How strange, when an illusion dies...

“Get the hell out of my way,” Vito growled as he shoved his way past a small cluster of women who’d spent far too much of their time sitting at the bar; with a bloodied shirt clinging to his skin, Vito was not in the mood for the seductive ways of a few underdressed, average-looking females. At the very least, Vito wanted to make it up the spiral staircase that connected the first and second floor of Satan’s, and slam his bedroom door shut behind him; he needed to give himself a moment to regain control of himself after having plunged a blade into Jack Dyllan’s stomach, and he was not certain that he would be able to resist the urge to slaughter every human being that currently occupied his dance floor if he did not do so soon.

Such a rash action would not be good for business, after all.

The climb had been a blur of deafening music, pulsating lights, and the sight of many drunken bodies grinding against each other. It was not until Vito came face-to-face with a dark, empty hallway that he realized he’d been able to fight off his instincts for the time that it had taken him to step onto his floor – though, as he entered his room, he began to ask himself why he felt it necessary to put up any sort of resistance. He knew the answer to that question, of course, but it was an answer that, in turn, gave birth to many different questions, and was therefore incredibly counterproductive.

Jack Dyllan.

It was Jack’s blood that stained Vito’s once-perfect white shirt, and he was reminded of that fact when he stepped towards his mirror and examined his reflected image. His hair was just as it had been when he’d left Satan’s to pay Hogwarts a visit, but the same could not be said for his clothes, and more importantly, his facial expression - which was one of several, jumbled emotions as he stared at the stain that continued to spread across the fabric of his shirt.

Another, excruciating bolt of pain electrified Vito’s stomach, and with a gasp he loosened his grip around the handle of the very blade he’d used to pierce Jack’s skin, allowing the weapon to fall from his trembling fingertips. The blade met with the hardwood floor, and remained there at Vito’s feet as he began to unbutton his shirt. The pain that he continued to experience in the very pit of his stomach was one that he could not seem to come up a logical explanation for, and so he hastily tossed aside the article of clothing that had once hidden his torso from view.

“F*ck...” Vito spoke quietly to himself as his eyes met with a deep, jagged wound in his stomach – one that he could not recall having received that evening, though he could not deny the similarities between the inexplicable imperfection of his skin, and the one that he’d given Jack.

An imperfection, Vito realized, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to rid himself of the flaw, forgetting entirely of the fact that he had not yet found a reason behind the deep slice in his stolen skin. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Vito cursed as blood continued to seep from the injury, and he attempted to stem the flow by pinching the edges together with his fingertips.

It had been both our blood on my shirt…

Jack should have done the responsible thing and stayed behind at St Mungo's. She had helped as many kids there before realizing she would just distract the Healing Staff. If they realized she had been stabbed and tossed around, they'd want to poke and prod, even though she was just fine. She had something she needed to get done, though, and it couldn't wait.

She should have at least found Chase, or Ari. Especially Ari. She really should have at least found Ariel to make sure he knew she was alright. She had seen the pup heading off into the forest, doglike but alive nonetheless. He would worry about her- she would have to find him come the next day. But right now, she had a date with a pissy poltergeist.

She apparated outside of Satan's and entered, glaring down the doorman. He nodded curtly, eyes wide, and allowed her in. She slipped in and saw eyes drawn to her. Awkwardly, she brushed back her hair, realizing most of the eyes were on the bloodstain on her shirt. She walked cautiously towards the bar, to see their 'favorite' bartender staring.

"He's upstairs," the bartender said, staring at her shirt. "That becoming a new fad?" Jack blinked and decided to ignore him. "Thank you," she said curtly, turning. Eyes darted away and people began to dance. She walked to the stairs and placed a foot on the first step, her hand alighting to the banister. She glanced over her shoulder to see a still dance floor, staring at her.

She turned and jogged up the stairs, eager to escape the stares of Vito's customers. The hallway was suffocating with silence and stillness. She walked on, her mind and heart calmer than they usually were when she approached Vito's room. That line had been crossed though, and their talks always needed to follow after such situations..

