There's a sudden, angry onslaught of hallucinations. A baby cradle on fire with a screaming child inside. Bugs pouring from every crevice of the walls. Spiders creeping along the floor.
Henry's voice is angry, even as his form disappears.
"You are so much better than this. You are so much better than humanity. Why do you insist on lowering yourself to their level?"
And then everything suddenly goes to shit. The onslaught of images is so overwhelming in it's horror and it's anger that Dorian has to take a few steps backwards. It's all disgusting and horrifying and even someone like Dorian feels like he has to suppress the urge to vomit.
And then there's Toby. Wonderful Toby. The two of them sitting, watching the sun rise, where the man died. He knows that if the vision lingers then he'll have to sit and watch Toby crumble before his eyes all over again.
...and then very deliberately thinks about Diana Rigg circa 1960 in her Avengers catsuit.
At his core, Dorian is a petty bitch. He might be shaken but now that he knows how the game works, he is not going to give up. Weak? Fuck you, kid. "I am exactly the sort of man I want to be," he says through gritted teeth, taking particular effort to think about how amazing Diana Rigg's thighs look.
Dorian himself takes a moment to catch his breath. He pants, closing his eyes to try and steady himself. Once he feels calm enough (though his eyes are a little red and teary, the point where it's obvious that if this went on a bit longer, he might have started crying), he stands up, reaches into his pocket and offers Henry a handkerchief.
It's monogrammed because of course it is.
"You could have chosen any image in the world," he muses, exhaustion in his voice. "And you chose something that would hurt. What a child."
"Dramatic talk from the man who also has something that hurts," Dorian muses, as he puts the handkerchief back in his pocket. "You just do a better job hiding it behind your shell as Little Mr. Ubermensch."
"True," Dorian admits. And he give Henry a nasty little smirk as he points out, "But unfortunately for you, you're interesting. I'm going to keep an eye on you even after we're not paired, Henry."
Henry sits up, wiping the rest of the blood from his face. He's absolutely exhausted and angry, but he doesn't want to show weakness. He doesn't want to pass out in front of him.
"I suppose I can do the same to you, but you're just a person."
But if Dorian continues his consent, Henry will absolutely be spying on him as much as he can.
"Exactly. I insist on lowering myself to humanity's level, after all—and that's before my horrible tendency towards thinking about boobs."
He doesn't take away his consent, though. Mostly because he completely forgot that he needs to do that. Things might change with the next round of trauma.
The prospect of getting what he wants outweighs his arguments against the former.
"Black widow," he answers. "That cannot be controlled by that girl."
He pauses.
"I don't hurt people with them. I simply like them around."
With what energy he has left, he shows Dorian an attic room in a stately home. A small boy with jars of spiders, studying them. Writing about them. Drawing them.
Dorian blinks a little as the image hits his head. And that's...sad. A kid, sitting by himself, surrounded by jars of spiders. It's sad and lonely in a way that Dorian wasn't expecting.
"I believe you won't hurt anybody with them. But give me a backup choice in case the Admiral vetoes black widows anyway," Dorian points out. Because it doesn't take a genius to point out that a dangerous spider might be denied.
"I'll ask him," Dorian says, with a nod. There's a pause before, "Right. You look like you're about to pass out. I'll let you head back to your room or take a nap here or...whatever. But I'll shoot you a message or actual spiders once I have the results."
"Says the man who was profusely bleeding?" Dorian dryly responds. But if Henry wants to pretend he's fine, then Dorian'll let him.
"Sleep it off, Creel," he says, with a little nod, before turning to leave. Because Henry might not want to, but Dorian sure as hell wants to go ahead and take a nap.
Henry bristles at the last name, at his father's name, but doesn't move. He physically can't. He knows he's going to be out for hours before he'll gave the energy to crawl back to the dorms and sleep properly, but he considers this a win.
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"I can but I won't," he says to that, because ew. What even is that?
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Dorian is now thinking about Ursula Andress in her Dr. No bikini.
Cw: fire, child harm, gore
Henry's voice is angry, even as his form disappears.
"You are so much better than this. You are so much better than humanity. Why do you insist on lowering yourself to their level?"
And there's a vision of Toby as the sun rises.
"This makes you weak."
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And then there's Toby. Wonderful Toby. The two of them sitting, watching the sun rise, where the man died. He knows that if the vision lingers then he'll have to sit and watch Toby crumble before his eyes all over again.
So he pauses, takes a deep breath...
2/2
At his core, Dorian is a petty bitch. He might be shaken but now that he knows how the game works, he is not going to give up. Weak? Fuck you, kid. "I am exactly the sort of man I want to be," he says through gritted teeth, taking particular effort to think about how amazing Diana Rigg's thighs look.
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The images fade and Henry sits back on the chair, eyes half open, blood pouring from his nose.
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It's monogrammed because of course it is.
"You could have chosen any image in the world," he muses, exhaustion in his voice. "And you chose something that would hurt. What a child."
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"You are short sighted. You shouldn't have anything that hurts. You're weak, like the rest of humanity."
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"You're simply a temporary warden."
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"I suppose I can do the same to you, but you're just a person."
But if Dorian continues his consent, Henry will absolutely be spying on him as much as he can.
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He doesn't take away his consent, though. Mostly because he completely forgot that he needs to do that. Things might change with the next round of trauma.
"Any particular type of spider, by the way?"
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"Black widow," he answers. "That cannot be controlled by that girl."
He pauses.
"I don't hurt people with them. I simply like them around."
With what energy he has left, he shows Dorian an attic room in a stately home. A small boy with jars of spiders, studying them. Writing about them. Drawing them.
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"I believe you won't hurt anybody with them. But give me a backup choice in case the Admiral vetoes black widows anyway," Dorian points out. Because it doesn't take a genius to point out that a dangerous spider might be denied.
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"Fish spiders will be fine," he mutters. "They are no danger to people...or pets."
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He isn't grateful for Dorian. Not really. But he doesn't actually...hate him. Understanding will come later.
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"Sleep it off, Creel," he says, with a little nod, before turning to leave. Because Henry might not want to, but Dorian sure as hell wants to go ahead and take a nap.
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