Chapter Text
The human body really was a truly remarkable piece of work. Though it housed within it a being not fit for life, a creature that disgusted Jizabel with its filthy urges, carnal lusts and insurmountable need for dominance and superiority, the physical form was to be admired. He adored the feel of cooling skin, the way his scalpel lagged only slightly, catching the resistance of finely toned muscles and membranes. And what lovely colors the body contained. No oils or tempera hues could ever quite replicate that deep glossy crimson of fresh, warm blood. It always turned out far too matte, too vivid, cartoonish.
But perhaps more astounding than the veins and intestines of a dead or dying man was the ways the body defended itself from unpleasnatries. The mind, he knew, played a large factor in this. More than anyone else, perhaps, Jizabel knew how the mind could convince one of almost any truth. And now he saw, when faced with something as jarring as a gunshot wound, the mind could whisper sweet lies to his nerves that no, he was not in pain. There was no damage, no major hemorrhaging. Nothing to feel suffering from. How much he had been molded by his father; his own brain picking up Alexis's sweet untruths.
The fall didn't even have enough force to break him from his shock, though he was sure it had broken something more physical. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he knew he'd be in agony later. But he knew at the same time there would be no later.
All this rushed through his thoughts in just moments, and he scarcely had time to give each idea the attention it deserved, racing so quickly it matched the gravity that reached for him, drug him down to the solid marble floor below.
"Doctor!"
A barely heard cry, convincing him he had not lost all touch with awareness, but still there was no pain. Just a…a cold shock. He had fallen too quickly, jumped in front of his father too fast for his senses to catch him.
Perhaps…that was a mercy…
A strong pair of arms grabbed him practically the moment his body collided with the floor, and he felt [perhaps they were warm, strong, but he couldn't really tell.
"That's why I told you! It's useless to believe in him!" the same voice that had cried out to him as he tumbled now spoke in his ear, harsh and full of anger and…fear?
…Cassian?
Those broad hands, dirty as they were, pulled his thin frame closer, onto his lap.
"A man like that, Jizabel, has a heart nothing can reach!" How familiar this voice, admonishing him. So much deeper than the Cassian he had known for so long, but so unmistakably belonging to his former assistant. No one else had ever scolded him with such concern.
Jizabel let this man nestle him into his lap, holding…clinging to him. His larger body encircled his, seeming to shield him.
"I had already warned you. Look! He didn't even change expression after you saved his life!"
Jizabel turned his face skyward, straining to see whatever Cassian was seeing. Father…his beloved father, up on the balcony he had soared from. He wasn't even gracing him with a glance, not so much as a tilt of his eyes downwards towards his dying son. Perhaps he felt this was the place for him, he thought. On the ground, so far below him, so far below so many, just as he had raised him to believe he was.
But another man, he had his full attention. Even as it seemed the entire structure around them was crumbling, he scarcely looked away from the man he held, bleeding, in his arms. And though the room groaned and rumbled and heaved with the force of falling debris, Cassian too was the only thing that seemed solid to Jizabel as he lay dying.
Oh , he knew he was. A dozen years training as a physician left one with a cruel harshness of the reality of death. Though his clothes bore little blood, he knew his body was spilling it internally, and his organs would be so badly bruised and bashed fro his impact.
And he…he still felt no pain, but there was a creeping chill climbing up his fingers, the tips growing numb.
"Why…did you come back, Cassian?" Jizabel asked, sure he should be surprised by the lack of power in his voice. "With the veritable hell consuming the world outside…I'm frankly amazed that you returned…"
Another remark hung between them, unsaid by Jizabel though both knew it would be just like him to think it.
Why would you come back, when you'd so successfully escaped from me?
Cassian had no answer for him. Well, none that would satisfy the unstable doctor. His sick mind wouldn't be able to grasp such an abstract concept such as loyalty and devotion, though he himself was such a perfect display of it. Instead, he peeled away the painted scars he wore, and the wig, revealing his face as it should be, as it should have been for so many years.
A vague smile, more a grimace than not, colored Jizabel's paling face.
"I wasn't able to kill my father after all…even though I knew your words were true."
It was hard to tell whether his words were filled with remorse, or even a bit of relief that he couldn't do it. Couldn't take the life of the man who had robbed him of his, so many long years before he lay dying.
