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[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Date: April 1, 2000
Setting: just off the manor grounds
Status: Private - Wednesday and Pestilence
Summary: Wednesday takes exception to Pestilence and Uriel's relationship

They had been walking for a while- in complete silence. Pestilence felt anxious and not just a little bit scared. It had been one thing with Mictain. Yeah, he would have gotten pounded to bits had not Mr. S and the horde come along, but the demon had made his intention clear from the start. With Wednesday he was unsure. But he had hope. For the first time in millenia Pestilence was optimistic; he would be able to explain it to the god. Surely Wednesday had Uriel's best interest in mind, and since he did too, they would obviously be able to come to an understanding.

He started to think of what he would say to Wednesday; that sometimes unlikely beings fell in love. Look at all of the angels and demons in the manor. Surely their respective loves had been unlikely at first, but opposites were said to attract. He woud prove to Wednesday that he was worthy of loving Uriel. That his devotion was real. That Wednesday need not fear for his blood brother.

Pestilence didn't even get the chance to open his mouth before the god's first blow hit him square in the nose, the strength of which sent him hurling backwards, landing hard on his behind. Pestilence reeled at the sudden attack, yellow-ish blood pouring from his nose. He had just barely gotten to his feet before Wednesday had socked him in the stomach, doubling him over. With his knowledge of physiology and the ins and outs of how the body could betray the owner, he knew that his spleen had just ruptured.

"I thought we were going to talk," Pestilence managed to mutter through a mouth full of blood. Still cluthing his abdomen he took a few hesitant steps backwards.

Wednesday rolled his eye. "Of course you thought we were going to talk. If I told you what I was really going to do, you wouldn't have walked out here with me beyond the little anti-christ's protection." He walked quickly to Pestilence's side and chopped effectively down on the back of the horseman's neck. Pestilence hit the ground like a sack of bones. His instincts told him to curl into a ball, but he knew that the beating would just continue, probably rupturing his kidneys and liver, too. With the resolve of a being who is losing copious amounts of blood and in extreme pain, he realized he would have to fight back.

Too bad he was a lover and not a fighter.

Wednesday easily deflected his pitiful blows, catching one wrist and twisting it until bones cracked. Pestilence nearly passed out, which would have been a blessing, really. But no, his consiousness fought valiantly to stay alert in spite of his desperate wishes to the contrary.

Wednesday squeezed Pestilence's broken wrist until metacarpals burst through the skin. As the horseman's yellow-hued blood dripped over the old god's hand, he spoke:

"Don't you think Uriel has enough problems without you, you fucking bag of pus? No, you have to go mess with him; fuck with him both mentally and physically. Oh yes, don't think I haven't caught you two. And I know all about that little potion. How do you administer it? Drug his water? Spray him? Or have you convinced him that he won't get better unless he puts out for you? You're fucking sick, you know that." He wrapped his hand around Pestilence's throat, pulling up until Pestilence's feet no longer toughed the ground. As his trechea compressed, he felt grey clouds hovering around his vision. Too bad it didn't dull the pain. He could jsut barely see Wednesday's lips break into a humourless grin. "I think you missed it. I made a little joke back there. I told you you were sick. Get it?" He let go of Pestilence's throat, letting the horseman drop back down to the ground with a loud thud. Pestilence could feel a broken rib digging into his small intestinces, another getting dangerously close to puncturing a lung. Pestilence clutched onto his stomach, waiting for the next blow. He figured it would be to his back. The god might just break his spine right in two. He tried to prepare his broken body for the next blow, but for a moment the beating paused, and he heard Wednesday talking again.

"You know I found him, right? In a lake of his own blood. Sure, it was the severing, but it was you, too. He felt dirty for having slept with you. I still can't figure out how you convinced him to do that. Or did you somehow manage to drug him? He said he took a sip of your flask and ate the marshmallow. Was it then? He hated himself. Showered afterwards. You had dirtied him, and a couple of days later he tries to kill himself... I think there might have been a corrolation," Wednesday kneeled down, pulling up Pestilence's head by his now-yellow-matted hair. "Pestilence, I have a little request of you, and how you answer will determine how this little interview ends. Are you ready?" The god yanked Pestilence's head up and down to nod 'yes.' "My request is that you leave Uriel alone, but not just that. I want you to do it in a way that he won't blame himself. Thats all he needs is to blame himself for your horrid behavior, too. Thats all. Not too much to ask. Not for a concerned brother. If you agree, I'll stop. Do you agree?"

To say that this was a nightmare for Pestilence was understatement. He could no more agree to Wednesday's request than he could have gotten up and run a marathon. The blood was beginning to puddle in his lungs, his mouth and nose also filled. He couldn't move had he even wanted to.

Wednesday held his hair for a moment longer, but eventually dropped his head to the hard ground again. "You didn't answer, but I'm going to assume that we have an agreement, because if we don't this is just going to happen again and again, you undertand? Of course you do," Wednesday wiped his bloodied hands on Pestilence's once-white blazer. Standing up he adjusted his suit. He kicked Pestilence once last time in the back before heading towards the manor.

Pestilence was in more pain then he had ever been in before, and that was saying something when talking about a being who had sampled all of his own illnesses personally. But as much pain was he was in physically, it was the mental image of Uriel holding those damned daggers. The angel trying to erase his sin with his own blood, erase the memory of what they had shared. The hungry earth soaked up the being's blood and tears and Pestilence finally passed out with the image of bloody daggers in his mind.