(no subject)

[restraints]

[ so the problem with having ashley back with them is not, as luis been half-expecting, a slower pace or a more cautious approach or the incredibly obnoxious kidnapping attempts; it's the fact that leon's lost his goddamned mind.

there's one of those blue lanterns burning on the wall, and both the thick wooden doors and the windows are reinforced with wrought iron. this part of the castle has been quiet and this particular room-- some kind of library, populated with plush couches and antique tables-- seems undisturbed. it's warm and dry and more defensible than that ramshackle cabin had been, at least, and ashley had been stumbling over her own feet after the suppressant dose. she needed the rest. they all needed a break.

and yet while ashley is dead asleep on one of the couches and luis is sprawled over another, arm flung over his eyes to block out the flickering light, he can hear leon pacing like a caged animal, prowling the perimeter as if there might be an assault any second.

leon had, like an insane person, refused another dose of the suppressant. luis was only carrying a handful of vials and leon had declared that they were all earmarked for ashley, now, despite the very real possibility that he might fucking collapse or get mind-whammied at any minute, which would obviously be very helpful in the next firefight. luis certainly couldn't carry his unconscious deadweight ass and fight off a legion of cultists at the same time, and had said so in no uncertain times, but leon didn't want to hear it.

mr. hotshot secret agent had apparently decided that he was going to power through the next stage of hell like a machine. he refused to let luis take a shift on watch. he refused to sit his ass down and eat something, or do anything but the most cursory first aid on the various small injuries he was sporting now. in the last couple hours he'd inexplicably switched over to a lot more close quarters combat with his knife or fists, instead of letting bullets clear a path.

ashley's presence had thrown some kind of pissed-off guard dog switch, and now it was back to flat unblinking stares and terse orders and ignoring anything luis might have to say, or arguing just for the sake of arguing. whatever tentative thaw they'd had between them earlier seemed to have disappeared, and now luis couldn't open his mouth without getting a Look.

not that luis hadn't already known exactly where he stood priority-wise compared to ashley and The Mission etc, but it was still rubbing salt into the wound.

leon is still pacing, probably chafing at the delay, and luis can't help hissing at him in irritation. ]

Sancho, can you not.