Chapter Text
He’s in the bloody place again.
There’s blood up to his knees. Thick and viscous. It’s almost impossible to wade through. More like wet sand than water—partially congealed and clinging to his pants and shoes.
When he looks up the sky is red. Black clouds are rolling in, but even if the downpour opens up it would do little to dilute the sea of blood he is currently wading through.
Sanguinius turns around. No matter what direction he looks in, he can see nothing but the sea of blood. He is alone in the bloody place.
A crack of black lightning cuts through the sky and the clouds open up. Sanguinius holds up his hands to catch the rain.
A droplet of red splatters on his hand. And then another. And another.
He stares up in horror as the blood rains down upon him.
He knows this is a place of infinite blood. An unending sea, constantly refilled. And somewhere, someplace out there, in that sea there is a throne of skulls.
Something wet touches Sanguinius’ hand. He jerks and twists. Desperate to pull away from the source of the wetness.
Sanguinius’ eyes fly open, and he sits up in bed. He pants, looking around. He’s not in the bloody place anymore. Instead, he’s seated in a bed in the center of a room. He realizes a beat later that he’s in Roboute’s spare bedroom.
Something twacks against the bedside table. Rhythmically. Sanguinius looks over and sees a dog. The dog’s lips pull back in a goofy smile, and the wagging intensifies—happy to finally be acknowledged by it’s new friend.
“Aeonid,” Sanguinius says, like a sigh of relief. He extends a hand to the dog, giving it a pat on the head.
The dog takes this as an invitation and slowly—and delicately—climbs up onto the bed. He pushes his head forward and starts licking Sanguinius’ face.
He chuckles, still scratching behind Aeonid’s ears. “I don’t know if Ro would like you up on the bed,” he says, but doesn’t move to get him off the bed.
Aeonid snorts, like he understood what Sanguinius said—and didn’t particularly care what his owner’s rules were at this moment.
Idly, Sanguinius continues to pet the dog. His thoughts are still consumed by that place. He shutters.
The dog perks up. Aeonid’s head turns to the door. After a moment, his tail begins to wag again. Sanguinius strains his ears to hear what the dog is reacting to. Distantly, he can hear the sound of someone moving downstairs, and something being fried.
“Ah,” Sanguinius says, giving the retriever’s neck fluff a shake. “It’s time for breakfast, huh?”
Aeonid recognizes the word ‘breakfast’. He pants, tongue lolling out and head cocking to the side.
“C’mon,” Sanguinius says, throwing off his blanket. “Let’s go find your owner.”
He creeps downstairs. Unused to having free reign of a space and still sub-consciously expecting to be chastised for his movements around the home. He’s still wearing Roboute’s spare clothing. The other man promised last night to get him his own things as soon as he was able to. Until then, he wore a t-shirt with a university name scrawled across it and a pair of basketball shorts that sat a little too loosely on his hips.
Aeonid happily barreled down the stairs, approaching Roboute with a whine. The other blonde turns to his dog and catches sight of Sanguinius peaking around the corner.
“Good morning!” Roboute says, brightly. He was being remarkably chipper throughout this entire ordeal. Sanguinius appreciated it immensely. Last night, he’d spent hours helping Sanguinius lay out his testimony–from Horus beating him, to his kidnapping and being held by strange researchers, to the rituals involving blood that the members of the Old Faith had conducted with him. He managed to convince Sanguinius to leave out the part where Horus had killed him and he was resurrected via unknown means. Looking at it logically, it was an insane claim. He’d then set up an email to be sent out to several investigative journalists in the area. If Roboute didn’t cancel the emails, they’d be sent out. An insurance policy just in case the researchers or the priests or whoever they worked for tried to kill them.
They still had some work to do–Roboute had ideas–but first: breakfast.
The other man frowns. “Aeonid didn’t wake you, did he?”
“No,” Sanguinius says, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to get the dog in trouble. “He wasn’t bothering me.”
“Good. You want eggs?”
“Yes, please.” He was starving.
Roboute turns back. “How do you take them?”
“Anyway you make ‘em.”
That gets him chuckling. For a moment, Sanguinius can pretend that he’s just visiting Roboute over the winter break, and not that this is the first time he’s seen him in almost five years. Roboute had grown so much in that time–Sanguinius supposes he did as well, but it was harder to notice those changes in oneself. They’d been almost the same height as teenagers, but now he was a few inches taller than Roboute. Still, Roboute is broader in the shoulders. He’s wearing a long sleeve shirt, but Sanguinius can see the outline of his biceps beneath the fabric. He wishes Roboute was wearing a t-shirt. Or was shirtless. Or just naked.
