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2022-10-12
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all this bad blood here (won't you let it dry?)

Summary:

it's been thirty and some years since they killed delilah briarwood. it's been even longer since they'd seen those cruel effigies swinging from the branches of the sun tree. long enough for percy to have processed it, and begun to heal from it, as much as one could.

and then a corpse from the tree, with a direct tether to delilah briarwood's soul, is brought into his home.

(or: a look into percy's characterization in episode 36 of campaign 3, in the context of his trauma at the hands of delilah briarwood, and how he might have been recovering from it.)

Notes:

the spark to write this came, admittedly, from the twitter discourse surrounding how matt played percy in the recent episode, but i wanted to take a stab at writing one of the vox machina charcaters regardless. congrats, percy - because of internet discourse, you're first! god i know he'd hate that lol

thank you to the always lovely nightshade for editing this!! even tho you haven't watched any of campaign 3 <33 you're the best

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CAMPAIGN 3 OF CRITICAL ROLE!! also spoilers for campaign 1 of critical role if you are coming from TLOVM!! and spoilers for the dalen's closet one-shot. i'm just... spoilers for everything. all of it.

title from "bad blood" by bastille, which. just really fits this whole situation, for percy (and vex) specifically, imo

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

percy is trying to be a good man. 

he is a good man, sometimes. saying anything less would be discrediting vex, who has been telling him for over three decades that he is a good man. it is something she believes, and something he has been slowly convinced of. 

but he knows - and vex knows - that no matter how good of a man he may or may not be, he is not a selfless man. 

he is not altruistic. his heart does not bleed at every person’s sharp-edged grief, blades in their hands and eyes and words. he does not let them get close enough. he does not bleed out at the cries of the masses, throwing himself into the crowds, as keyleth does; he does not bleed out at the individuals who collapse at his door, holding them close, as pike does; he does not allow each a shallow cut at his chest, droplets of blood in a trail of goodwill, as vex does. 

he will scratch his skin and bleed for his city. he will cut himself open and bleed out for his family. but he has nothing but sympathy - nothing except for sympathy - for those he does not know who have faced misfortune. 

(it comes to everyone, eventually, and he’s had more than his share of it. the only blood spilled, then, was that of his family.)

learning that the girl is of whitestone makes him pause, but only for a moment. he bleeds for his city, yes, but he does not bleed diamonds and resurrection magic. (he shudders at the thought, of something in his veins that he cannot define and explain.) if he allowed the revival of every person of whitestone who died too soon, there would be a diamond shortage within a few months at most. 

if he allowed that, it would erase the meaning of both death and life, and every portrait along the walls - of his parents and his siblings, of his wife and their children - reminds him of the significance of both. 

but then the girl - the storm-brewed one, static electricity in her hair (he can see it spark, an engineer’s eye) and a grief in her voice he knows all too well - spits out, she was chosen. 

and, oh. 

oh, this is unfinished business. this is an unsettled debt. this is… personal. 

the sun tree in his memory is sharp enough to pierce the skin, it seems. 

 

 

as soon as pike says delilah briarwood, something he’d kept buried and barred breaks free in his chest - flooding out through his veins, cold and petrifying, freezing his lungs and his heart in place. he is eighteen again, and he is at the dining table when the screaming starts, and he is in manacles as he chokes on his own blood, and he is hoping to the gods he’d scorned that the freezing river water will have the kindness to knock him unconscious before it drowns him.

(he is twenty-six again, and he is thrashing under the water, watching as his wife’s chest heaves one final time before her body goes limp, and her eyes glaze over where they’d been staring up at him in pure terror, and he is helpless as his head breaks the surface and he screams.)

and, as he has always done, he attempts to thaw himself free with the scorching blaze of anger. 

he clicks his cane on the ground - a sound sharp enough to break his thoughts, a sound to draw all eyes to him, because he will only say this once.

they try to argue, they try to push back, and he is not surprised, but this is not something he will barter with. he made a promise to his city, when he freed it, when he took his birth-promised and life-tested role on its council; he made a promise to his children, unspoken and unknown, made with each first kiss pressed to their foreheads. he will not let a briarwood near his home, or his family, for as long as he walks this earth. there is no exception.

