bowl.

"If she'll tell us," he agreed. "But if she is the right one, I'll know her when I see her."

Andrew reaches for a second bag and pulls out a few fragments of something strong-smelling. "So we play this as it comes."

"Seems like the only game in town." He nods.

A quick grin, as he uncorks a tiny bottle. "Time to toss the dice?"

He pours a few drops on the herbs already in the bowl; they hiss and send up a thin trail of smoke.

Jonathan flashes him a grin back, then focuses on the herbs. "So just tell me what to do."

He points to the bowl. "Set those on fire."

Jonathan steps forward, reaches in his pocket for his lighter, then grimaces slightly as he realises they must have taken it away.

A match from Andrew's box does the job, instead.

Andrew nods, pulls a folded paper out of his pocket and studies the handwritten words on it. "Okay," he says, low. "Be ready --"

He sprinkles a few shreds of the last herb onto the smoldering contents of the bowl, and draws a breath.

"O Ciatheklar, avenger of the slain, I beseech thee --"

Jonathan stands ready, waiting for Andrew to finish the incantation. He doesn't know where in the warehouse she'll appear, so he's trying to keep an eye on as much of it as possible.

"-- by the blood of the beloved that cries from the earth --"

Another pinch of crumbled herb, sharp and pungent, making him want to sneeze.

"-- come before me."

Jonathan looks around expectantly.

"Wow," says a voice from the far end of the room, drawing out the syllable in amused contempt. "You're using that incantation, Wells? You?"

Cia -- Ciatheklar -- steps into the glow of light from Jonathan's spell, hands resting on her hips.