#valid porter breakdown

They weren't mistaken. Said occurance stood on the other side of the front door, leaning heavily against the porch, arm with torn sleeve over his head, light casting a long shadow over his face. One lense of his glasses was cracked, eye already turning purple underneath.

"What are you doing here?" they asked groggily, rubbing the sleep away. It was their day off, one of only a few they could allow themselves with the cost of living spiking again. The world was in shambles but it seemed like he was too.

"Can I come in?" breathless gasp left his lips and they knew something was off, more than usual.

Moving aside to make space, he took the chance and dragged himself inside, shoes leaving muddy footprints on the doormat. He kicked them off, wobbling on unsteady legs, barely keeping himself from falling face first, close meeting with the floor postponed until further notice.

"What's wrong?" everything and nothing at the same time. A vague answer.

"I didn't know where to go." oh.

"C'mon. On the couch." they saw blood on him enough times to not get spooked by it, they weren't squimish per say. But it was still not a pleasant sight to have in front of at the atrocious crack of dawn.

The always neat hair was tousled, collar of his white shirt uneven and wrinkled, a bit of it managed to untuck itself from his slacks. The usual composed Porter was nowhere to be found on the picture of someone who looked like he was ran over by a car or worse. They didn't even want to think about it.

"What do I do? Painkillers? Bandages? An ambulance?"

"Don't fuss. It will heal soon enough."

"At least let me clean this." to that, he agreed, sitting himself down on the soft couch, body sinking into pillows, head thrown back and glasses taken off, thrown onto the coffe table. Whole front of his shirt was stained red, a long gash on his neck, going down towards his chest, and if he weren't an immortal vampire, it would have killed him with how deep it ran. Fingers sticky, one of the nicely manicured nails broken unevenly, side bruised and looking more red and purple than actual skin colour. Whatever it was that caused it all, it better have been dead, they thought, first aid kit placed on his thigh, a hiss making them apologise quickly.

Cotton gauze soaked in sterile solution soon began to dab away the crusted blood, his brows knitted and face twisted in a scowl, sharp teeth biting his lips and cutting them on accident which only earned him a pinch to make it stop. They were gentle, far more than what he was used to, yet it still hurt.

On many levels, not only physical.

"You want to talk about it?" question left unanswered, they just sighed, throwing the used gauze on the floor, grabbing another one. So be it.

He noticed and knew what thoughts bloomed in their mind.

"I'm...not running away from it. I'm just trying to gather the proper words...so we don't fight again." that was new. But they took it with a hum and a slow swap against his cheek. The silence that followed was tense, they didn't want to pry but who wouldn't be curious in their position? A vampire, theirs but still, knocking on their doors, all bloody and quiet, barely able to walk. A red flag in the making, but they knew not to turn him down. Red was their favourite anyway.

"It's about William." when he finally spoke up, they stopped, hand shaking a bit upon the revelation. They knew the name, knew the weight it carried and paired with the expression on his face, the resignation in his usually sharp voice, it was going to be awful.

"What happened?" he swallowed, eyes still closed, throat bobbing and muscles clenching when he shifted around a bit. Talking was never his strongest suit, actions speaking more than empty words.

He started it. Finishing was only fair.

"Nothing happened. And that's the bloody fucking point. I called him, told him I took care of everything and...and instead of some acknowledgement or–or gratitude, he just told me to come by tomorrow because he found something more for me to do." the words were spat with poison that didn't suit him.

Porter knew ways to speak in a manner that chilled, that hurt deeply, more than the blade he wielded but right then, none of it was there. It wasn't the familiar jab laced witb superiority complex, it was almost raw. Unfitting for a person of his status and looks, it was wrong to see him like that. Yet, it was one of the rare times he opened up freely and they had to let him talk, had to lend their ear and shoulder because no one else would.

He didn't know where to go.

"He doesn't owe me anything, not after he took me in, let me join the Solaires instead of being a mutt on the street but...but I wish he would at least show some appreciation, you know?" they continued with the clean up, letting him talk and pour his heart out, gentle hands brushing past his ruined skin, mending what was broken on the surface level. The pain ran deep and there was nothing else but listen. They did, every word taken to heart because he would do the same.

