Fire Won't Scare the Monsters Sober [Closed]

Bloodstrike dropped one last field mouse onto the fresh-kill pile at the Riverclan camp. It was his last catch of the day as night choked the last of the light from the sky. Bloodstrike had pulled double shifts for both clans since he'd arrived, and he was looking worse for wear from lack of sleep and... a decent lack of personal hygiene. Even when he would lay down, it would take him a long time to fall asleep, but as soon as it was his turn to patrol again, he would be on his paws. He glanced in the direction of where the warrior's den was, but almost as quickly he turned away from it. His job was done. He needed to get away. He hoped that maybe something other than patrolling would clear his mind some and he could settle down enough to sleep. Without a word of explanation to anyone, Bloodstrike set out on his own at a steady trot. He gave simple nods in acknowledgement whenever other cats would say something to him, but other than that, he interacted with no one.

He glided through the Riverclan territory and then even beyond that, feeling the colder air of leaf-fall on his greasy and disheveled pelt. The air smelled cleaner without so many other cats around.  His brain began to buzz with unwelcome images of his sister choking and burning to death that he quickly shoved away, back to the far corners of his mind. Still, it had been enough to start a train of other thoughts that only brought forth the inner fury that he desperately tried to keep at bay. Spottedstar lived, while his sister had drawn her last breath. He hadn't known Murkpelt that well, but her life had been taken too, leaving internal wounds in his father that Bloodstrike was sure he was hiding just as much as Bloodstrike hid his own. And yet Spottedstar lived.

Why?

Bloodstrike's pace quickened to a canter. Suddenly the air around him felt hot. He felt hot. His heart raced and his breathing became labored. He kicked off of the ground from a canter to a full blown run. He ran and ran as if he could outrun the shadows the danced in his mind and the mix of fire and ice squeezing the air from his lungs. He pumped his legs harder, so fast and so hard it was almost like he was trying to make himself lose his balance and fall. Anything to take his mind off of what had been haunting him was welcome. After several moments of careless charging, he finally got what he had been after: A sharp pain lashed up his forelegs and his flank into his chest. "A stitch in his side". The pain banished the malevolence that plagued his conscious thought and forced him to slow down to a walk. A smile spread across Bloodstrike's face and he even let out a short laugh.

Euphoria engulfed him as his side twinged and his lungs burned. The physical pain he could handle. As long as the monsters left him be, everything was right with the world at least for a little while. Bloodstrike took a moment to recollect himself and realized just how far he had run when his eyes landed on the Great Rock. He approached it slowly before coming to the base of it. He slowly sat himself on his haunches and stared up at it, his sides still heaving. The stars were visible in the clearing, with one particularly bright one just at the tip of the Great Rock. It was the most red one in the sky that he could see.

After several moments of staring, his breathing slowed to normal and the pain faded. Bloodstrike sighed and dropped his gaze to his paws, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched as the little bit of euphoria that physical pain brought him began to recede... and the monsters once again began to intrude on him.

"Just... go... away..."

His make up with Blossomstep had made things better for Wolfcall. It had alleviated some of the guilt that plagued him, grounded him a little, but every night he spent in RiverClan's territory was like another weight laid across his shoulders. The clan was doing well. Every cat was fed, every cat slept safely at night, and that was... normal. Things were becoming normal.

Wolfcall hated it.

Every apprentice he saw tearing into a fish, every cat he watched grow accustomed to wet paws, irked him to his very soul. It was like with each day that passed, SkyClan was absorbed more and more into RiverClan... and Wolfcall feared that before long, their clan would cease to exist. It wasn't something he could talk to Spottedstar about. Aside from his duties as leader, his father spent most of his time relaxing, healing from the brutal wounds that the fire had inflicted. And Wolfcall was loathe to bother him, both in hopes that the rest would heal him faster, and for lack of anything nice to say. Deep down, he knew that Mistrain and Murkpelt's deaths weren't Spottedstar's fault, but despite that, and perhaps for lack of someone else to pin, Wolfcall blamed him.

He blamed Bloodstrike, too. For holding him back, preventing him from going back in. Would it have saved them? He didn't know. But the fact that he didn't get to try was enough to fuel the burning resentment in his chest that he held for both his father and his son.

Tonight, once his mate was soundly asleep in the nest they shared in the RiverClan nursery, Wolfcall slipped away. They had been forbidden from returning to SkyClan's territory, and Wolfcall had obeyed until now... but it had been long enough. He had to know if there was any hope of SkyClan returning to their home. He'd only just left camp though when he saw Bloodstrike quitting the camp, as well. He looked rough, and for the briefest of moments, the deputy felt sorry for him. Bloodstrike had suffered, too, he knew that. Mistrain had been his best friend. Wolfcall swallowed hard, pinning his ears, and moved to follow his son, but Bloodstrike took off, and it confused him long enough for the warrior to disappear from view.

