newtralize | The End Of Love

So focused is he in getting to that spot, the last thing he would ever expect from the other was to herd him away like some sickly thing. Which, truthfully, he is. There was only so much they could heal him here with his new affliction and his reluctance to accept it. How could he have?

To Newt's touch Percival flinches, half stumbles in an attempt to get away, the movement startled and fearful. It was different than being ran into; this was intentional, this was hands on his body and holding him in place. Even as gentle as he was it still makes Percival's skin crawl and anxiety spike, recalling a less kind man. "I don't want to impose," He replies in a hush, pushing out the words.

He isn't him, are the words that repeat in his head, and in return his gust twists further and tells that paranoid part of his mind: But what if he is? It would only make sense, the strange world, the unhelpful witches who had little information for him, who told him he was something he would never willingly become. Then again, what more harm could Grindelwald do to him...?

Such thoughts all piled together only make him feel more ill. Grindelwald could fake kindness in small bursts but he never got this close. So Percival focuses instead on the niffler as it scampers in front of them, dark eyes tracking the creature bounding just off path to sniff something before scuttling back into line. And then he realizes: "I never got your name."

"I can't just let you be," Newt replies. His tone seems genuinely apologetic. He doesn't like people to invade his personal space and in return, he very much didn't like to invade the personal space of others. "To leave you be to your own devices while obviously unwell would be awful of me to do though. I can't not assist you." It may seem ridiculous because most people are polite at best and usually just unkind and stuck in their own agendas, but Newt didn't have the heart to just leave him to being unwell.

His grip on the other is firm, but its loose enough that if the other truly wanted to break free; they could. "I'm sorry. Please tolerate this for a little while longer. Until we're properly settled." It's said so softly.

Newt never looks at the other. His eyes are trained on his creature and perhaps the bustle around them, but never on Percival. "Newt Scamander." Newt isn't aware that the other may have corresponded with his brother. He didn't keep up with the official business of aurors and his brother. It had never came up in letters or conversation either. Newt had no business being involved in the intricacies of dark wizards and the headaches they gave aurors. He was just part of the Beast Division.

Some small part of him realizes he might have offended the other in some way with his physical lashing out. Only a small part and very brief at that. Truthfully, he hadn't meant to. "That's... kind of you." While the words themselves are sincere, his tone doesn't reflect it—again, unintentionally. Percival is cagey, cogs in his mind turning to think of ways out of this if he needed to go. He's stiff, shaking, and from what he can't pinpoint anymore. It's doubtfully only one thing.

Even if he had wanted to break free, there isn't an ounce of strength in him for it right now. As much as he protested being touched moments ago, while still not keen to it, Percival doesn't make move to push away. He's not sure if it's for leverage or stability but Percival ends up gripping the arm of Newt's coat as he asks him to tolerate it all. "I'm trying..." He needs all the support he can get with his gelled legs and frying mind.

Newt might not be looking to him but Percival certainly makes an effort to look at him. It's difficult, between sunglasses and dizzying vision, but he manages to take in his profile well enough. "Scamander..." The echo is just that, some grounding sound to keep his mind anchored in the moment. It doesn't hit him right away, or really at all in that manner, as much as is does slowly come to realization as he thinks more on the name. "Scamander," Percival repeats more confidently. "The magizoologist." Not young Scamander, or Theseus' brother. Newt. Newton Scamander.

A potential thorn in Percival's side, back home. And how odd—his file never read as if this were something he'd do. He laughs something bitterly faint, half nerves and half delusion. "How fitting..." Is the murmur.

"Kindness is all we can really offer to each other in such a foreign place. We can't really offer much in knowledge, although I've been here for a bit of time." Newt had been here long enough that he had settled down well enough. As well as Newt could settle down when the man spent so much of his time leaving the city on excursions.

Newt's pace is steady. Not so quick that the other might struggle to keep up. It almost looked like two men who might just be a bit cozier with each other while they walk. Nothing too out of place for the most part hopefully.

There's a soft chuckle from the man. Magizoologist was more of a self proclaimed title than something that people may say to him. At least from his point of view, he was still working on his book and what people say about him are less than ideal. "Most say fanatic, so I appreciate the proper use of profession title." It's not like there's really anyone else in the 1920s running around with the amount of knowledge that Newt held.

They make it back to wear Newt has settled in. The large zouwu that Newt took care of was currently sunbathing, but sits up to look at the two carefully while Newt awkwardly gets the door open while still balancing Percival's weight. His niffler scurries inside to hide in wherever the creature has made its makeshift burrow as Newt leads the man to his bed to let him sit down on.

