ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-28 07:55 pm
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-28 07:55 pm
Entry tags:
Death Curse: Chapter 8
Title: Death Curse
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 7
*****
Nightmares are so passé. At least, that's what my subconscious decided after that. I mostly try not to speak to the guy, because he's kind of a jerk. So of course he waited until my defences were down in order to set up an ambush. I found him sitting in one of the numerous rooms that make up my psyche, straddling a chair, legs akimbo, arms folded across the back of it, watching me with a sardonic smile. He always manages to look better than I do, too. He keeps his facial hair neatly trimmed, and wears clean, well-cut clothes, and my trench coat looks way better on him than it does on me. If I didn't know better, I'd say I envied him, but I did mention that he's a jerk, right? A chair magically appeared in front of him and he motioned for me to sit down.
Even in my dreams I get cut no slack. I limped to the chair and eased myself into it. How is it even remotely fair that I should still feel sick and sore even when I was outside of my body?
“It's about time you got here. Do you know how long I've been waiting?” he asked.
“Not long enough, clearly.”
He snorted. “Uh-huh. You know, you get into more trouble because you don't listen to me...”
I put up a hand to interrupt him. “Don't start. Stars and stones, you think I don't know what kind of trouble I'd get into if I did listen to you? Let's remember who was having secret negotiations with Lasciel behind my back, here, and who was actively resisting the temptations of the Denarians. If memory serves, the former was you, the latter was me.”
“Only because you wouldn't speak to her on your own. She was bored, and I can't blame her for that. I'm much more interesting than you are.”
“You mean more easily led by your—”
“Let's not be crude, now, dear Superego.”
I scowled at him. “Are you here to talk, or are you just here to spout antiquated Freudian notions of identity? You're more Id than Ego, anyway.”
He grinned. “Touché. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Speaking of which, how come you still haven't hooked up with Murphy? Don't tell me the two of you are still all hung up on that it-can-never-be crap.”
“Don't start. You know you're not going to win this argument.”
He held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Fine, fine. Be that way. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to ease the muscle cramps that were threatening to make my back spasm, and contemplated the unfairness of still feeling crappy in my dreams. The other Harry gave me a dark look.
“You look like shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks. Was that all you had to say? For the record, next time, can you pick some more comfortable surroundings? I feel like I'm in an interrogation room.”
He smirked at me. “Fine.”
Immediately the chair I was in transformed into a much comfier recliner, and the white room faded, leaving in its place what appeared to be a cozy living-room, complete with fireplace. My subconscious, however, remained straddling his wooden chair. I tried not to think too hard about what that kind of imagery signified.
I nodded my approval. “Much better. I could have a nap here, even.”
“You don't have time for a nap. In fact, we don't even really have time for banter, but it's so much fun I couldn't pass it up. Do you know how screwed you are?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He pointed an accusing finger at me. “I know you've been a bit busy what with the vampires and everything, but you need to start thinking more clearly about what's going on, here.”
I crossed my arms and glowered. “And I suppose you're the one who's going to show me how?”
“If I have to beat you over the head to do it,” he agreed. “We might not always get along, but let's face it: without you I don't exist, so it's in my best interests to keep you alive. You need to tell someone what happened to you out at that warehouse.”
“What? I did tell someone. Thomas knows, and the Carpenters. Bob knows too, for what it's worth.”
He shook his head. “You're even more of an idiot than I thought. Think about it. Do they really know? What have you told them? That you got in a fight with a bunch of vampires. Did you tell them everything that happened?”
That gave me pause. Had I told them everything? Normally I told Molly what was going on as a matter of course: it was important both for her apprenticeship and for our working relationship in general. Mostly in my experience I've found that keeping secrets from people is something I ought to do as little as possible: every time I do it, something bad ends up happening to them because I tried to protect them from the knowledge. Better they make an educated choice for themselves. Okay, I'm not always consistent about this, but I try. Which brought me back to the original question. My other self smirked at me.
“You didn't tell them about the death curse, did you?”
I shook my head. “I guess I didn't. I told Bob, but I didn't tell Molly because I didn't remember it until later.”
“And you didn't tell her or anyone else afterward... why?”
“Because it's probably not real. Or at least, it's not relevant. You should know as well as I do that there's almost no way that it could be related to what's going on. I had this argument with myself yesterday, do you really want to have it again?” I sounded petulant, much to my annoyance.
“I didn't find your arguments particularly convincing,” my other self pointed out. “Especially since they don't involve full disclosure. Now, normally I'm on the other side of this argument, which in and of itself should tell you how serious I'm being. You're being stupid, Harry, stupid and reckless. Maybe this death curse business is nothing. Maybe it is just the flu, or whatever, but there's no reason for you not to tell someone else, so that you can rule it out.”
Okay, maybe the jackass had a point. “I don't know. It's not like Michael or Charity can do anything about it anyway, and Molly's not that far advanced in her training...”
“So tell Thomas. Or one of the Wardens.”
I scowled. “I am not hauling one of the Wardens away from the war just because I have the flu!”
“Who said anything about that? Just make sure someone knows.”
It's really hard to argue with yourself. You always know ahead of time what arguments you're going to make, which makes it really difficult to win.
“Fine. I'll think about it.” My head was starting to pound, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache. “Why can't dreams with you in them ever be pleasant?”
He shrugged. “Well, I've said my piece. If you prefer to go back to your nightmares, be my guest.”
“Wait, that's not what I me—”
Of course, it was too late. Before I knew it, the cozy room had vanished, leaving me alone to wander in the dark. After that, the nightmares started again in earnest.