With a frown, he pursued. Where could he be going in such a hurry? His healing rib protested at the movement, forcing him to go slower than he liked, but eventually, he saw where Bloodstrike was going. Fourtrees loomed ahead, their branches half-bare in the Leaf-fall dusk. Laughter sounded in the clearing ahead of him, and the deputy followed with a puzzled expression. Was he meeting another cat out here? Was he breaking the code?

No, he wasn't. Bloodstrike was by himself, sitting at the base of the Great Rock. And a short, angry demand was spat just as Wolfcall decided to move closer.

"I've only just got here," he said quietly.

Smokefeather hated Riverclan's camp, hated the reek of fish that clung to their fur, hated the overcrowded, stuffy dens. The two clan scents had started to mingle and become a bit less distinct, and she found it abhorrent. The reeds were a far cry from the cozy moss nests back in their own territory, and Smokefeather found herself restless, tossing and turning in a futile effort to get some sleep in.

Her mate's nest was cold beside her, as if he hadn't gone to rest at all, either. Gray-green eyes narrowed, half in irritation, half in thought. Bloodstrike had thrown himself into patrolling and hunting even more than she had, and had been distant lately. Both tended to avoid spending any more time than absolutely necessary in the overcrowded, smelly Riverclan camp, but he was usually fast asleep beside her at this point.

With an annoyed huff, the pale tortoiseshell slipped from the den, glancing around the camp in hopes of spotting him returning from a late-night patrol. No such luck, of course. Tail tip twitching, Smokefeather stalked through the camp's entrance. She was already wide awake, no sense in doing nothing with her new free-time.

There you are, Smokefeather thought, spotting the dark tom who was... walking away from camp. Hmm. Just a midnight stroll? Or something else?

Smokefeather didn't have much time to ponder the thought as the tom suddenly broke into a run. Bloodstrike wasn't the only movement to catch her eyes, though, and Smokefeather glanced at the deputy, not bothering to hide the expression of what on earth has gotten into him? on her face as she followed the pair of dark toms.

Their path eventually led to fourtrees, and Smokefeather felt her stomach sink as she heard first Bloodstrike's laugh, then his words to go away. Meeting someone? Smokefeather's pace slowed, now less certain of why she'd even come out here. Yet scenting the air revealed nothing, the only scents belonging to her two clanmates.

"It's just us," Smokefeather said softly. Her eyes betrayed what she really wanted to say, though. What's wrong?

Bloodstrike had not expected to be followed. His head shot up and his attention fell on Wolfcall, a surprised expression on his face. It slowly melted to confusion, and even more so when Smokefeather arrived as well. His mind raced. What did they want? Just an instant later, he realized that they were his family... and he shouldn't have to wonder what they wanted. He had distanced himself so much even his father and his mate were relative strangers now. Wolfcall was worried about Skyclan becoming Riverclan, but Bloodstrike was worried he wasn't even Bloodstrike anymore.

"I suppose you have a reason for following me?" He asked, though not as unkindly as it could have been. He shook his head briefly as if to throw a grasshopper off of his face.

"I'm sorry. That isn't what I meant to say. I wasn't talking to either of you earlier. I didn't know you were here." And that was about all the explanation they were going to get without some pressuring. He faced his body with their's and sat down, though his tail jerked every now and then, betraying any attempt to look completely calm and perfectly fine. He inhaled deeply and slowly, and exhaled just as slowly. He knew eventually he'd have to face the both of them for his actions weeks prior.

"What can I help you with?" His tone was flat and his expression was stone once again. Even his own family now... he acted like he had to be granite around them and have no weaknesses. The night had gotten a bit colder now too as he could sort of see his breath flowing from his nose and mouth in a silver mist. Yet he didn't even shiver. With his face fully facing both his father and his mate, the scars that Wolfcall had given him were very visible. Truth be told, Bloodstrike hardly gave them any thought, even now.

That said, they were not completely forgotten either. He held no ill will or grudge against his father, but perhaps that was more from his own guilt that he had no idea how to deal with.

"We don't need a reason to be worried about you, Bloodstrike," Wolfcall responded softly, exchanging a glance with Smokefeather. "But you've given us plenty nonetheless."

