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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Apr 17, 2021 16:56:58 GMT -5
Orpheus watched Juuzou for a long moment, wondering briefly what was going through his head. It wasn’t so much that Juuzou was difficult to read, just that… well, Orpheus didn’t want to presume to know what he was feeling. It was so hard to know, especially because he didn’t know what Juuzou remembered. Perhaps that was one reason people avoided talking about the past. Not only was it very often painful, but everyone’s life experiences had been so different that it was hard to find any common ground. Especially, Orpheus had found, when he hadn’t grown up in the United States and had merely gotten stranded there. When was the last time he had heard anyone speak Greek? His heart pulled at the thought. He couldn’t afford to think of Greece as home anymore, but he still missed it – it was a hole in his heart, a desperate longing that he couldn’t quite do away with. It didn’t hurt as much as losing Eurydice had, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “You know,” Orpheus murmured after a moment, glancing down at their hands quickly, “If you ever have another bad dream like this one, you can come find me. I can’t promise to fix dreams, but I do know that sometimes music helps with grounding and making you remember that whatever happened in your dream can’t hurt you now.” The music even seemed to work for Kelsier sometimes. It seemed to work better now that he’d had a few moments of clarity, but… the point was, if it could help Kelsier even a little bit, it might be able to help Juuzou with dreams. He nodded a moment later – his opinion really didn’t have anything to do with it. If Juuzou was comfortable thinking of himself as good at killing, then Orpheus would leave him to it. He had just wanted to present a potentially more positive spin on it in case that what was Juuzou needed. And then Juuzou noticed Ronan and Noah, and Orpheus’ lips quirked into a smile. He let go of Juuzou’s hand, tilting his head towards them. “You go on ahead. I imagine you’ll want to talk to them without me butting in.”
Noah couldn’t blame Juuzou for his death any more than he could blame Ronan for the words he had said. Between the two of them… well, death was swift. It had only hurt for a moment. And though he hadn’t had very much time to let Ronan’s words latch on and drag him down… they had the potential to. Even if he knew Ronan hadn’t meant to say them… how likely was it that he’d had the thought before? How likely that he thought Noah a coward but was too kind to say it? Noah pushed the thought away, immediately acknowledging how ridiculous it was. Ronan was a lot of things, but Noah doubted he could correctly be called “kind.” And he didn’t lie, even by omission. Between the two of them, the liar was Noah. He shoved that thought to the side too. For Noah… the room had been mostly harmless. He wouldn’t easily forget the words Ronan had thrown at him, sharp as knives. He would never get rid of the scar marring his throat, but… Juuzou couldn’t be blamed for that any more than Noah could be blamed for the anger he had felt in that room, the fear and taste of betrayal… when Whelk had betrayed him he’d been angry, but mostly he’d been scared. That was how he knew the room they had been in was wrong. Because when he thought his family had betrayed him, he had wanted to hurt them in return. That wasn’t him… he wasn’t that kind of person. Hesitantly, Noah pulled away from Ronan enough to raise a hand in greeting to Juuzou. Did he know it was real yet or had he assumed, like Ronan and Noah had, that it was just a dream? As the other boy drew closer, Noah noted that he couldn’t see any injuries, but that didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t been able to see Ronan’s knife wound until he’d lifted up his shirt to show him. Noah wasn’t blind, though. He saw the way Ronan tensed, felt him move just a little bit closer. Once again, Noah thought he was probably the luckiest out of them. He hadn’t had to watch anyone die. He hadn’t had to grieve.
If Kaladin had really thought a cure possible… would he have been more upset about Tien? Possibly, but… he had failed to protect him once. He hadn’t been there when Tien had been left out as bait, left to die… a sick feeling rose in his stomach and anger flashed in his dark eyes. Not at Varian, of course not at Varian, but at the people who thought that leaving a kid out to guard was a good idea. The people who were directly responsible for Tien being hurt. What Varian had done… it may have reopened an old wound, but it hadn’t done the initial damage. And Kaladin knew what it was like to want to lash out when you were grieving. He had been idealistic and optimistic once… he had thought that a cure was possible, thought that maybe he could help. He had worked with his father as much as he could to try to develop a cure with the medicines they had on hand, but… staying in a pharmacy was dangerous. That was before society as a whole had started to dissolve. He didn’t want to think about the past. He wanted to think about the future Varian was imagining. The one where whoever it was that had developed this technology was willing to share it with others, the one where maybe, just maybe, he could have Tien back and he could shake Varian’s father’s hand and congratulate him for raising an honorable young man. Except he was fairly certain that a lot of Varian’s excellence could be attributed only to him, not to any guardian figure. Varian reminded Kaladin a little of himself at that age. Confident and idealistic, determined to do something he really had no business doing. Wanting to make his father proud… wanting to do his best to serve the people around him. Kaladin’s speed increased a little bit, but not as much as Varian’s. He could see camp ahead of them, so he wasn’t too concerned about letting Varian get too far ahead. If he found the others and was able to pass on his good news… assuming it was good news and not actually a dream… damn, the kid was persuasive. Kaladin had already stopped thinking about it as a dream Varian might have had. “Varian,” Kaladin said after a long moment, hoping to catch him before he ran out of earshot. “I know you’re not hurt, but if your experience was real… then some of your friends might be. You know where to find me if that’s the case.” Although… he had a feeling any wounds would be more mental than physical. He should probably find Sweets to warn him his skills as a psychologist might be needed…
Wylan didn’t want Spook to worry about him, but he knew it was probably too late to worry about that. Spook was going to worry, and he’d probably worry more until Wylan talked to him, because it had to have been a pretty rough dream to have distracted him enough that he cut his hand. Still… he found it difficult to think about, found himself wincing back as he remembered the look in Spook’s eyes in the dream, the look that was almost certainly reflected back on his own features. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt his best friend. The last thing he wanted was for Spook to think he didn’t trust him. “I think Sweets is just good at talking,” Wylan murmured softly, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. “I think he could say a lot of nonsense and it would make perfect sense to everyone listening just because he’s the one saying it. I know psychology isn’t nonsense, but… I dunno, I think there’s a lot about it that doesn’t really apply when the world is like this. Don’t tell Sweets I said that, though.” He was stalling. He was searching for a way to keep his dream to himself – he knew that Spook wouldn’t push, but Wylan didn’t want him to think he was keeping secrets. And he knew it would probably feel better if he talked about it out loud, just to hear out loud how ridiculous it was. Because they were family. Nobody in their family would ever hurt each other. He squeezed Spook’s hand, his expression growing more serious. “It… wasn’t a very nice dream,” he managed after a long moment. “All of us… our family… the one we found here… we were in this weird place. And something about it made us hate each other.”
“It’s hard to believe a dream that elaborate could have happened in a matter of seconds,” Newt replied, his voice a little bit tired. Then again, it didn’t really make sense for a hallucination to have happened that quickly either. He shook his head of the thought, not wanting to ruin his and Sweets’ walk any more than he already had. He had already forgotten the purpose of the walk – was it a patrol for zombies or just a walk? He had a feeling it was the latter, but his mind seemed almost solely focused on tearing apart the ‘dream’ he’d had. Had he figured out that everything was wrong because he’d been the one dreaming it? That didn’t explain why Varian had figured it out as well. He shook his head firmly, trying to clear the thoughts. It hadn’t been real, no matter whether it was a hallucination or a dream. He knew dreams were supposed to mean something, but this was just a nightmare. Wouldn’t be the first he’d experienced since all of this had started. Just his mind trying to process living in a time the human body and mind really wasn’t built for anymore. Newt knew he couldn’t replace the friends that Sweets had lost. He was only a kid, for one, and because of that probably something of a liability. He hadn’t gone to college or gotten a PhD or any of the impressive things Sweets’ other friends had. But he didn’t like spending a lot of time contemplating whether or not he was worthy of someone’s friendship. It didn’t matter whether he thought he was deserving or not. He thought, if Sweets was willing to spend time with him like he was… he probably was worth it. He didn’t need to replace Sweets’ old friends… he didn’t want to. But he was more than willing to be Sweets’ friend now. And if Sweets felt lucky to have met him, too… he smiled, this one more genuine than the last. “Thanks,” he said after a moment, unable to summon up any other words.
Home wasn’t something Zuko thought about very often. He knew he had gained a home when he’d turned his back on his old one, but the two were so different that they couldn’t really be compared in his mind. His old home… it had been harsh and unyielding, but it had been home. He missed Azula sometimes, even when he thought he might hate her. There were nights when he dreamed Ozai told him he was proud of him, nights where he woke up only to realize that Ozai had never said such a thing and never would. Nights where he wanted nothing more than to go home and beg for forgiveness… but perhaps that was part of recovering. Perhaps part of moving on was wishing you had never left. He hadn’t told Sal about those dreams. Hadn’t told him about the days when he wondered if he had done the right thing… Nico was family now, he couldn’t hurt him by taking him back to Ozai, but it would be a lie to say he had never considered it. Not seriously, and not for any considerable amount of time, but… he had a feeling Sal might be disappointed in him for it regardless. It was times like now, though, that he knew he had made the right decision. The pain of losing Sal was still fresh, the pain of losing all of them, but… but the feeling of something shattering in him, something that made him want to tear the Earth in two… that had come when Sal was killed. He decided not to think about that for too long. Zuko could feel Sal’s heartbeat underneath the scar. He was about to say something when Sal’s fingers lightly brushed against his face. He managed not to flinch away, good eye moving up to meet Sal’s. A blush colored his face for a moment before let his hand drop, wanting to clear his throat and broaden the space between them, but also not wanting to do that at the same time. It was only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. “Juuzou,” Zuko replied a moment after, taking in a breath. “He killed Nico, too. As revenge, I think… for you.” He remembered the fight with Juuzou vividly. Remembered hating and wanting to eat the world whole, wanting to make Juuzou hurt. He’d hurt him, he knew. He was the only one who had. And it wasn’t because he was a superior fighter. He’d fought Nico plenty of times, and he knew the younger boy was technically more skilled than he was. It was just a matter of luck. A matter of surviving long enough to get one lucky blow. He didn’t think it was quite so lucky now. \ “I killed Varian,” he said sharply after a moment. He needed to… to put it out there. He was prepared for Sal to flinch back, to cross his arms and tell him to leave. He felt awful about it, but… he couldn’t undo it now. He didn’t want to take the words back, they’d needed to be spoken… but he wanted to undo the action. He didn’t say anything to Sal’s theory. It might be interesting to contemplate, but for now… for now he was more concerned with making sure they were both alright. Making sure everyone was alright. And most of his nightmares were about going home, anyway. Imagining they might be real… that was about the last thing Zuko wanted.
Nico didn’t know what to believe. He just knew that letting Kelsier hold him hurt for reasons he didn’t really understand. He wanted… he wanted to be held by Kelsier, he wanted to be his son, he wanted to live in a world where they had gotten free, where Nico had saved Kelsier’s life by taking off his arm, wanted to believe that he had gone back to fight Hades for doing the unthinkable to Kelsier, where he’d been found, half dead, by boys that had become his family. He wanted to live in that world, but… how could he? How could he when it made more sense that it was a lie? They all knew who he was… what normal people would have been okay with him, knowing that? He curled a little bit closer to Kelsier, letting his shirt fall back over the scars. He was aware that he was shaking, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. Kelsier… Kelsier had been right… he felt tears burning at his eyes. How could it hurt so badly to lose something he had never really had? “I don’t know,” he admitted softly, shaking his head a little bit. “I don’t know why he would let us back together. Maybe he thinks he’s won.” Nico sniffled, trying to get his mind to work at all. Trying to sort through this all, because it felt broken and uncertain, and he felt like he couldn’t wash Sal’s blood off his hands. Real or not, he’d killed him. And even if they weren’t real, he had a feeling they thought they were… it wasn’t their fault. “I don’t know,” he said again, chewing his lip and pulling even closer. “You feel real. I want… I want you to be real. But… but maybe you wouldn’t be holding me if you were real. Maybe you’d hate me, like you should, if you were real. But maybe the fact that you don’t make sense makes you real.” His voice was muffled from being pressed against Kelsier, but he didn’t bother to pull back. “Yes,” he decided after a moment, forcing himself to relax a little bit. “Yes, you’re real.” He had proof that the others weren’t, but… but he was certain he knew Kelsier well enough that Hades couldn’t impersonate him convincingly. So Kelsier had to be real. He had to be, even if nothing else was.
Hinata paused, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t taken up by the bag of plants. He still wasn’t entirely certain what the plants were for, only that Kaladin and Combeferre had wanted them. He had never really been interested in medicine, but it seemed that was what both of them were passionate about. Except perhaps Kaladin. He didn’t seem the right sort of person to be a medic, and he didn’t seem to particularly like his role. He just did it because he was good at it. Hinata made a mental note to pay better attention and see if he could tell what Kaladin was actually passionate about. He blinked, then turned back to Rue. He was doing his best not to think about what she had just said. He tried to be cheerful, except when it came to standing up for himself. This… what he had daydreamed… it made him want to act in a way that was unquestionably un-Hinata-like. “It… was pretty scary,” Hinata admitted after a moment, staring at the ground as he started walking again. “I guess I’m just worried aobut my friends. It felt pretty real.”
“Oh,” Hunter replied, eyes widening just a little bit. He hadn’t actually expected that. He hadn’t known that there had been more than one knife thrown at Nico. He hadn’t actually seen where the second knife had come from. Somehow, he had allowed himself to hope that it hadn’t been from Nico’s body. The pain of having three knives thrown at you with Juuzou’s accuracy and force… he shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t pleasant. Hopefully, the death had come fast. Hopefully, it hadn’t hurt as much as it seemed like it would. “There were walls full of weapons,” Hunter commented, arms crossing. “You could have taken a weapon from one of the walls, too. But you chose not to have a weapon. You trusted me with one, and… and I let you down. I… I’m sorry, by the way. For hitting you on the head.” Hunter shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to apologizing. He was doing his best at it now, though. “And the things I said.”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Apr 19, 2021 1:54:50 GMT -5
Juuzou didn’t miss his old home, but then, there wasn’t much to miss. Orpheus had a whole all of Greece to wish he could go home to. Juuzou had a basement and endless fights and cold nights spent alone. He didn’t miss it, because it wasn’t something he’d ever wanted in the first place. Even when he’d been there and hadn’t believed there was anything else, his dreams had offered fantasies of other places he might end up, if only...if only. But if only had happened. Here they were, at home, and Juuzou was happier than he’d ever been. He knew that a lot of people thought about the past...hell, they even spoke about the past more often than not, the adults anyway. But Juuzou didn’t work that way. He didn’t miss things. He lived in the present, and he was content with the way things were. Or, he usually was. His nightmare made that hard. It was only a dream, yes, but it was a bad one, and he didn’t like thinking of bad things. Not that he actually avoided them. He just...wasn’t usually this affected. It was a little scary, caring. Actually feeling his heart threaten to break. It hadn’t been touched in a long time. He wondered if it was because, for the first time, he was loved. He nodded a little, giving Orpheus a small smile. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, turning back to the others. “I’m sure after I talk to them, everything will be alright again.” He started towards them without another word, expression cheerful. They were all okay. It had been a nightmare after all. Not that he’d doubted Orpheus, but it felt good to have confirmation. He managed to get halfway from Orpheus to Noah when he saw it. The scar stretched across Noah’s throat, as if… As if a knife has torn its way across. He froze, and his face turned pale, the smile slipping from his lips. No...no no no that couldn’t be there, no…. That wasn’t possible. He’d just seen Noah. But, the tiny voice in his head reminded him, the last time you saw him, he did have that scar. Or, injury, rather. Juuzou didn’t wait for them to call out to him, or yell at him, or even look angry. He turned and headed back the way he’d come, pace faster than before, expression blank. He didn’t even look at Orpheus, just blindly pushed past and headed for the safety of the trees.
Ronan wasn’t kind. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t even particularly nice most of the time. And though all these things had their downsides, one good thing to come out of it was that when he said something that wasn’t rude or sarcastic, he meant it. He didn’t pretend to like people. He just didn’t. If he thought Noah was a coward? Noah would know about it. It was that simple. No, Ronan wasn’t a liar, even if he was many other, possibly worse things. He wasn’t friendly, or open, or nice, or kind. But he wasn’t a liar. Seeing Noah die had been the worst sort of pain Ronan was capable of feeling. Juuzou wasn’t to blame, that much was clear, but he was still the one who had done it, and Ronan couldn’t just forget that. It wasn’t that simple, even if he wished it could be. Even if the conversation they were going to have with Juuzou eventually was going to be a lot harder when he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t still angry. It wasn’t fair, but feelings often weren’t. He watched Juuzou approaching, not speaking as the boy broke away from Orpheus and came closer. He looked cheerful...he usually did, but somehow Ronan hadn’t expected it this time. He’d expected the boy from the room. The boy who had nothing but hate in his red eyes, who had stopped at nothing to kill his friends and family. This Juuzou looked like the one they’d met at the beginning, curious and cheerful and, mostly, friendly. He didn’t speak. He didn’t know if the words could make it out without something happening to them along the way, turning them into the wrong words, the ones he wasn’t going to say. He tensed at the same moment Juuzou did, and shifted a little closer to Noah, a protective look flashing in his eye. But he didn’t need to, because a moment later Juuzou had turned and started back the way he came, walking faster than before, “Guess he changed his mind,” he managed, even though he knew that wasn’t why.
Varian didn’t see the flash of anger. He wasn’t watching, he was too lost in his own thoughts now to notice Kaladin’s. He regretted what he’d done to Tien, regretted it more than he could express. He’d been angry, or had been a split second decision but one that had cost them both dearly. Kaladin...he’d had to lose any hope of ever getting his little brother back. That was Varian’s fault. Even if they got a cure, even if somehow becoming a zombie wasn’t the end, Tien was dead. Thee was no undoing it. Unless they had time travel. This was personal. It was about the science too, the breakthrough this would mean, the incredible discovery...but at its heart, it was personal. It was about his dad, and Tien, and everyone else who’d been lost along the way. Too many. Far, far too many. They could all be saved if only this was real. It was real. It had to be. He believed it was, because he believed it could be. And didn’t they deserve a win? Didn’t they all deserve a happy ending? He knew they did, all of them did. He wanted to give it to them, and see them reunited with their loved ones. And maybe, just maybe, he could even redeem himself if he got Tien back. He sped on ahead, breaking into a run. His excitement was making it impossible to go any slower, it was only rising as time went on...he needed to talk to them. They had to be as thrilled as he was. They had to be as excited. In spite for Kaladin’s warnings, he just couldn’t believe they’d be that upset about what had happened if they were okay now and they understood what it meant. He was probably too sure he was right...probably overconfident in his own conclusions. As usual, he was good at predicting outcomes, good at figuring things out, not quite as good at predicting emotions. His own didn’t count. Not that he could predict those, either. “Yep, got it, thanks!” He shouted behind him without slowing down, and burst into camp, pausing to look around. He needed to find...aha. There they were. He headed for Ronan and Noah at a quick jog, breaking into a smile. He already had ideas about what they could do next, and he wanted to share them right away.
Spook couldn’t help worrying. He worried all the time anyway, he couldn’t help it, and especially right now, when there was actually something wrong...something that had stressed him out enough to make him cut his hand. He didn’t want to think about his own dream, didn’t want to consider the thing that had made him try and kill Wylan...he couldn’t think about that. It was too painful. “A lot of what he says sounds like nonsense to me,” he admitted, giving a small smile and shaking his head. “Even if he is good at talking. He can make it sound like it makes sense when he first says it, but...I don’t know how much it actually does.” He wasn’t trying to bash psychology, really, but it didn’t make any sense to him. He couldn’t seem to follow along. He met Wylan’s eyes, trying to figure out whether he should have dropped it before. He hadn’t intended to push at all, but he wanted Wylan to know he could talk if he wanted to. In case it would make him feel better to get it out. Then Wylan spoke and he paused, his entire body going still and his face paling. No...no, that didn’t make any sense. He looked at Wylan for a long moment, eyes wide, as he tried to process that, “Did...we fight for your bomb?” He managed after a moment, barely daring breathe.
Sweets knew that Newt was right, but...then again… “Technically, a dream makes more sense for that amount of time. Hallucinations usually happen in real time,” he answered thoughtfully. “Just...throwing that out there. I dunno, a hallucination like that seems like it would come with a complete mental breakdown and I’m trained to tell when someone is having one of those. You seem pretty sane to me. I really think it’s probably nothing serious.” He was trying very, very hard to help. Whether he was succeeding...that remained to be seen. He’d thought they were just walking, but maybe they were looking out for zombies, too. He was going to be thinking about this for a while, but...well. That didn’t mean he needed to weigh Newt down with a lot of technobabble. He knew the boring stuff, and it wasn’t boring for him, but that didn’t mean everyone could read a psych textbook for fun. Not that he was ever telling Booth he did that, He didn’t want Newt to replace his old friends. Which made sense...Sweets never wanted to replace anyone, because they were all unique individuals. It wasn’t possible to fit someone else into their place in your heart. That didn’t mean you didn’t love the other people as much, it just meant they had their own category, not someone else’s. You couldn’t replace chocolate with pickles, either. Newt was his friend, as much as anyone ever ever had been. Him missing them didn’t nullify his happiness at finding Newt, and if asked to choose, he wouldn’t be able to. That was why he hated it when books forced that narrative. Choosing one loved one over the other often wasn’t a decision of who you loved most, but a choice of other considerations, and a subconscious desire to have the remaining person not hate you for your decision. But that wasn’t at all relevant. He glanced at Newt. But the topic they’d had before seemed odd to return to now...
Sal wouldn’t have been disappointed to know if the times when Zuko felt like maybe he really did still want to to back. When he wondered, when he wasn’t sure, when he longed for the home he’d grown up with...Sal couldn’t have held that against him, wouldn’t have been upset. He knew how hard it was to walk away, even if they’d done it for very different reasons. He knew what it was like to have to make a new home, to build a new family. And he’d been there when Zuko hadn’t even considered giving up his mission. If there was one thing Sal knew he felt, it was pride for how far Zuko had come. Here he was, in a family they’d built together, a family that included Nico. Zuko had not only given up his quest, he’d joined the person he’d sworn to bring back to his father. He wasn’t stupid. He had to have some idea of what would have happened to Nico, even if no one but Ozai and maybe Azula knew the details. The point was…Zuko couldn’t have disappointed Sal that easily. If he actually wen through with it, if he kidnapped Nico and went back, maybe then. But considering something was not the same as doing it, and Sal didn’t think for even a second that Zuko would ever betray any of them, even Nico. He pulled his hand away a moment later, letting it fall to his lap again. He was glad Zuko hadn’t pulled away or flinched, even if he couldn’t really have blamed him. If he’d thought about it, he probably wouldn’t have done it, but it had been an impulse he hadn’t given himself time to deny. He felt selfishly glad he’d been killed before he saw the worst of it. The majority had died after him, only Noah had been killed first...Noah. He needed to check on the others, he knew. He needed to know if they were alright, but he didn’t want to be the one to get up first. He wanted to stay here and talk a little more...he hadn’t had enough time with Jura Zuko lately. It had been only them for a while, and then they’d joined the others, and Sal didn’t regret that in the slightest, but...he didn’t miss spending time with just Zuko. He was glad he hadn’t lost Zuko. That was...that was almost unimaginable. The thought of Zuko dying, being killed...no, he had enough nightmares to let it invade his thoughts in the day too. He worried, more than he said. And knowing it had happened...knowing it had happened made it so much more real. “Juuzou,” he murmured, nodding just a little. He wasn’t...exactly angry, not at Juuzou. He knew it wasn’t the other boy’s fault. He just hated it. He hated that it had happened at all. He met Zuko’s eye with his good one as he spoke. He didn’t answer for a moment, letting it sink in. But he didn’t take long. His first impulse was to hug Zuko, but he stopped himself. His second was to take his hand, but he stopped that, too. Instead, he just shook his head a little, pulling himself together. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “That must have been awful. I don’t...know a lot about what happened, but I stopped hating Noah as soon as he died, and I guess Juuzou killed Nico in revenge for my death, so you probably stopped hating him as soon as he was dead….I’m so sorry.”
Kelsier had wanted to live in that world for so long now. Sometimes...sometimes it felt like he’d questioned reality longer than he’d actually believed in it, even though he knew that wasn’t actually possible. It hadn’t been that long, really, but the time that had passed hadn’t come without a price. Hades had broken him. He knew it was denial to try and say otherwise. Hades has crushed him, and he’d allowed it to happen. Maybe that was why he was so determined to believe in this reality now. Nico had shown him it was real. Nico had tried so, so hard to convince him they were free, and slowly it had worked its way into Kelsier’s shattered brain and started to fix it. He knew it was still broken, he was still broken. But he’d come too far to be convinced again. To be broken again. Or maybe that wasn’t why at all. Maybe it was just because he was a father and he didn’t want to see his son hurting. Maybe it was because Nico was standing in front of him and questioning the same reality he’d tried so hard to convince Kelsier was the truth. “But that doesn’t make sense for him. Does it?” Kelsier pressed a little, voice calm. “Hades is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He wouldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t let us talk like this. It doesn’t add up.” He breathed out. The words hurt. It hurt to know Nico didn’t think he deserved to be held, to be loved. “Since when do I make sense?” He continued gently. “And you do not deserve to be hated, Nico. You just don’t. I have never believed that and I never will.” He nodded a little. At least...at least Nico believed he was real. That was good. That was a start, more than Nico had had when dealing with him. “Then consider that the rest of it might be real , too,” he said quietly, not pulling back. “Please. Don’t give up. Don’t do what I did.” He didn’t know how to help, not really. He needed to, though, he needed to do something. Even if he couldn’t be trusted himself anymore, even if reality itself hadn’t been trustworthy, he could do this.
Hinata was probably more observant than anyone gave him any credit for. Rue knew he could seem a little bit…whatever the opposite of observant was, sometimes. He liked to talk, and he liked to do things. He wasn’t much of a thinker, as far as she knew. But everyone was a thinker, really. Everyone could get lost in their own head sometimes. Hinata was no exception…she wasn’t Sweets, but she did have to wonder if there wasn’t something he hadn’t dealt with yet that had caused his daydream. Sometimes your subconscious had to work to get your attention however it could. She didn’t really know. She wasn’t good at the whole psychoanalysis thing. She was much better at just getting a feel for people. She gave a small nod, walking quietly beside him. “Well, most of them should be back at camp, right?” She asked, glancing at him. “Or they will be soon. You can probably talk to them when we get back.”
