Torn (Scene continued from what I brought two weeks ago)

“How is she?” Johnathan asked Seton as he sat on the couch cleaning one of his daggers. Seton wearily walked into the living room from the hall and sat on the couch rigidly.
“Recovering, I got to her just in time; Jackson nearly tore her throat out,” Seton said flatly, bordering on angrily. They sat in silence for a while; the grandfather clock ticking away the minutes until chiming when four o’clock in the morning rolled around.
“You should get some sleep, Seton,” Johnathan said quietly.
“I’m not tired,” Seton growled back at him. No, he might not have been tired, but he was definitely worried. He wanted to be lying next to her, making sure she was safe, but then he had to remember that he hadn’t—couldn’t forgive her for killing Mitch.
Johnathan shook his head at Seton’s stubbornness. “She’s in there suffering. Lying there in the cold, dark shivering.”
“I can’t take away her pain! I’m not a healer—that is why we have you, Will, and Peter.”
“The healing she needs we can’t provide and you know that.”
“As soon as she is fully recovered I want her out of here, Johnathan. I won’t see her again.”
“Quit lying to yourself. The second you saw she was in trouble you went after her.”
“Then I won’t do it again. Have you forgiven Aiden for killing your brother? For killing your best friends?”
Johnathan snorted, “I’m not in love with him. And I know that he isn’t good; he takes pleasure from hurting people, she doesn’t. Go, be with her.” Seton shook his head in frustration.
“No.” He turned away to stalk out the door and into the night, but froze when something moved in the shadows. “How long have you been listening in, Alastor?” Alastor’s silver eyes flashed briefly, reflecting off a piece of moonlight that had flittered into the room.
“Long enough,” he replied softly. Seton hissed at him lowly. “Oh, don’t even start with that, Seton. You still don’t want any of us going near her; you’re jealous that she could pick one of us over you. And I wouldn’t blame her either with the way you’ve treated her!”
Seton had Alastor by the collar in an instant and he slammed him back against the wall, his hold growing tighter as the seconds passed. But Alastor just stared at him, not fighting back, not trying to speak. Seton released him with a snarl.
“If you didn’t want to see her why didn’t you just tell her that we were going to take care of Jackson? You normally at least coordinate to avoid her,” Alastor said in disgust. Seton momentarily glanced away—guilt in his eyes for a mere second. But it was enough to have the blood in Alastor’s veins run cold. “You wanted her to be there—she—you…you used her as bait.” Seton’s glare became deadly and he took a step toward him once again, this time intending to harm.
“Seton,” Johnathan’s voice cut through the air like ice, “Look at me and tell me it isn’t true.” Seton turned to him, unable to hide the truth. Johnathan was on his feet a second later striding toward him. “How dare you use her like that. After all she’s done for you; after all she keeps doing for you—how could you throw her into that? She nearly died!”
“But she didn’t,” Seton said flatly. Johnathan shook his head in outrage—Seton never risked their lives to such an extreme and even when he did he’d let them know exactly what they were getting themselves into.
“You need to leave. Now,” Johnathan whispered menacingly. His fists clenched at his sides, a few blue sparks of electricity playing around his fingers.
Seton’s eyebrows rose in surprise; Johnathan had only threaten him once before and it had ended with Johnathan unconscious on the ground and it hadn’t been because of Seton. And for once he simply nodded, a lump forming in his throat in protest, but he kept it at bay. Without looking at either Johnathan or Alastor he strode to the front door, opened it silently, and left with the door closing softly in his wake.
Alastor and Johnathan watched the door long after Seton had left, expecting him to come striding back at any moment.
And then when he didn’t Alastor said, “I’m going to go check on her.” He made a move toward the stairs.
“No,” Johnathan said sharply. Alastor paused mid-step to turn and stare at him in wonder, a frown forming on his face. “It’s too early for you to be making passes at her. Not with Seton so close; not when she only knows and will only know that he saved her life.”
“Are you asking me to lie to her?” Alastor whispered in outrage.
“No, I’m telling you,” Johnathan looked toward the front door giving a slight nod to it, “He needs to get his petty little revenges out of his head before he can begin to realize that he has made a mistake. And she needs to believe that he cares for her, which we both know that he still does.”
“I don’t like this, Johnathan,” Alastor said through gritted teeth.
“Doesn’t matter. Just stay away from her.” With that said Johnathan quickly moved up the stairs and slipped into the room she was recovering in—it was the only way to guarantee that Alastor stayed out.
Alastor’s fangs unsheathed in anger and he snarled something unintelligible to the seemingly empty room before ascending the stairs and slamming into his own room.
***
Damian stepped out from the shadows after making sure they were out of sight. His hand clenched the glass of blood that he had retrieved from the kitchen not five minutes before. He understood what Johnathan was doing, but he also knew that whatever applied to Alastor applied to him as well. In fact it didn’t look like Johnathan was going to let any of them speak to her before she left; Johnathan would do exactly what Seton had demanded him to do. And Damian wasn’t even sure why.
He stared back down at his cup full of blood; no longer interested in consuming its contents his lip curled upward in disgust. He went to the kitchen and poured the down the sink and then ran cold water over it to wash away the rest of the blood. In his mind the water splashing against the sides of the sink began a kind of rhythm; one that he couldn’t stop or deny. He had to sing when beckoned or he would suffer.
But it was late and he couldn’t go singing inside while the others were asleep. And he especially didn’t want to disturb Amy, even if he wasn’t going to be able to see her any time soon. He automatically moved to the back door that led him to the outside, tracing the same path that he had gone over many times. He walked on the cold grass, noticing that he was bare foot, but didn’t stop to care. He stopped just as he reached the pond that looked dark, murky and foreboding in the moonlight. A plane suddenly flew overhead, screaming in his ears with his extra sensitive hearing. And then the song burst from his mouth involuntarily. It was one he recognized instantly—Billy Squire’s In the Dark. The music played for him projecting against the water, causing it to ripple. He couldn’t help, but start dancing—the moon as his audience, as he didn’t believe that anyone else was listening to him and hadn’t for a long time