Her fingers curled around the doorknob to Vito's room and she entered, finding no reason to introduce herself- you got past that after a few murder attempts. She opened the door and slipped inside, staring at her shoes. She closed the door behind her and looked up. There was Vito, shirtless, with a gaping wound.

"Vito?" she said, taken aback, her face paling. She walked forward, staring at the wound and felt her hand fasten around his wrist, as though to keep him from denying her help. She looked up, saying, "What happened, I-" She paused. Had he fallen on the knife? But what were the odds? She lifted her own shirt slightly, just enough to show the scar of her hastily healed wound, blood still in the creases. Her hand shook and the shirt fell from her hand, covering up her stomach as she looked up at Vito. "W-what's going on, Vito?" she said, almost sounding.. scared.

For a moment, Vito’s mind had been wiped clean of any logical thought; he’d been overwhelmed by the sight of that old scar of his, located just beneath his heart (a scar which he'd received during a fight with Andrew Thompson), and by the new wound that he’d only just received that evening, which was only a few inches from the first. Had he been thinking in the alert manner that he usually did, he would have made a grab for the box of sterilized needles and surgical thread that sat atop his bedside table, but one repetitive thought ran through his mind, leaving no room for any other plans or ideas; your disgusting.

Vito stood there before his mirror, gripping at the wound in his stomach hopelessly, with blood dripping through the cracks in-between his fingers. “No…” he breathed, his voice sounding pained. He was well aware of the fact that a scar would be left behind in the place of the injury, and the idea of obtaining another flaw across the surface of his chest did not appeal to him in the slightest… in fact, it frightened him out of his wits.

Vito had not been aware of Jack’s presence until he’d felt her arm around his waist, and even then he had difficulty processing the information. Jack had told him before they’d parted on Hogwarts’ grounds that she would be paying him a visit later on that evening, but he hadn’t paid the statement much thought due to the fact that he had more pressing matters to deal with – or to stare at with wide eyes.

"What happened, I-" Jack spoke, momentarily waking Vito from the trance that he’d fallen into.

He turned from his mirror, tilting his head in Jack’s direction so to examine her faciail expression; the fearfull tone that she’d used when speaking had sparked Vito’s curioisity, despite his current situation, and he could not stop himself from examining her facial expression for that same fear. Was she frightened for him, or was it the fact that she could not come up with a logical explanation behind Vito’s injury that she was scared? Vito was not certain of Jack's thought process, but he himself was more infuriated with the latter than he was frightened of it.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice betraying the pain that the wound was causing him. He had replied honestly; he did not know how he’d received an injury, or why it matched the one that he’d given Jack - but he had a sickening feeling in his stomach that lead him to believe that Jack had something to do with his blood loss.

"W-what's going on, Vito?"

“I don’t know, dammit!” Vito repeated himself, and was angered by the fact that he had to do so. “Grab me that box,” Vito ordered her, pointing in the general direction of the equipment that he would use to stitch his wound. Jack’s presence had returned his senses to him; he would not allow Jack to see him in a state of desperation… not again. He’d already presented Jack with a lesser version of himself far too many times in the past.

"What did you do to me?" He growled when he returned his eyes to his mirror.

Jack felt Vito's eyes meet hers and she could sense that their emotions were in tune. Fear, pain, and a mingling of some sort of sick curiosity. Even when one of them was bleeding and injured, they had this puzzlement for how the dynamics of this tug of war worked. It was like scientists who got too involved in their subjects, and then would suddenly step back to write down notes.

His answer worried her. She wished he could just know, so that things could be clear and easy and simplified, rather than the two of them having to bash everything out to get a straight picture of what was happening. The pain in his voice was unmistakable though- mysterious or not, the wound was seriously hurting him, and every second she pondered was more pain and more irritation.

He snapped at her and then demanded she grab him a box. She released him and turned automatically, crossing to the table and picking up the small box. She opened it to see surgical tools and she felt a small sigh rush out her lips. She turned and began her approach when again he snapped at him. Apparently, she had caused this wound, though she knew it couldn't be true. She had used fists, he had used the knife.

It was Jack's fault Chase's family was dead- she should have had a handle on Vito. It was her fault Chase had been attacked- she should have protected her. It was Jack's fault things had gone to shit with Andrew- she had allowed a wedge to be driven between them. One can even blame Kitty on Jack- if she had never screwed things up with Chase and Andrew, she would have never run to Elijah.