Kenma shook his head a little, dismissing the point. Hunter clearly believed it, but Kenma didn’t think it was accurate. Hunter had only been armed because Kenma had given him a knife. If it had been Hunter’s job to protect them, then it had been Kenma’s job to do the same. “I couldn’t have gotten to the wall when you were chasing me,” he pointed out quietly. “That’s why I went for Nico. That was the only way I could get a weapon. It didn’t help, though.” He could probably think of ways he could have done more for the rest of the day, and still be missing some, but he breathed out, shaking his head again. “I think we can safely say that wasn’t any of our faults,” he told him. “I felt it, too. I don’t think it affected me as much, but I did feel it. Are you alright, now?”
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Apr 21, 2021 1:59:07 GMT -5
Orpheus gave a small smile. He thought Juuzou would be okay, and he was glad to see that his friends were okay, too. He couldn’t say that he and Ronan got along, but he was alright with Noah, and he was grateful that Juuzou had friends like that. He was grateful that Nico had people to turn to when Kelsier wasn’t at his best. He was grateful that Sal had people that made him feel loved and comfortable. Orpheus may have been closest to Juuzou out of all of them, but he was grateful for all of their sakes that they were alright. Dreams could be frightening, he knew, but in the end they were just… Juuzou turned around. Orpheus’ brow furrowed as he tried to see what could have made him, but that wasn’t his concern. If there was something either Noah or Ronan did to make Juuzou look like that… well, Orpheus would deal with that later. Right now, he needed to follow Juuzou. He cast one last look in Noah and Ronan’s direction, then turned back around to follow Juuzou. His heart was racing as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened. It wasn’t what had happened that mattered, he told himself. It was that Juuzou was clearly upset, and Orpheus had thought he was feeling a little bit better. It didn’t take long to catch up, and when he did, he tried to slip his hand into Juuzou’s as it had been as they’d walked back to camp. “You don’t have to talk,” he said quietly, hazel eyes locking on Juuzou’s carefully blank expression. “But I need you to know that whatever just happened, you don’t have to deal with it alone. You don’t have to be alone if you choose not to be.” Orpheus thought he knew Juuzou well enough to know that, at least at this point, he didn’t usually want to be alone. But if Juuzou told him to back off now… would he? Orpheus could be stubborn, and this was unlike Juuzou. It wasn’t like Juuzou put on a cheerful front – he genuinely was cheerful. And this… whether or not it had to do with the dream, it was worrying Orpheus. He wanted his friend to be okay. He hadn’t seen the scar, but if he had… he would have maintained that it was alright. Because Noah and Ronan were alive. That was… that was what mattered in the end, right?
Noah tried to match Juuzou’s smile in spite of the way Ronan stood protectively beside him. He wanted to believe that they could just move on from this all that easily. He wanted to believe that… that they could all just be okay. But then Juuzou turned away and he felt his heart sink in his chest. “I don’t… think he wants to see me,” he managed softly, taking Ronan’s hand like it was a lifeline. Somehow… he felt that this might be his fault. That if he had just found the right words, he would have been able to stop Juuzou from leaving, that he could… that he could fix this. He had already lost a friend to betrayal; he didn’t have that many more to just… let one walk away like that. He breathed out as he watched Orpheus go after Juuzou. He wanted to go after him by himself, but… but there was Ronan beside him, and he heard footsteps behind them. With a long breath out, Noah turned to see who was approaching. If Juuzou hadn’t wanted to talk to him after… after seeing the scar… then maybe he would come back on his own. Maybe Orpheus would be able to convince him that it was okay. He didn’t know. He didn’t… he hated this. He hated not knowing how much to trust his family. Hated not knowing where they stood. He didn’t even think that Juuzou might have turned away because of how Noah felt about him… he couldn’t imagine hating Juuzou for it, even if he had killed both him and Ronan. Noah had felt it, he’d just been lucky enough to be completely incompetent. “Hi, Varian,” he managed shakily instead, glancing at Ronan for a moment. Zuko had killed Varian. It was hard to imagine, especially with the wide smile across Varian’s face. Noah tried to match it, but he found he couldn’t quite manage it. There was too much on his mind. Whelk, still, and Ronan… and the scar on his neck, and Juuzou… if Noah explained, would they all understand why he had been so afraid in the room? Did he want them to know? His hand moved to his cheek, and he stared at the ground. “Are you… okay?” he managed after a few too-long moments.
If Kaladin knew the reasons Varian had for wanting time travel… well, he knew part of them. He knew Varian wanted his dad back. Kaladin couldn’t give him that. He couldn’t give him anything worth having, except perhaps his forgiveness. And Varian already knew he had that. No, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up about this technology. Whether or not it was real, he knew there was less than no chance that they were ever going to be able to get their hands on it. Oh, he wouldn’t give up, especially knowing how important it was to Varian, but… but he knew how the world worked. He had nearly been broken by it enough. It was probably a good thing that Varian had found him well after he’d started piecing himself together again. The thought of Varian finding him when he was a wreck, floundering under the weight of the lives he wasn’t strong enough to carry. Tien. Varian. The people he had tried to help, countless people… the people who had all died. All but Varian. And right when he had been about to give up for good… he had found Kelsier. It was difficult work, and he was fairly certain that Kelsier hated him for it, but… living so someone else could live was so much easier than just… living for himself. The point was, Kaladin had been crushed by the world, and he was going to do everything in his power to preserve Varian’s idealism, even if he knew it might get all of them in very, very big trouble. This… it could get them killed. He stopped as Varian’s run picked up speed, giving a soft sigh. He would intervene if he had to… it was hard to tell. Neither Ronan nor Noah looked to be in the best of spirits, but whether that was because they were still at the end of the world or because they had been kidnapped and forced to kill each other was anybody’s guess. Yes, he figured they may need him to intervene. He took a seat outside of one of the little tents, getting to work sharpening his blade while he kept one eye on the three of them.
“I’ve never tried to think back over the things he explains,” Wylan replied, laughing quietly. “I’m sure they wouldn’t make nearly as much sense if I tried to reconstruct them. But I suppose that was his job, before all of this. Must be a hard habit to shake, knowing all that stuff and applying it to everyone you meet. Especially since most of humanity is probably… pretty traumatized now.” He shrugged, the statement as neutral as though he were just stating what he had eaten for breakfast. It was just the truth. Humanity was in shambles, and if anyone had gotten away without a little bit of trauma… they were the luckiest person in the world. It was a lot easier to think about psychology – or rather, to think about how little he understood psychology – than it was to think about the dream. Or… maybe not a dream, he still didn’t know what it was, but he knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. And Spook couldn’t possibly hate him for something his mind had cooked up, because that wasn’t really his fault… “What?” Wylan’s voice was nothing more than a breath as he heard Spook’s question, his hand reaching back into his pockets to feel for the broken bits of bomb materials. He didn’t understand… his gaze searched Spook’s, his heart racing as he tried to figure out if he was just messing with him, because how could he know that? “Yes,” he managed after a moment, pulling the pieces out of his pocket to show Spook. “We fought over it before we realized we didn’t hate each other.” Blue eyes searched hazel for several long moments as Wylan tried to figure out what it could mean that Spook had guessed…
“That’s good to hear,” Newt replied, but it sounded more like he was attempting to be positive than that he actually felt reassured. He didn’t want to believe he might be losing it, didn’t want to believe that there might actually be something wrong. But the fact was that there might be. Of course that was the case all of the time. Something might be wrong, and you never knew until it started impacting you. Maybe… maybe they should try to stop talking about it. Part of Newt wanted to get back to camp to make sure his friends were okay, but the rest of him… the rest of him sort of wanted to stay out here with Sweets for as long as possible so he didn’t seem insane when he saw them again. He had a feeling it might… worry them if he saw them and started acting like he was worried about them, started acting like they had survived a second end of the world when they were all perfectly fine. And sorry, I had a dream/hallucination that you were all killing each other, was more likely to raise more concerns than it was to quell any worry. He stared at the ground as they continued to walk, trying to find… something to say. Some conversation that wasn’t about him losing his mind. That wasn’t about a past that Sweets missed but Newt had no way to connect with or remember. “What… made you want to be a psychologist?” he asked eventually, lifting his gaze back up to meet Sweets’. He had a feeling the man had mentioned it once when they were talking about something else, but… there was something about this moment. He wanted to know the whole story. Perhaps it was the anxiety talking. The reminder that no matter how much you loved a person, they could be snatched away from you cruelly before you even knew what was happening. Before you even had time to save them. He wanted to be able to preserve Sweets in memory as much as humanly possible if the worst happened.
No, Zuko wasn’t stupid. But he had followed his father blindly, had tried to do everything he could to erase every thought that might have come close to questioning him, because questioning his father was what had gotten him kicked out in the first place. In the end… it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, getting disowned and kicked out. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. The thing was… he hadn’t let himself consider what Ozai would do to Nico if he got his hands on him. He had just… well, he had figured that as long as he had done what he had been asked to do, he would be welcomed back home with open arms, and it wouldn’t have mattered how much it had cost. In his mind, Nico had been the enemy. Nico had been the cause of all of this. Zuko knew better, now. Nico had been a kid, just like Zuko. They had both made stupid mistakes, but they had been kids. The end of the world had been thrust onto both of their shoulders, and they had been young enough to believe that they were strong enough to bear it. Young enough to believe that if they couldn’t bear it, then they probably deserved for it to crush them. Zuko had a lot of respect for Nico now, even if sometimes he thought about going home. Even if sometimes he considered how easily he could pull Nico aside for a perimeter check or something and then disappear with him. Nobody would ever know where they had gone, except… except Sal. Sal would know right away. It wasn’t the only thing that kept Zuko from doing it, but it was certainly one reason. He forced his thoughts to stop wandering. He wasn’t going to waste the time he had here with Sal letting his thoughts tear themselves apart. They did that enough when he was alone, he didn’t need it here, too. Instead, he breathed out and forced his attention back to the present. Back to what Sal was saying. He saw the reaction in Sal’s eye, and he almost wished he hadn’t had to tell him. He wished they could just pretend it was a dream, that h had gotten his eye hurt months before and he had just been in denial about it until now. But life wasn’t that simple. And if an eye was the price he paid for being here with Sal and the others, for caring about them as much as he did instead of being back with Azula and Ozai as he had wanted for so long… well, then an eye wasn’t very much to pay at all. Sometimes, he thought that Iroh would be proud of him, if he could see him. A lump turned in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. He wasn’t thinking about Iroh, now. He was supposed to be thinking about Sal. Supposed to be making absolutely certain he was okay. “Yeah, well… if I’m alive, and you’re alive, then he’s probably alive, too. And as long as he is, then I can adjust to living with the knowledge that I killed one of my best friends.” He shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him as much as it did. “There are worse things I have to feel guilty for,” Zuko added after a moment, his voice unusually vulnerable. “Things that I actually meant. This… well, this I at least have an excuse for, even if I can’t ever forgive myself for it.”
“Hades… is unpredictable,” Nico managed, letting his eyes close for a long moment. The tension in his shoulders didn’t leave, his brow didn’t unknit… he felt like he was imploding, though he didn’t move at all. He tried to focus on Kelsier’s words. Tried to believe in them, because Kelsier was real. But… but if Kelsier wasn’t real, then all of his words were lies, and there was no way to be completely certain. Nothing they could check that Hades couldn’t have tampered with. If he had gotten them both to believe a lie for this long… he could do anything. Nico took a deep breath, trying to force himself away from that line of thinking. He had proof that he hadn’t escaped. He had proof that his family wasn’t real. But Kelsier… Kelsier was the one thing in the world he was certain of. He wouldn’t lie. He had promised not to lie. But… he had promised not to break, either, and they both knew how that had turned out. “I wish we had never met, then,” Nico mumbled softly, tears burning at the corner of his eyes. “I wish that you didn’t have to be here because of me. And… and if you’re right, if you’re right and we got out, then… then that’s not any better! Because you were unbreakable until you met me, and then I… I ruined it. You’d be okay if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t… you would never have suffered like this.” Nico breathed out, curling even tighter against Kelsier, even if he had no proof that he was real. Even if he had no proof that any of this was outside his head. He didn’t think he would ever question this, but maybe he should have before. “You didn’t give up,” he managed eventually, breath barely more than a whisper. “I don’t care if this is real or not, I… I know you didn’t give up. I watched you not give up, and it… it hurt, it hurt worse than questioning it all. But don’t tell me you gave up, because I know you didn’t.” He felt his voice wavering by the end, not because of uncertainty, but just through knowing how hard Kelsier had fought for him. The issue was that Nico couldn’t tell if Kelsier had been fighting for the right side. It was… it was almost easier to believe he had been. It explained the scars…
Hinata didn’t spend very much time observing, but that didn’t mean he was oblivious. He was a good deal less oblivious than a lot of people he knew, actually. When he was talking, he was taking note of the reactions he was receiving, and when other people got a light in their eyes when they talked about something, he remembered it. He didn’t do it consciously, really. He tended not to analyze things as clearly as Kenma or even Nico, but he was good at getting impressions. He trusted his instincts about people, and it was a good thing he had good instincts. It meant he was good at talking to people, even if he could be overbearing and ramble-y at times. He knew it was annoying sometimes, but he wasn’t going to stop. It made him happy to talk to people about what he was passionate about, and he did try to get them to talk about what they were passionate about, too. “Yeah,” he replied, cheering up a bit at the thought. “I should check on them. Even if it doesn’t really make that much sense. I guess I just want to make sure they’re all feeling okay.”
“You could have tried to get there when I left you,” Hunter said after a moment, though he knew it wouldn’t have been easy as getting a knife from Nico’s body. He pushed away the memory of is thoughts at the moment. He had seen some sort of twisted poetry in killing Juuzou with the knife he had used to kill Nico. It hadn’t worked, of course, but he had wanted it to. “I get it, though. I don’t think having a weapon helped either of us. Neither of us are very good with weapons.” Hunter knew he needed to get better. He didn’t like being weak. He didn’t like that he was probably easy to overpower. He had been easy enough to kill. The thought made him sick. “I… don’t think it was our fault, either,” Hunter allowed after a moment, though he couldn’t get the taste of his vile words out of his mouth. He was going to be thinking of those for a very long time, probably. “I’m okay now. And I don’t hate you. For any reason. You should uh… know that. Probably.”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on May 18, 2021 0:25:16 GMT -5
It felt as bad as it had before all over again. Worse, almost, since he’d just seen actual proof that he’d killed not only Noah, but Nico, Newt, Ronan, and Zuko, too. Five names. Five of the people he was closest to, dead at his hand. Yes, Noah was alive, even if he shouldn’t have been, even if he was supposed to be dead. Just like Juuzou himself was alive, even though technically he’d been hurt and might have died, too. That didn’t matter, he didn’t give it much thought at all...so they were alive. He was grateful, but it didn't clean the blood from his hands. He barely noticed Orpheus until he felt the hand slip into his, and he looked up, expression impossible to read. It was blank, closed off, not at all like his normally open and vulnerable one. He almost pulled away, but he didn’t. He wanted to be alone at the same time he wanted Orpheus to stay, and he didn’t know which he wanted more, only that he felt something he didn’t have the right words to describe. Sad was closest, but it wasn’t right. Too simple. What he felt was far more complicated. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just kept stumbling forward like he was possessed. “Do dreams ever leave real scars?” He asked finally, red eyes latching onto Orpheus’ face. He needed to know, even if he knew the answer already. He needed to know, even if he already did. “I killed them,” he added tonelessly, voice quiet. “I killed them all. I can’t ever talk to them again...I guess I’ll have to go far away.” He half expected Orpheus to let go of his hand, stumble back and tell him to leave. He knew how people felt about the deaths of people they cared about, and Orpheus cared about everyone. So he would feel five times the anger he would have if it had just been one person. He looked away. “I’m sorry,” he added softly. It wasn’t good enough, but it needed to be said.
Ronan squeezed Noah’s hand, watching as Juuzou turned and walked away, his blue eyes narrowing a little. Right...so he didn’t want to talk to them. Why? Was it guilt? Was it something else? He shook his head slowly, focusing on Noah again, his expression softening every so slightly at the look on his best friend’s face. “Maybe he doesn’t want to see me,” he suggested. “I’m the one who tried to kill him. Maybe he thinks I’ll try it again if he comes too close.” He didn’t know how likely that was, but...didn’t Noah need another possibility? Didn’t he need a second option, not just the one right in front of him? He watched Orpheus go after Juuzou, his expression slightly hard. He didn’t actually think he blamed him - he couldn’t without blaming himself for what he’d done, too - but he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, either. Juuzou had killed Noah. That was just a fact, one he couldn’t seem to ignore. Noah, he thought, was probably having an even harder time with it, since he hadn’t even been fighting when he’d been killed. He’d just died, running. From Ronan. If Juuzou hadn’t killed Noah, would Ronan have done it? He breathed out through his teeth, hating the thought, though there was nothing he could do about it. It was true, and it was here to stay. He turned a little as Noah did, hearing someone else approach behind them. Varian...so he was alive, too. He’d tried to stop them before it had even crossed Ronan’s mind that anything was amiss. And yet...he looked as cheerful as ever, or more. He was standing there, looking at them like something wonderful had happened when it hadn’t, it hadn’t happened, all that had happened was that they’d killed each other and Ronan was lucky he didn’t have blood on his hands. He squeezed Noah’s hand harder and didn’t speak. What the hell are you smiling about? he wanted to demand, but he held his silence for the moment. Why the hell are you so happy about this?
Kaladin’s forgiveness and his friendship were both things Varian wanted more than he could say. The guilt of what he’d done was still alive in him, the fact that he was the reason Tien couldn’t come back without time travel squirmed in his chest sometimes. He knew that he’d done it because of what Kaladin had done, but somehow...that didn’t seem to help much. Kaladin would never have done that if he hadn’t been protecting Varian. Varian hadn’t been protecting anyone, he’d just...he’d been angry, that was all. Angry and hurt and terrified. It wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t have any other explanation to offer. He wasn’t thinking of that now, he wasn’t thinking of the dangers or the past, he wasn’t picturing the ways this could go wrong, he was just...he was excited. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the good that would come of this discovery, all of the people he would be able to save, the friends, the family, even strangers...he could stop the apocalypse from happening in the first place, he knew he could. He didn’t know how. He didn’t have any idea where to start, but that wasn’t important. He’d figure it out. He knew he would. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he confirmed, stopping as he finally made it to the other two. He didn’t notice their expressions. He was too swept up in his own excitement. “It really was real!” He exclaimed, smile widening as he caught sight of Noah’s scar. There was no other explanation. He’d been right, as he’d known he was. “I told Kal that, but I don’t think he believed me. This means it really happened, though, it had to have...yessssss!”
Spook shook his head a little, trying to concentrate on psychology instead of everything else. He didn’t want to imagine everything else...he didn’t want to think about the dream. Maybe helping Wylan with whatever his has been would help him, too. He could hope that it wouldn’t make it worse, at the very least, right? “I don’t know. Sometimes I try to say complete nonsense but imitating the way he talks...it sounds mean when I say it out loud, doesn’t it?” He blushed a little, looking away. He couldn’t pretend to think about psychology for very long, though. Not when Wylan was talking...he gave a quiet gasp as he continued, describing...the dream. Spook’s dream. To the letter. Which was completely impossible. Spook stared at him, the rest of the color draining from his face and leaving him too pale, and he almost stopped walking completely. The only thing that kept him moving was the fact that he couldn’t make himself let go of Wylan’s hand. “And then we played dead,” he breathed. “And we waited. And I held your hand, and I thought maybe...but then your hand went limp in mine. And I knew it really was over.” Tears burned in Spook’s eyes, and he fought them for a moment before they fell. “No mourners, no funerals.” He didn’t know how, but it was the same dream, at the same time. They’d both had it happen, they’d both experienced it...how was there even possible? He regretted making fun of Sweets now. He wanted an explanation.
Sweets was pretty sure he wasn’t helping as much as he could have been. He wasn’t sure how to actually help more, but he did think he wasn’t doing the best job of it, overall. Mostly because he felt a little out of his depth with this, even if he was a psychologist with the FBI. Maybe he was getting rusty. He didn’t like that thought at all, though...he didn’t want to even imagine that he might not be as good at his job as he once was. That felt like admitting it was actually over, somehow. Like he was giving up a piece of himself he never wanted to lose, and not just his psychologist identity, either. His friends, his family…it felt like losing them all over again. Not for the first time, he wished they were there with him. Dr. Brennan would no doubt remind them to not jump to conclusions, and she’d have a field day with studying the bones of the zombies and seeing what made them decay. Agent Booth would probably get really good at shooting zombies and make it look way easier than it actually was. Cam would try to get some structure back into the group, and they badly needed that, didn’t they? Hodgins would set up his own little makeshift lab and probably give everyone some of the humor they so desperately needed, while studying things that ate zombies and learning about them that way. Angela would no doubt miss her computers, but she’d be okay, and she’d have plenty of people to talk to about anything that happened to be on their mind...she’d probably have better advice here than he did. Of course he missed them. And, while he didn’t intend to give Sherlock and L any shade...he did think his old team, his friends, would probably have found a cure by now, if they’d had each other. Maybe somewhere out there, they’d already found a cure after all, and they just hadn’t managed to spread the news this far yet. That thought hurt a little at the same time it was comforting, because that would mean they’d managed to stay together and he hadn’t. He shook his head, focusing on Newt again. It didn’t do anyone any good to dream about what might have been, even if he couldn’t always help it. He blinked at the question. “Well…” he began thoughtfully, his eyes turning to the sky as he spoke. “I don’t know how much I’ve told you about...me as a kid...but I was a foster kid. It didn’t...work out very well for me. Things were rough for a long time, and I guess I just...wanted to help people. That’s the short version.” He glanced at Newt, giving a small, soft smile. “No one deserves to feel alone, or have to go through crap without someone having their back. So...I guess I just wanted to be the guy who has everyone’s backs.”
Zuko had made mistakes. Sal knew he had, but he knew Zuko, too. Whatever mistakes he had made, whatever he had done or tried to do in the past, it was the past. He wasn’t the only one who had done things he wished he hadn’t, who had changed over time. Maybe not everyone had started out on the side he had, but wasn’t that just proof of how amazing he was, that he’d been able to find his path in spite of where he’d started? He’d started out in a place that had tried to tell him he was less than his sister, that had convinced him he needed to complete an impossible quest if he wanted to return home. And he had eventually managed to see through the lies...he had found his own family, his own home. And Sal was proud of him for it. He knew Zuko had beloved in the mission he’d been given, fully believed in it. And who could hold that against him? He’d been a kid, sent on an impossible quest to regain something he hadn’t lost. The people who had done it to him were cruel, but he wasn’t the one who was to blame. Not for that, anyway. He wouldn’t have been surprised to know what Zuko imagined. It wasn’t shocking...that he would consider how easily it could be done. And it would be easy. But there was trust there, trust that no matter how simple it would be, Zuko wouldn’t hurt Nico, wouldn’t take him back. And that trust, as far as Sal was concerned, was well placed. He didn’t ever worry that Zuko would decide to take him back. He didn’t ever worry that Zuko would break his word. It wasn’t going to happen. He shook his head a little, focusing on Zuko again. He wished this hadn’t happened...or that he at least understood what had happened, exactly. He didn’t though. He didn’t know what had happened, all he knew was that they’d killed each other and it didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t afraid of his family. He wasn’t afraid of Nico, or Zuko, or anyone. He wasn’t afraid of them because he trusted them and he didn’t believe that had been them. Not...not really them. He wished he had an explanation. He did. But it being over was enough, too. As long as it didn’t happen again, to them or anyone else...yes, he decided, he’d be okay with an unsolved mystery, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone. He met Zuko’s eye as he spoke, and gave a small nod, acknowledging the words. He knew something about guilt. Even if it wasn’t the same thing Zuko had gone through, well...being forced to kill all your friends and family, even if they were already dead, it stuck with you. He’d had nightmares before that, but they’d changed to include it afterwards, because of course they had...but he was getting distracted. Zuko was what mattered here. “I know.” He answered quietly. He did know, as much as Zuko had told him. And he knew that it wasn’t going to stop bothering him just because he wanted it to. “You know I’m here for you, right? Even if you do have things to feel guilty for.”
“No. I’m unpredictable,” Kelsier corrected gently, not letting go of Nico. He didn’t know how to fix this...hell, he barely knew how to believe in this reality at all, much less convince someone else of it. He was trying. He was trying as hard as he could, but he knew he had already broken a promise to Nico, and he couldn’t take that back, ever. He’d promised not to break, and here they were. He’d have chosen almost any other fate. He’d have chosen anything other than hurting Nico like this. But the truth was that he was still struggling to fully believe this reality at all. “I’m unpredictable. Hades just thinks he is, he just wants to be. He’s not as impressive as he thinks he is.” It would have sounded a lot more convincing if it wasn’t coming from the person who’d been completely defeated by him, to be fair. But he believed it. Hades may have broken him, but his motivations made him easy to predict. His heart broke at the next words. He understood, of course he did, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. He held Nico, held him like he’d wished he could for so long before now, like holding him could fix anything. It couldn’t. He knew better than to ever let himself believe that merely existing could fix anything at all. “It is not your fault that this happened,” he murmured firmly. “It’s just not. I don’t know that it’s my fault either - ” he thought it was, but Nico would never agree to it “ - but I know whose fault it is. Hades. It’s Hades’ fault that this happened. I’m trying…” his voice broke a little, and he held Nico closer as he tried to continue. “I’m trying. I promise you that, at least. I...I don’t know if I gave up or not. But I never stopped trying.” He breathed out, eyes closing. He didn’t want to step back. He would let Nico go if the boy wanted him to, but he hoped he didn’t, for both their sakes. It felt like they both needed this right now. He wished this were easier. He wished there was any way of fixing this, of fixing him, and convincing Nico this was real. But he could barely even convince himself.
Rue thought sometimes that she and Hinata weren’t all that different. She was certainly quieter, and a lot more shy, but they were both very naturally intuitive about things, and they both tended to think with their heart. Rue had made the decision to trust most of the people here with her heart, after all. She hadn’t had a lot of proof that they wouldn’t just kill her. And here they were, in a group, and nothing was okay, but nothing was ever okay, and they could live with that. They would have to live with it. They could still find good things. Like the plants, and music, and even Hinata’s stories, about a game people had played when they still had the time and energy to play. “Yeah, that’s good to do, anyway. Even if there’s nothing happening,” she replied. “It can’t hurt, right? And it’ll make you feel better.”
