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The mission had been to kill Curtis Blackburn. Dan had been both pupil and victim, and therefore had the most right to put that monster down.
Garcian waits in the in-between place the Smiths consider their consider home. It is more a void than a physical place, but their will has shaped it into an old hotel room, flickering tv alerting the members whose turn it is. Garcian waits with the others, waiting for Dan to return control to him. They are getting restless, itching to stretch their legs and shoot something; it's always like this when Dan is chosen, his rage and glee bleeding back into the others.
The mission is over. Blackburn has been eliminated. The television shows only static.
He's falling apart. Told ya he was too close. The Hellion always makes a mess. Shouldn't have-
Quiet.
The personae recede. It isn't often that Garcian has to put his foot down with them. He doesn't usually have to step in post-mission either.
It's a strange sensation, pushing through the barrier between the void and reality. Like walking backwards uphill. One moment he is in the void, the next in the trailer that functions as home base. It itches uncomfortably, being in two places at once; multiple Syndicate members aren't supposed to be running free at once, for safety concerns they don't talk about.
Dan stands a few feet away, completely still aside from the little twitches. Revolver held loosely in his hand, half-forgotten.
The personae are cold flesh, only extensions of the host body, no longer entirely individual people. But they feel real to themselves, and Garcian knows to treat them as such. He steps forward, movements slow and careful because Dan is still the Hellion; he's lashed out at Harman in the past and just because he hasn't shot Garcian before doesn't mean he can't or won't. Dan lets him take the gun and puts it carefully aside.
"Come sit," Garcian says firmly.
Dan joins him on the couch. He can feel each tense muscle, the pounding heart, the blood on fire. Cold dead flesh, and yet alive enough. "I killed him. Bastard got what he deserved."
There was history there he only knows parts of. If he wished, Garcian could pull the memories out, silver and dripping, and understand everything. Harman probably would, but Harman is not the one cleaning up the mess. Harman is not the one that Dan trustfully rests his head in the lap of.
"You accomplished your mission," Garcian affirms as he lightly pets dark strands of hair. "You did well."
Heartbeat slows. Muscles relax. There is no need for violence here, no need for Dan to be the Hellion. He can merely exist and be at ease.
When Dan is ready, he will fade into red mist and be absorbed back into the host, returning to the Syndicate's void. For now he is anchored in this strange reality, basking in the warmth of Garcian's hand.