 

(vex’ahlia, as always, is the only one who can alter his momentum. when she calls out, he stops, but he does not turn around, and she does not push him to. if she needed his eyes on her for this, she would have said so, but she has to have seen the shaking in his hands where they held his cane. that, or she just knows, in her bones, in the cracks of her heart he’d tried his best to fill.

(if she needed his eyes on her for herself, if she was on the verge of crumbling, she would have asked. and he would have turned. but her voice, while low and pained, is steady. he cannot hear the trembling that always precedes tears, the shiver that broadcasts vulnerability only to those who know the frequency. 

vex is strong, stronger than he is. she can handle this, while he walks away, while he indulges in this moment of weakness, because he will not like the person he becomes if he stays. he refuses to be someone his children are scared of, even if they’re not in the room, and vex knows this. vex knows him. he is grateful for it every damn day.)

and, as always, she manages to remind him of the importance of mercy. of the importance of stopping to look at a situation, to go beyond his gut reaction; to step out of certainties, and allow people the benefit of the doubt. 

he will not deny them a chance with their friend, not if she wishes it. because percy cannot deny her anything, yes, but more so because he trusts her. he knows her.

and he knows, terrible as the thought may be, that if delilah is the one to take that girl’s body when the ritual is over, she will have an arrow in the heart and each lung before she can so much as lift a finger.) 

 

 

here is what they do not know: 

it takes a year for him to eat in the dining hall with vex and vesper. 

 

(it goes like this. 

they have plenty of dining rooms, which are perfect for use, but they had wanted to celebrate vesper’s birthday, and his child did not deserve to be deprived of anything due to his own shortcomings. 

(when cass voices the same fears, voice small and subdued, it never even occurs to him to consider that a shortcoming of hers. it takes him a long time to realize the hypocrisy of it, the double standard he holds himself to.)

so, they have a banquet for vesper - if a “banquet” means the de rolos and vox machina, in varying degrees of formal dress, eating gofibepo and chicken and jars of peanut butter (grog’s request), wine glasses filled with ale and harder liquors. 

(percy and cass drink water, while vex indulges in a little wine, but keeps most of her sobriety. she does it for percy’s nerves, and so that when she kisses the baby-soft top of vesper’s head, she knows the smell of alcohol won’t cause her tiny button nose to wrinkle.)

there are guards posted at every door, inside and out, guards that have been vetted and tested by every member of the chamber and every member of vox machina. 

there are no outsiders. it is only his family, born and chosen, gathered around him. 

and when grog lobs a handful of cake at scanlan, percy laughs so hard that the knot in his chest shakes loose, and for the first time in this damned room he feels like he can breathe.)

 

 

here is what they do not know: 

it takes him five years to invite foreign, unknown guests over to the castle.  

 

(it goes like this. 

vex spends half an hour calming him down from a panic attack before the dignitaries arrive. 

at the last second, he orders kynan to take vesper over to pike’s for the evening, because even one child in the castle, not even near where they will be meeting, is too much of a parallel to his memories. 

they do not meet in the dining hall. they meet in a parlor on the opposite side of the castle, and discuss matters over tea that vex oversaw being brewed and poured, over biscuits and tea cakes that cass watched every step of preparation for.

percy has animus and retort both holstered under his coat. vex is hiding at least three daggers in her dress that he knows of, and her longbow is hidden under the table by hooks of his own making. cass has throwing darts up her sleeve, a rapier hidden like vex’s bow, and most likely a dagger or three as well. the entire castle is guarded within an inch of its life.

and after the dignitaries have left, a successful political alliance in the making, percy and cass collapse into each other as soon as the doors to the entry hall close with an old, heavy sound. despite the way it reverberates through the walls and floor, it’s still quiet beneath the heartbeat drumming through his ears. 

percy’s pulse does not slow from its racing beat until vesper is held in his lap, sound asleep, with vex and cass within arm’s reach.)