Kenma gave a small nod, acknowledging that. He probably could have. After he’d been hit, he hadn’t felt well enough to stand, but he didn’t see the need to point that out. It didn’t change what had happened, and Hunter seemed to feel bad enough about it already. He knew it couldn’t have been their fault. The moment Hinata of all people ran for the weapons, that was the moment nothing made sense anymore. Kenma knew he would, if he had to do protect the people he cared for, but…against his friends? Never. It just wouldn’t happen. And Ronan. He’d never have said those things to Noah. And Nico would never have killed Sal. No…none of it made any sense. “Oh…” he murmured, glancing up as Hunter spoke again. “I…thank you. I don’t hate you, either.”
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on May 19, 2021 0:43:50 GMT -5
Orpheus blinked, not quite expecting the question. He hadn’t noticed the scar, but whatever Juuzou had seen, it must have backed up the idea that he had killed his friends. Based on the way Ronan and Noah had been looking at each other, there might have been some truth to the dream Juuzou was describing, even if it made no sense logically. Could it be a mass hallucination? While that was an option, Orpheus was hesitant to jump immediately to that conclusion. The world was too strange to assume that was right, and he doubted that would help Juuzou much anyway. Besides, if it was scars Juuzou was worried about, hallucinations didn’t tend to leave scars. “No,” he murmured after a long moment, shaking his head just a little bit. “But up until a few years ago, the dead stayed dead. It’s hard to know what’s possible and what isn’t.” Orpheus lightly squeezed Juuzou’s hand, hoping that might help to reassure him a little bit. But… even if it was real… it was hard to imagine Juuzou killing anyone, though he knew the boy was capable of it. It was impossible to imagine Juuzou killing the people he had come to call home. It hurt Orpheus, seeing Juuzou like this. Seeing him closed off and hurt like he didn’t want to reveal himself for fear he’d hurt someone else. Whatever had happened, Orpheus refused to believe it defined who Juuzou was. He refused to believe that Juuzou was anyone other than the boy he had gotten to know – the boy who was incredibly loyal, who would never hurt the people he cared about, because he was also one of the gentlest souls Orpheus had ever met. Whatever lay in his past could stay in the past, because it clearly hadn’t corrupted who Juuzou was now. Perhaps the past had informed him, but it hadn’t made him hard, or cruel. “Noah waved at you,” Orpheus replied, because that seemed like an important thing to point out. “He didn’t look mad. He looked just fine… and it seemed like he wanted to talk to you. I think he understands… like I understand… that if what you’re telling me actually happened… that it wasn’t how you would normally behave. That you’re still family, and you still deserve a place here.” He met Juuzou’s eyes, doing his best to make sure the boy understood him. “You don’t need to apologize to me. But… don’t you want to make sure everyone’s okay before you decide you’re leaving us forever?”
Noah looked up at Ronan, eyes widening just a little bit as he tried to come up with an alternate explanation. It was unusually kind of Ronan, but Noah had learned a long time ago not to be surprised by Ronan’s quiet, thoughtful actions. He may have pretended to be an ass (okay, and maybe he was, occasionally), but he also had the biggest soft spot for his friends that Noah had ever seen. In a way… Ronan was like the anti-Whelk, though he knew they would both hate the comparison. Whelk had pretended to be nice to hide that he was really very, very selfish. Ronan pretended to be an ass to hide the fact that he actually had feelings. And Noah knew which he would trust with his life without even blinking. Ronan was the better person by far. “I doubt it,” Noah murmured, fingers reaching up to trace the new scar on his neck. He was used to rubbing at his cheek, but he had a feeling his fingers would find the slit at his throat just as often, now. Hopefully he could kick the habit before Juuzou noticed it and got upset again. The last thing Noah wanted to do was to be a reminder of something he would rather they all just… forget. It hadn’t been them, as far as Noah was concerned. It had been anger using them, people experimenting with them for reasons none of htem quite understood. “He seemed ready to come talk to both of us until he noticed the scar. If he didn’t want to talk to you, he wouldn’t have approached at all…” Noah shook the thought off, not wanting to wallow in it for too long, not when Ronan was by his side, giving more support than Noah probably deserved. He hadn’t been through the worst of whatever had happened. He was the lucky one. The one who died first. Still… the idea that maybe it wasn’t his fault was enough to get Noah to relax a little bit, and he knew Ronan would feel the difference his words made. Having another perspective just meant that maybe this wasn’t Noah’s fault. Maybe if they all broke apart because of this, it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault in particular. Varian, as it turned out, was a nice distraction from whatever had happened with Juuzou, though thoughts of that lingered in Noah’s mind, eating away at him silently. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Noah replied, managing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was grateful for Ronan’s sturdy grip, grounding him to the Earth when he felt at risk of just floating away. “You’re… glad it happened,” he added, eyes widening a bit in surprise. That, he hadn’t seen coming. He didn’t know what Varian had seen, didn’t know exactly what he had been through, but Noah had experienced the least of it, and it was still a nightmare. He couldn’t imagine living through more made it better. He highly doubted living through more would fill someone with excitement. “Why are you happy about that?” Noah asked after a moment, careful to keep any judgement out of his voice. He just wanted to know. Maybe Varian’s experience had been very different from either Ronan or Noah’s.
Wylan couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him at that. It made sense, and as long as Sweets never found out, it wasn’t mean, right? Wylan personally found it rather charming… but… then again he found a lot of what Spook did charming. “I think it’s funny,” he commented softly, squeezing Spook’s hand and meeting his gaze, a smile drifting over his lips. “He has a lot of really good things to say, but… sometimes it does sound like nonsense. And maybe imitating the confidence he says it in is good for building your own confidence… or something. I don’t know. I just think it’s funny,” Wylan mumbled, awkwardly reaching his free hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. His smile faded not moments later, because psychology wasn’t what they were here to talk about. Wylan stared at the ground, noticing the way the flowers were starting to crop up. If they weren’t quite at Spook’s secret place yet and it was already starting to look this beautiful, he couldn’t begin to imagine what the actual place looked like. He was excited, even in spite of the dread burning in his stomach. “Yes,” Wylan whispered, hating the way his voice sounded so choked. “I thought… I thought playing dead would be… I thought it would help.” The words sounded lame to his own ears, and he stopped walking, turning to look Spook in the eye. “You trusted me, even though I wanted to kill you. Even though you wanted to kill me. And… and I let you down, because we didn’t make it, did we? Did… did you make it?” He didn’t think he could bear it if Spook hadn’t. Wylan froze, the familiar words rooting him to the spot. “No mourners, no funerals,” he repeated, shaking his head just a little bit. “I wouldn’t have said that unless I thought it was desperate. But… but I’m glad you know it, now… someone deserves to know it.”
Newt didn’t know Sweets’ old friends. He had heard about a lot of them, of course, and Sweets had heard just as much about Minho, Tommy, Alby, Frypan… Gally… but you couldn’t know a person just from a story. What Newt knew was that Sweets’ friends had been brilliant. Probably still were brilliant. If your entire job was solving murders, you probably knew a good deal about how to avoid getting murdered yourself. Which… was not as inspiring and optimistic as it seemed in his head, so Newt decided to keep that particular thought to himself. It was just… if anyone was likely to have found a way to survive this, it was people who had been with the FBI, and people who knew how the human body worked, knew how decay and decomposition worked, even if they had spent most of their life in a lab. Knowing how the enemy worked was the first step to defeating them, and Newt hadn’t met a single person who knew definitively how the zombies worked. He knew Sherlock had some theories, but he had only paid attention to about half of Sherlock’s unending rambling about his theories. In his defense, they were supposed to be hunting for food when Sherlock had started monologuing. Sherlock had scared away everything living within at least a mile. If Newt knew that Sweets was wondering if they had found a way to stick together… Newt wouldn’t have been able to give a definitive answer (nobody could, after all), but he would have told him he believed that all of Sweets’ friends were probably alive, even if they weren’t all together. But false hope could be just as deadly as the virus, if yielding without care. So Newt kept his thoughts to himself. Besides, he didn’t know for sure what Sweets was pondering so intently, and he didn’t want to face the shame of having guessed wrong. Hearing more about Sweets was an honor. It meant the man trusted him enough to share those things, and for that Newt was exceedingly grateful. And it was much easier to think about a past that had happened in a completely different world than it was to consider the fact that Newt might be dying, or to consider the fact that a great many of his friends were probably already dead. One day, maybe, Newt would ask for the long version. He would listen as Sweets told him about his childhood, because it was so different from the world Newt could remember. He had probably had a normal childhood, for a while. He was old enough that he should have been able to remember some of the world before… he just… didn’t. His only window into it was the people he did. And his main window was Sweets, though he would never press him to talk about personal things. “I think you’ve done that,” Newt managed, a soft smile touching his lips. “I mean… you’re here for all of us, and we’re all a mess, so you’ve at least… accomplished part of your goal.” He gave a small shrug, glancing up to meet Sweets’ eyes for a long moment. “Thank you.” He hesitated, then moved forwards, hugging Sweets without stopping to question whether or not it was a good idea. “For having my back.”
Zuko had spent a large part of his life trying to make his father proud of him. He had tried as hard as he could, had done everything that was requested of him, but he hadn’t managed to achieve the one thing he wanted. Ozai was proud of Azula. She was the prodigy, the child Ozai cared about… and it hadn’t mattered when Ursa had still been there. He was lucky to have had her. She had been proud of him without him even trying. Or… perhaps she was proud of him because he did try, because he never gave up even when it was clear he was never going to be what his father wanted him to. When she had left… Zuko had been fairly convinced that nobody would ever be proud of him again. How could he? The eldest child, failed. Shown up countless times by the younger, unwanted… he shook the thought away, trying to get used to only seeing Sal with one eye. If he had known that Sal was proud of him… well, he would have been struck speechless for a number of minutes. And then he probably would have said something stupid and awkward that didn’t accurately reflect the strength of the feelings he had bubbling inside of him. But he didn’t know. All he knew was that Sal was his family, and he was more than grateful to have him. More than grateful that he had stood by, willing to lend a hand as Zuko figured out that he didn’t have to live his life the way his father wanted him to. Who cared if he was on the run now, so was everyone else. It wouldn’t be very easy for Ozai to find him now, and if he tried… Zuko was prepared to face him. Possibly. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to face his family. How could he face Juuzou when he had tried so hard to kill him? Ronan, when he hadn’t listened to him, Varian, when he still felt the warm spray of his blood staining his hands… he shuddered, looking away from Sal for a long moment. It wasn’t his fault, not technically, but it had still happened. And some of them had figured it out, some of them had tried to stop them before they all killed each other… Wylan and Spook had died, too, and Zuko hadn’t even realized they were both alive until they had died… he had been dead set on bringing Juuzou down. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment before he managed to look back up and meet Sal’s eye. “I know,” Zuko murmured, unable to quite keep the surprise from his voice. Just because he knew didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised every time he realized he wasn’t completely alone in this. That he had someone as amazing as Sal willing to back him up. “You’ve been here from the beginning, when I definitely didn’t deserve you,” he said, shaking his head just a little bit. “I’m grateful for you,” he added. He didn’t blink. He was fairly certain Sal would know what it meant, that he said that out loud. He didn’t often express things like that verbally – he had a hard time finding the words, and when he said them they never sounded right, but… he meant it, now. And he needed Sal to know.
Nico shook his head, clinging to Kelsier as tightly as he could without hurting either of them. “He’s more unpredictable than you are,” he managed, letting his eyes close just enough that he could pretend he and Kelsier were the only people in the world. “You… I know what you might do and how you might react when I say things, I know… more or less how you feel about things, and it’s not… it’s not scary, because…” he sucked in a breath, unable to finish the rest of his sentence. Because I know you won’t hurt me. That was a lie, now. Because Kelsier had hurt him, even if it was with the best of intentions. Even if it hadn’t been directed at him. There was always the possibility that Kelsier would sink back away. There was the possibility now that Nico would follow him, and… and was that such a bad thing? A sob wracked his small form and he squeezed his eyes shut even further, trying to stop the tears from falling. “Hades is scary unpredictable. And… and this is something he would do. He would make me believe that there were people who believed in me, who cared, and he would make me realize that they’re just… just minions, doing his dirty work, because… because I’ll never escape him. Because every time I look in the mirror, it’s him now that I see…” he shuddered, trembling as he buried himself against Kelsier, trying to pretend he wasn’t terrified, trying to pretend he believed everything Kelsier was saying, because it was the one thing anchoring him to anything. Did he believe Kelsier when he told him it wasn’t his fault? The short answer was no… how could he, when Kelsier had been perfectly fine before they had met? But he wanted to. He wanted to believe he wasn’t responsible for all of this. He wanted to let the weight fall off his shoulders for once in his life. “Hades’ fault,” Nico whispered, trying to believe it. “But who led you right to him? Who… who got us stuck here in the first place? You were the only good person left, dad, and… and I know you’re trying, and I know you never gave up, but… but how is it not my fault that we’re here?” Kelsier was a lifeline, as far as Nico was concerned. He wasn’t going to let go, though he was grateful Kelsier was willing to give him that option.
“I think it will make me feel a little better,” Hinata admitted, smiling a little at the thought. He wanted to make sure the others were okay. He had gone for the weapons in his daydream… why had he done that? He loved his friends. He would never do anything to hurt his teammates, and he most certainly wouldn’t do anything to hurt his friends. Intentionally, at least. He was plenty good at accidentally messing things up saying the wrong thing or bumping into people… that had mostly been with his team, though. Before everything had become what it was now. He was sure he had said the wrong thing in front of his friends, too, but it hadn’t ruined things. It would have ruined things if he had grabbed weapons. He was fast and small enough that he may have been able to do real damage. In a way, he was grateful that Dream Juuzou had been able to kill Dream Him before he could actually hurt anyone.
Hunter managed a small, uncertain smile at that. He hadn’t thought that Kenma hated him, but it was a relief to hear it out loud, regardless. It made whatever had happened feel like something they could move past. If he had really said that to Kenma, if he had meant it, if he had hit him over the head like that when he had really been himself, he would have fully expected Kenma to hate him. Even if Kenma likely didn’t show hatred as clearly as other people, Hunter had no doubt he felt it. It was as certain as the fact that Kenma cared. It was difficult to see, but unmistakable. He did, however, have a feeling that it would take a lot to get Kenma to hate a person. He seemed much more likely to get annoyed by someone rather than jumping to hatred at any point. “Should… we make sure the others are okay?” Hunter asked after a moment, swinging his legs a little bit. “Unless… you just want to sit here for a while. That’s fine, too.”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on May 30, 2021 0:01:21 GMT -5
Juuzou felt sure now that it had really happened. He had seen the scar, he knew that there was no way that it could have happened otherwise. How could it have? He hadn’t had that scar before, and now he did. There was no way he could possibly explain it, not without admitting that he’d... He couldn’t think of another option. He didn’t see any other possibility, none at all. He knew what happened when you killed someone that someone else loved. He hadn’t experienced loss himself, not the way many of the others had. Not until now. He’d been unaccustomed to the anger he’d felt in the room before. He was unaccustomed to the feeling of loss, too. He glanced up at Orpheus. He wasn’t used to hiding how he felt, and he didn’t try now. That wasn’t the sort of closed off he felt...he felt like making sure he couldn’t hurt his family again. He didn’t mind if they could see how he felt as long as they didn’t end up dead. He wasn’t really used to caring. After he’d escaped...he hadn’t cared about anything, really. He’d been aware of death. He’d known that people didn’t get to survive. He hadn’t much cared either way, and there’d been no one in the world who might mourn him if he did happen to die. And then...he’d found people. He’d found Orpheus. He’d found his family, his new family, people he trusted. Even if that had come later, he trusted them now, even if he had died in the end...well. He didn’t know that he had died, technically. He might merely have fallen unconscious from blood loss. He knew a lot about wounds, and he doubted the one he’d received would have killed him that fast. Chances were good he’d been the sole survivor. He glanced at Orpheus again. If there was one person he looked up to, it would be him. He didn’t look at Juuzou with disgust. He treated him as a person, and he’d been the first to speak to him as an equal, not a weapon. Yes...Juuzou looked up to Orpheus, and struggled to be like him. It hurt that he knew Orpheus would never have done what he had. “Did you see him?” He asked a little helplessly. “His neck...I cut his throat and he had the scar.” He looked away, avoiding Orpheus’ gaze. “Why would he want to talk to me? I killed him.”
Ronan wouldn’t have agreed with Noah’s opinions of him. At least, not this time. He wasn’t a kind person. He was an asshole, and everyone knew it, even him. He wouldn’t have known how to take it if Noah had said he was thoughtful. It would have been tempting to be insulted by the insinuation, but at the same time, being insulted by Noah was a difficult thing, like being offended by a baby mouse. Ronan didn’t know what Whelk had done. He didn’t know where the smudge on Noah’s cheek had come from, didn’t know why he’d reacted the way he had during...whatever had happened. If he’d known? It might have turned him off of Juuzou, if only to give him more fuel against Whelk. He didn’t expect Noah to buy it, really, and he wasn’t surprised by his answer. He watched Noah touch the scar, eyes narrowing a little as he scanned it, the memory of it happening still too fresh in his mind. He never wanted to experience anything like that again, losing Noah...his best friend. He couldn’t lose him. He wouldn’t...if this was a warning, then he’d take it. He wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to him again, no matter who he had to end to protect him. “Yeah, maybe,” he replied, watching Juuzou fade out of sight, Orpheus at his side. He didn’t say anything else. It seemed a waste to try and convince Noah of a lie, anyway. He turned his attention to Varian instead, focusing on the younger boy. He was...cheerful. Too cheerful for that he’d just gone through, much too cheerful...Ronan didn’t like it. It was like he didn’t remember a thing that had just happened, when he was looking at the scar on Noah’s neck and he wasn’t even asking where it had come from. Ronan’s grip tightened a little without him meaning to, and he watched, letting Noah do the talking for the moment. And Noah was right. Varian was glad this had happened. He was...he was happy. Ronan leaned forward just a little. He knew how to look intimidating, though he didn’t often use that skill on his family. “The hell is there to be happy about?” He demanded. “People died. My...our family died.” If Noah was keeping the judgement out of his voice, Ronan was pouring it in liberally, his eyes narrowed and sharp. Varian was one of them, a member of the family, but for him to be acting happy about this…
Varian hesitated, a little surprised as he finally processed the looks on their faces. As he processed the lack of pure excitement on their faces. It didn’t make any sense...hadn’t they been there? Hadn’t they seen what he had? How could they not be filled with the same thrill he was? He wasn’t thinking of the bad parts. He should have been, but he wasn’t. “You guys…” he began, confusion clear in his tone. “I know you were there, too. You were there...why aren’t you happy? Don’t you know what this means?” He bounced on his heels, restless now that he was faced with more of the same reaction Kal had had. He wanted to explain what this meant, he wanted to make them see, and instead they were just looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Okay, it hadn’t been fun, but it wasn’t like they were all going to go killing each other now, so it wasn’t really a big deal...oh. Oh, it had changed them, too. Add that to the list of scientific breakthroughs. Time travel, cure, teleportation, mind manipulation...was he the only one who understood what this meant? He wanted to figure out how it was possible. He wanted - needed - to speak to the person or people behind it. He needed to recreate it himself - maybe not exactly how they’d done it but somehow - he needed to run trials and take it further, he needed his friends to understand what this meant and celebrate because the people they loved were now dead and gone and his dad… He could go home again. This was his family. They weren’t substitutes, or second choices. But he didn’t have to lose them to get his dad back, right? He could have everything. He didn’t have to choose. Why would he? He blinked as Ronan leaned in, and stepped back, widening the distance. He’d seen that look on the other boy’s face, but never directed at him. “I...you don’t understand!” He protested, voice high and almost tremulous.
Spook smiled a little, the expression small and shy on his narrow face. He loved it when he managed to make Wylan laugh...it was something he wished he could pull off more often, but he cherished it when he could. The problem was that he never seemed to know what was going to be funny. He thought, maybe, he was getting better at it...at least, he seemed to be able to do it more often, though that might have been coincidence. Either way, he was glad that Wylan wasn’t upset about it. “That sounds a little bit like psychology to me,” he replied, tone lightly teasing as he squeezed Wylan’s hand just a little bit to show he wasn’t serious. They were very nearly at the place. Spook could almost smell it in the air, the way it seemed to call to him...he looked at Wylan, eyes steady, he didn’t want to interrupt, he didn’t want to talk over Wylan or ignore him...he wanted to listen to him. He wanted to listen to what he was thinking. “It almost did,” he murmured back, breath just a little bit shaky as he got the words out. “It almost worked...we were really close, Wylan. We were really close.” He fell silent as he friend continued, and tensed just a little, pain flooding his chest. He wanted to lie. He wanted to say he’d made it. Maybe...maybe it was okay to lie, maybe it was better to say he’d made it, maybe Wylan wouldn’t know… He shook his head a little and looked away, “I didn’t make it,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He stopped when Wylan did, before their hands forced him to. For a moment, he thought Wylan was upset with him. He worried that maybe he’d done something wrong, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but… “I won’t tell it to anyone else. I mean...if you’d rather I didn’t.” He promised, expression serious. “
Sweets had been surrounded by some of the most brilliant minds there were. He knew that, and he knew that chances were good at least some of them were still out there somewhere. If Dr. Lance Sweets of all people had managed to survive, how could he believe for a second that someone like Agent Booth or Dr. Brennan could be dead? Brennan, who was prone to severely injuring anyone who touched her? Booth, who was better with a gun than Sweets would ever be? He worried about Hodgins and Angela, and even Cam. And the children...he worried most of all about the children. Whether they were alive was anyone’s guess, and he didn’t like guessing when he could help it. He didn’t want to think about whether they were alive or dead, he just wanted them to be alive. The point was that he didn’t think they were gone. But he was relieved to have Newt and the others, anyway. Newt was...a very good friend. Sweets was closer with him than he was with most of the other boys, especially the ones who were suspicious of his tendency to psychoanalyze anything that came within a few feet of him and had a working brain. He didn’t intend to be condescending, or whatever they were worried about...it was how he saw the world. In terms of people, of relationships, of how minds worked...really, that was the only way you could see the world. Even if you didn’t realize you were doing it, your perceptions colored how you saw things and reacted to them. Kelsier was an extreme example of that, but an example nonetheless...maybe he should try to catch him for a session again later. That was probably for the best. The older man had a habit of trying to avoid them, but Sweets personally thought they were helping whether he admitted they were or not. And he’d do everything in his power to help keep Nico safe. His childhood...he would tell it, someday. To Newt, who deserved to hear it, if he wanted to. It had been a painful one, a sad sort of story. But it had a happy ending. Somehow...thought the would had ended, though Sweets had lost more than he could possibly communicate, he was here, still, and though nothing was as he’d expected and he’d changed more than he’d ever thought possible, he was okay with being who he was now. Apparently, that was the sort of person who became friends with Newt. Which made him feel even more okay with it. He smiled, wide and genuine, as Newt spoke. “I wouldn’t call any of you a mess,” he protested a little, then stopped as Newt hugged him, eyes widening. Then his expression softened and he hugged Newt back, firmly. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, breathing out. “Thanks for letting me. And...y’know. Putting up with all the psychology crap.”
If Ozai wasn’t proud of Zuko, he didn’t deserve to know him in the first place. Zuko was...he was amazing. Sal didn’t know how to explain it to him, how to tell him how incredible he was. He’d never met anyone like him before, and he couldn’t believe that there was anyone out there who didn’t see it, who couldn’t see how hard Zuko tried, how determined he was, how dauntless and stubborn and fierce and kind. He was an unstoppable force, and Sal didn’t know how to be that. He liked to think he wasn’t really a doormat - not all the time, anyway - but he had to admit he admired Zuko’s ability to fight, and not just physically. He may have learned from a terrible man, but Zuko...he was proof that that didn’t really matter. Not in the end. He wanted to tell Zuko how proud he was of his progress. How glad he was to be his friend. But he wasn’t sure whether that was what Zuko wanted or needed fo hear now,,,and he wasn’t as good at saying it as he thought he was. It was hard, knowing how to be honest without being awkward. It was even harder when you felt things as deeply as Sal did. If they ever met Ozai...he thought he would have some things to say to him. Not for his sake. But because Zuko deserved to have someone say them. Sal hadn’t killed anyone, but he would have. He’d been lucky...he’d just been lucky. That was all it was. He hadn’t even had to grieve, not the way Zuko had...because Zuko had been almost the last to die. Sal tried to imagine their situations being reversed, and immediately shuddered...Zuko, dead at Nico’s hand, the room continuing on, anger pulsing thicker than blood through his veins. He would probably have done the same thing. Or died trying. Zuko never seemed to realized just how much support he had. There was Sal, of course. Sal, who would go to the ends of the earth for Zuko, if he asked. There was the rest of their family, each one of whom would die for Zuko without hesitation. Yes, Zuko had support, and Sal needed him to know that, even if it was hard for him to believe. He had the strangest impulse to take Zuko’s hand. He didn’t know where that had come from...and he didn’t do it, but he did take a breath and nod, his eye wide. “I’m grateful for you, too,” he replied quietly, holding Zuko's gaze. He wasn’t used to seeing the new scar, but he wasn’t a hypocrite. A scwr was only a scar, after all. “I’m...I’m so proud of you, Zuko. You have to know that.”
Kelsier wished more than anything that he could make this better. All he wanted...all he wanted was to heal them both, now. Heal his mind. Take the wounds Nico’s family had left him away. Maybe they could have run, just them escaped and left it all behind, maybe they could have avoided this. He knew it wasn’t true. But he wanted to believe that there was something he could do. He hated being this helpless...this completely at the mercy of whatever his mind had done. Whatever Hades had done to him, He’d hurt Nico because of it. He’d almost killed him. How he could possibly have believed this was okay...how he could have brought himself to hurt the person he loved most in the world he hated to think about it. He had to admit Nico was right, this...was something Hades would do. It was hard to convince someone of something when you yourself struggled to believe it. The arguments and ideas that you wanted to ask for were your responsibility to offer. He had to do this right...and he didn’t know how. “You don’t look like him. Not to me,” he replied firmly, holding Nico even closer. “You never have. When I saw Hades in your eyes...Nico, I saw him everywhere. Hell, I saw him in myself, and that scared me.” He breathed out, not letting go. “You never asked me to follow you,” he whispered. “And I won’t regret that choice. I would go anywhere for you, Nico di Angelo. But you never asked for that. You tried to protect me. All I wish is that I could have protected you.” He wanted Nico to believe this wasn’t his fault, more than anything. He wanted him to know it was okay, or if it wasn’t, that didn’t rest on Nico’s shoulders in any way. “We’re free, son,” he murmured, voice choked. “We’re free. I swear it.”