Sanguinius takes a deep breath. He reminds himself of Roboute’s proclamation. No dating. Six months minimum. Logically, he knew that the six month waiting period was just the first number Roboute had thrown out and wasn’t quite a firm line in the sand. Still, he also knew that Roboute was right. Rushing into a relationship right after he had escaped from captivity was a recipe for failure. He agreed with Roboute on this.
His cock vehemently disagreed. It had spent the end of his teen years and early twenties surrounded by middle aged researchers and priests and it wanted action now.
Still, sexual frustration should be the least of his worries right now. Focus on surviving, he says to himself, then worry about your dick. Regardless, he’d be very annoyed if he died before losing his virginity.
“Need help?” he asks.
Roboute waves it off, so he takes a seat at the table. He notes Lion’s shotgun is still resting on it. Last night, after they had finished laying out their evidence, but before they celebrated Lion’s birthday, he had shown both of them how to use it and how to use his pistol. Neither he nor Roboute actually shot either–Roboute’s home might be up in the mountains, but they didn’t want the cops called on them. Still, it was comforting to know that he theoretically knew how to use both.
“Did Lion leave?” he asks Roboute. After celebrating Lion’s birthday, he and Roboute went to sleep with Lion keeping watch during the night. He reported that he often worked the night shift, so he didn’t mind staying awake all night.
“No,” Roboute replies. He plates the eggs–scrambled–and grabs a piece of toast for himself and Sanguinius. “I relieved him when I woke up. He’s crashing upstairs.” He slides the plate to Sanguinius, along with a fork. “Need anything else?”
“Hot sauce?”
Roboute looks apologetic. “No, sorry. Do you want ketchup instead?”
He’d live without it. Sanguinius tucks into his eggs, as Roboute sits across from him. “How long is Lion going to stay?” he asked.
It’s a question with no clear answer. Roboute shrugs and chews thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.” Even if they had a plan, it wasn’t clear that Lion would stick to it if he thought he had a better one. “He has to work eventually.”
Sanguinius frowned and pushed his eggs around. Work is one thing, but if it were up to him he would have Lion just move into Roboute’s home. It felt safer to have everyone in one place. Even though logically this would mean that they would be easier to take out if their enemies did decide to take the nuclear option.
Maybe he was just trying to go back to how things were before. When he, Roboute, and Lion shared a small bedroom in a group home. Granted, he had to admit that the accommodations here were much better.
“You guys keep in touch?” he asks lightly. Part of him wasn’t convinced when Lion had said that they hadn’t dated. Lion seemed so embarrassed that something must have occurred between the two. Alternatively, it could just be Lion being Lion. He looked like he wanted to die when Sanguinius let it slip that his birthday had just passed.
Roboute is just as tough to read. He shakes his head, not looking like he had anything to hide. “No, not really,” he says. “Like I said, he contacted me after he saw you at the church last month, and we started investigating from there.” An exasperated look crosses his face. “I think we spent a solid, seventy percent of the time bickering.”
Sanguinius smiles. “Well, thank you for putting thirty percent of that time towards saving me. I really appreciate it.”
Snorting, Roboute smiles back.
“Did you… keep up with anyone else?” Sanguinius asks. That was the other thing he had been craving since being locked up; gossip.
He snorts again, but it’s good natured. “You’re looking for gossip?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
Roboute shakes his head and looks away for a moment, thinking. “Well…” he pauses, “Fulgrim is an artist now. He recently got a really big commission. Dorn is doing good, too.”
Sanguinius smiles. Happy that Roboute had started with the two people he had been closest with aside from… well.
“He got married and recently just had a baby.”
“Wait!” Sanguinius says. He slams his hands down on the table—momentarily forgetting that Lion was asleep upstairs. “Dorn or Fulgrim—“
“Dorn,” Roboute clarifies. He’s smirking, like he knows that this is good gossip.
“Where did he find a girl that was willing to marry him?” Sanguinius asks.
Roboute shrugs. “Not sure,” he says. “University, I guess. He’s studying architecture, maybe there.”
Sanguinius makes a dramatic face. Dorn was one of his closest friends, but a whole class filled with Dorns sounded unhinged.
“Who else did you keep up with?”