The deputy moved closer, his eyes fixated on the shiny scars that his son bore, courtesy of his own claws, and he was momentarily lost in his shame. He'd done that to his own kin, for no good reason, and look at him now. "Bloodstrike, I..." he began, and then hesitated, dropping his gaze and turning his head away. His claws flexed into the ground, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He'd followed the warrior here, suspicious of him still though he had no reason to be, and never had.

"I'm sorry. For... for everything. For striking you, and for giving you the cold shoulder this past moon... I... Mistrain..." unable to continue that train of thought, Wolfcall fell silent. "We're all in pain. But now, more than ever, we need each other. We need to be strong, for each other. And I - we - are worried about you."

A quiet sigh escaped Smokefeather as she listened to Bloodstrike, a mix of sadness and anger briefly flashing in her eyes at Bloodstrike's monotonous words. There was sympathy too, for she could tell the dark tom was hurting. They were all hurting. Yet the dominant emotion in her expression remained worry.

Being treated like a stranger wasn't something she would have ever expected from her mate. Spottedstar treated his family like they were strangers. Bloodstrike never had, up until recently, and itgalled Smokefeather now as she struggled to pin down where it had started, why it had started.

"Brushing us off didn't add to the list of reasons to worry. At all. Really." Smokefeather's tone was sharper than she'd meant it to be, but her worry was just as clear as the frustration in her words. How many times did she have to tell the mousebrained, stubborn tom that she was there for him? and now he sat, speaking to her and Wolfcall like they were strangers. Maybe they were, in a way. It wasn't a thought that sat well with the fluffy warrior.

"Something's bothering you, and it's not just being in Riverclan's camp." Because Starclan knew, if it was just that that bothered him, he'd grumble as much as she and Wolfcall did. There was more to it, to make the tom distance himself as he'd been recently, that much was clear. Foolish tom had certainly tried to hide his emotions in the past, only to explode later on. Now Bloodstrike was almost too calm, like the calm before a storm.

"We've all lost enough, don't distance yourself from us, too." Her tone had softened as she spoke. "Please, Bloodstrike." Gray-green eyes sought to hold his gaze, a silent plea for him to just talk to her.

Bloodstrike was... not prepared for any of this. His ears pinned back as if he was bracing for an attack. He otherwise didn't move until Wolfcall mentioned Mistrain. At her name, Bloodstrike closed his eyes and felt his heart quicken. His claws stabbed the ground beneath him as Wolfcall's had.

"Dad..." He couldn't speak for a second and it gave Wolfcall enough time to finish what he was saying. Bloodstrike sucked in a breath and calmed himself again.... somewhat. His eyes eventually opened again. They were softer than they had been, but not as soft as they could be still. "You don't need to apologize for these beauty marks... and I know you've been busy. It's alright." He gave a weak smile, an attempt at humor, but even he didn't really feel it. Smokefeather spoke after that and his attention was directed at her.

He didn't like where this conversation was taking him.

"Something's bothering you," She said. Bloodstrike's eyes shut again and he pinned his ears so hard against his skull that it ached.

Don't lose control don't lose control don't lose control...

"Please, Bloodstrike."

Control... Control... Control... Control...

Inhale. Exhale.

Heartbeat.

"I hate this." Bloodstrike's eyes opened. Piercing daggers of acidic green fixated on both his mate and his father. Bloodstrikes sides heaved and a growl rose up in the back of his throat. His fur bristled and the pupils of his eyes widened as if preparing for violence. "I hate the blind loyalty my clan has to Spottedstar when he clearly has none for us. I hate that I can't speak out against him without being shut down by other clan members. I hate that my sister, who only ever had nothing but concern and compassion for everyone, burned to death and yet his selfish mouse-brained carcass returned." Burning hot tears erupted from Bloodstrike's eyes and streamed down his face as his nose wrinkled and his lips peeled back to reveal pointed fangs.

"Unfairness... Injustice... And I can't do anything about it. I'm just a lowly warrior, a grunt that could be sent to my death on Spottedstar's whim, if he ever somehow found the motivation to give anyone a command. And yet Wrenspring and a handful of others are blindly loyal..." Bloodstrike reached out in front of him, buried his claws in the dirt, and raked it back toward him slowly. His foreleg shook with the effort he put into it, almost willing the ground to give way beneath his paw. He then directed his gaze specifically to Wolfcall. "Why..? Just.... why dad??" He then looked at Smokefeather. "If it weren't for you... I would have-" He stopped himself abruptly. He spun on his heel and began to power-walk away. "I can't talk to you. I can't talk anymore. I need to go. I need to go before I say things I don't mean..."