Rue gave a small nod, looking up as they approached camp. They were probably mostly there. If not…that’s was where they’d turn up eventually. She wanted Hinata to feel better, she really did. She wanted him to be able to set whatever he’d imagined behind him. Of course, she assumed she wouldn’t be there for that, but that was okay…she had other things to do, if Hinata wanted to be alone. She’d go with him if he wanted her to, but it was his call. “I can take those plants for you then, if you want,” she offered. “So you can go right to finding them.”
Kenma didn’t tend to hate very easily. That was one side effect of being observant…it was a lot harder to hate someone when you understood where they were coming from. He may not have known exactly what everyone was thinking, but he knew how they worked, generally speaking. He could analyze them. “We couoh,” he agreed, leaning back a little bit ans glancing around the camp. “But this is where they’re probably going to come back to. I don’t think looking for them anywhere else will work as well as just waiting for them to end up back here.” That was assuming they were okay. But, if they weren’t…wandering around outside camp wouldn’t help anyway, would it? There wasn’t a lot they could do until the others had had a chance to show up again. And if they were being looked for, too, then they’d just make it a lot harder to find them by leaving the one place they had any reason to try.
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on May 31, 2021 0:15:37 GMT -5
Orpheus didn’t see how it was possible that Juuzou had killed Noah. First and foremost, if you killed someone, they died. More often than not they became a zombie soon after, but they still died. They didn’t stand around and have conversations, and they certainly didn’t give friendly waves. Orpheus was more open to the possibility that something else could happen after death than he ever had been before, but he didn’t think something good happening was very likely. That didn’t mean that Juuzou was wrong. That didn’t mean that Juuzou’s perspective deserved to be discounted – whatever he had seen, something had happened. Noah had a scar, though Orpheus hadn’t seen it very clearly. You didn’t just… get scars like that overnight, and they most certainly didn’t heal that quickly. Orpheus may not have been the most observant person in the world, but he thought he would have noticed if someone had slit Noah’s throat – if he had survived someone slitting his throat. That was the sort of thing that required everyone to be up and looking after the injured person, and Orpheus knew he wouldn’t have been kept in the dark about that. So Juuzou must have been right about something happening. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” Orpheus admitted with a small shake of his head. “I think that whatever happened left a scar, but Noah seemed to want to talk to you. He waved. I think… if something happened that made L angry enough to kill me, and I had the wherewithal and ability to come back, I would want to talk to him. I’d want to ask him why, and see if I could fix it, and if it was clear that he didn’t really mean to kill me, that whatever had happened was temporary – as it seems to be with you – then I would want him to know that I didn’t hold it against him. That he should stop blaming himself, especially if it wasn’t his fault that he got angry enough to kill me.” Orpheus didn’t know if the situation was the same with Noah, but he did know that Noah seemed to be one of the more forgiving of Juuzou’s friends. He had a feeling that Noah didn’t hold whatever happened against Juuzou. “I think you would feel better if you talked to him,” he admitted after a moment, hoping that Juuzou was willing to listen. “Because then you don’t have to wonder for the rest of your life if your friends are upset with you for something that wasn’t really your fault. At least you’ll have closure, and… in my experience, family – real family, at least – is willing to be a lot more forgiving than strangers would be. Your family knows you, Juuzou. And I think that matters a lot more than one incident.”
If asked point blank if Ronan Lynch was an asshole, Noah would have said “without a doubt.” But there was a difference between being an asshole and not caring, there was a difference between being an asshole and not being a good friend. Ronan might have been an asshole, but he cared a lot, and he was an even better friend. He was reckless and self-sabotaging sometimes, he made biting comments that sometimes stung for days after, but he was also Noah’s best friend, and Noah wouldn’t change that for the world. He loved Ronan Lynch because Ronan had earned his loyalty countless times. Just as Gansey had, as Adam and Blue had as well. Ronan Lynch was family, somehow even more so than the other boys Noah had come to know by that name. Ronan had been earning Noah for much longer than any of them had, after all. He breathed out, trying to ignore the fact that he knew Ronan was looking at the scar. They couldn’t just pretend that it wasn’t there, no matter how much Noah wanted to. It was there, it had happened, and there were a lot more scars left by whatever had happened than the one across Noah’s neck. Some of the scars were just… invisible, though it seemed like Varian didn’t feel the scars at all. Noah hadn’t needed to feel anyone die. He hadn’t needed to grieve. He hadn’t needed to keep fighting, to keep running because everyone he thought he trusted was evil, because the people he loved kept dying… he didn’t know how long Varian had survived, but given his cheerful mood he doubted it had been much longer than Noah. Scientific breakthrough or not, Noah couldn’t stop hearing Ronan’s voice, laced with hatred and scorn, thrown like a deadly weapon. Coward. Coward. Coward. Noah knew it was true, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. Noah tightened his grip on Ronan’s hand, wishing he had Gansey’s skill at keeping Ronan in check. Ronan fought with everyone. It was common knowledge. He hadn’t ever really fought with Noah, though Noah wasn’t much for fighting anyway. The rest of their family, though? The fights Noah had seen had nothing on the fights that Ronan used to have with Declan or even Adam, but Noah had watched countless disagreements between Ronan and the others that had been in that place with them. This felt… different. This Ronan felt more dangerous – more like a rattlesnake preparing to attack than a lion cub who hadn’t gotten the memo that you shouldn’t play with your food. But Noah wasn’t Gansey. If Ronan wanted to unleash his weapons on Varian, there was little Noah could do to stop him. “I don’t think the harm of what happened has fully worn off,” Noah admitted softly, taking in a deep breath and not daring to let go of Ronan’s hand. “I don’t know if it ever will. I know I was the first to die, so I didn’t see all of it, but…” he trailed off, not wanting to continue but knowing full well that he needed to. “But I know it was bad. And I know that almost everyone probably did or said something they regret, and it’s not something that we can just… easily forget.” Noah’s hand moved to the scar on his neck, lightly tracing it as though doing that would make it disappear. “I don’t… really see how anything good can come out of what happened,” Noah admitted a moment later, cheeks turning pink as he adjusted his grip on Ronan’s hand. “I think we all need to talk about it. And I just… want to make sure everyone’s okay.”
Spook was genuinely funny. Wylan loved listening to him, loved hearing him talk, loved when he cracked jokes… actually, he loved everything about Spook, though he wouldn’t admit that out loud. He would rather have Spook in his life than say something to mess it up. He had a feeling that Spook was a lot braver than he was when it came to romance… Spook had at least flirted with someone he was interested in before, and Wylan rarely got the nerve to talk to someone he liked like that. The hard thing about Spook was that Wylan couldn’t just stop talking to him after he caught feelings, because they were already close friends. It would have hurt more to cut contact in that case, though loving his best friend… well, that hurt a lot, too. He shook his head of the thought, instead focusing on what Spook was saying. “I guess,” he admitted after a long moment, forcing a smile. “Hopefully, if it is psychology, it makes more sense when I say it than when Sweets says it,” he joked, glad that they didn’t have to focus on the very serious aspects of what had happened at the moment. He didn’t really want to think about it. He wanted to keep walking with Spook, he wanted to see this place that Spook had found on his own, and he wanted to pretend that everything was alright, that nobody had been hurt… but he needed answers first. He needed to know if their plan had worked at all. “Oh,” he murmured, squeezing Spook’s hand tightly enough that his knuckles turned white. “I’m… I’m really sorry,” he managed, not quite able to meet Spook’s gaze. “I really thought it would work. I thought…” his brow furrowed and he looked away, hand going limp in Spook’s as the reality of the situation washed over him. He hadn’t even been able to save Spook. “I’ve never been gladder you’re alive,” he admitted after a long moment, voice choked. “I don’t… I don’t know what I would have done if I had woken up back here and you were gone. So… so whatever happened, I’m glad you’re here.” Wylan shifted a little bit, forcing himself to look back and meet Spook’s gaze. “I think… I think it’s okay if the others know. It’s not really private thing, it’s just… not something I’m used to hearing anymore. But it fit, and… I think if anyone deserves to know, then it’s the rest of our family. Even if we did have to mourn them. Maybe we won’t have to ever again.”
Newt figured that if the world ever returned back to normal, Sweets would have a lot of work available to him. Everyone was going to need a psychologist after this, though Newt knew that most of the people they were travelling with didn’t like the idea of being constantly psychoanalyzed. The thing was that Newt knew Sweets didn’t see everyone as patients, he saw them as people, first. Not that he hadn’t always treated his patients like people, it was just that there was a difference. If the others were afraid of Sweets psychoanalyzing them – and Newt knew that many of his close friends were – they didn’t really know Sweets that well. He would make his judgements and he would suggest what he could to help, but he wasn’t going to treat them like they were insane. He wasn’t going to see himself as above them, and he wasn’t going to try to create the distance he would have had to if any of them were actually his patients. At least… that was what Newt assumed would happen based on the time he had spent with Sweets. It was odd to think that he never would have met Sweets if it weren’t for the apocalypse. He doubted he would have ever found himself anywhere near the Jeffersonian, and if he had… why would one of the top FBI shrinks ever give him the time of day unless he was a suspect? And if he did, why would they ever see each other more than once? Their friendship was a product of being forced together. There was no situation that Newt’s mind could provide that would allow them to be friends if the world had continued on like normal. He hated that. He hated that he had to be grateful to the apocalypse for anything, let alone his family and the people he cared most about. “We’re all a little bit of a mess,” he managed, letting his eyes close as he hugged Sweets, letting himself be the little kid he had never gotten to be for a few long moments. He had never had an older sibling to cling to when the world felt like it was falling apart. Well… if he had, then he didn’t remember it. He hated that. He hated knowing that he had a sister and knowing nothing about her. Was she older? Younger? Had he ever held her like Sweets was holding him now? Had he been held by her? He owed everything he had to the apocalypse. He owed everything he was to the end of the world, and he felt like he should hate that. Somehow, he couldn’t convince himself that he did. He just felt… grateful, now that he was hugging Sweets. “It’s not crap,” Newt added in a tiny voice, holding just a little bit tighter. “It’s a lot more helpful than anyone else will admit. It’s… it’s bloody brilliant.”
Zuko’s eye widened, Sal’s words slamming into him full force. I’m so proud of you. Zuko had fought for years to hear those words from his father. He had fought and struggled and tried to become someone he wasn’t. He tried to be hard, he tried to be uncaring, he tried to do what was best for his family above everything else. He tried to believe that if his family was doing well, they could make the rest of the world okay, too. It had taken him a long time to realize that manipulation and control wasn’t the same as peace. If someone listened to you because they were terrified, they wouldn’t fight for you if it came to it. They would bide their time, they would band together, and eventually they would rise up. Zuko had been afraid of that, for most of his life, the idea that the people they were trying to help would turn against them because they couldn’t even see what was good for them. Being away from Ozai… meeting Sal… that was the first step to Zuko unlearning everything he had struggled so hard against. Sal had watched him shed off the boy Ozai had tried to make him become. Sal had seen Zuko reemerge as himself, terrified and uncertain how to function in a world where he couldn’t go home. He just wanted to go home. The urge had gotten stronger and stronger until he had realized that home didn’t mean Ozai. It didn’t mean Azula, it didn’t mean the place he had grown up. It didn’t even mean the little pond where his mother had taught him to feed the ducks. It meant Sal. I never imagined anyone would be proud of me for… for being… me. The words didn’t quite escape Zuko, but they were at the forefront of his thoughts. There was something stopping him from admitting it out loud. Perhaps it was just a little bit too true. Perhaps the words would be an invitation for Sal to see Zuko completely torn open… nobody had seen that since Zuko had left home, and he had vowed that nobody would ever see him that vulnerable again. He wasn’t sure why he wanted Sal to be an exception. “You can be proud of me when you don’t have to worry about me turning around and going back to my father,” he replied quietly, glancing at Sal. “When I don’t think about how easy it would be to take Nico and run, because all of you trust me with him now. When I don’t think for even a second that going back would be better than being here, because if it’s not… then what did I want for most of my life? Why did I waste so much time and energy fighting for it?” Well. So much for not being vulnerable…
“I have the scar,” Nico protested, letting his hand drift towards the scar Hades had left on his face. “The one you gave him the first time you tried to escape.” He looked away, not moving away from Kelsier but not managing to meet his eyes. “I haven’t looked at anything reflective in a very long time. I’m afraid to see him looking back at me. I can’t… I don’t want to be him. I don’t want to be with him, but I really don’t want to be him, I don’t…” a sob shook him, though he couldn’t quite place why. He burrowed further against Kelsier, holding on as his small form trembled as traitorous tears threatened once more to come pouring down his face. He couldn’t cry now. Hades would take that as a win… and for the first time Nico understood why Kelsier had fought so hard. Letting Hades think he was winning was the worst possible thing Nico could think of letting happen. And he had been playing Hades’ game for months. He had let him win for months. “I want him to leave us alone,” Nico whispered, hating how young his voice sounded. How completely and utterly gutted. There was very little left of the boy who had been determined that he could make this better. The boy who had been so certain that he could say the right thing to bring Kelsier back to him. He had to ask himself now… did he prefer having Kelsier but nobody else, to have his dad back but to know that everyone else was just a figment of his imagination… or did he prefer it the way it was before, no Kelsier but an entire family of people to support him and care for him when he deserved nobody. If he had to choose, would he pick Kelsier, or the boys he had fallen in with who had become a second family overnight. It was an impossible choice, and one that Nico hoped he never had to make. He should have believed Kelsier earlier… “You tried so hard to protect me.” His voice was high and small, barely audible. “And I never believed you, never once… I don’t… I want to believe you now, but I don’t know how. I don’t want… I don’t want to be a murderer.”
Hinata wanted to stay to help Rue, he really did. He just… the daydream was really getting to him. He couldn’t stop seeing the look in his friends’ eyes as they stepped into that room, couldn’t stop the pounding in his heart as he remembered running for the weapons, faster than should have been possible. He didn’t think he wanted to touch a weapon any time soon. It was probably a good idea to have one on hand, but… Hinata was forgetful, and right now he really didn’t want one. If Kaladin wanted to get on his case about it… fine. He shuddered, pushing off the thought as he looked around camp for a long moment. There, off in the distance, movement from Kenma’s favorite place. “Thank you,” Hinata replied, barely avoiding dropping the plants as he handed them to Rue. “I… I’ll take all of them next time!” He ran forward, pushing as fast as he could go as he ran towards Hunter and Kenma.
“Right,” Hunter replied, looking around. It was something like a small city in camp. Maybe not a city… cities usually had more than a dozen people. But close. It was the closest he had been to a city since the apocalypse had started, at least. It was… oddly comfortable, seeing the little maze of tents. It was a sign that there might be a future where they could all settle down and live real lives in real houses, and they wouldn’t have to worry about things like zombies. Hunter wanted to have to worry about whether his jacket looked good with his shirt, not whether he and his friends would even survive another day. He glanced down, letting out a quiet sigh. He hated that so many of them had died. He was envious of Hinata and Noah. They hadn’t had to live through the worst of it. They hadn’t had to realize that something was wrong. A whoosh of air blowing past pulled Hunter out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to meet eyes with a gasping, out of breath Hinata. “That was fast,” he commented quietly to Kenma.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jun 7, 2021 0:07:31 GMT -5
Juuzou wasn’t thinking of what might have happened. His mind didn’t often work that way, in logical rivers that pooled into sense and reason. It was as erratic and whimsical as his body was, effortless leaps into conclusions or nimble crouches on firm beliefs. He was a killer, a child, a monster, and he accepted every title. He’d just never expected to add ‘loved’ to the list. Of course, he didn’t really regret the deaths he’d brought about, for the most part. It was like the pain he’d stopped feeling. His sense of guilt had faded, and eventually it had just been his life, the way the world was. He hadn’t known to think of the way it could be until he’d met Orpheus. Then he’d met his family, one by one. At first he’d been withdrawn, not shy, but aware that he wasn’t the sort of person you made friends with. He hadn’t wanted to see the disgust in their eyes as they came to know him. Besides, he hadn’t needed them. Loneliness was for people who had souls. But somehow...that hadn’t happened. Somehow, he’d come to have a family again, one that seemed to see him. Orpheus was a part of that family, he knew, even if he wasn’t a part of the same one. Juuzou had no problems with having more than one, to make up for lost time. And Orpheus was right. Noah had waved. It seemed important to remember that. He listened quietly as Orpheus spoke. How could he possibly know what he’d do if he was killed, a tiny part of him asked, if he’s never died? How can he be sure he’d be anywhere near as forgiving? But he wasn’t wrong. Noah had waved. Would he have done that if he had hated Juuzou? Guilt warred in his brain, a dragon in a world that wasn’t built fireproof. He had no experience with the feeling. He hadn’t been sick after killing someone in a very long time. Was it a good sign or a bad one that he felt it now? Your family knows you, Juuzou. Yes. They do. Juuzou breathed out, a tiny sigh that spoke more of pain than weariness. He looked at Orpheus, red eyes meeting hazel. “I’ll...talk to him,” he said haltingly, the words catching in his throat. “If you think it’ll help.” He trusted Orpheus, the way he trusted few people. And he trusted his judgement on this. He turned, facing back, then breathed out again and began to walk.
Ronan missed home. It was impossible to say what he meant by that. Home was a dead father. Home was an old warehouse. Home smelled like cows and gasoline. Ronan, it sighed, exasperated and rueful and chiding and loving all at once. It looked like Gansey, grand and untouchable. Gansey, pensive and worrying. Gansey, danger behind his eyes. Gansey, the only one in the entire world with the power to make something true by simply stating it. Ronan was a dreamer. But Gansey didn’t need dreams. He ruled the world when he was awake. How very much Ronan missed home. Noah was here. Noah...he tightened his grip on Noah’s hand. Without Noah, he was sure he’d have been dead in a ditch somewhere. He had survived a while without him, true, but that was all. Staying alive was one thing. He hadn’t hoped to find anything more, after they’d gotten separated, after Ronan had lost everything. Home was a misnomer. It implied safety. It promised permanence. It was a f(oops)ing liar, and Ronan Lynch hated lies. He glanced at Noah. His eyes flicked down to the scar. It was a bad habit and it hadn’t even had time to be a habit yet. The room they’d gone through had cut deep and unforgiving. He would never forget it, what they’d done to each other. What they’d wanted to do. He’d never take back what he’d said to Noah. They’d both remember those words in his voice forever. And here was Varian, acting like it was all fine. Like he couldn’t see the scar on Noah’s throat, like he hadn’t been there. Like he didn’t know. It was another lie. Ronan hadn’t expected it from Varian, which made it that much worse. It was one thing for a liar to lie, that was what they did, and Ronan could be prepared for it (Declan Lynch was the best example of this, even if Ronan being prepared for it meant anything from him getting the first punch in to him magically not being home ever). Varian wasn’t a liar. It didn’t look good on him. He felt Noah tighten his grip a little, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the shorter boy. “It’s not going to wear off,” he said flatly, eyes like knives, voice made entirely of acid. “It happened. Noah f(oops)ing died. You died. What, are you just gonna kiss and make up with Zuko now? What the hell is your problem?” He glared. It was like rubbing salt in an open wound, this tone, this voice. He moved forward, slowly, until he was standing right in front of Varian. He’d fought with several members of their family, Zuko most notably. Nico, too. And Sal has managed to piss him off more than once. But he’d never fought with Varian before. He stared at him, mouth set in a thin line, expression tight and full of venom and warning. If he’d been a rattlesnake, he’d be rattling. “Shut up!” He snapped as Varian continued to ramble. He grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt, though he didn’t do anything with it. “Just shut it. Right now.”
Varian didn’t understand, but he had the distinct impression he’d messed up somehow. There was no excitement here, no overwhelming joy at a wondrous discovery. Even if you weren’t scientifically inclined, Varian thought, you had to be thrilled by this. Sure, it hadn’t been fun, and he didn’t want to do it again. But in spite of the discomfort at the time...in spite of all that, it was worth it, in his eyes. If it got his father back, if it brought his family’s families back, if Tien could possibly be okay...he swallowed, backing away a little as Ronan stepped forward. Even his general assumption that body language was not real didn’t hold up. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, and he licked his lips, trying to find some way of making them understand. He’d forgotten Kaladin entirely. All that existed were these two boys and their eyes on him. “I am trying to tell you that this is a scientific breakthrough,” he said, as slowly and clearly as he could. “You’re not listening. Think about it for a second. What just happened? Look - “ he pointed at Noah’s scar, wide eyes meeting Ronan’s. It would have been smarter for him to back off, but he was sure he could make them see what he was trying to say, if only he could find the correct words. “Don’t yell at me!” He added, high voice raising even higher. “No, listen - I’m just telling you that this is a good thing! Can’t you see it? I can explain, there’s probably a machine or something somewhere that’s making this possible, we have to find it, we - “ He broke off with a squeak as his shirt was seized. This was a Ronan he had only witnessed, never experienced. He didn’t have a clue how to handle him, so he continued trying to explain. “It’s a scientific breakthrough! It’s incredible! Ronan, just listen to me!”
If braver when it came to romance meant giving a handkerchief to your crush before silently fleeing, then Spook was braver. His flirting had been hard and it had been forced, because...well, because he hadn’t really felt that way, but he’d felt like he should so he’d convinced himself he did. And here he was, facing actual feelings, and he didn’t have a clue what to do with them. He could try to flirt, but...was that weird when it was also a friend? Besides...he’d sort of already tried to flirt a little, but he’d been as subtle as he could and he thought maybe he’d overdone the whole subtlety thing. Either Wylan hadn’t noticed, or he’d ignored it on purpose, which made it even harder to know what to do. “You usually make sense to me,” he replied, forcing his own smile. It didn’t quite come out right. A little crooked. He looked away a moment later, unwilling to focus on that. He didn’t need to think about it, he needed...he needed to make sure Wylan didn’t blame himself, that was what he needed. He knew he would try. That was who he was, determined to take responsibility for things that weren’t his fault, and Spook adored him, every piece of him. He looked at him sharply as the hand went limp, his own grip tightening reflexively as he was forcibly reminded of the first time that had happened. Wylan was okay. Wylan was alive. Wylan was here. “Don’t blame yourself, please,” he murmured, searching Wylan’s gaze. “Please...please don’t blame yourself. God, Wylan, you got us this close. This close. I’d be lost without you.” He couldn’t help it. This raw honesty, he couldn’t seem to control it. It burst from him at the worst times. He was hopelessly awkward. It was a miracle Wylan didn’t know how he felt. Unless he did… He shook his head firmly. That wasn’t important right now, he told himself. This was important. He turned, breathing in as he caught Wylan’s eye. “Close your eyes?” He whispered, a smile tugging at his lips. “We’re almost there.”
Sweets knew he came on a little strong sometimes, especially when he got to talk psychology, which was most of the time when he was involved. It was jusr...how he saw the word. Connections, brains, people. They all impacted the world far more than most people seemed to realize. There wasn’t a thing that wasn’t related to it, because if humans perceived a thing, they judged it. That was the way it worked. He really was quite insufferable sometimes. Still, Newt was right, in a way. The thing was that patients and people were not mutually exclusive. He knew plenty of doctors who ended up seeing patients as things, but in Dr. Brennan’s own well-put words, he’d ended up imprinting on his like a baby duck. Clearly, he didn’t think they were mere objects of curiosity. They were human. And so was he. He didn’t want to thank the apocalypse. It had destroyed too many lives, ripped apart too many families. But he didn’t want to imagine never having met Newt, either. Newt...he deserved to be known. Protected. It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t had anyone to stand between him and Hades and say no. Sweets would have done that, if he could have. But the very least he could do was be here, now, even if it was too late to save him from that. At the very least he could try to help him heal. That was what he did best. He held onto Newt, held him as best he could. It wasn’t like he really had family, either. Not siblings, anyway. But he wanted to do this right. Newt was here, and he deserved better, most likely, but that also could have been the inferiority complex talking. And it didn’t matter, anyway, because Sweets wouldn’t go down the road of convincing himself this was a mistake. All that would do was show a lack of trust in Newt’s judgement. He smiled. “You think so?” He murmured, unable to keep the hopefulness out of his tone. “I mean...I wouldn’t have chosen it as a career if I didn't think so but people think it’s crap. Even if there are a ton of stories and whole books about it. You know, Del Brennan used to say she hated it, but she read the books so I don’t think she really did. You...really don’t think it’s crap?”
Sal hadn’t really intended to say it out loud, but now that he had, there was no way he was taking it back. It was true, for one thing. Sal was proud of Zuko, more than he knew how to put into words...sometimes, he hated language, in general. There were things he’d have liked to express that words failed to cover. He wanted the raw feeling to come across, he….maybe it was better he couldn’t be as honest as he wanted to be. Maybe language was there for the express purpose of stopping Sal Fisher from expressing a feeling he couldn’t take back. He pushed the thought away. He’d already heard that he could be too much, sometimes. He just didn’t know whether it was possible someone else could possibly feel things as fiercely and deeply as he did. When they’d first met, Sal hadn’t been at all sure he liked Zuko. He hadn’t known him...he hadn’t trusted him, either. Far from it. But he’d watched him change, he’d watched him grow as his own person, and he’d seen him fight harder than anyone else he’d ever met. Zuko had been born on an island far from himself. And when told he couldn’t possibly build a raft out of the flimsy trees, he had grit his teeth and swam. How could Sal possibly not be proud of this wonderful, unstoppable boy? He shifted to meet Zuko’s eye, his remaining one searching and unflinching. In that moment...even if he’d had something to cover his scars, a prosthetic to wear as a face, he thought he’d have taken it off now as a symbol of being as vulnerable as Zuko was allowing himself to be. As it was, he faced Zuko head on, instead of turning just slightly to the side, as he was often tempted to do. This was what he looked like. That was what Zuko looked like. They were more than the things that had happened to them. They were more than either of them appeared to be. He reached impulsively forward, hand catching Zuko’s, though his grip was barely there. Zuko could pull away without any effort at all, if he wanted to. “You think I don’t know that?” He murmured gently, not looking away. “You think I don’t already know, that you think about it sometimes? You think I thought it just went away as easy as saying so?” He held Zuko’s gaze. Right eye met left. “I’m not worried about you going back. I don’t worry for Nico’s safety when he’s near you. I can be proud of you when you fight your demons every day, when you think about how easily you could do it and tell the feeling no. When you miss home and still understand why you don’t go back. When you’re brave enough to say it out loud. I’m proud of you already, for everything you’ve already done, for everything you are...and I hope you can be proud of yourself, too.”