*****
Chapter 9
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 7
Nightmares are so passé. At least, that's what my subconscious decided after that. I mostly try not to speak to the guy, because he's kind of a jerk. So of course he waited until my defences were down in order to set up an ambush. I found him sitting in one of the numerous rooms that make up my psyche, straddling a chair, legs akimbo, arms folded across the back of it, watching me with a sardonic smile. He always manages to look better than I do, too. He keeps his facial hair neatly trimmed, and wears clean, well-cut clothes, and my trench coat looks way better on him than it does on me. If I didn't know better, I'd say I envied him, but I did mention that he's a jerk, right? A chair magically appeared in front of him and he motioned for me to sit down.
Even in my dreams I get cut no slack. I limped to the chair and eased myself into it. How is it even remotely fair that I should still feel sick and sore even when I was outside of my body?
“It's about time you got here. Do you know how long I've been waiting?” he asked.
“Not long enough, clearly.”
He snorted. “Uh-huh. You know, you get into more trouble because you don't listen to me...”
I put up a hand to interrupt him. “Don't start. Stars and stones, you think I don't know what kind of trouble I'd get into if I did listen to you? Let's remember who was having secret negotiations with Lasciel behind my back, here, and who was actively resisting the temptations of the Denarians. If memory serves, the former was you, the latter was me.”
“Only because you wouldn't speak to her on your own. She was bored, and I can't blame her for that. I'm much more interesting than you are.”
“You mean more easily led by your—”
“Let's not be crude, now, dear Superego.”
I scowled at him. “Are you here to talk, or are you just here to spout antiquated Freudian notions of identity? You're more Id than Ego, anyway.”
He grinned. “Touché. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Speaking of which, how come you still haven't hooked up with Murphy? Don't tell me the two of you are still all hung up on that it-can-never-be crap.”
“Don't start. You know you're not going to win this argument.”
He held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Fine, fine. Be that way. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to ease the muscle cramps that were threatening to make my back spasm, and contemplated the unfairness of still feeling crappy in my dreams. The other Harry gave me a dark look.
“You look like shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks. Was that all you had to say? For the record, next time, can you pick some more comfortable surroundings? I feel like I'm in an interrogation room.”
He smirked at me. “Fine.”
Immediately the chair I was in transformed into a much comfier recliner, and the white room faded, leaving in its place what appeared to be a cozy living-room, complete with fireplace. My subconscious, however, remained straddling his wooden chair. I tried not to think too hard about what that kind of imagery signified.
I nodded my approval. “Much better. I could have a nap here, even.”
“You don't have time for a nap. In fact, we don't even really have time for banter, but it's so much fun I couldn't pass it up. Do you know how screwed you are?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He pointed an accusing finger at me. “I know you've been a bit busy what with the vampires and everything, but you need to start thinking more clearly about what's going on, here.”
I crossed my arms and glowered. “And I suppose you're the one who's going to show me how?”
“If I have to beat you over the head to do it,” he agreed. “We might not always get along, but let's face it: without you I don't exist, so it's in my best interests to keep you alive. You need to tell someone what happened to you out at that warehouse.”
“What? I did tell someone. Thomas knows, and the Carpenters. Bob knows too, for what it's worth.”
He shook his head. “You're even more of an idiot than I thought. Think about it. Do they really know? What have you told them? That you got in a fight with a bunch of vampires. Did you tell them everything that happened?”
That gave me pause. Had I told them everything? Normally I told Molly what was going on as a matter of course: it was important both for her apprenticeship and for our working relationship in general. Mostly in my experience I've found that keeping secrets from people is something I ought to do as little as possible: every time I do it, something bad ends up happening to them because I tried to protect them from the knowledge. Better they make an educated choice for themselves. Okay, I'm not always consistent about this, but I try. Which brought me back to the original question. My other self smirked at me.
“You didn't tell them about the death curse, did you?”
I shook my head. “I guess I didn't. I told Bob, but I didn't tell Molly because I didn't remember it until later.”
“And you didn't tell her or anyone else afterward... why?”
“Because it's probably not real. Or at least, it's not relevant. You should know as well as I do that there's almost no way that it could be related to what's going on. I had this argument with myself yesterday, do you really want to have it again?” I sounded petulant, much to my annoyance.
“I didn't find your arguments particularly convincing,” my other self pointed out. “Especially since they don't involve full disclosure. Now, normally I'm on the other side of this argument, which in and of itself should tell you how serious I'm being. You're being stupid, Harry, stupid and reckless. Maybe this death curse business is nothing. Maybe it is just the flu, or whatever, but there's no reason for you not to tell someone else, so that you can rule it out.”
Okay, maybe the jackass had a point. “I don't know. It's not like Michael or Charity can do anything about it anyway, and Molly's not that far advanced in her training...”
“So tell Thomas. Or one of the Wardens.”
I scowled. “I am not hauling one of the Wardens away from the war just because I have the flu!”
“Who said anything about that? Just make sure someone knows.”
It's really hard to argue with yourself. You always know ahead of time what arguments you're going to make, which makes it really difficult to win.
“Fine. I'll think about it.” My head was starting to pound, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache. “Why can't dreams with you in them ever be pleasant?”
He shrugged. “Well, I've said my piece. If you prefer to go back to your nightmares, be my guest.”
“Wait, that's not what I me—”
Of course, it was too late. Before I knew it, the cozy room had vanished, leaving me alone to wander in the dark. After that, the nightmares started again in earnest.
Chapter 9
no subject
Probably the best Harry abuse I've ever read. Seriously.
no subject
I haven't actually found any Harry abuse stories out there, apart from the actual novels (and damn is Butcher good at laying on the hurtin'!).
I still have several chapters of this that I haven't posted yet, so I'll do that over the next few days. :)