He immediately gets Percival a cup of water and places it in their hands before he closes the door and draws the curtains. The other did seem rather sunsick, so it made sense to him that he should do this.

Not because he realizes the other is a vampire.

"I suppose that's true." What a strange concept kindness is to him now. He remembers things from home—making coffee in the morning for Seraphina when nights ran long, getting dinner for his staff when he knew they were running themselves ragged on a case—they feel more like dreams than memories now. Maybe that's why this feels so detached; he doesn't feel real. He has to tell himself he is, that this is.

Having Newt against his side helps, his hold grounding, though the sound of his laugh does more than the touch. It might have been quiet but it was light, amused; gentle. It didn't twist his gut in fear or make a chill flood his veins. He watches Newt through his shades, a mix of surprise and relief. He looks away, back o the ground and the niffler ahead of them before speaking.

"It was in your file when the Ministry sent it to us." A note from another auror, of the same last name. Spacey as he currently was, he doubted he needed to clarify just who made the annotation to the file. Newt was, after all, a one-of-a-kind in the field of beasts. Fanatic was apt, of course, but the title gave it depth, a purpose; one that reflected in his actions. It was how Percival remembered it.

He doesn't have any difficultly keeping up, luckily, aside from a rare moment or two of a knee deciding it didn't want to support his weight. Each misstep came with a small apology, one of which comes after the sight of the sunbathing zouwu--the large creature giving Percival some slight apprehension. He'd never seen a creature so large in person, and was rather relieved to have Newt between them.

Once he's sat down it takes him a few moments to move and remove all his protective clothing. The scarf is first thing peeled away from him, pulled out from under his coat and off his head. The glasses find their way on top of it beside him, then his gloves. When Newt returns Percival slowly shrugs off his coat, though he doesn't move it out from under him just yet.

His wincing goes away as the curtains are drawn, a soft sigh leaving the pallid man after he'd taken a sip of the water. It's not as refreshing as he remembered, or hoped. "Thank you."

"That git really shouldn't be allowed to be the one sending any of my official documentation," Newt says with brotherly annoyance. It very much sounds like what an exasperated younger brother would sound when you work in the same building with your older brother. Even if their departments hardly ever cross.

Still, Theseus wasn't subtle about trying to get Newt to transfer departments. As though he would ever be caught being an auror.

Newt pulls up a chair to sit across from the other. He was giving the other a respectable amount of space between them. That, and it would come off too casual and intimate to sit by the other on his bed. The man was much too self conscious to do something like that. "Wearing so much clothes in this weather. Is it necessary?" He takes note of it all. While he very much dressed for chillier climates himself (England was always on the cooler side), but even wearing a coat out at the moment seemed a bit too much.

It piqued his interest. There must be reasons why the man had dressed as heavily as they did.

"Is there anything I can get you? You're free to rest here as long as you need," he says. The other looked like they could do with some rest.

That annoyance wasn't something he understood, not beyond technicality. Were he in a better state it might even be something he could glean a fondness from. As it was currently, he couldn't. "He didn't," Percival clarifies in a need to right that exasperation the other had. "It was a note he added."

Still under review for official annotation, of course, but something he thought quite kind of the elder Scamander to do; support from your family in what you do.

Percival begins to remove his shoes as Newt settles before him, not wanting to be rude for when he feels the need to finally lay down and relax. However the comment has him pausing. While the clothes weren't the lightest things in the word, with his low body temperature it at least kept him humanly warm. Which, clearly, was almost too much for him to handle now—like an over-basked lizard.

His gaze is low, focused on the glass in his hands as he finally gets his shoes off. "Incredibly," Is all Percival leaves the answer to. "I admit, some of it is out of season." The coat and gloves mainly. He unfortunately didn't have his pick from his closet aside from what he arrived in.

"No, the water is just fine," He casts a glance up almost daring a smile, but dropping it back to the glass just as quickly when it fails to be more than a twitch of his lips. "Nothing else comes to mind." Nothing sounded good. Well, one thing.

It took his best, weary effort to ignore it.

"Completely unnecessary," he kind of mumbles out. If Newt were being perfectly honest, he missed Theseus quite a bit. He hadn't seen the other in awhile and he couldn't even correspond to the other with letters right this moment. Of course, he can only seemingly express that by being a bit cross with the other, but there's really no bite in his words or demeanor. He hasn't seen them in quite awhile now and he's suddenly so hyper aware that he can't spend holidays with them currently.

It was a little saddening.

Newt seems to be studying the other carefully and doesn't seem very satisfied with Percival's answer. However, Newt also doesn't push it. They're practically strangers and he feels he has no authority to question the other. He does seem concerned for the other though.