“It’s a scar,” Kelsier replied simply, shaking his head a little. “It’s history. It doesn’t mean the same thing for you, because...well, because it came from a different place. It happened differently. I don’t care that it looks like his. It’s not his, and neither are you.” He wished he could take it all back. Every hate-filled glance, every word, everything. But he knew he couldn’t, he knew… he knew better. This was real. And everything he’d done rested firmly and unforgivingly on his shoulders. He’d hurt Nico. Nearly killed him. He could never, ever erase that, no matter how hard he tried to make up for it. He smiled anyway. Not because he thought he was unbreakable, not anymore. But maybe because he was fixable. Everything he’d done, he done for Nico. To protect him. And it had failed. He had failed. He wasn’t much of a father, he knew now. He wasn’t much of a dad. But he wasn’t going to take away what little comfort he could offer. “He’s always, always been good at manipulating us,” he murmured, arm gentle around Nico. “This is just another lie he wants you to believe. That we’re still trapped. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how you got those scars or why you experienced what you did, but...I’m done being his pawn. If he wants to hurt you, let him try. He’ll have to get his own damn hands dirty. I’m dog doing it for him.” He didn’t need logic or explanations. He needed certainty, and for the moment, he had it. Certainty that he was free, that this was real, that his son needed him to hold on, not push away. He had always blazed with unapologetic love, towards Mare, towards humanity, towards Nico, once he met him. If lf reason defied that love, reason could go to hell. “I didn’t protect you,” he managed softly. “And I’ve never regretted anything more. I was lost. I’m still a little lost. But I’m here for now, and I’ll do everything in my power to stay. Just.,.you stay too, alright?”
Kenma knew it was easy to feel like the ones who had died first had gotten off easy. They hadn’t had to even consider killing one of their friends, even in self defense. They hadn’t had to watch the others die, with nothing they could do. They had scars, but they hadn’t had to live through it. But they had to live with what their friends had gone through. They had to deal with the fact that it had happened, and they hadn’t been there. Kenma had always felt that the only thing harder than living with pain was living with watching someone you loved be in pain. Him he could have chosen between dying first or letting someone else escape that place before him? He knew what he’d have picked. Both were awful. There was no doubt about that. He just hated being helpless, especially when it came to his friends. He glanced up as Hinata seemed to materialize, somehow crossing the distance between wherever he’d come from to them before Kenma could even realize he was coming. “He usually is,” he agreed quietly, shrugging a little as he watched Hinata catch his breath again. “Shoyo. You’re alright?”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jun 8, 2021 0:59:59 GMT -5
Orpheus didn’t know Juuzou’s mind. He knew the boy was impressive, he knew that he was powerful and he did kind things for no reason other than that he could, and he knew that Juuzou’s past had been painful. He knew there was little to no discussion about it, because the present and the future were far more important than anything Juuzou had left behind. Orpheus knew that Juuzou would never, ever hurt his family if he had been given the option to. Whatever had happened that Juuzou was remembering, whatever had given Noah that scar… it wasn’t Juuzou’s fault. He might have held the weapon, he might have been the one to plunge it towards a target, but if he wasn’t in full control of his mind, then Juuzou wasn’t any more culpable than he would have been if he were a zombie who had hurt someone. Juuzou’s question had merit… Orpheus had never been killed. He didn’t know how he would feel towards whoever killed him if someone did, but… but he was fairly confident in what he had told Juuzou anyway. If it was family, there had to be a reason why. He wouldn’t want to go on living without knowing that reason. This situation… after everything the entire group had been through together, Orpheus found it difficult to believe that they couldn’t come back from this. He found it impossible to believe that they wouldn’t forgive each other, even if it took a little bit of time. They had all been there. They must have all felt whatever it was Juuzou had felt, it was just that Juuzou was more skilled with a knife than any of them were, and a weapon that worked closer up was worthless if you were hit with a knife before you got the chance to attack with your own weapon of choice. “I think it will help,” Orpheus replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was genuine, as all of his smiles were. He didn’t want Juuzou to think that he was setting him up for failure. He might have been idealistic and optimistic, but he knew how families worked, especially families that had chosen each other. Forgiveness and understanding were integral facets. “Juuzou,” Orpheus murmured once Juuzou had taken his first step. He didn’t need the boy to turn around, but he needed him to hear him. “I’m proud of you for facing this. I really am. I know it’s not easy, but you’re taking that step.”
Noah could see both sides. On one hand, he had a scar on his neck that was never going to go away. He had words echoing in his ear that hurt more than anything else in the world possibly could. He was afraid of the hatred that had stirred up in him, and he couldn’t help equating it to what had happened to him with Whelk. To the feeling of being pushed, the feeling of falling, the knowledge that he could turn at any time, that he was going to have no warning before he did… he rubbed at his cheek, turning his gaze away from them both. If there were really something that could teleport people and make it so no time had passed, something that could make all of them hate each other… yes, it was a scientific achievement. Yes, a lot of good things could be done that way. But was it worth it? Was it really worth all of this, the guilt for the hatred he hadn’t been able to turn away, the echo of words Ronan would never speak… If Gansey were here, he would have been able to stop Ronan. He would have known the right words to say to find a compromise between the two of them. But Gansey wasn’t here, and Noah was a poor substitute. He didn’t have the right words. He wasn’t a commanding presence. And he agreed with Ronan at least a little bit. They had all died. That wasn’t something you could just shake off and ignore because there was something else exciting happening. “Ronan, wait…” Noah managed in a tiny, barely audible voice as Ronan grabbed Varian’s shirt. He knew Ronan well enough now to know that Varian was just going to make it worse if he kept talking. Ronan fought with anyone and anything if he could, but this side of him, the part that really meant the fights… that was rarely turned on their family, and Noah didn’t know what to do about it. He remembered in the old days how Gansey and Adam used to restrain Ronan as he tried to attack Declan. As Declan backed off, getting ready to throw another punch… those had been simpler times. Noah had never gotten involved in those fights. He wished now that he had. “Why can’t it be a good thing and a bad thing all at once?” Noah whispered, trying not to be a coward, trying to stand tall and face the two of them, trying to break this up. “I mean… I mean there’s something out there that can bring people back to life without making them zombies, which is a good thing. Unless that thing just made us all have a mass hallucination and none of us actually died, but…” he touched the scar on his neck, wishing that it would go away and prove itself the result of something that wasn’t real. It didn’t. “But we were all hurt. And we need time to recover from that. I mean… I mean we should make sure that everyone else is okay first, right? Instead of attacking now. I haven’t seen anyone else since we all woke up here again, and we don’t know for sure that everyone else survived. So… so we should check?” Noah couldn’t help but feel like he had been better at this before he had been betrayed. Before his body had taken so much out of him fighting a disease that was going to take over him eventually. He felt like he was losing bits of himself, sometimes. Like parts of his brain had already succumbed. He knew that wasn’t possible. If it had happened, he’d be full zombie right now. But what had happened… it had changed him. It had made him a coward, where before he’d been reckless and daring, and just a little bit ambivalent about serious things. Now he was reckless but also terrified. It wasn’t a combination he understood. Now, though… facing his family… he just felt conflicted.
Wylan had never even tried flirting (well, maybe he had, but it had been unintentional and hadn’t been towards people he had feelings for, just people he either wanted to be friends with or strangers he was being nice to), so Spook was better than him on that count. He didn’t think he would be very good at it if he did try. There must have been a book somewhere on how to deal with the feelings you had for your best friend, but even if there was… well, it wasn’t like Wylan could read it. Most of the time when he needed something read he just asked Spook to do it for him. He couldn’t exactly ask Spook to read something like that. Fortunately, it was just a hypothetical issue for the moment. The point was that he didn’t know how to navigate this, and the last thing he wanted to do was mess it all up by being careless. “Good,” Wylan replied, catching the tail end of Spook’s crooked smile. It made his heart do a somersault in his chest, made his cheeks turn bright red, generally just made a fool of him. He tried to breath out, tried to get rid of the reaction before Spook could focus on it. It was just… the smile was so Spook. Uncertain and shy, but still there. Because Spook didn’t leave. There were so many times when he could have, but he never did. Wylan had left Spook behind in that place, whether he liked it or not. It hadn’t been his choice… he had been trying to save them both, but he hadn’t expected Juuzou to notice them. He hadn’t expected Juuzou to get quite that close, close enough to notice the slow rise and fall of their chests. “I didn’t get us close enough,” he whispered, brushing up just a little bit closer against Spook. “I… god, I can’t imagine where I’d be without you. You’re the reason the bomb never went off there. You’re the reason I didn’t kill our entire family. You’re… you’re the reason for so much more than you realize, so much more good than you realize.” He fell silent for a long moment, wanting to let it fade into their past. Without questioning, Wylan let his blue eyes drift closed, trusting Spook entirely to lead him to this special place. The place with flowers and some small semblance of peace.
Newt was fine with being psychoanalyzed. He was fine with Sweets picking apart his thoughts – actually, he was really interested to hear the kinds of conclusions that Sweets came to. He didn’t understand his own brain very much at all, all he knew was that it was important to him and he wanted to keep it healthy. Sweets was the perfect person to know for that… especially given the circumstances in which they had met. Newt tried to push that to the back of his mind, but it was there, right front and center. He sometimes thought he was never going to be able to shake that. He was moving on. He was growing up. And he had Sweets there to guide them, something he had never expected to have. When he had woken up with no memory of himself or his family, he had thought the rest of his life was going to be that. He was going to grow up and not know anything about who he was or the sorts of people he could call family. He still didn’t remember his birth family. He knew he had a sister, but that was it. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t have a family. He had the other boys. He had Sweets. And he was upset that the apocalypse had taken so much from everyone, but he was grateful for what it had given him. “I do want to point out that just because people have written books doesn’t mean that it isn’t crap,” Newt commented, one eyebrow raising. He didn’t think that psychology was crap, but Sweets’ argument wasn’t exactly the strongest. “I mean… there were a lot of books published about conspiracy theories and stuff, if my scouring of libraries has been accurate. And a lot of conspiracy theories seem like they were complete crap. Like… the amount of people who believed the Earth was flat even though there were legitimately pictures of the fact that it was round? I don’t get that. It’s crap. But there are books about it, I read one, and I think I felt myself getting dumber. But… when it comes to psychology, I don’t think it’s crap.” Newt was silent for a long moment, lips pursed as he stared right past Sweets, lost in thought. “Have you ever thought about offering psych treatment to people now? I mean a lot of people probably need it but nobody has access to it. It might… help. And it might make you stop worrying about whether other people think your life goal is crap or not.”
“I don’t know how to be the person you think I am,” Zuko admitted after a long moment, eye frozen on Sal’s hand, on the place where it met his, on the sparks that seemed to travel up his arm. “I don’t know how to be worth your pride.” It was the truth, once again laid bare. Zuko was distantly aware that L was still probably watching the two of them, but it didn’t matter. This was them. This was the two of them, standing in the open with nothing around to hide them. Zuko wondered why he had never felt brave enough to do it before. Zuko wished he could take it back. He wished he had said it sooner. He wanted to hide. He wanted to stay here with Sal, knowing that Sal saw every part of him. “I’m… trying,” he allowed after a moment, giving the tiniest shake of his head. “I think it would have gone away a lot easier for other people. I think there are people who never would have considered it in the first place. I think there are people that are a lot stronger than I am that fight a lot worse every day, and they come out on top every time. I think… I think I don’t ever want to go back. And I don’t want to hurt Nico, but who am I if I can’t get the thought out of my head, sometimes? I’m a hypocrite, Sal. The worst kind.” He wasn’t usually self-deprecating. He pretended to be arrogant, pretended that he knew what he was doing just so he could maintain a semblance of control, but he was so tired of the world falling down around him. This time, he wanted to accept Sal’s help in holding it up, even if that meant that Sal had the weight of a planet and a half on his shoulders. Maybe Zuko could take some of his weight… it was always a little bit easier when you could choose how to take it on. When you hadn’t been burdened with it for most of your life. “Maybe one day I’ll manage to be proud of myself,” Zuko whispered, cutting through the thick silence several seconds later. “Maybe one day, when I’ve become something more similar to the person I think I want to be.” He didn’t know if he would ever get there. He was going to fight like hell to do it, though. If there was one thing he was good at, it wsa fighting impossible odds. It was staring at something someone said wasn’t doable and doing it anyway. How else could he possibly prove himself than by doing something that everyone else was either too smart or too scared to do. “I…” whatever Zuko was about to say was lost as he let his gaze drift back down to their hands. He could pull away without a second thought. He could take his hand back and pretend that this didn’t matter, but that would be a lie, and he got the feeling he wasn’t going to lie to Sal right now, not when he had been truthful about something he tried so desperately to keep inside.
There was nothing Nico wanted to do more than believe Kelsier. He had spent so long trying to see the world the way Kelsier had, once. He had spent so long trying to have hope and believe that maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed, but things only seemed to get worse. All you fault, the voice in the back of Nico’s head screamed, but he did his best to ignore it. If he didn’t give it a voice, it couldn’t pull on him the way it was currently trying to. There were two Kelsiers in Nico’s mind’s eye, though he knew they were really the same man. He had spent so long believing them separate, but the Kelsier he had believed to be broken? He clearly wasn’t. He had been fighting as hard as he could, but if he was right about this, that this was the real world… then it was just that he was fighting the wrong battle. You weren’t broken just because you were a little bit blinded about who the real enemy was. Kelsier was exactly the dad Nico needed, especially now that Kelsier seemed to see him as him, not as the enemy wearing the wrong face. “I don’t want to be his,” Nico murmured after a long moment, his finger tracing down his scar. “I don’t… I want to be my own. But if we’re still there, if we’re still trapped…” he squeezed his eyes shut tight, then looked up into the sky. If it were a bit later he might have tried to find constellations. He doubted that Hades knew about constellations. He doubted he would have bothered them to put them in this hell… stars would be nothing but a distraction. “I want to believe you,” he admitted, managing to make his voice sound just a little bit more confident. “But he knows me too well… he knows exactly how to hurt… and nothing… nothing feels real. I want to wake up. I want to fight him, Kelsier. I want to take him down.” He was never going to be able to do that and he knew it. “I… I’ll try to stay,” Nico promised, clearing the air of the thick silence. “But I’d rather be lost with you than confident about where I am alone.”
They had all come out of that place with scars. Hunter hadn’t seen the scar directly through his heart. He didn’t know it was there. He didn’t need to in order to know that he wasn’t going to escape from remembering every horrid detail of the room. It was like it was plastered in his minds eye, the way the weapons were affixed to the wall, the way the ground had been designed as though to make the blood stand out even more starkly. It had been a nightmare, and not one he could escape from. There were scars. Hunter just hadn’t realized there were physical ones, too. He breathed out, looking between Hinata and Kenma and feeling a little bit like he may have been intruding. Which was ridiculous, considering he had been here first, but still. He always felt a little bit antsy when he was around people who were closer to each other than they were to him. In another lifetime, Hunter might have had a quip waiting for Hinata when he caught his breath. He was a little too shaken by the reality of what had happened that he wasn’t ready with one this time. He decided to let it slide.
Hinata gave Hunter an excited wave, then turned most of his attention towards Kenma. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see or speak to Hunter, it was just… Kenma’s voice had been the one Hinata had heard the loudest in his daydream. Perhaps that was because Kenma was the person he knew the best, but… it didn’t’ make sense. Kenma wasn’t loud. Everyone else could surely yell much, much louder. But it was Kenma’s voice that stuck with him, warning him just before he stepped in through a door. He shuddered, pushing the thought away. It hadn’t been real, so there was no need to dwell on it, right? It was like when he used to get nervous before games. There was no real reason to be nervous, but his body got all icky whenever he saw players that were seemingly twice as tall as he was getting ready to play on a real court. “Hm? ‘Course I’m alright,” Hinata replied, doing his best to sound as cheerful as possible.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jun 19, 2021 21:01:50 GMT -5
Juuzou preferred the way things were now, with no discussion about his past, no discussion about what he had done or where he had been before. He didn’t want to dwell on it, he didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t who he was, or...at least, not completely. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. He didn’t know who he wanted to be, but he knew he wasn’t going to find it in the past. That was just pain, and betrayal, and though he held no grudge, he didn’t think he wanted to bring it up. But he couldn’t just discount it entirely. Not what he’d hurt his family the way he had. He had to consider the possibility that this was him. That he was dangerous, too dangerous to have people he cared for. He’d been a weapon for most of his life. Was it possible that was all he was, now? Juuzou had, technically, been killed by Zuko. Probably. He didn’t know if he’d actually died, he just knew that the wound in his leg had been bad, and he wouldn’t have been shocked if it had killed him. It was entirely possible that he’d died in that room, so maybe...maybe he could go off his own feelings. He didn’t feel any anger towards Zuko. He felt guilt. That was all. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. He didn’t like it. Maybe it was because he had been the attacker. Zuko had been defending mostly. He had even tried to stop Juuzou, at the end. Maybe he felt worse than he thought Zuko did because he had killed almost all of them, and he would have killed the ones left behind, too, if he could have. Maybe he was more to blame than the others because he hadn’t hesitated. He was going to face it. He was going to make Noah be the one to push him away, he wouldn’t do it himself. He would see this through to the very end. Orpheus’ words washed over him, and he stopped. I’m proud of you for facing this. I’m proud of you for facing this. I’m proud of you. He didn’t think. He just moved. His body reacted for him, and he was hugging Orpheus fiercely a moment later, pressed close to him. He didn’t really have words. He just did the next best thing.
It was hard to say whether Ronan was capable of seeing both sides. Was it possible for someone like him to see Varian’s perspective? It likely didn’t matter how possible or impossible it might be. He was angry. He was angry that this had happened. He was angry that he had called Noah a coward. He was angry that Noah had died, and Ronan had been left to feel the pain. He had lost people before, even before the apocalypse, he had lost his father, he had lost his mother, and according to some, he had lost himself. But losing his best friend had hurt, in the deep, soul searing way that was impossible to describe and impossible to breathe through. This was a pain to be screamed. Unfortunately, Ronan Lynch didn’t scream the way many people did. He felt happiness and he felt anger. This wasn’t the first, so automatically, it translated into the second. He didn’t speak fear or sadness. Not in so many words. If he ever had, that part of him was as dead as a zombie. There was exactly one person who could have stopped this pain from spreading like a wildfire. That person was, most likely, dead, Noah was his best friend, but he had never been able to hold Ronan back by force when he threw himself forwards. This time was no different. He didn’t answer. It was hard to tell whether he had even heard Noah at all. He heard himself shouting at Noah, calling him a coward. He heard screams and cries and people dying. And he heard Varian, grating voice refusing to stop. He needed him to stop. This reminded him of the old days, too. When he’d fought Declan, when he’d fought because Declan was there and they weren’t friends anymore, when he’d been held back by Gansey and Adam, both of them determined to stop him from doing something stupid. He wasn’t thinking, now. He wasn’t wishing for anything. He felt so much at once that he felt nothing at all, like some kind of circuit breaker had flipped in his head and now his heart didn’t beat. It was anger. Then it wasn’t anger anymore, but something deeper, something that felt an awful lot like nothing. “Noah,” he said softly. “Stop talking.” He wasn’t angry with Noah. Was he angry with Varian? He just wanted very much to break something. No one was dead. Noah and Varain were here, so the rest of them were too. He wasn’t thinking of Juuzou, though at the time, he had been the one he’d wanted very much to hurt, Juuzou wasn’t the one standing here now, so Juuzou wasn’t the one he wanted to fight. He didn’t let go of Varian’s shirt He knew Noah was different now, in a way. He could tell. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know if there even was a reason besides the end of the world, but wasn’t that enough? Ronan had changed, too. Ronan wasn’t the person he’d been before. He hadn’t been deadly before. He had been wild, but not venomous. Not like he was now. He could leave them, but he didn’t want to leave Noah. He didn’t want to walk away when Noah was a significant part of why he was doing this. Probably. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He just was.
Varian didn’t know what to make of this. He wanted to explain, but the more he said, the more angry Ronan seemed to get. He wanted to talk to Noah, who seemed much more willing to listen to him and understand what he was trying to say. He wanted to get Ronan to stop acting like he was saying something he wasn’t. Why couldn’t he get through? Why wasn’t he making sense? He didn’t get it, this rage. He didn’t understand where it was coming from. If he could explain...if he could only explain, maybe he could make them see reason. If he could make them see him, if he could...how could he make them see? He opened his mouth to explain, but no sound came out. He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know what to say, he had explained already, he had tried to make them hear him, but they wouldn’t listen. Or at least, Ronan wouldn’t. He looked at Noah, blue eyes wide. “Yes!” He replied, nodding quickly. “I mean, of course, the dying wasn’t awesome, I’m not saying dying is fun, but isn’t that a little bit overshadowed by the death cure?” He tugged at his shirt, trying to get out of Ronan’s grip. But Ronan didn’t let go. “I just think it was worth it, that’s all,” he added, trying to backpedal enough to appease Ronan, though he was looking at Noah now. “I...I want a cure. And a time machine. Don’t you guys want that too? Isn’t there anything you wish hadn’t happened that you could fix with this? How can you not be happy?” He bit his lip, looking between the two of them, his eyes wide. “I...my dad could come back if this is for real. And...and Tien...and so many other people we’ve all lost. Haven’t either of you lost anyone? Anyone at all? I thought everyone had lost someone...you could have them back! I could...I could save everyone! I could fix all of this!” He could barely breathe. He needed them to understand. He wanted his dad back. He wanted Tien back. He wanted his family to have the people they loved. Didn’t they want that? How could they not want that, too?
Even if Spook had technically flirted before (and he had, just not with much success), he didn’t think it was going to help him much here. This was...very different. Wylan was already close, for one thing. Wylan was his best friend. This wasn’t something he was okay with messing up. He couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally saying the wrong thing and pushing him away, or...doing something stupid. He couldn’t let himself ruin this, and so he was afraid he might never see what would happen. It wasn’t worth breaking this. He wasn’t at all confident Wylan would catch it if he threw it. He couldn’t risk it...he couldn’t let himself risk it. He wished there was a way to know how Wylan felt without having to ask. That would have been the easiest thing. He could have just known for sure, then, what to do. He looked at Wylan, taking in his words, not quite believing them fully, but trying to. He wanted to be able to believe Wylan, but...he was just Spook. He wasn’t anything special. He couldn’t protect them, like Nico and Juuzou and Zuko and even Ronan could. He couldn’t hope to find a cure, like Wylan and Varian could. He wasn’t exactly jealous, he just...didn’t think he knew how to be as amazing as Wylan seemed to think he was. He didn’t know how to be the person Wylan was looking at. And then Wylan wasn’t looking at anything at all, and Spook breathed out, leading him forwards. It was a small house, not more than a single room. Spook moved forwards, leading Wylan gently, making sure there was nothing he might trip over. There were the flowers, multicolored and wild, growing as free as a bird in the soft grass. Or was incredible that no one else had found this, but then...they had. His brown eyes found the broken glass out of habit, the shattered windows. He didn’t know whether it had been the dead or the living that had broken it, he didn’t know if it had been done out of necessity or anger, he didn’t know how long it had been that way. He just knew that, once, it had been whole. He didn’t lead Wylan anywhere near it. He would warn him, in case there were any shards left over. For now, he wanted him to see this. On a wild, reckless impulse, he leaned down and plucked a flower at his feet, then straightened up, holding it close to his chest. “Okay,” he whispered. “You can look.”
Sweets could certainly try to help with understanding brains. He was good at that, he was good at psychoanalyzing people. Better at it than he was at really anything else, he thought. He could figure people out, he was good at helping them become the best versions of themselves, and...and he was still doing that, really. He was trying hard to still be able to help, even if it wasn’t in the same ways he had, once. Maybe he didn’t have a career, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a job, right? He hoped he’d been able to prove that to himself and the others by working with Kelsier. Though the man wasn’t exactly the most willing of patients, he had accepted that anything with even the smallest chance of helping was something he needed to do. Sweets was grateful for that sliver of common sense, and nor just because it gave him the chance to do what he loved. He wanted Nico to be safe. He wanted everyone else to be safe, too. He wasn’t convinced Nico was the only one at risk because of Kelsier’s condition. And he knew Newt might try to help him...it was definitely best to try to help him heal as fast as possible. He paused, looking at Newt, one eyebrow raising a little. “Hey!” He protested, but there was no real offense to his tone. “I didn’t mean just the books, I meant there’s been a ton of research and stuff about it. It’s not just people going off their gut feelings here, there’s been so much peer review and so many studies and lots of professionals have come to the same conclusions. I mean...there’s been a lot of disagreement too, sure, but there’s been disagreements about every kind of science. You are totally right about the conspiracy theories though, they’re crap.” He smiled a little. Hodgin’s offended expression bright in his mind. “I had a friend who thought they were legit. Or so he said. Honestly? I think he was just rebelling in his own way. But he’d be mad if I ever actually told him that.” He looked at Newt, blinking as the boy continued. Offering psych treatment...now? To people in need of it? He frowned a little. “I guess...I never thought of that,” he admitted after a moment. “You know, I just thought that part of my life was over. Do you really think anyone would be interested?”