The difference between Chase and Vito was that Jack got blamed by things that happened to Chase, whether by others or herself did not matter. But Vito typically did not like to credit her for being capable of messing with him. And this now threw her off considerably.

"I didn't do anything," she replied curtly, continuing towards him and holding out the box before slipping her wand out of her pocket. "Vito, I can heal that just as well as you can sew it. I've done it once today, and that was while bleeding. Let me fix this."

Surely Jack was responsible for this sudden twist in the evening’s events. Vito was certain that he had not made any mistakes when handling the blade that he’d stolen; he was quite skilled with knives, having decided far earlier on in life that guns were not quite his style. Where broken bottles of alcohol were not an option, a blade was Vito’s second choice, and that had been the case when he’d joined in on the fun at Hogwarts. Vito hadn’t stabbed himself. The blade that lay just before his right foot had not been used on anyone other than Jack… and a small group of Hogwarts students, who Vito had occupied himself with before having located Jack. Vito Dee Symons was many things, but he most certainly was not clumsy, and therefore, he had not harmed himself that evening.

Having out ruled that possibility, Vito’s thoughts returned to Jack. It was she who had been stabbed that evening, and the outlines of her wound matched Vito’s fresh injury in every possible way. That jagged cut that Vito had made in Jack’s flesh... he stared at the very same carving in his own stomach in the mirror before him. Vito was silent for a moment as he examined the injury closely, having removed his fingers from its edges in order to get a better view. It was quite difficult to see through the blood that continued to seep from the wound, but he could still make out every detail, as though it was a sight that had been permanently tattooed to his eyes. An unnatural shiver slithered down Vito’s spine, causing the wound to electrify him once more; any sharp movement upset the injury – but the movement had been involuntary, having been a result of the realization that Vito had come to.

“Don’t touch me!” Vito shouted abruptly after Jack had offered him her assistance, holding her wand out towards him; he would not allow Jack Dyllan to heal the wound, due to his fear of receiving permanent damage because of a poorly cast spell. As Vito had explained to Jack in the past, he did not know what grades Jack had received in her charms class, and he was not prepared to find that out at his own expense. The process of stitching himself back together would be almost unbearably painful, but Vito had far more faith in himself than he did his companion. “Give me the box,” Vito growled, once more insisting that Jack do as he asked, and only as he asked, though he truly had not right to be ordering her about in such a way after having attempted to murder her just an hour before.

A sudden jolt of pain ran along the walls of the wound, causing Vito to gasp loudly, and to stumble forward. He shot his arm forward instinctively and grabbed hold of Jack’s shoulder to prevent himself from falling any further, drawing himself nearer to her. Rather than the two-or-so feet that had once been separating the two from each other, after he’d reached for her, there was no more space between them than her wand, which was pressed firmly against Vito.

Vito curled his fingers inward in response to the pain that he was in, digging his bloodied fingernails deeper into the flesh of Jack’s arm. He had not yet looked up from her shoes, as he could not seem to steady his breathing or change his expression from one of agony to something a bit more dignified.

After a short moment of silence, Vito dragged his feet forward an inch so to stand straight once more, and he spoke, “I think I may have nicked something of importance,” he informed her, making it quite evident that he did not know much of the human anatomy. “I am going to need you to held me stop the bleeding,” he continued, though he did not specify whether or not he was going to allow her to do so with magic, or by muggle means. It seemed that the pain had won that internal battle; Vito’s fear of being momentarily turned inside out because of an incantation Jack mispronounced had been overpowered by the pain that he was experiencing.

Vito inhaled sharply, and brought the hand that he was not using to steady himself against Jack to his head, so to run his fingers through his hair, slicking it back ounce more. He looked up for a moment, smirking bitterly to himself, “Damn! I really know how to inflict some pain, don’t I? This is almost too much,” he panted, contradicting his situation with the mocking words that fell from his lips.