"I'm not asking for special treatment just...just acknowledgement. Is it so wrong to wish for that? After everything I did?" his facade was cracking even more, fingers nervously toying with the folds on the pillows, breaths turning more shallow to calm the storm inside his head, words out in the open, ones he never imagined himself to speak out loud. It was heresy to talk down your King behind his back but the the limit was reached and it finally spilled over what seemed bottomless at first. It wasn't and Porter just learned that the hardest way.

Burning at a stake never sounded more appealing, he already could feel the flames licking his skin, a scream nestled in his throat, ready to be cried out on top of his barely working lungs. Or maybe it was just the sting of antiseptic when they cleaned the cut.

"Can't you tell him that? You're a part of this clan afterall." they hummed, the input given making him sigh, too quickly, too sharply. His ribs were no doubt bruised, worst case scenario broken but he stayed still. They were probably already halfway down the healing lane, vampiric skills being more than admirable, something to be jealous of. That didn't mean they would stop, gauze switched for a little cloth, swiping at the grime around his neck, being wary of the wound that also started to fix itself, skin pale when a scar should be. In few hours it would be all gone, both the injuries and his confession, swept under the rug as always, never to be adressed again.

Porter Solaire was not meant to be vulnerable, forged in constant battles and war that clung to him since his very first day alive. It never changed, it's not like he could handle it anyway, he was not cut out for it. Nothing really changed when it came to him.

"I'm not the family."

"You have his name. That makes you part of it."

"No it doesn't. I'm not of his blood in any way, it's already...gracious of him to accept me as I am and treat me like Sam or Alexis, but at the same time...it's not the same at all." he tried to explain, he really did, however frustrating it was to talk about things he despised. But they deserved to know the real him, or at least what he believed was leftover of the real him.

"And I know why it will never be. I know why, I knew from the beginning, I accepted it when I took the knee and pledged myself to him, so why the fuck does it hurt so much to see Vincent being able to leave like nothing happened while I'm stuck in the same spot?!" it escalated quickly but so be it. They were already done with his face, the red gone, only the one in his copper eyes remaining, the sharp edge they held dulled by a fog of going down a memory lane, a grimace tugging at his lips, almost a snarl leaving his vocal cords. He straightened himself, head high as always, as if nothing happened and the anger was just a moment of weakness that would dissolve any moment. He finally stood up, shaky but determined to do anything, sitting idly was slowly tearing him apart.

He paced around the living room, steps heavy, anger simmering on a medium heat of feelings he kept pushing down and down for far too long, a wild beast held in captive, nails dragging themselves against the iron bars, desperately clawing to get out. He was trapped by his own doing, key thrown away and nowhere to be seen because he was never supposed to reach for that lock. It was closed for a reason.

They could sense the shift in the air, barely able to breath but no open window would help, not when he was too far gone in the process of drowning, going down and down into depths he never uncovered. What remained buried down emerged so suddenly, a volcano eruption, explosion rapid and quick so much it suffocated.

"He let go of a Prince of the House. The next of crown, he let go of his right hand and he acts like it's nothing, just an inconvenience! But that's not all, no, because he let the Duke leave too!" his voice was reaching dangerous levels of pained and furious at the same time, emotions strong and battling agaisnt each other. There was already a path being formed in the carpet, his heavy steps making an imprint when he dragged himself in circles, every pace fueling him even further. His fists were already clenched, shirt completely out of his pants, the buckle of his belt hidden under the wrinkled material.

"Didn't you say he was mostly absent?" throwing everything back to the white med kit, they wiped their eyes, sleep still lingering in the corners, obviously so, judging by the late hour. Usually, when he came by, they ended up in bed, one way or another. It was half past four, the world was still quiet and far away when Porter made yet another lapse in the middle of their living room, ruined clothes the only reminder of what a night he had, the only proof of what he did and endured. There was never any other, he never talked about what he did, it was not for them to hear.

"You're not a part of this world, Treasure. And I can't be happier that you aren't. There's no place for good in what I'm doing."