Sal shook his head a little, breathing out as Zuko spoke. He didn’t get it, did he? He didn’t know that Sal saw who he was, right now, not some impossible perfect version of him. “Hey,” he said softly, a small smile at his scarred lips. “You know how to be the person I know you are. You already are him. I don’t think you're perfect or anything. I don’t think any of us are perfect. But I think you try, and that’s a lot more than a lot of people can honestly say. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t try at all. Tell me you’re not fighting to become the person you want to be.” He wanted Zuko to see himself as Sal saw him, for just a moment. He wanted Zuko to understand that trying...it meant something. It meant so much. Yes, it mattered whether he succeeded, but trying had its own incredible worth, and he couldn’t be blamed for the things he did his best to do, even if they failed in the end. If he’d done all he could, what else could possibly be asked of him? He knew Zuko wasn’t arrogant. Or maybe...in a way, he was, a little. Sometimes. But deep down? Sal could see the conflict. He could see the way Zuko had to fight himself, sometimes. Did he know how much that struggle was worth? “Do you get more satisfaction from climbing a hill or a mountain?” He asked quietly, holding Zuko’s gaze. “Do you feel more accomplished if you kill one zombie, or a herd of them? I’m not here under any false pretense, Zuko. You haven’t tricked me into being proud of you, or believing in you. I’m proud of you because it’s hard and because you have to fight, not in spite of it. Not that I don’t wish it was easier, of course I do, but the things you’ve struggled with and still fight even now...they make me even more proud of who you are.” He didn’t know how to say what he meant. He hoped Zuko understood. He hoped any of that made any sort of sense. He just...needed Zuko to know. He didn’t want him to believe for even a moment that he wasn’t worthy of anyone’s pride, when that was so far from the truth. He didn’t want to let go of Zuko’s hand. That, too, was a truth, though a far different one. Was this okay? Was this allowed? He wasn’t thinking of L anymore. He barely remembered he was there at all. Or maybe he wasn’t there anymore. Sal didn’t see him, anyway. “I’ll be proud of you for both of us, then,” he murmured at last, breathing out as he fractured the silence, just a little. Did it count if his voice was soft enough to be lost in even the smallest of sounds? “For now. Pay me back someday, yeah?” He didn’t mean it, though. This was a gift. Zuko didn’t need to do a single thing. But he felt better having said it.
Kelsier hoped that his way of seeing the world before had helped. Before everything had happened, before he had lost himself, before Hades has taken him away, broken him. Because he had never, ever stopped trying, but did that mean he wasn’t broken? He had never given up, but what did that prove? Nothing. It proved nothing at all. There was no way it was Nico’s fault, he knew, he didn’t even consider that, because of course it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t his fault that Kelsier had been fighting the wrong battle. Was this him? Was it the same him that had tried to kill Nico? Kelsier didn’t know which answer he wanted more. On the one hand, of course he didn’t want to be broken. He didn’t want to be broken at Hades’ hand, he didn’t want to have broken his promise to Nico. But on the other hand, if he wasn’t broken, if this was him...then it was his hand that had nearly choked the life out of Nico. It was his hand that had nearly killed his own son. He had to accept responsibility for this, this violence, this betrayal. He needed to convince Nico, somehow, that they were okay. He needed to help him believe this, even if he hadn’t believed it before, even if he struggled to believe it now. He was lost, but he would still find a way to lead Nico home, if he could. He was dying, but he’d save Nico, if he could. “I know. I know, kid, I know,” he murmured, breathing out as he mer Nico’s eyes. “That’s all I’ve wanted for a long time now. That’s all I’ve wanted to do. But we can fight him, Nico. We’re fighting him every time we refuse to believe his lie, every time we fight to believe this is real. That’s how we can win this. That’s how we can prove he’s failed. You’re awake, Nico, you’re awake.” He wanted to do more. He wanted to say more. He felt as helpless as a leaf in a river. “I don’t want you to be lost,” he breathed, holding Nico closer. “Okay? Even if I go back under, I need you to be free. I need you to promise you won’t stop fighting, even if I go away for a while.”
Hinata had died so quickly. He had been the first kill, only by an instant, but still. He had no way of knowing how bad it had gotten. He had no way of knowing that anyone had died, unless he’d known he had. It had happened fast, though. Kenma didn’t know if he would have been able to realize what was happening in time. He didn’t know which was better. It was probably best if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even if he needed to be told about it, at least he wouldn’t have that memory. He glanced at Hunter. The two of them had been among the last to die…Kenma couldn’t imagine much more had happened afterwards. All he really had to wonder about was whether Juuzou had died too in the end. Had Zuko managed to kill him? He hesitated, watching Hinata for a long moment. He wasn’t really used to speaking…even now, he wanted to let Hunter do the talking. It was habit to assume someone else could have any conversation that needed having. To assume that even if his presence was needed, his voice wasn’t. Hunter didn’t seem all that inclined to explain, though. And Hinata…did he realize it had really happened? He finally gave a tiny nod, looking down. “It’s…just that…” he murmured, his voice soft. “What just happened to us all…it happened.”
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jun 20, 2021 1:55:27 GMT -5
Orpheus didn’t know how to make this better. There were things he could do for people when their loved ones died, things he could do to help them process grief, but Juuzou’s situation was unlike anything he had ever faced. He had met people who had needed to kill their loved ones because they’d been infected, but killing them on accident? Killing them because something outside of you had compelled you to do it? The thought gave Orpheus chills, and he wasn’t even there. He had no way of comprehending what Juuzou was dealing with, but he could listen. He could be there for Juuzou when the world felt like it was falling down again. He didn’t want Juuzou to feel alone, not after this. Not when he was clearly trying very hard to isolate himself from the people he had considered family until this… unfortunate event had occurred. It wasn’t his fault. If Orpheus was certain of nothing else, he was certain of that. The Juuzou he knew would never kill his family, even under immense pressure. He didn’t know if he was saying the right thing. He wanted to believe he was, wanted to believe that he was helping Juuzou even a little bit. The boy looked like he was feeling a little bit better… like he might believe there was hope, even if he was scared to admit that to himself. Orpheus expected Juuzou to turn around and march back in Noah and Ronan’s direction. He expected him to decide to give it one more go. What he didn’t expect was Juuzou throwing his arms around him, holding him close like he had managed to do the right thing. Like… like he was a lifeboat in a world flooded. Hesitantly at first, Orpheus wrapped his arms around Juuzou, careful not to crush the boy. His hand landed in Juuzou’s hair, and he gently teased through his dark locks. “It’s okay,” Orpheus whispered, letting his eyes close for just a moment. “You’re stronger than this moment. Than this doubt. I’ve… I’ve watched you fight off much worse.” No, Orpheus didn’t know details. He didn’t know exactly what Juuzou had left behind him, but he knew enough to know that leaving it had required more strength than most people possessed. Juuzou was built to kill, but he was more than that. He was strong enough to be whatever he chose to be, and Orpheus didn’t lie. He was proud of Juuzou. Prouder than he had the words to express.
Noah winced, his mouth immediately shutting as Ronan ordered it. He resented that, but he understood. He wasn’t saying the right thing. He wasn’t Gansey. He wasn’t Adam. He may have been closer to Ronan than either of them were, in his own unique way, but he couldn’t get through to him. Adam could shame him into acting like a human being rather than an animal, and Gansey knew exactly what leash to use. Noah used to resent the way Kavinsky had compared Ronan to a dog, but now… well, he could see there was some credence to the comparison, even if he still didn’t like it. Kavinsky reminded him too much of Whelk. Acting like a friend, acting like he was giving help when really he was using you. When he spent the entire time feeling like he was superior to you… only keeping you around because he didn’t want to feel alone. He shook the thought away, rubbing at the smudge on his cheek. If Noah wasn’t saying the right thing, then Varian was saying exactly the wrong thing. Noah didn’t want to think about dying. He didn’t want to think about the fear and anger that had flooded him in that room, the thoughts that told him that, if there had been zombies in that room, Noah would have shoved whoever was standing nearest him at them, and then run. He didn’t want to be Whelk. It scared him that he understood the impulse that had made Whelk push him down. Desperation was the scariest thing Noah had ever come across, and the room had been absolutely flooded with it. Ronan angry was a dangerous thing. Noah didn’t think he was going to kill Varian or anything that drastic, but he doubted that Varian was going to get out of this without at least one broken bone. “We don’t know for sure that there’s a cure…” Noah trailed off, eyes widening as he touched the smudge on his cheek. He wanted a cure. He wanted to be himself again, he didn’t want to be afraid anymore, he… he wanted to be able to live without wondering if he was going to wake up himself, or if he would be trying to kill his friends. He felt himself trembling, though he didn’t know when he had started. “Stop,” he managed softly, hugging his arms to his chest. There were too many people he had lost… too many people he could never see again, even if he found them, because he wasn’t who he used to be. Because he could sense even Ronan’s disappointment at the shell he had found of his former best friend. A tear traced down Noah’s face, and he made no effort to stop it. Noah Czerny wanted himself back. He wanted to hold his sisters and tell them it would be okay. He wanted to pet Blue’s hair and take dangerous ramps with Ronan, him on a skateboard, Ronan in his car. He wanted to skateboard while being dragged behind Ronan’s car again. Discomfort buried itself in Noah’s stomach. “Don’t… don’t act like there isn’t anything we want to change.” Noah hated confrontation, but he was willing to take this one. “Maybe you’re right. But… but even if you are, what happened still happened, and we can’t all pretend that it didn’t!” He shrank back almost as soon as the words were out, not wanting to see hurt on Varian’s face. “I think… you might be right. I just… we can celebrate after we make sure everyone’s alive and okay.”
Kaladin had been willing to let Varian try to tell the others his ‘good news,’ but it seemed like they had taken it about as well as Kaladin had expected. Perhaps if Varian had chosen a different group to tell first… Ronan had a tendency to get violent, more so than some of the other boys. It was a shame that Varian hadn’t run into Sal or Newt first. He wasn’t sure they would have taken Varian’s excitement well, but it was better than the situation Varian had landed himself in. It would be simple enough to let Varian deal with the consequences of his actions, but Kaladin knew it wasn’t that simple. Varian was excited for a legitimate reason, but it seemed that the others were both traumatized. He had a feeling that Varian’s desperation to make something good out of what happened was also some sort of trauma response, but he wasn’t the psychologist. He’d have to consult Sweets about that. After a long moment, Kaladin surged forward to interfere. The situation was delicate, and he had half a mind to go find Sweets to help him deal with it, but it seemed like it was going to escalate. Ronan needed a psychologist, not a soldier. Unfortunately, he was getting Kaladin. “Let him go,” he said as soon as he was in earshot, his voice leaving no room for questioning. “From what I understand, you’ve all already hurt each other enough for one day, am I right?” He knew it was a dirty trick, but it would make sure he didn’t have to set any broken bones that evening. As long as they all escaped the situation physically unscathed, Kaladin was willing to say any number of unsavory things. “Varian,” he added, crossing his arms, “What did I say about being careful how and what you say?” He didn’t want to be too hard on the kid, but… he had heard the part about Tien. It hurt, the wanting. He wanted Tien back. He wanted to protect his little brother, but he had lost that chance. The next best thing was protecting this small group that had formed itself around him. That meant deescalating this situation. “Everyone’s lost someone. You all lost each other very recently…” Kaladin’s main strategy was ignoring grief until it turned into fuel that could power him forward. If he did that, he could fight the people who had caused him grief in the first place. That… didn’t seem to be how Ronan was handling it, and he had a feeling Sweets would be upset if he suggested his method to Ronan. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect a day at the least to process that.”
There was nothing Spook could say that would push Wylan away. Okay… well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but anything that Spook was likely to say would only have endeared Wylan further. He was more than a little bit in love with his best friend. He wanted… well, he could never voice what he wanted. He was content with just having Spook in his life at all. What could telling him the truth accomplish? They might have more moments like this… Wylan might actually be able to kiss Spook instead of just stealing glances at his lips and then blushing furiously enough that he had to turn away before Spook realized. He had thought that a zombie apocalypse would ruin one’s chances at romance, or at least… push romantic feelings aside, but… evidently, crushes still happened. Wylan trusted Spook more than he trusted anyone else. Spook could lead him into hell and Wylan was pretty sure he would still follow with his eyes closed. He liked the whole… following while blind thing, he thought. It meant that Spook had to help guide him, which meant that he had to be holding his arm to make sure that he didn’t trip. Wylan felt his heart pounding even at the small touch. It would be a lot easier if he could just… make the feelings go away, but there was something thrilling about being in love with Spook. As much as Wylan didn’t want to ruin his friendship, he didn’t want to let that feeling go. He let himself hold onto it, for now. They had just survived death together. That didn’t happen every day… it was scarier now that Wylan knew it was real. That it hadn’t just been a bad dream. The air smelled sweeter, though whether that was real or Wylan’s imagination he couldn’t quite tell. He wanted to believe it was real… he wanted to believe that Spook had found some sort of paradise just outside of how far they were allowed to go from camp. Spook seemed the type to find the impossible on a regular basis, if only because he had a habit of looking in places where nobody else bothered to. Slowly, Wylan blinked his eyes open, squinting at the light that suddenly flooded him. When his vision cleared, he gave a soft gasp, gaze scanning over the flowers. There were bees pollinating some of them, going about their jobs like the world was exactly the same as it had been years before. “It’s… it’s beautiful,” Wylan gasped, kneeling down to touch the soft grass, to let his fingers skate over petals so delicate they looked like they might fall if someone breathed in the wrong direction.
Newt cracked a smile at that. He hadn’t meant to put Sweets so much on the defensive, but… his friend’s response had been vaguely amusing. His point had been that psychology was a legitimate field, but that having books written about it didn’t necessarily make it legitimate. He shook the thought away, deciding it wasn’t really worth it to press his point. It seemed Sweets had gotten the gist of it, at least, and… well, it meant Newt wasn’t thinking entirely about his hallucination anymore. It was a nice distraction, though he had a feeling Sweets would tell him that building up distractions was probably just a way to repress the memory of what had happened. But it was just a hallucination. There was nothing to process. Nothing had actually happened. Nothing had actually happened. Newt was just going to have to keep telling himself that until it felt true. “Wait… you’re telling me that people actually believed conspiracy theories?” Newt’s brows shot way up. He had sort of just assumed that people wrote about them because they were crap, and they sold because other people wanted to know exactly what sort of nonsense other people could come up with. It hadn’t occurred to him that there were actual people who had lived their lives believing in conspiracy theories. “Also… didn’t you say at some point that most of your friends were people you worked with? As in… people who were really smart and also mostly scientists? Because the fact that someone like that believed in conspiracy theories is… honestly sort of frightening. Sorry… no disrespect to your friend or anything, but… really?” Newt shook his head of the thought, trying to stop himself from puzzling over that. He hoped Sweets was right that his friend was just doing it to rebel. He wasn’t sure he wanted people who believed some of the crap he had read when he was hiding out in a library to be in charge of anything. He breathed out, letting silence pass between them for a few moments as he thought. “I don’t see why people wouldn’t be interested,” Newt murmured after a moment, meeting Sweets’ eye a moment later. “I mean… I doubt people will pay what they used to pay, but if you did it, you’d be doing it because you missed it, not because you wanted to get paid from it, right? But there have to be more people who need a psychologist now than there ever were before things went terribly, right? There are a lot of people who need guidance. You might be exactly the person to give it to them.”
Zuko wasn’t used to this in the slightest. He didn’t know how to respond to people talking to him like this… like he was worth something just by virtue of being who he was and trying his hardest. Iroh had always worked incredibly hard to get him on the right path, and he had told him more than once that he was stronger than he thought he was, but… he found he doubted he had ever made his uncle proud. He had tried, of course he had tried, but he had been far more prone to slipping with Iroh than he had been when he met Sal. That wasn’t Iroh’s fault, it was just that Zuko had been so far under his father’s thumb. He had worked hard to get out from under it, but Ozai’s reach was farther than Zuko had ever anticipated. Part of Zuko wanted to look away. Part of him wanted to insist, no… to yell that Sal had no idea what he was talking about. But Sal knew him better than anyone else ever had. He knew exactly what Zuko was running from… and at some point, he had become what Zuko was running to, though he wouldn’t ever admit that to anyone. He forced himself to hold Sal’s gaze, forced himself to hear and take in every word the other boy said. The words that didn’t feel true but had to be, because Sal didn’t tell lies, not when it was this important. “I think,” he managed, breathless, “that I never expected anyone to stay with me as I figured out who I wanted to be. I thought… I would have to do it alone. And it would be a lot harder to fight if I hadn’t had someone to do it with me.” Zuko was bad at being sappy. He had been better at it when he was little, when he had been able to say exactly what he felt without having to wonder if it was too genuine, without having to worry about how Ozai would react if he heard Zuko say it. Zuko had trained himself to be tough, he had buried anything soft inside of himself. Somehow, Sal had grabbed a shovel and dug until he found it. Zuko owed him a lot for that, though he didn’t have the words to express it. “I guess,” he managed, voice quiet as he stared at their still-clasped hands. One of them should have let go by now, he figured, but he found he didn’t want to be the one to do it. He was… comfortable here. He wasn’t going to pull away until Sal did. “I guess I’ll just have to keep doing things that make you proud of me, then.” The silence was so deep Zuko was fairly certain he could hear Sal’s heartbeat if he strained his good ear hard enough. He wanted to move closer. He wanted to bridge the gap. He wanted to press his lips to the scar that touched Sal’s own lips… “I can do that,” he managed, his voice equally as quiet. “Write me out an IOU.” The words were hoarse, almost inaudible. Like the moment was so fragile that speaking even a little bit too loudly could shatter it.
It hurt. It hurt not to know, not to be certain. Nico had been hurt before. He had been through more than anyone his age ever should have gone through. But very little hurt as much as not being certain whether his family was even real. He wanted them to be… he wanted to believe in this reality, but he didn’t deserve what he had here. In any real world, he wouldn’t have a family like this. He would… he would be alone, as a consequence for what he had done. Nobody would forgive him for that, in a real world. Nobody but Kelsier. Which… which didn’t make sense. If Kelsier could forgive hm, why shouldn’t others? It was complicated and confusing, and Nico wanted to curl up against the only certain thing left in the world and stay there for as long as possible. Nico didn’t want to hurt anyone else. He just… didn’t know which route was true. He didn’t know which would hurt real people, and which would hurt Hades. If he didn’t choose right, then he was levelling his weapon at the wrong people. He squeezed his eyes shut. He trusted Kelsier. He didn’t know if he should, but he couldn’t see him and distrust him. Hades could do a lot of things, but he absolutely couldn’t recreate Kelsier. “Awake,” Nico echoed, curling tighter against Kelsier. “This… this is real.” He didn’t sound very confident, but he was doing his best. If Kelsier was lucid enough to believe in this reality, then who was Nico to question him? He shuddered at the thought that Kelsier might be wrong, but for now… he wanted to believe him. He didn’t trust his own judgement at the moment, but he wouldn’t question Kelsier’s. “No,” Nico gasped, pulling closer to Kelsier. “No, you can’t just… I can’t stay here without you. Please. Please don’t leave me alone. Please don’t make me stay here alone. Please… I don’t care if it’s real or not, I don’t want to be without you again. I don’t… I can’t!” He hated how squeaky his voice sounded by the last word, but he didn’t stop to get a grip. He needed Kelsier. He doubted he could make it very far if Kelsier went away again. “Please, dad,” he managed, his voice scarcely more than a whimper.
Hunter wasn’t sure how Hinata could be so cheerful. Even if, like Hunter, he didn’t believe that anything had happened for real, he still had to remember it. It didn’t matter if he had died first. He had still died. Hunter was still reeling from the experience himself. Maybe that was because he had nearly smashed Kenma’s head in, but… he took a breath out, then shook his head just a little bit. Hinata could be however he wanted. He was Hinata, it wasn’t like he was going to change just because Hunter was confused by him. In another situation, Hunter might have left. He would have been convinced that he was the unwanted one in this conversation, and he would have left. But after what they had just been through… he found an urge to stay, even if that meant cutting into whatever it was that Hinata and Kenma were going to talk about. His eyes widened a bit as Kenma just went straight for the truth. Everything they remembered, everything they had gone through… they were going to remember it. It had been real. It hadn’t been a dream. That had to be a shock to anyone, even Hinata.
Hinata froze, eyes narrowing just a little bit as he heard Kenma’s words. What…? He glanced between Hunter and Kenma, ready for one of them to start laughing and yell that they were just kidding. Hunter, probably. Kenma never would have done something like that. It wasn’t Hunter’s sense of humor either, but it was closer to what Hunter thought funny than what Kenma found funny. It wasn’t funny, though. It had been… it had just been a daydream. “What happened?” he asked, still trying to remain cheerful. They couldn’t mean the daydream. He was just on edge. He probably needed to find something active to do – he wished they could erect some sort of volleyball court, but it wasn’t going to work at their current campsite. That, however, was easier to think about than what he had experienced in his daydream. “You sound more serious than usual, Kenma,” he said after a moment, his smile faltering just a little bit. “Are you okay?” Kenma may have used the same tone of voice for a lot of things, but there were subtle variations. Hinata was beginning to learn how to decipher those variations. Now, it seemed that Kenma was wrapped in something serious.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jun 23, 2021 17:33:51 GMT -5
Juuzou didn’t know how to deal with his situation for the same reason Orpheus didn’t know how to help. It wasn’t anything he had any experience with...which, to be fair, he hadn’t had any experience with much else in his life, either. That wasn’t how it worked, it seemed. You didn’t know anything the first time it happened to my, you weren’t born with the information, you just...had to do your best to make it through. He’d done it before. He could do it now. The problem was, he hadn’t finished dealing with everything that had happened before. Or...maybe he had. Maybe this was who he was. Maybe, even if the things in his life had changed him, maybe that didn’t made who he’d become any less okay. He wasn’t quite normal, but it wasn’t like there was much of a normal, anyway. Especially now. He was a traumatized boy in a group that mostly consisted of traumatized boys. His family understood, he thought, better Tas anyone else could. He counted Orpheus among his family, too. He was going to face this. He had to face it, this...whatever it was. He had to look them in the eye and say I’m sorry. I know what I did. I’m sorry. But he could at least express how much Orpheus meant to him first. He held on. He wanted to explain how he felt, but he’d never been good at knowing that. He just...did what he felt like doing, because it felt right. He didn’t know if he was sad, he just felt like crying, and that was enough. He breathed out, holding on a moment longer before he let go and wiped at his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly, tasting the words. He’d said them before, but rarely this genuinely. “Orpheus, I…” he bit his lip, glancing back. “I’m going to talk to them. And I hope we can still be friends afterwards. But even if they don’t like me anymore, and we have to be enemies now, I’m...grateful for you.” That was all he could manage for the moment. His shoulders hunched, and then he turned and headed back, red eyes fixed ahead of him.
Noah was saying the wrong things. Varian was saying the worst possible things. And Ronan was the one caught between them both, anger flashing like sparks from flint, rubbing against him again and again and again. It was his own fault for being so damn flammable in the first place. He knew this wasn’t right, somewhere in his head, he knew this wasn’t going to help. But did he know that in this moment? Where was that knowledge kept? It wasn’t where it should have been. It wasn’t where he’d left it. So he didn’t move. Varian’s words felt like nails on a chalkboard, endless and infuriating, demanding attention, painful and impossible to ignore. He just wanted him to shut up. The room they’d been in was still bright and burning in his mind. He could still feel Noah’s voice cut off, he could still feel Juuzou’s feet against the ground as he ran, never staying in one place long enough to be killed. He had known exactly how to kill them all, the moment he wanted to. He had turned his enemies on each other when he was surrounded, he had evaded them all… Was Ronan angry with Juuzou? He couldn’t answer, not now. Not when he could still taste iron if he let himself. He didn’t know what Noah was thinking. That alone might have been enough to snap him out of this, if he had, but he didn’t. He didn’t know about the bite. He didn’t know about Whelk. He didn’t know how scared Noah was. He just knew he was angry. He ignored Noah’s voice, the words lost as his fist tightened around Varian’s shirt and his eyes darkened, one fist coming up sharp and fast, poised to attack in an instant. Kaladin’s arrival to the scene made no difference whatsoever, he was just another stupid person coming to say stupid words that Ronan didn’t want to hear. Then the words hit him like a slap in the face and Ronan Lynch flinched, his hand dropping Varian’s shirt and snapping away like he’d just been burned. He stepped back, blue eyes shifting quickly to Kaladin instead, fury cut though like thread, dangling uselessly. It needed an outlet, somewhere, somehow, he needed to get it out. He turned and kicked a rock, hard enough to send it whizzing away from them all, and clenched his fists until his nails cut into his skin. He didn’t look at Kaladin. He didn’t want to calm down, not now. He wanted to burn the whole damn world down. “F(oops) you,” he said finally, his voice low and dripping with venom. “Kal.” It was possible he’d just crossed a line. It was possible he didn’t care. He didn’t want to celebrate. He wanted to break something important. He wanted a time machine. He didn’t care that that was exactly what Varian was suggesting they now had. Everything was retreating, and when he looked at Kaladin again, his eyes were dark and deadly, snake more than boy. Noah wasn’t forgotten, but he didn’t look at the other boy. He didn’t, as a general rule, look at him when he was dead. He considered leaving. Leaving seemed like the best option. But he didn’t. He just stared at Kaladin, expressionless, the nothing taking over. Anything was possible when he felt this way. Barriers didn’t exist. He was just a poisonous thing. DO NOT EAT written across his face like a scream.
Varian hadn’t been thinking about Ronan’s temper, or his protectiveness towards Noah, or his tendency to lash out. He hadn’t been thinking about anything but the excitement, the desire to share his good news with the rest of them. He’d been caught up in the thrill, unable to see anything else. And he still was, a little. Not the same way completely. Ronan was doing a pretty good job of shocking him into paying attention, but he couldn’t...he couldn’t let it go. He wanted them to see. He wanted...he needed...this to be okay. He didn’t struggle anymore, just looked at Ronan, blue meeting blue. He didn’t want to face this grief, the grief that mirrored his own, though he tried his best not to think about it. There was no reason to feel that way. Everyone was fine. Things were okay. He just had to remember that. He was shaking, but he didn’t realize it. He flinched as Ronan’s fist came up, his hands flying up to protect his face from the attack, his body preparing for the blow before he could even process what was happening. He didn’t want to be punched, he didn’t want... Then Kaladin’s strong voice hit him and he stumbled back as Ronan let go, his hands still protecting his face as best they could, though he didn’t think Ronan would do anything now that Kaladin was there to make him stand down. He ducked his head as the older survivor chastised him, hugging himself. He thought he’d explained it fairly well. He had given them the facts, gotten right to the point without rambling, just like he was supposed to. He didn’t understand why Ronan had gotten so angry. It seemed to be contagious though. Now that he wasn’t in immediate danger of being punched, Varian’s hands clenched at his sides. He was trying to give them good news, and all they could do was act like...like this was a bad thing. Like it didn’t mean things could be okay again. They weren’t listening. “No, that’s not reasonable!” He snapped, looking up at Kaladin. He’d missed what Ronan said, or hadn’t processed it. His mind was elsewhere. His eyes burned as they moved between the other three, then finally landed on Noah. “You said you wanted to change things. Well, I can! Think of the thing you wish hadn’t happened the most. Now imagine it’s fixed! That’s what I’m offering! It’s like...it’s like you guys don’t want me to get my dad back!” He was not going to cry. “Fine. Stay here and process. But I’m going to go find this thing, and I’m going to make everything right again. You can thank me later.” He waited another moment, then turned away. If they didn’t want to help, fine. He’d be a hero all by himself.