 

 

here is what they do not know: 

it takes him twenty years to feel safe in his own home. 

 

(it goes like this.

he realizes, one day, a random thought seemingly pulled out of the ether, that he no longer fears every shadow that he passes, every sound that he cannot explain the origin of.

and even then, he’s never put away his guns. he’s never made another - the upgrades to the weapons of the riflemen and grey hunt fall to other inventors and tinkerers, now - but he keeps the ones he’s always had, cleans and maintains them by hand, and rarely travels without one. 

he’d tried, after vecna, he really had. he’d wanted so badly to put every aspect of who he was behind him, tired and jaded and tired of being jaded.

but the tremor in his hands gets worse without the cool grip to steady it, familiar in where it sits on his belt: muscle memory for his fingers to fly down and settle, ready to pull, aim, and fire.

he’s had enough nightmares where his wife and children lie dead at his feet, all while he was helpless to protect them. 

he can sacrifice a weary optimist’s hope for them. he was never meant to be an optimist, anyway.)  

 

 

here is what they do not know: 

it has only been three days since he was last haunted by delilah briarwood.

 

(it goes like this. 

he watches, separate from his body - which is slumped against the table, next to his wife, raven feather fallen from her ear to dip in the blood that pools from her neck - as the briarwoods kill his family. 

first is julius vesper, the oldest, trying to shield the younger ones, words of magic and selfless bravery cut short as sylas shoves blade-sharp claws through her skin, ribs, lungs. 

then the softest one, ludwig vax’ildan, frozen sharp by shock and fear, helpless as a blade runs silver-smooth across his throat, and he chokes with one hand reaching limply for his mother. 

then the twins, oliver wolfe screaming and sobbing as whitney leona hangs limp in his arms, hands slick and crimson where they press into her stomach, blissfully unaware of the blade that stabs through his back, and then her chest, skewering them together. 

and then cassandra gwendolyn - the youngest, the baby, so sweet and kind and innocent - with delilah’s hands on her shoulders, her bright eyes now glazed and dull. she steps over the corpse of vesper (whose hair flickers from white to brown to white, is it vesper or vesper elaina, or is he losing both of them again again again) as she is beckoned to delilah’s side. daughter, she croons into the young girl’s ear, dripping saccharine and toxic, and gwendolyn only nods. 

wait, he asks, pleads, begs, doesn’t one get away? because he’s seen this story before, lord and lady briarwood and the slaughter of the de rolos, and he knows how it ends. all dead except for two, the one they keep and the one who escapes. 

delilah briarwood grins, sharp and wicked, and says, not this time, as the hands on gwendolyn’s shoulders move to her neck, and twist.)

 

 

he does not blame them for their anger.

he welcomes it, actually. they have every right to be angry - especially the purple-haired one (imogen temult, she'd said, and he should remember her name, because she is the dangerous outlier here, she is the threat he must keep watch of); he sees a reflection of himself in those red-rimmed eyes, livid and pained and wracked with grief. 

he knows their anger well, and he is of no place to deny them without being a hypocrite, so he welcomes it instead. 

the earth genasi follows him, with stomping feet and sharp, rough-edged words, and percy barely suppresses a laugh, because gods, did he always sound like that? maybe with less swearing, sure, but was he always so bitter and angry in everything he said? everything he did? 

he glances at the earth genasi’s head - broke open and filled with something foreign, a scar so visible and obvious, matched only by the cracks of gold that criss-cross over his skin - and thinks of how he looked in rippling, dirty water as his hair started to turn white. thinks of how he would avoid looking at his torso and arms for years. thinks of how, for so long, the only thing that outpaced his fear of being seen by others was his fear of seeing his own self.  

this person, percy thinks, has every right to be angry. but he also sees that something comes alive in their anger - their rage, and he thinks of grog, now, sees the similarities, sees how it feeds and fuels them until they’re stronger, building them up instead of how it only destroyed him - and grins to himself.

if they need an aggressor to fuel them, to push them forward, then he is more than happy to fill that role. 

that doesn’t mean he won’t slide in some advice while he’s at it. 

