Dormant

20

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.