Words kept spilling from his lips like the red wine did into chipped mugs one evening. They were both tired but the bottle was full. Shaky hands and late hour led to one thing, then another, and his shirt and the couch they were sitting on, the very same that he slept on so many times, got stained, dark crimson a personal offense to the pretty blue shade of the corduroy. It never got clean enough, the stain remaining just like the bitter aftertaste of the poor quality semi dry wine they bought together, not bothering to read the label. Mistakes were made that night, many of which they cherished quietly.

Porter was anything but quiet, his words tasting just the same as that awful wine.

"Sure, Sam was never too occupied with clan's matter but he held a title of importance. He had a role to play out, even if it was only for looks, and he allowed him to step aside too. No consequences, nothing. Just a nod and acceptance, loss already calculated." his hand brushed his hair, slicking them back, black strands falling right over his face, making him practically growl, flame of his patience dwindling like the last seconds of an almost burnt candle.

"But not me. No, never me, because why would he care about my opinion on anything? I'm never given a choice, just another "take care of it" or "I'm counting on you Porter" and a wave of his hand for me to leave. I don't even get a look from him when he tells me that! Nothing!" he was full on shouting now, a ceramic vase on their coffee table shaking because the loss of his control. They've never seen him so...emotional. He was many things and this was not one of them.

"And you're mad because of it." an obvious statement, one that made him laugh out loud.

"Of course I'm mad! I'm mad because I shouldn't be and that's the worst part! It's not my place to dictate any terms, he's the King! I'm not an equal to them at all but I wish I was! I wish I at least had the option to choose. To make my decision. They all could, so why the hell not me?" he knew why. But the answer only hurt more.

He stopped for a moment, an annoyed snarl leaving his lips, his hands tugged at the messy strands getting in his eyes.

"I don't get to leave. Everybody gets to but no, not me. They can cut ties, drop the bomb and just...vanish while I'm stuck in the same fucking spot, waking every day to the same shit because in everybody's eyes, I amount to nothing! I'm not a Prince or Duke or any other stupid title he gives away like candy!"

Everybody left him. His mother, back when he was still a stupid little kid and didn't understand how life worked. His sister, that hurt back then and still did, wound never healed, the closure never enough. Even his maker left him to fend for himself, invocations thrown from left to right, any mistake, however small, treated with utmost penance despite him not knowing any better. Everybody left him and they would too, sooner or later after recognising him for what he truly was.

Just a monster nobody wanted for he had nothing to offer beside the blade he carried and blood he could spill.

"It's unfair. It's unfair and I don't know why I keep believing something will finally change when it never does." his voice finally cracked fully, he heard it too because he hid his face in the trembling hands, steps carrying him in front of them, legs buckling and bringing him to his knees, the beautiful face still hidden from the shame of being so openly vulnerable. A new territory he didn't know how to thread on, thin ice crackling under his feet, threatening to drop him into the freezing cold water of realisation he was too much.

"I'm just tired of fighting. I've done it since I can remembered and...and I'm tired. It can't stop, I can't ask for it to stop because I won't be needed then, and if I'm not needed, what's the point of keeping me around? I'm just a blade to him. Useful as long as it is sharp." his head dropped down onto their lap, cheek pressed against the bare thigh, skin warm and soft despite the late hour and slight chill of the night.

"And I don't think it's sharp anymore."

"Don't say that." he shook his head, still hiding away from them. He was right, they had to accept it. Sooner the better.

"I was never good enough. Not to my father, not when I tried to find Dana, not when I was trying to escape Felix. And when I thought I'm finally, finally doing something right, it's...nothing."

Just a gaping hole that yearned for praise which was never his to have.

"I'm just a tool in his eyes and it's all I'll ever be." he laughed, altough it was shortlived, sounding more like a try to mask the pain in his voice. It didn't work at all, it didn't fool them and it didn't fool him. No matter how much he tried to hide, the worst was already spoken and it scared him.

"Haven't I earned more? Haven't I given enough already?" his copper eyes turned glassy, one tear slipping past the long eyelashes, mixing with the raw pain and feeling of utter lost. He was out in the open, all weak points uncovered and his shoulders shaking at the thought of them being used against him.