“Hm… mostly just Dorn and Ferrus,” Roboute says. He twirls his fork absent mindedly. “But I touched base with Fulgrim, Mortarion, Corvus, and Vulkan again looking around for you.” He cocks his head to the side, darkness momentarily crossing his face. They had told him last night that they had spoken to Lorgar and Horus. “Corvus and Vulkan are doing well. Corvus is doing an apprenticeship and Vulkan is in college for engineering,” he says, steering the conversation away from darker topics.
He pauses, chewing the thought over. “And Mortarion?” he asks, slowly. For the past five years, Sanguinius has passed the time imagining what his friends were doing while he was rotting away in a laboratory. He imagined Fulgrim being an artist and Dorn going into architecture—that was what he wanted to do in high school. Mortarion though… he’d never been able to come up with a satisfying answer to what Mortarion was doing. It hadn’t been a secret that they never got along, so perhaps it was just lingering dislike mixed with a lack of knowledge about his passions.
“He’s doing ok,” Roboute said, in a non-committed way that made Sanguinius think that he wasn’t quite sure. “Still smokes weed. I… mostly just talk to him about sci-fi.”
A little snort escapes Sanguinius’ mouth.
“What?”
He giggles. “Sorry, I just can’t: A. Imagine Mortarion texting you about sci-fi or whatever, And B. Believe that you kept up with him of all people.”
Roboute looks exasperated. A little pink colors his cheeks. “Well, I didn’t exactly keep up with him.” He gestures with one hand, fork still in hand. “But after Lion and I caught up with him, I figured maybe it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him—you know because we thought at that time that Konrad was the one who…” Hurt Sanguinius, is what he doesn’t say. “So it just felt like a smart idea,” he finished lamely.
“And so you used that opportunity to talk to him about sci-fi.” He laughs when he sees Roboute’s face. “Don’t worry,” he says gently with a wave of his hand, “I’m just ribbing you.” Sanguinius decides to change the subject, not wanting to tease Roboute too much. “What else?” he asks. “I need drama.”
There’s a pause as Roboute thinks. “Hm…” he says, “I don’t know. Me, Dorn, and Ferrus are boring. I kind of lead with the best bits.”
He’s holding something back, Sanguinius knows it. “We’re out of all the good news, eh?” he asks.
Roboute shakes his head. “Not… really.” From his demeanor it’s clear he doesn’t want to saddle Sanguinius with all of the negative things that have happened since he was kidnapped.
Sanguinius decided that was fine for now. He’d learn about all the messier gossip later. “Hm… ok.” He stretches, interlacing his fingers and stretching his hands above his head. “Wanna hear about which researchers were cheating on their partners with each other?”
That gets a laugh out of Roboute and he graciously allows Sanguinius to regale him with the boring office drama that the researchers were getting up to. Eventually, he tells Sanguinius that he has to leave. He needs to get supplies for the next part of their plan. Sanguinius wishes he could go with him. Instead, he watches with Aeonid as Roboute drives away.
***
Lorgar spent the entire night in the hospital with his mother. His father had been pulled from the burning church by the fire department and transported to the hospital. He and two other priests who were still under care now. But all Lorgar could think about is his father.
The older man had been burnt badly. His body is a mess of second and third degree burns. His doctors had tried to comfort Lorgar by saying that his prognosis was good, that the burns didn’t cover too much of his body–unlike one of the other priests–but Lorgar could help but weep. He and his mother prayed for hours asking all of the gods for blessings and a speedy recovery.
They sat in Kor Phaeron’s ICU room now. Both silent; both still silently praying. Kor Phaeron is asleep now. They’d given him pain medication that made him sleep. He hadn’t gotten to speak to his father since last night before he left for the ritual. The doctors said he was in too much pain and they had to give him pain meds. He’d never seen his father in pain before. Knowing that his father had been in pain made him feel small. Like he was a child again.
There is a knock on the door.
Lorgar and his mother turn half expecting it to be a doctor or a nurse.
It’s not. Horus is standing in the doorframe, his large frame filling out the whole doorway. He’s holding up two fingers against the door, a concerned look on his face.
“Hope I’m not intruding,” he says.
Lorgar is already standing. “No, no, it’s ok!” He glances over at his mother, who smiles and nods at him. He looks back at Horus.
He holds up a bag. “I was gonna bring flowers, but I figured breakfast might be more helpful.” He gives Lorgar a crooked smile.