"If you are sure. You may rest here as long as necessary. If you need anything else, I'm happy to help." He says it earnestly enough. He hopes the other may be more willing to take help eventually, but he isn't too pushy about it.

That mumble of Newt's earns a soft chuckle from him. For all his worry and paranoia about why he was here and how astronomical it was to run into someone who knew him—finally beginning to calm down—he hears the waggish undertones in the other's voice, and allows Percival smile something small. It reminds him, quite suddenly, of home and the things left behind.

His thumbs worry the glass' rim repeatedly and he does his best to push back the heat lining his eyes from the thought of it, his throat as tight as his jaw. Percival minutely shakes his head, blinking a few times before taking in a soft, staggered breath.

"You said you've been here for some time," He starts, trying quite obviously not to let his voice tremble. "How long is...?" The trail is short as he adds quickly, apologetic for his forgotten manners: "If you don't mind me asking." Maybe it was a pipe-dream to think he'd get to go home eventually, like this, but asking is better dwelling on what was swirling in his mind.

"Or—earlier," Clearing his throat, he still doesn't manage to look up to the other, as if it would break him, his concentration or the possible illusion of their interaction. "You mentioned wanting to talk. Regarding what?" He wanted the distraction; needed it even. All the noise, slight as it is, was overwhelming against the sound of his own relentless thoughts.

The chuckle was a surprisingly pleasant noise.

"Oh, yes. Some months or so," Newt replies. He gives the other a sympathetic look. The small things in Percival's demeanor were not missed from Newt. He was rather attentive, for better or worse. "I imagine that it isn't an ideal answer to your question. The idea that we're here for an indefinite amount of time." Though, Newt can't say he hates being here. There's quite a lot about this world to learn about. It still isn't the most ideal situation though. There were people that he quite missed.

Newt shakes his head. "I suppose I wanted to discuss things back home, but-" He glances at the other for a moment before looking away. "Shouldn't you be concentrating on getting some rest and feeling better? You most certainly could have collapsed out there earlier," he says with concern. "You must be tired."

Thrashing against his ribs and swelling in his throat, anxiety sends waves of panic pulsing through his limbs. For as slow as his heartbeat is now, it's painful when it pumps. He had been hoping for a different answer, and truthfully Newt's voice tunes out shortly after. He doesn't slump or faint nor drop the glass in his hands. Percvial stares, sight fixed on the floor with unfocused eyes.

He so desperately just wants to be home.

So much so that the mention of it, of the plain word, draws his attention back to the other. His hands loosen on the glass that was close to creaking in their hold, and it's not charming or genuine, the grin that lazily curls the side of his mouth after. "I am beyond tired," The admittance is quiet, worn. "And I've been unwell for some time now." He was getting better, but that certainly wasn't in his cards for now.

Percival wants to shake his head but can't muster the energy. "A few more minutes won't kill me, Mr. Scamander."

Newt moves to get to his feet. Holds his hand out to take the cup if only to refill it. He's sure the other is going to need more than just one cup of water. "Well, honestly speaking, but you look quite unwell. Your gait was unsteady and you could barely support your own weight on your own feet. You couldn't walk straight and you struggled to keep your eyes focused before you. I think unwell is a bit of an underestimation if anything," Newt replies. It's no surprise that Newt would be able to observe the other so thoroughly during their trip to his place.

"Newt. Newt is fine. I'm not really one for formalities." He offers the other a small smile. "I insist you just get rest though. It would mean we could converse about things without interruptions and it isn't as though the information will change. Matters of home mean nothing here, since we find ourselves stuck here."

He wrings his hands absentmindedly. "So I really recommend resting now and we can talk proper when you are more well rested."

To hear Newt list the things that were wrong with him was quite a surprise. Accurate, but surprising nonetheless. Just how was he supposed to tell him not all those things were just from being kidnapped? How was he supposed to tell him he was willingly housing a vampire, letting it use his bed to rest? Percival swallows the sudden dryness in his throat, the half grin still on his lips as he hangs his head slightly.

He surely deserves to be scolded for muscling through his issues but he had no goals otherwise, and nothing made him feel more lost than that. So to hear Newt’s following words is almost like taking a blow, and perhaps his stillness is more telling than the heat threatening his eyes. He feels so out of place—it’s sickening.

“Newt, then,” Percival agrees softly, offering up the empty glass to him without lifting his head. “Very well. Rest it is.” He knows Newt’s not wrong. He knows he needs to slow down—do something about his condition, but he can’t seem to want to. Perhaps he’ll wake up from this rest like his last, in the real world. In that empty stone box. He’s not sure he wants either reality more than the other.