 

 

vex finds him in his workshop, later, while pike is casting some sort of ritual. he does not ask for the details, so she does not give them; she doesn’t say anything at all, really. she just makes a soft, worried sound when she sees him curled up at his workbench, hunched over the mechanisms of an old, old clock. 

he only works on these - the ones broken beyond repair - when he needs something to occupy both his hands and his mind. something with no goal, but something that isn’t mindless enough for him to drift. to keep him out of his head, out of his memories, focused on what's in front of him and not behind him. 

she slides onto the bench beside him (wider, now, after years of her crowding into his personal space to watch him work, and later, years of children squishing up against his side to watch, fascinated and eager to be a part of whatever he was doing), and rests her head on his shoulder - softly, gently. slow enough for him to back away, light enough not to feel crowding, heavy enough to feel present. so many little things, so many tiny parameters, all that she knows as easy as breathing. 

he leaves his useless gears aside to take her hands, draw her close; to kiss her, a whisper against her lips, before dropping his forehead to her shoulder. her hand comes up immediately, fingers combing through his hair at an easy, even pace. 

gods, he loves her. he loves what they have, and what they’ve built, and what they’ve fought tooth and claw to keep - their love, their city, their family, their children.

and it is not that he will be damned if he lets anyone take them from him. 

it is simply that he will not allow it to happen. 

 

Notes:

i screamed for the entirety of this episode. like, multiple times i accidentally punched my friend with my flailing. it was everything i'd been hoping for since we found out delilah was laudna's patron - well, i mean i didn't want it to happen like this, but this is undoubtedly the most interesting and complicated way that this interaction could have gone, and i'm NOT complaining

this man has... so much trauma. so much. and he's been processing all of it for three decades now!! he's got a wife and children and a family in cassandra and vox machina, and he's in a better space, and he's put the past behind him. and then the past is dropped on his office floor with a side of extra baggage. i can't even IMAGINE. percy baby i'm so sorry. i mean i'm not, but like. holy shit.

oh boy time to throw my opinion onto the internet.

in case it wasn't clear, i love how matt played percy in the recent episode, and i think it was perfectly in character. also, i don't think he was being cold to vex'ahlia at all at any point - he had closed himself off, for sure, but that was undoubtedly a stress response. i think he was trying not to lash out at vex'ahlia or pike specifically, and since he was so keyed up, he needed to remove himself from the situation. that is responsible, and putting himself first, and something that is INCREDIBLY important. just in general.

besides, i think percy knows vex well enough to know if she needs help, or a rescue, or whatever. and i think, after 30 years, vex is capable of removing herself from a situation when she feels it is too much for her. they're strong and independent adults, no matter how close they are as a couple.

and percy has always been cold to strangers. he has always been cruel to those he believes deserve it. that's not just orthax - he threatened execution to people who wanted gun schematics, i think. he's been working on it, obviously, and i undoubtedly think that the past 3 decades of having a family and being out of the adventuring lifestyle have softened him. but percy is still an anxious guy, who doesn't necessarily like dealing with people, so he puts on a colder front during political nonsense. he's still an easily angered man, when to threats against his city and his people. and the circumstances - people from afar coming into his home, the briarwoods, the lord and lady and their family of children - just line up too perfectly. i think all of it would send him into a State, and might regress him to the behavior of years ago. it's definitely not a healthy headspace for him to be in.

anyway. tl;dr - i love matt's portrayal of percy and think it was very in character, and i loved this episode so much, and i love percy so much. he's an on fire garbage can but he's MY on fire garbage can

thank you so much for reading my fic - and extra thanks if you read through that absolute clusterfuck of notes <33 feel free to leave your thoughts, but PLEASE don't start discourse in my comments!! gentle criticism or disagreement is fine, but please don't attack me or others, and please don't be aggressive

i hope you have a wonderful day!!