"I appears that I couldn't betray my own nature/"
Sweat began to form on his skin, making it grow cold and clammy under Cassian's touch. How…how could he appear so calm? So accepting? While it was true Jizabel had never been one to fear the act of dying itself, as he'd seemed so often to be willing to throw his breath away, he knew beyond that, there was a fear of death, or what lay after dying.
Jizabel knew what likely awaited him after this. He could almost feel the flames licking along his skin already. All those years, all he had memorized, the recitation as fathers corded whip crashed onto his bare back. The wrath of God.
Somehow, the same block that kept the pain at bay (though the room was growing so cold…) seemed to keep him from processing anything so tumultuous. Neither of them did, it seemed.
Cassian's arms surrounded his shoulders, tugging purposefully at his tie and discarding it with a flick, and turning to unbutton his shirt.
Jizabel sighed softly as Cassian tugged his lapels apart, away from his throat, and busied his hands instead with stroking down the side of his face. It was as though he too realized the severity of this situation and wished him to pass comfortably. Somewhere in his numb chest, this…warmed Jizabel, somewhat, with what little ability to feel gratitude and compassion as his broken emotions possessed.
'I suppose if I'm hellbound,' he thought, and even the voice in his own mind was soft, 'it's only fitting that my last moments should be so peaceful.'
"Yes, that's very typical of you, to do something so foolish" he agreed, for Jizabel was nothing if not heavily rooted in habit, latching to what was familiar and calling it comfort. "I suppose now…all I can do is watch over you, in your final moments."
"Heh," Jizabel's smile lightened so slightly. Cassian spoke so gently to hi now…"I remember how you always use to scold me."
He reached up, and Cassian could see the tremble rising in his limbs. Finally his fingers fell to the black cross that hung always, always, around his neck. A precious gift from his father, treasured beyond anything else that Jizabel owned. He couldn't remember a time he wasn't wearing it. Even if he had it tucked away under his clothes, it was always there, lying against bare skin. Cassian suspected he loved it all the more that way.
With what little strength Jizabel had, he clenched the sigil in his fist and gave it one sharp wrench, breaking the clasp with a faint snap. Cassian's eyes widened slightly as he didn't hold it to himself, as he expected, but rather held it out to the butler.
"Riff, please. Give this to Cain," he asked, discarding this memento with scarcely a thought. "I'm sure that he'll be able to do what I never could…"
He'll be able to kill Alexis. To rid the two of them of the man who had robbed them of their lives, of their childhoods, their freedom, and for Jizabel, his sanity. It was all because of Alexis that Jizabel had ended up the man he was, that Cain had become so aloof and sheltered. He was the one who scarred their backs with his whip. True, one saw his marks with hatred, the other with thanks, but it had marked them, damaged them, deeper than either could know. And Jizabel could now understand that…at least a small part of himself could.
'How funny. I see my past the clearest when the world in front of me is fading'
He looked back up at Riff, at his crumbling appearance, and wondered if he himself appeared so frail
"But you're health is also fading," he noted contemplatively, his hand scuttling awkwardly across his chest in search of his breast pocket, and what was contained therein. "Your loyalty annoys e even now. You fought us the entire way, getting stronger with each passing year because of that dedication…"
Riff knelt just at Jizabel's reach, still holding the cross in his hand, the one placed so trustingly in his hold.
"Doctor…please!" he pleaded. "I need more time, to protect Lord Cain, your brother!" None of them commented on how foolish it seemed, to plead for Cain's life in this manner to Jizabel, who had regarded his half sibling with nothing but hatred since the age of 12. "Surely there must be a way."
Ah, there it was. The cold slim handle feeling perfectly weighted in his finger, Jizabel withdrew his scalpel from his pocket. Though his vision was starting to blur, the glint from the sleek blade's surface shone brightly to his eyes.
"Yes…there is a way," he breathed and held the instruments deadly tip to his lips, though somehow the risk of a small slice didn't exactly scare him now. "But you will only live for one more day."
As though that would deter him, and Jizabel knew it.
He could feel Cassian's grip on his shoulders clench at his words. His apprentice, his underling, he would know better than anyone else what Riff needed.