With careful movements Percival scoots back onto the bed before removing and folding his vest to put on the nightstand. “Thank you,” He manages to get out with a clearing of his throat. His voice is still flat but there’s an inflection of honesty under it. “For your hospitality.”

He truly doesn't want it to backfire on the man.

"Rest, yes. If you need anything, let me know." He goes to refill the cup with more water, but leaves it on the bedside table for Percival. If the other wanted more before he laid down proper.

His smile is gentle when he glances at the other. "It's really no problem. What matters is we help each other while we're here. For you to recover," Newt says softly. He reaches out to brush just a bit of Percival's hair out from his face. Calloused fingers, but his touch almost feather light before he pulls his hand away.

"Take all the time you need. Sleep well."

For all his worry about Newt possibly being Grindelwald, when he leaves him alone in the room Percival has to fight following after him—has to reign in his spike of panic of being left alone for days on end. He reminds himself this place doesn't feel like that small space. That this man is not him.

And yet for all his softness towards him, all the care he already gave Percival, he flinches at the gentle touch as his gut twists. But unlike before, he doesn't try to push away from Newt, as averse as he seems to touch—as if he expected more harsh than a brushing away of his hair. The confusion of it flashes over his eyes when he looks back up to Newt.

Percival feels odd speaking as little as he has here, and though he's already said it he says it again, even more sincerely: "Thank you."

It takes time for him to settle onto the bed. He has to resist that urge to follow the other man when he leaves again. After he has to tell himself this soft, noisy silence is good. Normal. Unlike the hunger in his belly. It claws at him slow, like sinking hooks, pushing at every wall of his mind to get something to eat something he doesn't want. His last thought, aside from that nagging emptiness, is the feeling of being watched over; benevolently.

And when the sleep finally takes him, he goes under for days—longer than humanly possible outside a coma. He sleeps without moving, without shifting, not even moving his hands, one tucked against his side while the other laid over his abdomen. Does it even look like he's breathing? And is it even possible he could have gotten more pale as the days went on? Is it really Percival Graves on Newt's bed or a body at this point?

Newt seems to pick up on the panic, the confusion, because he softly speaks to the other. "It's fine. You're free. You aren't trapped here and I won't hurt you." It's quiet and gentle before he moves away from him. "You'll be alright."

The Brit busies himself with his usual while the other rests. He does his best not to do anything too loud or disruptive to wake the other in anyway. Percival had looked so tired and he could only assume why. The other had certainly gone through hell and back he's sure. If Grindelwald had impersonated the other, Grindelwald would surely had put the man through the wringer.

He isn't surprised that the other sleeps for an entire day. On some of his more exhausting days during his travel, he found himself sleeping for quite a bit when he could finally take a moment to rest. It's when more than a few days pass that he starts to become anxious. Newt doesn't do anything the first day or two.

As more days pass and Percival's condition continues to worry him, he finally approaches the man sleeping. They were so pale and...were they breathing? Newt reaches out to just gently shake his shoulder. "M-Mister Graves...?" Merlin, please don't tell him the man had suddenly died or something.

He doesn’t dream, which is peculiar. What’s more is that he realizes that. The idea, like all things in his mind after he lays to rest and even the sounds around him, are faint. Percival thinks he fades in and out of sleep, or whatever this is, because some noises pull him out of it more than others. Newt is one of them. He hears him at the door, checking on him, or when the man comes in the room to fetch something. It doesn’t alarm him. Not at first.

Overall he feels safe. Newt’s reminder that he’s free, that he won’t be hurt here helps in his ease. And it must be true—he wasn’t woken to violence at all like he was before. Still, the silence is strange to him, maybe what keeps him that half sort of awake, and as the days pass the more attune he is to the happenings around him in a passive sense. Unless those things were Newt.

Being a vampire and having not eaten as he hasn’t works more against him than for. Because each check the kind man lending him his bed makes, the more an urge creeps in on his mind. Something ravenous and unforgiving. Percival hears Newt’s heart, the thrum of his veins. He hears when it pounds loudly at the door and louder still in his approach. Something now quiet fear asks Newt in the back of his mind to not touch him.

But as soon as he does Percival is awake, though far from himself. For a flash, his eyes don’t seem to be his, the grip he immediately has on Newt’s arms near bruising as he pulls the man down and flips them—hovering menacingly over the other as he pins him to the bed. For a flash he looks not himself and more someone possessed. Crazed.