Spook wasn’t going to push Wylan away. He couldn’t do that. There was nothing he wanted less. He just...needed to be careful, because he knew that it was reasonable to be awkward after a confession of love when it was unreciprocated. He didn’t want to go through that here. He just wanted to exist with Wylan, the way they were now, and in hand like the whole world was theirs to do with as they pleased. It seemed the end of the world wasn’t the end of falling in love. At first, when he’d figured out how he was feeling, he’d wished it was. But now...he wouldn’t give this up, either. Even if it never became anything more. He thought he’d have done anything for Wylan, and that included staying silent, in case telling hurt him. That didn’t mean it was easy, though. He didn’t let go. He didn’t stop guiding Wylan, hand on his arm, leading him forward as gently and he could. He was forced to admit that that might have been a factor in why this idea had been so appreciated to him...though he still thought it was mostly so he could see Wylan’s face when he opened his eyes. He wanted to see the moment Wylan saw the flowers, the building, the sunlight, the grass. And it was worth it. Wylan’s gasp made a light, free laugh spring from Spook’s lips, and he didn’t let go of Wylan’s hand, the flower in his other one pinched gently between his thumb and forefinger. “I know,” he answered softly, reigning himself back in a little, his smile shy as he looked at Wylan. “I’m...sorry I never showed you before. It was my hideout for a while, when I needed to...y’know...rebel or cool off a little. But I wanted you to see it.” He hesitated a long moment. He could not do this. He could decide not to take the risk. But he was so tired of playing it safe. Slowly, shyly, he offered the flower he’d picked to the other boy. “It’s the same color as your eyes,” he whispered, as if that was an explanation for his actions. It wasn’t. But he didn’t want Wylan to start asking too many questions. He just...wanted to have this.
Sweets caught sight of the smile, and his defenses, though absolutely valid, slid away. He knew how rare smiles tended to be, nowadays. Of course, the boys themselves had their own way of making each other smile, but he knew...he knew that Newt’s smile wasn’t something that should be ignored, but celebrated, especially after what he’d just experienced. Because Sweets had no doubt at it had felt very, very real. Even if there was no way it actually happened, feelings were reasonable, and Sweets wanted to help make them a little easier to cope with. He was good at that, after all. If he’d known what Newt was thinking, he’d have protested. Yes, it hadn’t happened. Yes, they were all fine. But Newt had still gone through something incredibly traumatic. Whether it was real or not was beside the point, whether it affected Newt was the main issue. “Well...yes,” Sweets admitted. “Plenty of people do. Did? Probably do. The apocalypse might have made some of them even more sure. Like, government conspiracy is a real thing that could have caused this, and if you’re proven right in one area, you automatically connect it to the other areas and think, hey, this is probably real too.” He smiled a little, memories of Dr. Jack Hodgins surfacing in his brain. “He wasn’t a nutcase,” he assured Newt. “Not that complete crackers couldn’t get into a high paying scientific job like that, but Hodgins...nah. He was just not totally sold on the moon landing, and he was into government conspiracy crap. He built his identity around being a normal guy, not one of the high-up-there’s, because his family was worth millions and he inherited everything. So he wanted to be one of the underdogs to cope with that and give him a sense of identity that wasn’t centered around money. It’s too bad he didn’t get to be a whistleblower. That would have helped his sense of identity a lot.” He realized suddenly how long he’d been talking. “Which...you probably don’t care about,” he amended. “But that was my theory. He was a good guy. I think you’d have liked him.” With effort, he tore his brain back to the actual conversation. “I...guess so. I mean, there were a lot of people who weren’t big on psychology before. I guess maybe...it wouldn’t hurt to try, though. If you think that people would want that.” He grinned a little, bouncing on his heels before continuing forwards. “No yeah, totally don’t need money anymore. So that’s fine.”
Sal didn’t know how Iroh had felt. He’d never met the man, he didn’t know anything other than what Zuko had told him, but even with only that...he felt like it was likely Iroh had been proud of Zuko. Even if he’d never gotten to see how far he’d come, even if he never found out, Sal wanted to believe he had had some idea of who Zuko would become, in the end. And maybe, one day, they’d find him, and he could see Zuko for himself. Sal had mer Zuko when he was in a far different part of his life. He knew that. He also knew that this Zuko, this beautiful boy sitting next to him, was exactly who he was supposed to be. Ozai had done his best to smash Zuko. Sal couldn’t help being proud of who Zuko had become in spite of that. He knew the struggle. Or...he didn’t. No one but Zuko could possibly know that. But he had all the facts. He was aware of who Zuko was, he knew him. And he knew as much as Zuko had been willing to share. Over time, that had come to be a lot. Over time, that had come to be enough of Zuko that it was safe to say Sal knew what he was talking about. “People aren’t meant to be alone,” he replied softly. “People are meant to have support. Not everyone has it, yeah, and plenty of people now have to mak pe due without it, but that...having support doesn’t mean you’re weak, or that what you did is worth less. It’s like saying that you shouldn’t be proud of running a marathon, because you aren’t disabled. Yeah, maybe the disabled person finds it harder, yeah, maybe it would have been harder without support, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth everything. You had to struggle for this. You still have to struggle. You can be proud of your own progress. It’s allowed. And you deserve support, you deserve people who can help you.” Sal wanted to prove that being genuine wasn’t a bad thing. He wanted to prove that there was nothing wrong with being real and sharing how you felt. Zuko struggled with that, he knew, and he didn’t want to force him into something he wasn’t okay with, but he did want to help. He wanted to help more than anything. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to ever let go, though he knew he should eventually. They needed to make sure the others were okay, but that could wait, right? They either were or they weren’t. If they were dead...they weren’t, they couldn’t be...but the point was that even if somehow they were, Sal and Zuko holding hands wouldn’t make the situation worse. They deserved a little while longer, not dealing with it. His smile widened a little. “Well, that won’t be hard,” he added. “Since you just keep doing them by being yourself.” He breathed out, the smile fading just a little as he focused on Zuko, blue eyes tracing his features. “You got it,” he agreed softly. “No time limit, though. Just someday. However long that needs to be.” He wanted to hold him. He wanted to hold him and never let him go. It eas so easy to forget the rest of the world, sitting here side by side with Zuko, talking like the sky might shatter if they raised their voices.
Kelsier hadn’t been tricked the same way Nico was fighting off, now. Kelsier had lost his sense of reality slowly, it had been eroded over time as Hades worked carefully on his mind, gently trying to erase him, mold him into the perfect weapon to be used against his son. And it had worked. He knew how close he had come to killing him, his own son, how close he’d come to being the one to end him. It was sick. It was horrible. He wanted the damage out of his brain. But he didn’t think it had happened the same way for Nico. This doubt...it wasn’t planted. It was a symptom of his doubt that he deserved any of this. Or maybe that was Sweets talking. Kel wasn’t so sure he liked what those sessions were doing to his brain. It seemed possible they were just filling his head with peppy sayings. He couldn’t make this right, anymore than Nico could fix him. But he could be there, he could stand at his side and hold him and he could tell him things were okay, or that they could be, eventually, even if they weren’t now. Nico probably knew how much pain he’d been in, now. Or at least had some idea of it. Kelsier hadn’t allowed himself for question it, though. He hadn’t let himself wonder, because...it was easier not to. He understood, now that it had been a coping mechanism. A defense against any more attacks. A shield. It didn’t make him feel any better to know he’d sacrificed Nico for his own comfort, though he knew that wasn’t what Sweets had meant. “Yes,” he murmured, not letting go. “This is real. This is all real. You’re free...we both are. We’re free.” If this was all he could do, then this was what he was going to do. He closed his eyes as Nico pleaded with him. It hurt more than he could say, not being able to make that promise. But he’d promised to be unbreakable once before. He couldn’t break another promise to Nico. He wouldn’t. “Hey,” he said softly, gently rubbing Nico’s back, his eyes still closed. “Listen to me, okay? I’m here. I’m here, I’m…” How he longed to promise not to go. “I’ll try,” he managed, and his voice shook. “I can promise you, I’ll do everything I can. But I won’t...I won’t make you another promise I don’t know if I can keep.”
Kenma watched his friend for a long moment, trying to strategize somehow, though he knew there was really no way of making this very easy to swallow. He was struggling to come to terms with it, himself. So was Hunter, if he was reading the other boy right. It had to have been real, or Hunter wouldn’t have known about it. They couldn’t have had the exact same hallucination, could they? Hinata…he had to remember it. Which meant this was either genuine confusion about the fact that it had been real, or it was denial. He looked down, giving a tiny nod at the question. He was fairly certain none of them were okay after what had happened, but there was no need to make this about him. “I need to tell you something,” he whispered after a moment. “It might be hard to accept, but it’s the truth. Okay?” He was trying to do this delicately, even though he wasn’t naturally a very delicate person. He glanced sideways at Hunter, but he understood why he wasn’t jumping in. Kenma knew Hinata better, between the two of them.
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jun 25, 2021 1:41:09 GMT -5
Orpheus didn’t think you had to let the past define you. He thought it was important, of course. He didn’t think it was possible (or wise) to leave it behind, but you could move beyond it. You were more than the person you had been in the past, and nobody was better proof of that than Juuzou. The boy in front of Orpheus hadn’t been completely isolated from the boy he had been before he’d found his real family, but he was different in the ways that mattered. And Orpheus was unbelievably proud of the strides he had made. What Juuzou was about to do was terrifying. It was incredibly brave. It was courage of a fashion Orpheus wasn’t certain he had ever seen before. It was the right thing to do, in Orpheus’ eyes, but that didn’t make it easy. In Juuzou’s shoes, it would probably just be easier to assume his friends hated him and leave before he had to hear those words from their lips. But Juuzou wasn’t giving up. Yes, that was bravery. And then Juuzou pulled back and Orpheus wrested his expression into something that looked an awful lot like a mixture of pride, respect, and hope. “It doesn’t matter to me what they say,” Orpheus murmured, resting a hand on Juuzou’s shoulder, “whatever it is, you and I won’t ever be enemies, okay? You’re my friend, and I don’t really care what anybody says or thinks about that. You.. you’re an amazing person, and my life would be very, very different had I never known you. There are a lot of things I wish had gone differently. Knowing you is not one of them.” It couldn’t be easy, knowing that his friends could choose to hate him, if this went wrong. Orpheus wished he could protect the boy from that, but he knee it wasn’t that simple. Hopefully Orpheus was correct that they would choose to forgive Juuzou. As Juuzou turned, Orpheus followed a few feet behind. He didn’t want to interfere, but he would if he needed to. That, and he wanted Juuzou to know that he would be here for him if he needed him. He forced himself to stop as soon as camp was in view. This was Juuzou’s battle to fight. Not his.
Patience had never been Kaladin’s top quality. He had spent much of his childhood bemoaning the hours he had to spend learning how to help save lives when he could have been learning how to fight to protect his family. He hadn’t been enough to protect Tien. Either time. He knew Varian regretted that. Knew that was one of the things he wanted to go back in time to fix. This infighting, though… it wasn’t going to help matters. Unfortunately, Kaladin understood both sides. He had a hard time understanding what, exactly, had transpired, but he was inclined to believe Varian’s version of events. The boy could be dramatic at times, but he rarely lied. Ronan never lied, but he was very often an asshole about the things he did. His version of events was bound to be unreliable, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he and Noah and all the rest of them had been hurt, and it was understandable not to want to move on from that immediately. He glanced at Varian, grateful that the boy had been released before Ronan could punch him. It didn’t really matter to Kaladin whether Varian thought his suggestion was reasonable or not. He wasn’t Sweets, but he had a feeling the others were going to need more than a day to recover from what they had all been through. He knew Varian was dealing with it, just not in the same way as the others. Honestly, it was a miracle they had all stayed friends given their very different ways of handling trauma. Before now, though, none of their coping mechanisms had been so directly in opposition. The thoughts left Kaladin’s head almost immediately as Ronan’s words hit his ears. He surged forward, dark eyes narrow and deadly as a sharp sweep of his leg unbalanced Ronan. He grabbed the boy by the collar before he could fall, so he was the only thing stopping gravity pulling the boy down. Holding him there for several long seconds, a humorless smile passed over his lips. “That name,” Kaladin hissed, voice nearly animalistic, “is not yours to use. I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve been through in the past hour, you don’t get to act like the rest of the world has to join into your little pity party. Learn to be an adult. The rest of us had to.” Kaladin released his grip on Ronan’s shirt, shoving him just hard enough that he should end up on the ground. He threw Noah a look of warning before leaving to follow Varian. “Varian!” Kaladin called, jogging just fast enough to catch up with him. “Varian, you know their reaction wasn’t about your father, right?” A wince passed over his expression as he heard his own words. They were the wrong thing to say. “I just mean… we all want you to have your father back. I want Tien, Ronan misses his father… Noah misses someone, I’m sure. That’s not why you got the reaction you did.” Still not good enough, but Kaladin was trying. He was just… much better at doing than he was at saying. He couldn’t reassure Varian, but at least he could help him with whatever it was he was attempting to do. “Point is, I’m not letting you go do this alone. It doesn’t have to be that you can’t try to figure this out while they’re processing. And more importantly, you don’t have to do it alone.”
Noah didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He didn’t know how to bring Ronan back from the edge, and he didn’t know how to celebrate Varian’s victory without remembering in too-stark detail the feelings that had made him want to hurt his family. The feelings that had made him absolutely certain that his family was going to hurt him in the same way Whelk had. Ever since the incident, he’d developed a habit of rubbing at the smudge when he was stressed or thinking. His hand hovered there, pressing against the small patch of infection worriedly. He could try to pull Ronan back, but he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough, and he didn’t really want to be punched either. Coward, hissed the Ronan in Noah’s head, and as much as he despised it, he knew that Ronan had a point. He should be helping. He should be doing something more useful than just standing there like an idiot. He swallowed, hugging one arm close to his chest as Kaladin’s voice rang over them all. Good, someone more competent. Someone who could make sure that Varian didn’t get punched and nobody got hurt. It had all happened so fast… but that was an excuse and Noah knew it. “Wait!” Noah called, eyes wide as Varian looked right at him. “That’s… that’s not what I meant! I just… that room…” his words were failing him. Coward. What would it be like if he had never met Whelk? What would he have become if he had been able to find Ronan instead at the very beginning? He pressed on the smudge one more time, eyes filling to the brim with tears. His heart ached at the thought that Varian might be right. That there might be away to undo all of this. But he wasn’t sure anything good could come out of what they had all just been through. Noah started at the sound of Ronan’s body crashing to the ground behind him. He whirled, Varian all but forgotten as he skidded to his knees besides Ronan. “Ronan?” Noah demanded in a pitiful voice as he shook his friend’s shoulder. “Are… are you okay?” It sounded like it had been a hard fall, and any injuries could be deadly now. Normally, Noah would have called for Kaladin in spite of Ronan’s protests, but Kaladin was the reason Ronan was hurt in the first place. “I don’t know why… why this was a big deal,” he managed, unable to hide the shaky note to his voice. Whining about what had happened wasn’t a good way to use time, though. Noah busied himself with checking to make absolutely certain Ronan wasn’t hurt. A cut, no matter how small, could be deadly. Noah might not have been the best one to deal with it, but he was the only one there. Even if Ronan was a bomb that was moments away from going off, it would have been difficult to persuade Ronan to leave his best friend completely on his own, especially after what had just happened.
Wylan thought there weren’t very many beautiful places left anymore. Sure, there were cities that had been reclaimed by the natural world and old buildings that had been covered with moss and vines and flowers, but most of the world felt like a wasteland. Maybe it was just that you couldn’t appreciate a forest very much if you were told that there could be man eating wolves hiding behind every tree trunk. There were, however, some sanctuaries. Spook, it seemed, had been lucky enough to find one of them. It was easy to feel like speaking too loud could break a place like this. It… well, it felt a little bit like Spook. It was no surprise the other boy liked it. No surprise it more or less belonged to him. It was quiet in the same way Spook was… like it had a secret that nobody, not even Spook, knew. It felt safe in the same way holding hands with Spook was safe. Magic, like the sound of Spook’s laugh, small and surprised as it often was. Not to mention that, like Spook, Wylan could look at it for hours. Wylan pressed a little bit against Spook, leaning his head gently on his shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize,” Wylan whispered, not wanting to break the spell. Yes, his mind screamed, you’re in love with this place, just as you’re in love with Spook. “This is your place. I’m just… well, I’m honored that you’re willing to share it with me. Beyond honored, really.” Wylan remained silent for several long moments, taking in the place. He approached one of the flowers, gently tracing its leaves as he heard a catch in Spook’s breath. For the first time, his attention focused itself on the flower. His hand reached out to take the delicate stem from Spook, and he raised it to his nose to get a whiff of the scent. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. “Oh,” Wylan whispered eventually, once the ability to speak returned to him. “I… you’re… it’s beautiful.” He lifted his hand to braid the stem loosely into his curls. “One moment.” Wylan pulled free of Spook’s grip not a second later, pacing a few feet away until he found what he was looking for. He hid it behind his back as he walked back, a tiny smile pulling at his features. Slowly, Wylan pulled his hand back to the front to display a sprig of tiny purple flowers. He tucked it gently behind Spook’s ear so the flowers rested just next to the tufts of hair that had blown out onto Spook’s temple.
Newt had been so young when the apocalypse had hit that it was easy to forget that other people had lived whole lives before it. Not to mention that whatever life he had lived before it had been taken from him. He didn’t have any stories about what had happened before. Once, he’d been angry about that. He’d hated when people would share pieces of their lives, because he didn’t get to. He would never have stories like that, and part of him had resented that other people did. It wasn’t entirely clear whether it had been Sweets’ influence that had gotten Newt to move on from that, but it certainly hadn’t hurt. Newt had never expressly told Sweets how jealous he was of the rest of the world, and Sweets had never explicitly told him that the way he was looking at life was unhealthy, but he’d worked through it eventually. Now, there were fewer things Newt enjoyed more than collecting the very same stories he used to avoid. He couldn’t possibly remember all of them, of course, but he believed there was something to be learned just in hearing them. Hearing about Sweets’ friends made Newt feel a little bit more like he could have belonged in the world before. Like he might have had a place there. He wanted to meet all of Sweets’ colleagues. They were all incredibly impressive people and Newt seriously doubted that any of them would ever give him the time of day, but that didn’t change the fact that they had made a difference in Sweets’ life. That they all seemed so human. “So… he just believed conspiracies about the government? But didn’t you technically work for the government? Did he think he was like… doing an inside job or something, or were the conspiracy theories just a hobby?” Newt wasn’t making any character judgments or anything (yet), he was just curious. And his own lack of friends from the past made him all the more determined to shoulder some of the responsibility of keeping Sweets’ friends alive in memory. “I think I would have liked all of your friends,” Newt admitted with a small shrug. “I’m still more sold on Booth than anyone else, though. Even if I think he’d probably think I’m a punk or something.” He fell silent for a few moments, walking a few steps further as he rolled some thoughts around in his head. “I think… if you’re deciding that people won’t want it based on the people you’re with now… we’re not a very good indicator. I think there are people who would do a lot to be able to have someone who knows more than they do about mental health walk them through how to handle things. Even if it’s… not as simple as it was before all of this happened. You can still help. And I think a lot of people would be receptive to that help.”
The thing about knowing someone for as long as Zuko had now known Sal was that you couldn’t hide your insecurities for very long. Eventually they would come to light, and the other person would have to decide what to do with that information. In Zuko’s life, it had only ever been used against him. By Azula… by Ozai… his mother had tried to tell him that those insecurities made him stronger, but when she had left… well, she had left Zuko alone. Iroh would have stepped in to remind him that his insecurities might be hiding secret strengths, but he had just lost Lu Ten and been deprived of any guarantee of money he’d ever had. His life had changed in a day just as surely as Zuko’s had. So it had been Azula and Ozai with a battalion’s worth of weapons forged from the things Zuko lacked confidence in; the things he feared letting anyone know. Sal was different, though. Sal had seen those insecurities, and instead of picking them up and pulling out a whetstone to sharpen them, he had folded them like paper stars and tucked them into his back pocket. In times when Zuko doubted himself – like now – it almost felt like Sal was able to take a paper star out of his pocket and unfold it. On the back, the right words to say were written. The phrases and cadences that would… well, not get rid of the uncertainty entirely, but at least… make the burden easier to bear. Or maybe Sal was just really good at saying the right thing. Zuko wasn’t sure he was cut out for poetry, no matter how much he tried to make the words flow as well as Sal’s sometimes tended to. He was grateful that neither of them tended to be particularly flowery when expressing themselves. They both said what they meant, and it got the point across. And it was honest, which was just about the only reason Zuko was willing to readily accept everything he was being told now. From anyone else, he may have suspected some sort of elaborate ruse to make him doubt himself even more. It would hurt, to have someone say they were proud of you only to be told weeks later that you had let them down in the worst way. That was the sort of game Ozai would play. But not Sal. Never Sal. “Sorry,” Zuko said suddenly, grip tightening on Sal’s hand. “I guess… I got lost in thought. You’re… you always know what to say. You’re amazing.” That sort of compliment was rare from Zuko, but he meant every word of it. He didn’t want to take it back. Sure, some of the wording hadn’t been exactly how he had intended it originally, but the way he said it was dripping with truth. Sal was amazing. There wasn’t anything wrong with saying that, was there? “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see myself the way you see me,” Zuko admitted after a moment, giving a small shake of his head. He didn’t like to admit uncertainty. He had learned how, of course, but it was still difficult. “But I’ll do my best. And one day, I’ll be proud of myself. Someday. I promise you that.”
Kelsier was right. If there was one thing Nico hated more than anything else in the world, it was a broken promise. He would hate Kelsier for eternity if he promised to be alright and then left again. Nico had been hoping he might be able to trick Kelsier into staying by making him promise to, but that had been a naïve wish. Still… Nico thought it might be preferable to get lost with Kelsier than to be here on his own, watching Kelsier suffer another time. What Nico wanted more than anything else, though, was the ability to have a situation where it didn’t matter if Kelsier could keep the promise or not, because the promise wouldn’t need to be made. A simpler world. One where the people he cared about didn’t end up broken and shattered because they had been trying to help him. Sometimes, in the darker moments, Nico let himself succumb to thoughts he would never let Kelsier know. It was possible this was all a dream. Or an experiment that Hades was running. It was possible that Nico had been caught well before he had met Kelsier, that Hades had put him in his mind to see what would happen. It was an awful thought, allowing himself to believe that he had been trapped for so long in one place, but it certainly assuaged some of the guilt about what he had done to Kelsier. “I don’t want to be free without you,” Nico gasped softly, pulling closer into Kelsier’s embrace. This was the one thing that was certain. Kelsier didn’t lie. Well… Kelsier lied plenty, but not to Nico. He had promised that he wouldn’t lie, therefore he didn’t. Wherever Kelsier went… even if that meant facing the fact that the boys Nico had come to know as family weren’t real… Nico would follow him. There was very little that was absolutely certain in the universe in Nico's eyes. First, that Hades was objectively the worst and that even if this had all been Nico’s fault, he would have been partially to blame himself. Second, that Kelsier would not lie to Nico. He had promised he wouldn’t, therefore he wouldn’t. It was as simple as that. Which meant that Kelsier fully believed himself now when he said it was true, but also fully believed himself when he said it wasn’t real. When he was moments away from attacking. “You can’t stop me from following you if you get lost again.”
If Hunter knew how to help, he may have. He just… didn’t know what the right thing to say was. He knew why Hinata didn’t believe it, but Kenma was right there, telling him it was the truth. If he didn’t believe it now, it was out of stubbornness rather than actual disbelief. Hunter searched Hinata’s expression for a long moment. You died. When you hated us all, that was real. And then you died, and then we all came back.” He glanced at Kenma, crossing his arms. As far as he was concerned, it was probably better to just rip off the bandaid rather than leaving Hinata to believe that everything was actually okay. It wasn’t. Nothing was okay, they had all just… died. Not that he was going to drop that bomb on Hinata. He felt that would probably take a little bit more time to process. He was blunt, but he didn’t like to think of himself as cruel.
Hinata paled, eyes wide as he looked over at Hunter. It wasn’t possible. It had been a bad daydream, just like he had told Rue. If he had really been gone, she would have noticed. She would have said something. All of that couldn’t have happened in the process of one excited jump. He shook his head, searching Kenma for a moment before just. “I normally don’t like saying that things aren’t possible,” he replied, voice a little more serious than it usually was, “but I really don’t think that one’s possible. I mean… I mean someone would have noticed. And if anyone were gonna figure out how to bring people back to life, it would have been Varian, and he would have told us before he set up an experiment.” He frowned a little bit at that thought. It was entirely possible that the entire thing had just been one of Varian’s experiments. He wasn’t actually certain the younger boy would have informed anyone.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jun 29, 2021 17:12:58 GMT -5
Juuzou knew the past mattered. It mattered to him, because it was real, because it had happened. It mattered to everyone else because it had affected who he was, and that affected his relationships. He wouldn’t be the same person without his past, but neither would anyone else. Just because his had probably affected him a little stronger than most, didn’t mean it didn’t matter. He was afraid. He was more afraid than he could really find words for. But he was going to follow Orpheus' advice, and he was going to see it through. Even if they ended up sending him away, he would make them do it. He wouldn’t do it himself. He wouldn’t save them that trouble. Even if a part of him didn’t think he wanted to give them the chance. He could see Orpheus’ pride. That mattered to him, more than he could possibly say. Orpheus was genuinely proud of him. He could do anything. He knew Orpheus wasn’t lying. He could tell, because Orpheus wouldn’t lie, because Juuzou was good at telling when people were lying, because the expression on Orpheus’ face was utterly genuine. He walked, quietly, aware that Orpheus was there behind him but not looking back. Because he was right. This was Juuzou’s fight. Juuzou’s decision. He couldn’t give it to anyone else. And he didn’t want to. It didn’t take him long to hear the footsteps behind him stop. He stopped too, for a moment, but he didn’t turn. He’d said all he could, to him. It was time to try his luck with the rest of his family. He could see Noah first, crouched on the ground, over...was that Ronan on the ground? He realized it was as the other boy sat up, and he sped up, his legs carrying him without his permission. Suddenly, he didn’t much care if they hated him. He wanted them to be okay enough to decide that on their own. He stumbled to a halt before he got close enough to touch them, his red eyes wide, the knives heavy in his coat, his voice gone.