Vito could not begin to comprehend what had happened during his brief battle with Jack, but what he did know, was that he now sported her injury, and that it most certainly wasn’t a coincidence…

Jack stared at him, almost incapable of believing just how dreadful he could be to her- and even worse, how and why she let him. Had anyone else ever tried to treat Jack with just a fraction of the disrespect and contempt Vito regarded her, they would have found themselves sporting numerous injuries and would probably claim to have never met the redhead, out of fear of having to relive the pain she brought on them.

And yet, Vito treated her so. He attempted to murder her, and then treated her as though she were a lowlife scum bag out to ruin him, when she was probably the only one in this whole damn county willing to try and save him. She could understand why he treated her so terribly- that was just the way Vito was. What she would never understand is why she let him.

He demanded the box and she turned her hand, fully ready to chuck the box across the room and heal him anyway, the damn fool. Suddenly, however, he gasped and stumbled forward, closing the space between them and grabbing onto her. The box fell from her hands and for a moment she sunk under his weight, his nails digging painfully into her flesh..

And then she overcame, the way Jack was always expected to do. Gritting her teeth she straightened up and ignored the pain he was causing her- again, for the second time that evening- and she murmured, "Episkey" before he even finished his admittance for a need of her help. She had become skilled at Healing only through necessity- while it would not be perfect, the bleeding would stop, the wound would close, and the pain would abate. And then they would have a matching pair of scars.

Goody goody. Their friendship really was getting to a whole new level, wasn't it?

He ran a hand through his hair, still using Jack to prop himself up. That was always what Jack was- she was always his crutch when he needed her. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in thought. "What happens when I no longer wish to play these games, Vito? Who's going to save you then?" She had little contempt in her voice, it was almost completely a sincere question.

It was a legitimate question, really. Jack did not intend on spending her life following Vito around to make sure he was okay. She wanted him to be, but she was growing up. She had graduated- not technically, but she doubted there would be any returning to Hogwarts after the battle. She should be worried about where she was going to stay, what she was going to do with her life. She wanted to help werewolves; she wanted to work with magical creatures; she wanted to protect her friends.. and Vito. She did not want to be the nanny to a poltergeist though. Not one who needed her as much as Vito did and yet would still treat her like the scum of the earth. There were people like Ari who wanted to be around her and treat her well, who wanted to help her too, to have a two way relationship, who wanted to give just as much as they took. She doubted Vito could ever do that.

But right now, she could force those thoughts away. Her real worry was this disturbing matter of The Wound That Shouldn't Be There. It was fairly obvious Vito had not stabbed himself, she would have seen it she was sure, and she had not caused the injury. Jack saw no broken glass upstairs and had seen no dead bodies downstairs to suggest someone had inflicted it on his arrival to the club. But how could it be there... and so perfectly matched to hers? What magic was this?

She winced, shuffling under his firm grip, which was on the verge of pushing her down had she not been do determined to stand tall. "How did you get that injury?" she repeated. It was almost a demand for an answer- she knew he had to know it, had to have some idea. "Why does it look just like mine?"

She had acted far faster than Vito had been capable when she’d healed his wound; with the position he'd been in, leaning fully against her shoulder, using her as a crutch during that moment of physical weakness, Vito would not have been able to straighten himself fast enough to have dodged her wand’s tip. He had not even processed the suspicion that she may do so, what with her wand already being pressed against him, when she had muttered the healing spell’s proper incantation aloud. Astonished by Jack’s hasty action, Vito dropped his eyes downward to examine the unnatural slash in his stomach, and watched reluctantly as the injury began to seal itself. It stung painfully, but the discomfort was nothing more than a mild irritant due to the pain that the wound had once caused Vito. Jack had healed him, and for this he should have been appreciative – but she had done so against his will, and, having been defied, Vito was furious.

Having been healed despite his own wishes was not what infuriated him most, however; a shadow of the wound that Jack had rid him of remained upon his skin. She had stained his complexion with an off-white scar, and it was another flaw that would, most likely, be impossible to remove from his stolen body. Another scar to keep the one that Andrew Thompson had created company... With an indistinguishable emotion glinting behind his brown irises, Vito stared at his hand, which he pressed flat against the scar, hiding it from view. He remained silent for a moment, battling his demons, which seemed to be particularly fond of him that evening.

Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting! His mind screamed, caring not of the headache that it was causing Vito. It is a flaw. You filthy, imperfect, poltergeist. You two match now, with your scars… how cute! You two are just two pees in a pod, aren't you? His thoughts were bitter and merciless towards him, speaking to him the truth that he so desperately wished to deny. He would blame Jack for the results of his actions that did not particularly please him, he decided immediately. She begged me to hurt her. She is becoming quite the sadistic child, isn’t she? His thoughts continued, pushing him further and further away from the light.

Vito’s flicked his eyes upward to meet Jack’s. His eyes had never really been human; sure, they belonged to the human male whom he’d possessed in order to take make himself visible to everyone, but more often than not, the poltergeist slipped through, and they became something entirely different than the eyes that sat within any real human’s skull. At that particular moment, his eyes were very cold and bottomless indeed; his ugliest half was beginning to claw his way through.

“You scarred me…” Vito informed Jack, but he did not remove his hand from the scar, as he was not sure that he would be able to withstand the sight of it once more. He released Jack from his grip, standing on his own once more, no longer weighed down by the pain of the wound that had once been. “I could have done something to prevent a mark!” he shouted, having reached his edge.

He was a hypocrite – a cruel creature who had finally been given a taste of his own medicine.

“You”- Vito jabbed a finger towards her accusingly, threatening her with the perfectly clipped nail that tipped the digit – “challenged me, Jack. You know better by now, don’t you? I thought so, but apparently I was wrong! You practically begged me for another scar… Not I. No, no, no, no, no, the last thing I wanted was a scar.” Vito's cold eyes dropped, and were immediately filled with an expression of fear, shame, and disgust.

He paused, inhaling slowly.

“Perhaps it is because we’re just that close,” Vito sarcastically replied to her repeated question, as he did not have any honest answer her with.

Vito was as lost as Jack was.

Jack could feel something shimmering in the air between her and it was danger, anger, the need for revenge.. Jack stared at the wound, thinking to herself that it was the best that could done that night. Had he sewn himself up there would be a scar. And he would not have accepted the help of anyone else, Jack knew that much was true.

It seemed Vito had not gotten that memo.

Vito's hand flattened against the scar on his stomach, a scar that was identical to her own. It seemed that the universe liked to do these little things just to screw with their minds. It liked to force them together and it liked to remind them that somehow their fate was intertwined and they would never be able to escape each other. This was another reminder.

She felt the danger ripple between them and she looked up, her green eyes meeting the brown. She tried to find that pain and hurt in his eyes that usually kept her grounded in the belief that there was hope for Vito. But they were swarmed with anger, disgust, and.. hatred? Some strong evil emotion. She firmly stared back up at him, trying to reveal nothing. It was funny how she was more frightened now than she had been surrounded by three incredibly powerful Death Eaters with no means to protect herself, or when she had a blade in her stomach. His eyes could do that- but she did not break his gaze.

He was angry. So angry. She shook her head and said in as flat a tone as she could muster, "It was going to scar regardless. I saved you hours of pain. And an even more botched scar. It's not that bad-" but he would not hear a word of it. He jabbed a finger at her and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to hold herself together.

She did everything for Vito. She cradled him when he was drunk. She protected his reputation. She came to his rescue. She hid his secrets. She gave him sort of sense when he lacked it. She forgave him for the unforgivable. She let him use her as his personal thing to torture. With Vito, though, it would never, ever be enough. She would always be the one to blame.

"You're gonna blame me. Okay," she said, as though trying to get them on the same level. Her eyes opened and reached his. "Okay, then. What do I have to do, huh? Slit my wrists? Am I suppose to get on my hands and knees and kiss your shies and beg for forgiveness?" Her voice cracked at the sarcasm, putting forth the message that she did not deserve what she was getting. "Maybe I can let you stab me again? Maybe this time in the hart, so you can get all the blood out me-" he tone became disgusted "and then you won't have to worry about me knowing your secrets. You can have your call girls clean you up and keep all you precious secrets. Let them know you're flickering more often than not. They can deal with you when you can't switch back and when you're too drunk to maintain your appearance- Obviously, I'm doing a rotten job and all I've ever done was screw you over. Yes, after everything, this scar is the worst offense ever made." She stared at him, realizing just how much she had said, how much she had voiced that usually went unsaid.