It makes Lorgar want to break down and cry.
His mother steps in. “Thank you, Horus, honey.” She takes a few steps towards him, arms held out wide.
Horus gives her a one armed hug. “No, prob. Least I could do,” he says. His eyes dart past them to Kor Phaeron. “How’s he doing?” he asks, voice low.
“As good as he can be,” his mother says with a grimace. “Badly burnt, but the doctor says he’ll live.” Her voice is heavy. The doctors hadn’t sugar coated the amount of surgeries and physical therapies he would have to go through.
It could be worse. Argel Tal is still in critical condition.
Horus makes a face, pulling his lips back in a wince. “Stay strong,” he says, clapping Lorgar on the back.
Lorgar makes a face back at him, not quite sure how to feel.
With an exhale, Horus cocks his head. “I wanted to ask you something?” he says slowly.
“Hm?”
“About making a statement,” Horus says, “To the public.”
His eyes go round, and Lorgar holds up his heads. He shakes them, glancing over at his mother. “Oh, no, I… I don’t know if I can do that.” He looks back at his mother, hoping she would rescue him.
Horus notices his looks. “You can make a public statement, too,” he says. “It might be good. You know. Drum up support. Maybe someone out there knows something about what happened.”
His mother nods. “Of course, whenever they’re ready.” There’s a grim determination on her weary face. She looks terrible–not that he would ever say that about his mother–there are deep bags under her eyes and she looks gaunt. Like she’s aged five years in one night. Lorgar probably doesn’t look any better.
They both look to him.
Lorgar looks down at his shoes. “I–”
“You can do it, dear,” his mother says, touching his arm. “I know you can. You have to use the gifts the gods gave to you for good.”
He can’t look up at her.
Horus drops a heavy hand on his shoulder. “She’s right,” he says. “You got this. Can’t be much different than speaking online, right?” He’s trying to keep his tone light.
For some reason, it does feel different, but not in a way that Lorgar can articulate. He glanced back at his father laying in the hospital bed. If he were awake, he would have told Lorgar to pray to Khorne for courage and to go and do it. Shame fills him. Silently, he prays to Khorne to give him strength. “Ok,” he says, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. He’s certain that his mother and Horus can see right through it.
“Awesome,” Horus says, giving him a pat. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Get up there, say your piece, get down. It’ll be fine.”
Lorgar nods, but doesn’t feel very confident.
Horus smiles, but his heart isn’t in it. “All right…I guess, I’ll leave you guys alone, now.” His tone goes up at the end, leaving it an open ended question.
His mother nods, and gives Horus another hug, “Thank you for coming ‘round, Horus. Send your father our love.”
He agrees and starts to back out.
“Wait!” Lorgar hurries forward, taking a few steps away from his mother. He follows the taller man out of the room. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure?”
Lorgar leans in close and whispers, “How are things going on your end?”
Horus stares at him dumbly for the moment. Eventually, he whispers back. “It’s a fucking shitshow, what do you think?” he says.
Shame fills him again, and Lorgar looks down. “Right. Right,” he says.
“Listen,” Horus commands. Lorgar looks up. “Don’t worry about that shit. Take care of your dad and mom.” He claps Lorgar on the shoulder, jostling him slightly. “Let me worry about the back-end stuff.”
He nods. Despite Horus’ promises, it doesn’t make Lorgar feel better. It feels like all of the plans are unraveling. Like someone had grabbed the frayed end of a fabric and started tugging. Except the enemy’s hands were invisible, and no matter how hard Lorgar tugged back it kept pulling apart. He whispers a silent prayer to Tzeentch.
“You got this,” Horus says, shaking Lorgar’s shoulder. “We got this. Don’t worry.”
Lorgar nods again, but he doesn’t share Horus’ confidence. Still, it’s hard not to believe in Horus. He had that kind of aura about him. The kind that made you believe that miracles could happen. That Horus could make miracles happen.
“Ok,” Lorgar says. “Ok, you can count on me.” If anyone could fix this mess it was Horus Lupercal.
Horus gives him a crooked smile. “Good,” he says. “I’m gonna check in on Argel Tal’s family.” He bids Lorgar farewell. As he walks down the hallway, Lorgar feels the anxiety and doubt building in him. Once Horus turns the corner, Lorgar reluctantly returns to his father's hospital room. He decides to take Horus' advice, and pulls out his phone. He opens a blank document and tries to think of what he ought to say as an official statement.