"Only one last day," he stressed, that familiar taunting tone rolling off his tongue, though so airy now, weak. "Will you still use this last day to serve him?"
"Even if it's just for an hour, I would!" he afirmed passionately. Just as Jizabel knew he would. Just as Jizabel would for his father.
He let his eyes slide closed; how nice that felt. He hadn't realized how weary and heavy they felt until they were closed, as though ready to fall asleep. And, in a way…he was.
"Then…so be it."
He drew the blade to his throat, and the feel of steel against his shivering skin thrilled him. Control. That's what this was. An excited shiver ran up his spine, and he felt Cassiann hold him even more closely, fearing, no doubt, that he was cold. But no; warmth was creeping back up through his body, despite the blood running from it. Was it from the excitement of knowing his last action would not be in the service of Alexis, his father, who had truly killed him years ago? That his life wouldn't be given for him? Or perhaps…it had more to do with those arms draped so protectively around him, not wanting these minutes to be spent alone and in pain…
How silly of Cassian…he felt no pain now. Not now. And where he was going, he had no ability to shelter him.
"This is my last remaining blood. Use it wisely, Riffael," he commanded, perhaps the most domineering he could remembering being, but for something so important.
If Cassian was horrified, if he wished to stop him, to drag the scalpel from his weak grip, he made no notion of it. Perhaps he knew how important this was to Jizabel, to finally have one act of defiance, one choice, a final selection, made entirely of free will, and not moved by his father's puppet strings.
Jizabel didn't feel the blade, but he felt the heat splatter down his chest, droplets peppering his face, his hands, and prayed he had enough to give Riff those last final hours he had promised.
Blood. So essential from life, it was often the only thing that gave Jizabel any sense of living. But now, the warmth it offered, that had wrapped him in a comforting embrace that night, felt sickeningly cool, not at all like he remembered. But he wondered, feeling Cassian's arms seize around him, felt his lips pressed to his hair, if that wasn't just in comparison to a different warmth.
He was sure the wet splatters he felt down onto his cheeks, his brow, was not from his blood.
'Now, of all times. When it's too late to do anything for it,' his mind grew so disjointed. 'To me, love in this world was nothing but a fabrication, a cruel act I was never allowed to be a part of. Love never seemed to exist for me, Riffael. So I grew to hate you, and Cain, for the bond you shared…'
He couldn't breathe…
'And all this time, I felt I was alone-'
A hand clenched his, so cold. Or what it his own that felt like ice? He couldn't be sure now. Another hand, at his throat, and a pressure.
'Always alone, no matter how hard I sought. But perhaps…what I was searching for all this time was simply not in the form I expected.'
He couldn't see Cassian anymore. Was he still there? He had to be. No one else had ever held him so tenderly. No one else had shook like he was now when they saw him suffer. Not father, never father. Father was long gone. But Cassian was here. He had always been there…
'And…already within my grasp…!'
He wanted to grip his hand back; voiceless, sightless, he wished to let Cassian know he could feel him, knew he was there, but he couldn't find the strength.
But no matter. He somehow was sure, he already knew.
'Now I truly know, Cassian…that you're the one who saved me.'
How comforting was unconsciousness, the way it snuck behind you with warm, soothing corners to eventually wrap around and hold you tight, like a mother taking her beloved child in from the cold and ensnaring them in a favorite worn quilt. He welcomed it, let it take him, wishing for it to blind and deafen him further, to muffle his breath, which was already so hard to draw. Perhaps if he accepted this with enough grace, it could shield him from what was soon awaiting him; Jizabel in any more a state for logical thinking would scoff at this hope now.
As the deep blackness drew him in deeper, he couldn't help but be sure it was Cassian's arms that blessed him with these final seconds of peace before eternity claimed him as its own.
)o(
It only took moments, precious short moments, and for this Cassian was thankful. Though it was shredding at his stomach and making him feel more ill than he could ever recall being, he'd spent the long minutes since Jizabel's fall just praying that his death would be quick and as painless as it could be. And as soon as he saw him raise the gleaming blade to his throat, he knew it would be.
The thought horrified him, and he thought for a moment about prying the scalpel from his fingers as he moved to slice across his own throat. To see Jizabel so easily offer up his last moments was only proof about how little he cared for his own existence.