Whoops.

Beat her.
Make her scream.
Tear her flesh from her bones.
Rip her heart out.
Kill her!
Kill her!
Kill her!

Vito’s fingers twitched at his side in response to his mind’s demands. It seemed that part of him had not yet accepted the fact that Jack would never die at his hands, with the way his mind was ordering him to step forward and stop her heart then and there.

He was constantly waging war with himself, battling with his darker half for control, each part of him as power-hungry as the other. Never was there peace within his mind. Never did Vito feel one-hundred percent satisfied with himself; he simply could not find a balance between the two- or, at least, that was the way it had been ever since Jack had begun growing a garden of human emotions and thoughts within Vito’s mind. If he concentrated hard enough, Vito could recall a time, long ago, when he had simply given in to his instincts without so much as blinking, and had found pleasure in doing so.

A time long before Jack Dyllan.

What would Vito be without Jack? Would he have drowned himself in alcohol if Jack had not intervened? He may not have been capable of killing himself with a simple a substance as wine, but his human form most certainly would not have survived if Jack hadn’t shown up in time with her bent halo hovering above her head. He would have sped up his clock, cutting his time as Vito Dee Symons short because he’d been frightened by the idea of returning to Hell.

If it had not ended that evening, without his companion, he surely would have killed every living creature within a mile radias of himself, and would have, as a result, been thrown in Azkaban… again. They did not permit prisoners to so much as wear a decent, Italian tie, Vito recalled. At least in Hell he’d been allowed to keep his wardrobe…

No. I can’t kill her. I tried. I tired so many times but she simply will not die! Vito argued in reply to his previous thoughts, having spent a bit too much of his time imagining a life without the redheaded female before him. She was his rival, but she was also his savior, and though that was something that Vito himself had not yet come to terms with, and would never speak aloud, it was an honest fact. There simply was no ‘life without Jack’; the idea defied everything that was.

Despite the fight that Vito was putting up for Jack, however, the anger that he towards her had not yet fizzled, as she had begun to spit bitter words in his direction once more. A scar and the truth… what more did Jack plan to hit Vito with? What did she plan on doing next in order to destroy what was left of his mind?

Kill her! She deserves it. Who gives a rat’s ass what she has done for you; she treats you with such disrespect!

That last thought had been far too convincing...
Suddenly, Vito lost the battle.

Vito turned abruptly on the spot, swept his hand across the floor near his feet to curl his fingers around his blade once more, and returned to his original position. “I will not be so kind,” he whispered in reply to her words. It was a threat; it was the drum roll before Vito’s next actions. He adjusted his arm so that he held the blood-stained blade inches above his head -

“Think fast!”

She knew she had blew it, and she knew what would be coming, and she knew it was time to cut all of the bullsh!t and stop playing the game. When it got to this, it was no longer an invented game that they were talking about. It was her life, whether or not she would live or die. There was no game over in these kinds of situations. There was live or die. She had survived once tonight, could she do it again.

“I will not be so kind,” he threatened, and though Jack desperately wished she was strong enough to always hold up her mask, wished that she really was as unbreakable as she said she was, as she pretended to be. She had started a war tonight. She had nearly been killed, first by Death Eaters. And then she had been stabbed by the man she seemed to live her life to protect.

And yet it was still surprising as her lip trembled, and she reached out, putting a hand on his, on the hand that held the blade that was currently threatening her very existence. "But that's the thing," she whispered, shaking her head. "You don't have to be, because I have no choice." Her voice sounded helpless, as though she were resigned to caring, and it was true.

She thought back to that night at Satan's, when he had completely broken down, collapsed against her and somehow she had managed to console him with two words, and it was these common words that came back to her lips now. "It's okay," she says, her eyes shining, shaking her head. She was not doing this to save her own life-- it was pretty obvious she was damned anyway. "It is.. I'm gonna do what needs to be done to make it okay." She tightened her grip on her wand, fully prepared to be stabbed again, hoping she could heal it again. She looked up at him and winced in preparation. "And you can do what you have to."