intolerablexsacrifice‌:

@oceanfoamed​ (from here)

_{Flint had never wanted so badly to be fucking hit before. He’d done his fair share of seeking violence in the past- but that had been about his rage, and the need to inflict it on something, the need to fight and win and keep going. This–this was nothing like that. This was striking at a lion’s teeth in the hopes that it might maul him for sport, and raging when it found him unworthy of the effort.}

_{At Vane’s suggestion, Flint spat, voice cracking: “Fuck you.” He was bristling, uncharacteristically still despite how prepared to lunge he had looked only moments before Vane had spoken- the very idea of seeing Thomas again, of Thomas seeing him like this, was enough to freeze him to the spot. “I don’t fucking want him here.”}

_{The lie was plain as day. It could not have been more clear that Flint would have given anything–burned Nassau to the ground, anything–to have Thomas here. Rather- to have Thomas want to be here.}

_{But not like this. And maybe that was justification for it, really, on top of everything else- maybe Flint’s utter inability to function without him was only proof that Thomas deserved more than this. Some shell of a monster that had long since ceased to be a person at all.} 

_{He felt his eyes sting, and struck out like an angered cat at a bowl on the table beside him- it clattered into the opposite wall and smashed while Flint retreated further into the room. He tried, and only halfway succeeded, to keep his breathing in check. At least he wasn’t in tears, yet.} 

_{If Vane had any fucking sense, he’d leave after this and stop coming back, because it was clear to Flint that he was never going to recover from this. Any progress that was made could be set back by the slightest thing, to the point where it felt fucking useless to keep pretending there was any path forward. Vane had to give up eventually; Silver, too, once it became clear that Flint was simply no longer worth the time.} 

_{“Can’t be fixed with a fight.” Flint’s voice was barely audible. He seemed to be talking to the room, rather than to Vane, all the fight drained from him. “But you wouldn’t fucking understand that, would you.”}

Flint’s voice sometimes did things that made Vane wonder if maybe he’d been struck in the throat a few times himself, jumping around like a boy’s did. For all that though, it seemed he had struck a chord – the fight in Flint turned defensive immediately, and rather than facing a man ready to strike it was more like an animal that recognized itself as cornered enough to need puffing up in the hopes the predator would back down, rethink itself in the face of something so big. 

Just like that animal though, there was nothing behind this but posturing and loud noise. It was empty bullshit meant to distract from the desperate truth – he was falling apart, and Hamilton’s refusal to be part of it was very much the reason why. The threat of him was too close to home – he was the thing Flint could not face, and the power in that might have been intoxicating in the right hands. 

As it was, Vane kept himself out of reach and simply observed again, determining if this was something he could mitigate down or if he ought to send someone else up here to talk Flint out of his latest downward spiral. He wondered how the man didn’t get exhausted by this, but kept it to himself – which proved wise, considering he almost missed the statement that came after a bowl had been shattered against the wall.

“Bold of you to assume I understand any of this shit,” He pointed out flatly. Nevermind this in particular – the whole situation was a bit over his head in a lot of respects. He understood the gist of it, sure – he wasn’t stupid. What escaped him, mostly, was the intensity of all these emotional motivations. He had his own intentions, his own aims and goals in life – and he was dedicated to them, certainly – but they weren’t there because of one person. 

He’d put his hopes in someone before – that much was true. Trying to apply that to this though, it didn’t translate. He had always known he was being used – and in turn, he had been aware of the benefits in allowing himself to be used. So long as those benefits outweighed the inconveniences, there had been very little he would not do in order to ensure that person’s success – but he’d backed the wrong dog in that fight, and when he realized it – when he had finally accepted that he had put himself behind a losing venture, he had been able to pull back and move forward. Able, in fact, to put that dog in it’s place and remind it who was boss. Love had never been a factor – and it was an element he had no idea how to contend with. 

Resting his hands on the back of a chair, he leaned into it and eyed Flint thoughtfully. If he could just get up there was so much he could fucking do – but how to make a dog fight when it was convinced its legs were broken?

“I don’t get what being out here does for you – out of sight, falling to pieces – it just makes you look weak. Nobody gives a shit about broken men. We all got our shit – Hamilton included – so what makes yours so damn important that he should come to you? If your problem is that he doesn’t want you – maybe give him something to want. Make yourself indispensable – or get over it.”