Or perhaps, he thought, clinging to Jizabel's now still body, one hand still at his throat in what was surely a futile attempt to stem the bleeding; it was his first and final declaration of freedom, the only indication he could give to say his life was his own, it was precious and worth something and his alone to give.
Somehow Cassian seemed to always know suicide would claim the doctor; there wasn't any other carriage death would drive to collect him, unless it had been driven by Alexis. Even then, Jizabel had just shown with full flair that he'd have willingly given his breath for his father.
Was it really murder, when the lamb came to the knife so willingly?
His chest ached, and he let out a long shudder he hadn't realized he'd been holding. To take his own life may have been the boldest thing Cassian had ever witnessed Jizabel do. Instead of being the cowards way out, an escape for the weak and broken (how highly befitting Jizabel) it became a voice for Jizabel to say in death what he could never bring himself to say while living.
Riff still knelt there, seemingly torn between grim horror and gratitude as Jizabel's blood cooled on his skin.
Cassian almost felt like growling at him.
"Well? Go! Go save him! If you waste even one drop of his blood, I swear, I'll never forgive you!"
Though Riff had little reason to fear Cassian, the latter being far too distraught to pursue a fight or chase, he nodded and clamered to his feet, running full kilt around the fallen rubble and debris and leaving a scattering of red prints of puddles as he went.
Cassian, meanwhile, had something of a far different matter to attend. He had no one left to save, only someone to tend to.
Jizabel was thin and light in his newly strong arms. Though Jizabel was not one to take affection from him, there had been occasions where the boy's mental state and emotional baggage became too heavy fro his shoulders to carry, and he would break again, too distraught or frightened to push Cassian away, and he would hold him in his small arms. Jizabel had never appeared overwhelming muscled or capable, but to Cassian's childish size, he was sturdy.
Holding hi now, he knew he was amazingly wrong. Jizabel was thin, from his self restricted diet and, undoubtedly, the same mass amount of stress that had grayed his hair so young. He was light and seemed to take up such little space in the basket Cassian made of his arms.
While Riff turned to save the man he still served, Cassian faced the dreadful knowledge that he'd arrived too late.
He'd promise to come back and save him, to take him away form his father. He'd promised HIMSELF that he wouldn't let Jizabel continue to rot away in the service of Delilah, as nothing ore than a pet for his father.
But he'd failed. He'd failed his superior in a way much more grievous manner than simply letting the butler get away, or failing to collect a particular trinket. No, Jizabel paid for this one far more dearly than with the sting of his father's whip.
There was so much noise in the distance beyond the now ruined building that had been his…home, of sorts for so long, but they were so far off and muffled. Still, Cassian felt sure he would have been able to walk the boy through a hall still brimming with people and still not heard a word said. He'd have been far too dazed, just as he was now.
He scarcely watched his step, a truly dangerous choice of walking with chunks of stone and plaster littering the floor. He'd glance forward enough to make sure he wouldn't take a tumble, not while carrying something so very precious. Life had jostled and marred Jizabel enough.
The deeper he walked within the winding hallways, seeking out a back passage, the more muffled the din above them became, being gently quelled by the heavy stone walls still remaining, if only tenuously. Hell, the entire structure may tumble down on them both at any moment.
He wasn't sure if he would care much, really. He supposed his only regret would be not being able to return Jizabel to the home he'd once loved, the only place he'd ever been really, truly happy.
His boots shuffled along, their echoes dim, noticeable only by the comparative silence surrounding them. Not another noise, by now.
Save one.
Cassian halted his pace, and instantly held Jizabel's still body closer, as though he was still in need of his subordinate's ever present protection. He peered around wearily, sure that he'd heard someone, despite his former belief that they were the only one's still within these cavernous hallways.
But he heard something different entirely, not the brisk tread of footfalls that had reached his ears only moments ago. Faintly, a grating, wet hiss, too quiet even to echo.
He turned as quickly as his burden would allow, holding Jizabel even tighter. Emptiness. Nothing in the corridor but plaster dust on the floor.
He was ready to just chalk his paranoia up to his falling morale, , when it whispered into his ear a third time.
Jizabel was breathing. Barely, slowly, hardly noticeable, but his lips parted slightly in a struggle to draw in another breath.