Just as quickly as he opens up to bare his fangs he’s suddenly himself again, eyes their humanly darkness and skin pale not in hunger but embarrassment—in fear of the lapse he just had. His voice echoes it, the disbelief in his own actions as he checks on the man under him, and his hold loosens. "... Newt?"

Newt is certainly taken aback when he suddenly finds himself pinned down to the bed. A sharp intake of breath and he goes perfectly still as the other looms over him.

He isn't a stranger to the look in Percival's eyes. The other certainly looked like a man who was very hungry. He had seen plenty of animals who were near starving if not had one foot in the door so to speak and that was what the other looked like to him.

Though, it was curious to him. Why would the other attack him as he did because they were hungry? Why did Percival look at him as though he was prey? Whatever the reason, he doesn't ask. At least not right away. Percival looks more shocked by their position than himself and he tries to offer the man a smile. A tad awkward, given the circumstances. "Yes, sorry. I didn't mean to bother you, but... Well, honestly, I wasn't quite sure you were alive. If I'm being perfectly honest. It's a relief to know that you're quite the opposite." Or at least, the man certainly has the energy to suddenly pin him down. "Are...Are you quite alright though?"

Percival almost strains to hear the words coming from Newt, the sound of the others’ blood still continuing to hum through his ears and lingering in his mind. At least until he blathers out being unsure if he were alive. The kind concern would have been better acknowledged had his mortality not been in question.

The shake begins in his core, a mix of near starvation and complete fear, slowly trickling it way into his arms and legs. “No, that’s—“ The words are far too mousy to have come from a man as powerful as he was known for, a small reflection of how the tremble was working down into his hand, noticeable as he tries to control it. It only makes things worse as it suddenly strikes Percival how little they had known each other, and how he was putting them in a compromising situation to say the least.

A sickness fills him and he shakes his head adamantly. “I’m sorry...” Percival mutters out, shifting to let Newt go and climb off the bed, looking all the part of exhausted as he gets to his own two feet. “I’m quite alright,” The lie was calm, as if rehearsed, as he moves towards the nightstand to gather his things. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Scamander.” A default title for a default mindset despite having just called him by his first name; something to get him through whatever panic had clearly set into him.

Percival's behavior was rather concerning to Newt. He couldn't quite put his finger on why the other was acting the way they were. He did know that the other was keeping details from him, but it seemed out of self defense and not to be malicious.

It worried him. Percival seemed scared. Scared and hungry? But why? Newt tries to reach up to put his hand to Percival's cheek, but the man is climbing off the bed and onto his feet. Newt is quickly scrambling to his feet while the other suddenly decides to gather their belongings.

"Wait- Are you leaving?" Percival didn't exactly look any better than before and he was pretty sure the other needed food. "Wouldn't it be best for you to have supper before you leave at least? You're hungry, aren't you?" His voice was filled with concern. What was Percival afraid of?

He wants nothing more than to be able to blame all of this... sudden panic on Grindelwald. He likely will, anyway, but more than that he’s plain afraid—and he hates it. Hates the helplessness on himself, the loss of control that came with it. Newt was offering him help, yes, but it wasn’t something he could take from him. Or anyone.

The only way to get a clear head was to leave; get some air and sort all this upset out. The father away from Newt and his veins the better. Percival feels like he could faint from the lightheadedness of it all and he nearly does as he forces on his shoes, missing the way Newt joins him, making him stumble away.

Shoulder checking the door jam, Percival leans against it and holds up a hand to quietly ask Newt to stay where he is. His chest should be heaving with breath for all his exertion but all that shakes is his fingers. “I’m,” The swallow is thick. “Starving,” The word wavers, and he takes a long blink. He can’t stay.

“It wouldn’t be—“ But the rest of his thought doesn’t follow. “I have to go,” He barely manages to whisper. Percival shakes his head, keeping his gaze to the floor with an even: “Thank you, again,” Before turning and ducking out of the room. He couldn’t waste any more time. Newt’s heart was pounding in his ears and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist. The front door was so close.

There's a few things that Newt has easily figured at this point. Or at least one particular thing. Percival was a Monster. He can't honestly imagine the other to be a Witch at this point because of the other's behavior.

He just couldn't put a finger on what the other was transforming into, but just that they were. That was really the only way he could figure why the other was acting as they did. And he wants to help the other desperately. Wants them to know it's okay and help them through it, but Percival is pushing him away.

As quickly as they met, Percival seems to leave. Newt doesn't manage to get the other to stop before they leave through the front door. He stands where he is as he looks at where the other had been standing before. The Brit can't help but worry what might come to the other. If the other will be okay.

The End Of Love

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