Cassian couldn't be sure if it was horror or hope that surged his heartbeat, making it pound so hard against his ribcage he wondered if a bruised organ would be a very startling reality in the near future for him.
"J-jizabel!" he gasped, and sunk to his knees to take a second, closer look at him. Of course he didn't respond; he was still deep in the folds of unconsciousness, but his mind wasn't deceiving him; his chest rose once in a sputter and collapsed, no doubt taking in as much blood s air.
Something sparked a panic within Cassian, one that even in his adrenaline-surged brain could process immediately as being barely more substantial than a dream upon waking; it may be a reality, but a fleeting one, to quickly fade.
He was breathing. He was still alive. But surely for moments only, no longer. He had bled too heavily, the evidence still covered himself, Cassian and Riff, in the minute and a half since he had dug the blade into his skin. The hopeful spring that had begun to well and bubble in his gut almost instantly went dry. What difference did it mater if Jizabel had a few final heartbeats left? There was still nothing to be done, not with bleeding so profuse, his lungs most likely already shutting down as dribbles of blood continued to fill them. In fact, this revelation enraged Cassian far ore than it encouraged him to cling to a foundationless hope. All this meant was an even longer goodbye, more time watching the man he couldn't save slowly asphyxiate to death. Couldn't the bastard at least have a merciful death, where life had done nothing but torture him?
"God damn it Jizabel, why can't you just let go?" he demanded harshly. Grief for a man not yet dead ground his voice low and rough, a fact he berated himself for. Surely is Jizabel could, maybe, hear him, it should be nothing but sweet, tender words to reach his ears.
Lank strands of hair lay drying against his throat, normally pale gray waves, now stiff and stained red. He brushed his bangs aside as best he could, though sweat and blood held his mass of hair together in a large tangled nest.
"What the hell could you have left to keep you here? What are you holding onto, you sonofabitch?" hadn't Cassian always spoken to Jizabel with callous scolding? Surely for a man who thrived on the familiar and routine, anything but this would be to jarring for his dying body.
The younger man drew another breath, as sputtering and ill-taken as the last, far too much time between each. Cassian felt heat building at the back of his throat, swearing all the way up to his eyes, but he refused to cry. He wouldn't, not until after he was sure that Jizabel was…gone.
"Please, Jizabel. Just…just rest now. You need to t-"
BANG!
Immediately Cassian threw himself over Jizabel's weak and cold form protectively, taking the jarring racket as another section of the once towering edifice crashing down into rubble. But when the seconds passed and there was no reverberations, no sections fo limestone or granite crushing their bones, he looked around, seeking the true source of the commotion.
It wasn't another explosion, or even any final remnants of what had already occurred. Rather, the cause of his initial panic was much…smaller.
Zenopia was lumbering down the corridor at an impressive speed for someone of his height, particularly considering the sizeable burden he was hauling. He was maneuvering a steamer trunk large enough that he could probably easily have used it as a hideaway, and judging from his struggles, it was packed. With what, Cassian couldn't be quite sure, but knowing the way the hermit's mind worked, he had a clue.
And suddenly Cassian felt his entire foundation slipping once more, the ground he knelt on seeming to slide together again, closing the chasm if only by inches.
Spurred by a barely lit flame flickering in his chest, Cassian hurriedly unbound one of his many layers, a thin scarf wrapped behind his neck, decided in tat instant that Jizabel needed it more. He knew even as he bound it over Jizabel's throat that it was effort borne of foolhardiness and emotional exhaustion, but there was a chance…
"You! Zenopia!" he bellowed, leaving no chance that the hermit could even pretend he didn't hear.
The doctor, already looking shaken and disheveled, gave an even more distressed sputter as he was forced to acknowledge Cassian' yelling.
"C-Cassian! Well, how wonderful you look!" he fidgeted awkwardly, eyes casting around in a most unusually paranoid manner, and never taking his hands off the trunk, which just reaffirmed Cassian's suspicions.
Though reluctant to take even those five paces away from Jizabel, Cassian had no time whatsoever to waste with second guessing. He strode up to the midget and his trunk, now knowing full well what it contained. Even if it could buy them a chance, a small sliver of hope…well, he'd take it.
)o(
Please, drop a line!