Varian knew perfectly well that this his fault, too. He knew he hadn’t handled this as well as he should have. As well as Kaladin had wanted him to. He knew...he knew perfectly well that he had said it all wrong, but he didn’t understand how exactly it had gone so wrong. He’d tried to get to the point, not ramble, explain himself, like he was supposed to. And Ronan had gotten so angry... He wanted Kaladin to believe him. He wanted everyone to believe him. Couldn’t they see it? What other explanation was there? He didn’t see what else could possibly come close to explaining how this had happened, and it wasn’t like they were coming up with theories, either. He didn’t want to think about Ronan’s anger, Noah’s pleas. He didn’t want to think about how they were probably angry with him now. He could fix it. He would fix it. He wasn’t dealing with it the way they were. He always focused on what came next. It had been what had gotten him in trouble when he’d lost his father, this refusal to process things, this need to act. He should have known what the anger Ronan felt was. He had acted the same way, killing Tien. If he couldn’t succeed, no one else could either. So they would all just have to succeed. That was all there was to it. He’d already turned away as Kaladin attacked, and he didn’t look back. It hurt, the thought that they didn’t get it, that they didn’t care. He felt a little like crying, but he felt even more like finding the machine and making all this right, as soon as he could. He glanced back as Kaladin caught up, his eyes a little bit too bright. “They don’t understand. That’s all,” he mumbled, looking away again, his steps steady and determined. He flinched a little at the mention of Tien. “That’s why this is so important,” he added in a much smaller voice. “That’s why we need to act. I don’t...I don’t get why they’re angry about me offering a solution to the thing they’re upset about!” He clenched his fists, taking a breath. “He won’t be angry anymore once I fix it. And...and we won’t have to process anything, and everything will be right again. I’ll have my dad, and you’ll...and Tien will be okay...and everyone will be happy again. No one will have to die anymore. I’ll never have to feel like that again.” He couldn’t feel like that again. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone again, permanently. Actually, he could. It would be like what he’d just been through. No wonder he was so obsessed with fixing this.
Ronan was far from patient himself. He was far from easy to get along with, he wasn’t...well. He wasn’t always as bad as he was at that moment. His grief had always taken on sharp edges. His grief had always been more weapon than anything else. And now...he didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t know how to process a death that wasn’t real, but was real. It wasn’t a nightmare, it wasn’t reality, it wasn’t anything. He hated it. He wasn’t angry with Varian, or Kaladin, or Noah. He didn’t know if he was angry with Juuzou. He was angry with himself, though. He’d never been one for introspection. He’d never been the kind of person who knew themselves. He was a creature of action. His pain was immediately translated outside of himself. He knew, deep down, that it wasn’t fair to lash out, but he couldn’t seem to help it when he was in the middle of it. The attack happened fast, Ronan hanging over the ground, held off it only by Kaladin’s firm grip. Yes, his heart crowed wildly, beating against his chest. This is right. This is simple. The grief wasn’t simple. But he could fight. He could always fight. He stared up at Kaladin, lip curled in a wordless snarl. It was almost possible to see his ears pressed back against his skull, hackles raised, tail stiff. If Noah didn’t like the comparison to a dog, he at least had to admit he could see where it had come from. The words were harsh, unyielding, but they were the sort of thing that made sense. This anger made sense to him. This anger was real. He could handle this. Why was it that other people’s anger calmed him? He collapsed to the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs by the force of it. He didn’t get up as he stared at the sky, feeling the unbearable heat subside from his body, the jagged pain retreat, just enough for him to see without the tint of blood red against his vision. Noah’s small voice connected, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, dusting himself off before he met his best friend’s gaze. His blue eyes were hard, his mouth set in a fierce sort of way, but the danger had faded from his limbs, the venom no longer dripped freely from his tongue. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, why Noah still managed to stay his best friend. He thought with some discomfort about the way he’d spat the name, throwing it in Kaladin’s face...that had been a low move. “Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his head where it had hit the ground. That was going to leave a bruise probably. He relished the ache. It made him feel real. “Damn.” He glanced sideways at Noah. The worry on the other boy’s smudged features cut him deeper than any knife, but it was his own fault and he knew it. “F(oops).” He muttered, looking away. Apologizing wasn’t his strongest trait. “It is a big deal. You were dead, man. I watched you…” He couldn’t finish that. He let the words trail off, checking his arms for cuts instead. There were a couple small ones that probably needed to be watched. They stung. He let himself be grounded by it.
Wylan was right. The world hadn’t gotten more beautiful, as it felt like it should have. The flowers hadn’t sprung up everywhere, the vines hadn’t effortlessly devoured the buildings. Even this small was broken, the glass shattered, the walls old and dull. There weren’t a lot of places like this left, he knew. He didn’t know how many there were. It didn’t matter. As long as there was one in the world...wasn’t that enough? He didn’t tend to talk when he was here. It felt like a world of quiet, a world of solace. A world to acknowledge pain, but not to increase it. It was a good thing Wylan improved everything he touched. This place wasn’t hurt by his presence. It was made even better. “It’s a place worth sharing,” he whispered back, his eyes flicking from Wylan’s face to the sky and back again, like he couldn’t keep them off either one for long. Both pulled his gaze. Both drew him in and made him want to stay forever. Having both in one place...he could tell which pull was stronger. He could tell which he’d keep, if he could only have one. His eyes landed on Wylan and didn’t move, his body still as the other boy’s head rested on his shoulder, filling his body with warmth and sparks. His heart flopped in his chest, thumping for attention. He tried not to think about the place where their skin brushed. He smiled a little as Wylan slipped the flower into his hair, the same thing Spook had wanted to do, but hadn’t been brave enough. It brought out his eyes, made them even bluer, somehow. He breathed in as the other boy approached, flower in hand. He didn’t move, his eyes on Wylan’s face, his tiny crooked smile at his lips, refusing to leave no matter how he tried. He gave up, letting it stay, his expression as open as it could be. He slipped his hand into Wylan’s again, his fingers gentle as they pulled Wylan’s closer. If his heart beat much faster… The thoughts of the room reappeared, bumping against his skull. Wylan’s hand tightening in his, then going limp. He didn’t want to hint of that now. He didn’t - “Do you like to dance?” He breathed before he could stop himself, a blush touching his face. He knew it wasn’t as subtle as he wanted it to be. He didn’t know if he could care.
It was an interesting difference, between Sweets and Newt. Sweets had lived most of his life before the apocalypse had happened. He’d made friends, family, had a job, a career he loved. He had been trying to find his own place, live his own life. He’d been trying to be independent, and he’d been close, so close to achieving it. But things had happened. He’d never moved out of their apartment. He’d never moved on, had his own place...he didn’t like that much. He wished he’d gotten to. It was a small thing overall, not nearly as significant as the rest, but it felt important. somehow. Still, he was here now. On a walk with Newt, talking about both present and past. He couldn’t go back. But he could always go forwards. He liked talking about his friends. He liked being able to share that with Newt, share it with them all. He wanted...he wanted his life to still mean something, even if the world had changed. Not ended. Just changed. Newt was wrong. Sweets was sure there were plenty of people who would have loved to meet him, most of all Hodgins and Angela, probably. Of course, if they could all talk to anyone they wanted, he had a feeling Newt would gravitate to Booth and both Wylan and Varian would be hanging off Hodgin’s sleeve all day, but still. He shook his head a little. “He thought we weren’t part of it,” he explained. “Especially him. He was more convinced the higher up government was full of bad people than he was in anything specific. Like...he was more about being open minded and suspicious. He didn’t have a running theory - that he told me, anyway which hey, I worked for the FBI, so understandable - but he thought there were a lot of corrupt people in the government in general. Which isn’t so crazy. He laughed a little. “Maybe he would,” he admitted, grinning. “But in his defense...you are kind of a punk. A little bit.” He glanced at him, then looked ahead again, humor bright in his eyes. “I guess you’re probably right,” he added thoughtfully, his expression shifting as Newt continued. “I just don’t wanna force anyone to listen to me. I mean...I’m totally right and they should be taking care of their mental health, but being pushy jusr makes people want to lash out. We’re all under enough strain as it is. But if you really think people would be cool…” He was a little bit more excited about the idea than he had expected, and it showed in the little hyper bounce to his step.
Sal knew the things that scared Zuko. The things that made him uncomfortable, the things that he wasn’t sure about. Sal knew Zuko. They’d been around each other for a long time now, long enough that Sal was pretty sure Zuko knew him, too. Zuko had been alone. Iroh hadn’t been up to being there, Ursa had left, Ozai and Azula were worse than no one at all...Zuko had had to handle things by himself just like Sal had, only Sal hadn’t had to contend with people doing all they could to destroy him. Maybe it wasn’t quite a fair comparison. Zuko wasn’t alone anymore. He had an entire family now. He had them all, they were at his side, forever. The room had...well, it hadn’t proved anything at all. Sal refused to believe that it had proven somerhing. He had wanted to help. He still did. Even when Zuko was underwater, convinced he needed to go home, that his home was still where he’d grown out and not elsewhere...he had wanted to do something, anything. He knew he couldn’t fix everything. But the good part was that Zuko wasn’t broken. Zuko didn’t need fixed. Sal had just tried his best to support him. He didn’t know if he knew the best thing to say. He just...didn’t want Zuko to believe that he was really as far from who he wanted to be as he seemed to think he was. He wanted him to be proud of himself, too, though he knew that would take time. He hesitated as Zuko continued, his eyes widening a little. He hadn’t expected that response. He hadn’t expected Zuko to think he was amazing, he’d hoped he was saying the right thing, but that was it. He looked at their hands again, his smile shy, touched. He was tempted to deny it, but he knew that wouldn’t make anyone feel good. It was genuine and rare from Zuko. He didn’t tend to give compliments very often, but when he did, he gave them freely, no strings attached, and honestly. He didn’t give false compliments. He meant this, what he said. And Sal didn’t want to dishonor that by refusing it. “Hey, you’re pretty amazing, too,” he murmured, meeting Zuko’s eye. Truth for truth. Sal meant every word, as much as Zuko did. It was just...the truth. “Good,” he added, his smile returning. “I believe you. I hope when you are, you can be proud of who you are now, too. Who you were. How you did your best, how you tried. Just like I am. I think, when you’re proud of yourself, you’ll see that there was always a lot there to be proud of.” He didn’t want to lean back. He knew they needed to get moving, but he didn’t want to be the one to suggest it. He wanted...he wanted to keep talking forever. Or stay silent, as long as they were near each other. He thought he wanted to never ler Zuko’s hand go, and never stop meeting his eye. “You know…” he added after a minute. “I know what it’s like to be half blind. It’s pretty disorienting at first. I just mean...I’ll be your left eye, if you’ll be my right one.”
Once, Kelsier would have immediately made the promise, with no doubt that he could keep it. Once, he would have smiled and promised Nico the world, meaning every word while he did. Once...but that wasn’t now. He’d learned the hard way that he was not unbreakable. He was not invincible. He was fallible. He was human. Promises were not kept merely because he’d spoken them. He had to work for it. He had to work to keep his promises. Which meant he couldn’t afford to make one he wasn’t positive he could keep. He couldn’t swear to stay. He didn’t know if he’d be pulled under again. He’d already gone farther than he’d ever thought possible. He had wanted to give Nico that simple world. He had wanted...well, he’d wanted a lot. He had wanted to make the world easy. He had wanted to prove that hope was worth it, that just because there were monsters, didn’t mean there couldn’t be other things. Better things. People, hope, warm soup from a stranger...the list went on. And all Kel had done was prove that it wasn’t enough. He had still gone away. He had still gotten lost, leaving his son to do damage control. He would never stop regretting that. He shook his head, the words stabbing deep. He wanted to cry out, he wanted to kill Hades for this, he wanted...he wanted a lot of things. Mostly, what he wanted was for Nico to be safe and okay, and he knew he wasn’t going to get that, not completely. As much as he’d tried to prove the world wasn’t broken, it had been about as effective as proving he was unbreakable. He closed his eyes, holding on. Nico was stubborn. Kelsier was secretly convinced the boy was actually the more stubborn of the two of them, but he didn’t admit that. He had a reputation. And there were times, like how, where he needed to be the more stubborn of the two. “No, Nico,” he said quietly, his voice strained and intense at once. He leaned back a little, catching Nico’s gaze and holding it with his own. “No. If I go, you can’t follow me. If I get lost, I want...I need...you to be okay. I have never begged, but I’m begging you now. Please. Please don’t follow me into the dark. I’d rather die, I’d rather let Hades win, I’d rather break all my promises and have you hate me for as long as we both live. I won’t lead you away from your family. I won’t lead you away from yourself. If I go, let me stay gone, if it would protect you for even a moment longer.” He didn’t look away. He needed Nico to understand. He had to understand this, if nothing else.
Kenma blinked at Hunter, but he didn’t otherwise react to the words. It was probably true that a direct approach was better. He knew Hinata. Hinata might not quite get what they were saying unless they said it. Not because he wasn’t smart enough to, of course, just because he tended to take things at face value. Which helped a lot when it came to avoiding unnecessary assumptions, but meant that avoiding coming right out and saying it would just waste everyone’s time. “I don’t know why no one noticed,” he admitted softly. “I wasn’t with anyone…I don’t know if anyone would have noticed I was gone. But how else could we know about it, without you having told us?”
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2021 14:01:20 GMT -5
It didn’t take Orpheus long to realize that something was wrong. He knew this would be hard for Juuzou, knew that confronting a problem head on and facing friends you thought would be upset or even angry was one of the most difficult things you could do. He was proud of Juuzou for trying it, but he didn’t think that was the problem this time. Last time, Juuzou had stopped dead before turning around fleeing. This time, he had just… stopped. Orpheus wanted to come up behind him, to encourage him to keep going, but he couldn’t do that when he didn’t know what was wrong. So he watched from a distance, there if Juuzou decided to run again. He glanced around camp, looking for any sign of danger. It seemed that L was doing something similar a short ways off, so he lifted a hand in acknowledgment before he turned his attention back to Juuzou. He wouldn’t interfere – yet – but he did want to keep an eye on things. It seemed Ronan was standing up… Orpheus breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody had died. Well… nobody had died permanently.
Kaladin was aware of how delicate the situation was. He also knew he hadn’t handled the situation how he should have. Attacking Ronan had been a gut reaction, and it wasn’t how he was supposed to deal with allies, let alone allies who were younger than him. But Ronan had crossed a line and Kaladin couldn’t just abide by that. It was bad enough when Sherlock did it, but when Ronan did it with venom dripping from his voice… Kaladin balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Talking to Varian wouldn’t be very productive if he were angry. He tailed the kid for a few moments, making sure he was in earshot if Varian wanted to talk. Some unbiased party Kaladin was… he may have understood both sides, but Ronan had been a jerk on purpose, and Kaladin at least knew Varian had good intentions. Given a choice between Varian and Nynorsk else they were with… Kaladin would choose Varian every time. He reminded him so much of Tien, though Tien had naturally been more cheerful than Varian. It didn’t matter. As far as Kaladin was concerned, they were both his little brothers. “Maybe you’re right,” Kaladin replied softly, shaking his head just a little. “Maybe they don’t understand. But maybe they just aren’t ready to think about that yet. I think Sweets would probably have more to say about that than I would, but… what happened was a lot, Varian. And not everyone jumps straight to problem solving, I don’t… think you’re wrong for having that response, but they’re not wrong for not having it. Although Ronan’s behavior was uncalled for.” Kaladin saw a lot of himself in Ronan, though he would never admit it. He much preferred to keep the boy at an arms length. “Varian,” Kaladin said after a long moment, voice quiet, “You can’t end death permanently. I understand wanting a time machine. And I understand wanting something that can either cure people or bring them back, but putting an end to death entirely isn’t the solution. I’m not saying I want anyone to suffer, but death is part of life.” He didn’t add that there were some people who deserved to die. He doubted that would go over well. Kaladin knew a thing or two about grief. He knew his parents would never forgive him for letting Tien die. Distantly, Kaladin hoped his parents had found somewhere safe. Somewhere they wouldn’t be worrying about him and Tien. A lump raised itself in his throat. “I’m no philosopher,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I tend to prefer straight answers. But we’re not human if nobody dies. We don’t continue. We don’t change. And we need to, to be the best we can be,”
Noah couldn’t imagine being best friends with anyone but Ronan. Sure, Ronan was intense and unusual. Sure, he was poisonous and deadly at times, but hadn’t humans spent centuries learning how to make medications out of poisons? Noah was no scientist, but he knew Ronan, and Ronan wasn’t nearly as dangerous once you were close to him. Well… you could get into a lot of danger with him and because of him, but he didn’t let his family get hurt if there was anything he could do about it. That was part of what Noah loved about Ronan. He was… well, he was fierce and loyal, and though Noah didn’t much like Ronan comparing himself to a dog, he had to admit that if any animal could be used to describe Ronan Lynch it was a dog. Or, perhaps, a rattlesnake. Only, Ronan’s warning signs weren’t as subtle as a rattle. They were loud and explosive and not very much like warning signs at all. Noah breathed out, blue eyes still wide and concerned as Ronan sat up. He hadn’t noticed Juuzou yet, but if he had he would have reached up to take his hand and drag the other boy down to the ground with him and Ronan. He hadn’t been the one thrown to the ground, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to hold him. He sucked in another deep breath, searching Ronan’s expression. “I thought he might kill you,” Noah whispered, voice hoarse. As dangerous as Ronan was, Kaladin was more dangerous. Kaladin kept his anger inside, but when exploded, it exploded. And he was fast. He knew how to fight. Ronan knew how to fight, too (Noah had seen it), but Kaladin’s skill bested the boxing ability of any of the three Lynch brothers. “I’m not dead,” he added unhelpfully, giving a small shrug. “I don’t… I mean, I know I was, but you were, too. But we’re not, so it has to be okay.” Noah frowned, eyes catching on some of the scratches. Scratches were dangerous. Infection could set in, and infection was more dangerous than it had ever been before. He was about to turn to go to the medic tent to find Combeferre, but Juuzou was standing behind him, in his way. Blue eyes widened, catching on red. Noah took a sharp breath in, a subconscious step back. And then he surged forward, arms wrapping around Juuzou’s neck, a smudged cheek pressed to the top of Juuzou’s head. No words escaped. Noah wasn’t entirely sure he wanted – or needed – to say anything. Sure, Ronan was in danger, but he almost always was. And when Juuzou had walked away after seeing the scar, Noah had thought he had done something to upset his friend. But he had come back. “Are you okay?” Noah asked after a moment in the same small, near desperate voice he had used with Ronan just moments earlier. He didn’t know if Juuzou had died. He didn’t know if anyone had found him when he had woken up here, or if he had been alone… all Noah wanted was for all of them to be okay. He pulled back a few moments later, looking between Ronan and Juuzou. Ronan had been upset about Juuzou, but Noah knew the expression on Ronan’s face. The almost serene press of his lips and the relaxed arch of his eyebrows. Ronan had calmed down. Noah just hoped that having Juuzou here wouldn’t send him skyrocketing again.
Wylan couldn’t know for sure what the place meant to Spook, but he had a pretty good guess. He knew what it was like to need places of solitude, and finding a treasure trove like this? This was a secret to keep, not a secret to share with anyone except those you trusted most. Somehow, Wylan had become that sort of person for Spook. He supposed that made sense. If Wylan found a place like this, he would have wanted to share it with Spook. There were times when Wylan preferred being alone, but somehow he was able to recharge even when Spook was there. “I would have to agree,” Wylan murmured, meeting Spook’s gaze for a long moment. “Still. It’s not a place for sharing with just anyone. I’m… I’m grateful that I’m the person you wanted to show it to. I’m more than grateful you’re in my life. I…” Wylan blushed, color spreading all the way across his face and into his ears. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to. He didn’t know if he wanted to give voice to the thoughts flooding his mind. Words were never going to be enough. Neither would a flower, but a flower was all he had at the moment. He didn’t know for sure what Spook had meant by the flower, but he knew what he meant by the one he was offering. Three words, three words that Wylan wasn’t sure he could work up the courage to say out loud: I love you. Wylan could feel Spook’s pulse in his wrist, could feel the way it thundered, like it was a living thing doing its absolute best to escape. Wylan squeezed Spook’s hand, a tiny smile crossing his expression as he did so. “I don’t think I’ve ever danced before,” he admitted, voice nearly inaudible despite their proximity. “I… I think I’d like to try.” Dancing was something Wylan had seen adults do when he was younger, but when he had ended up on his own, he had never learned. With zombies running around everywhere, there was never any need to learn. Now, though, he wished he did. “You’ll have to teach me,” he whispered, gently placing his free hand on Spook’s shoulder as he had seen the ladies do when his father had thrown parties. He didn’t want to mess this up. He was aware of how close Spook was, but he didn’t give into the impulse to move back. He wanted to be as close as he could be without losing his best friend.
There was a lot about the world before that Newt was jealous of. He wouldn’t admit it (least of all to himself), but he wished he had gotten to taste the world as it was. There was a little boy out there, in his memory, who had been able to have ice cream and pizza, who had skinned his knees trying to figure out how to ride his bike, who had come home to his mother and father and sister and had babbled about the cool salamander he had found that day when he dug in the pond. There was a little boy in his memory who had gone to school and had hated history but had excelled in maths, who had been proud of the fact that his history teacher stopped writing comments about how he needed to start applying himself more and had started writing comments about how he was a pleasure to have in class. Somewhere, deep in Newt’s memory, that little boy continued living his life. But Newt couldn’t see it. He knew it was there, somewhere, but it was blocked from him. Once, he had thought that Sweets might be able to help him unlock those memories, but Sweets was a psychologist, not a miracle worker. What Hades had done wasn’t the sort of thing a psychologist could undo. Maybe one day Newt would have those memories. For now, though… he breathed out, forcing himself to measure his breathing with Sweets’ pace, which was much more consistent than his own. “From what I’ve heard,” Newt said after a moment of silent thought, “The government was pretty corrupt. I mean… if they had been organized at all, they would have been able to stop this from spreading as far as it did, right? So your friend really wasn’t that wrong about there being issues with the government. I guess… that’s not really that wild a conspiracy theory.” He gave a small shrug, thinking through some of the other crazy theories he had read. He wanted to ask Sweets if his friend had believed that the Earth was flat or if he believed the moon landing was faked, but he figured that might not go over well. He didn’t have the cultural knowledge to be able to tell what someone smart could legitimately believe and what would just be… offensive. He had only heard of conspiracy theories through books in the library he had crashed in for a little over four months. “Maybe I am a punk,” Newt conceded after a moment, a half-smile touching his lips. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been, if the world had been normal. I don’t know… I can’t even imagine just… being a normal high schooler. I guess a lot of how we live now would have been pretty illegal back then. Raiding grocery stores, carrying around weapons all the time…” he shrugged like it didn’t matter. It was a lie. He wanted to remember what the world had been like. He wanted to know what he had missed out on, but he doubted the world would ever be like that again, at least in his lifetime. Eventually, there would be a cure, or at least a consistent way to kill the zombies and make sure they stayed dead. Eventually, the world would start to rebuild. Until then… Newt frowned, staring straight ahead. “If you offer your services and people take you up on it, then you’re not forcing people to listen to you. You’re exchanging a service for… I don’t know. Some peace of mind? Some validation in having helped someone? A purpose in life?” As far as Newt was aware, almost everyone was lacking that last thing.
It was difficult to get Zuko to open up. He had learned over time that speaking of the things that upset him only ended in more pain, that raising his voice against what he thought was wrong was a good way to get himself hurt. He had been through a lot – much more, probably, than a boy his age should have been through. But the world had changed, too. There was no such thing as ‘should have’ anymore. Everyone had been through hell and back. The only way to survive was to keep fighting, to push aside despair, and decide that you wanted to keep moving forward in spite of everything that had happened to you. Zuko knew his story was something of a tragedy, but he also knew he wasn’t alone. Most of the world had faced tragedy, and at some point you had to stop saying “well, other people have it worse,” and even “I had it worse than these people” because there was no way to gauge it. They were all fighters. They were all survivors. And Zuko’s past was no harder than Sal’s, and Sal’s was no harder than anyone else’s. They were all just… different. The nice thing about a past, though, was that it was behind you. It didn’t define who you were, and you could learn and grow from it. You could leave it behind and become someone you would much prefer to be. Zuko was comforted by that thought. He was comforted by the fact that he had a family now, though he had lost Ursa and Iroh. Maybe, one day, he would find them again. Maybe he would run into Ozai or Azula. The world was small, but it didn’t matter. No matter how much of his old family he ran across, there was nothing that could tear him away from his new one. Once, he had thought he would never be able to bounce back. Once, he had thought that the family you were born into was the end all be all, that there was nothing out there other than them. He was wrong. Sal had proven him wrong. A small smile crossed Zuko’s expression as Sal’s voice broke through the silence. It wasn’t so much… silence as it was comfort. There was noise, just very little in the way of words. He could hear Sal breathing. He was half convinced that if he listened close enough, he would be able to hear the other boy’s heartbeat. “It’s easy,” Zuko managed after a moment, letting his gaze drift away from Sal. As much as he trusted him, as well as he knew him, there were still things that were difficult to admit. “It’s easy to hate the boy I was. It’s easy to say he was wrong, that he made the wrong choices, that he was blind, and he should have just opened his eyes. It’s… a lot harder to admit that I believed in those choices. It’s harder to acknowledge that I should be allowed to move on from that. I guess… I’m just used to having my mistakes define my life.” He gave a soft sigh, letting his gaze move over towards Sal once more. This… this wasn’t a mistake. This was moving on. Zuko bit his lip, about ready to admit that they should probably go look for the others when Sal’s voice hit him and his eyes widened. “Oh,” Zuko whispered, the word soft and uncertain. “I… I would like that. I’d like that.”
Nico curled closer into Kelsier, trying to convince the tears building in his eyes not to fall. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to make this harder. He wanted Kelsier back, he wanted to know that his dad would be there every time he entered his tent, he wanted the comfort of knowing Kelsier was watching his back while he slept. He wanted a world where Kelsier wasn’t’ the thing he had to watch out for, a world where he knew he was safe. He knew he would never be able to have the world like it had been. He knew that because of him, he would never be picked up from school by Kelsier, he would never tell him about what he had learned in history, what mistakes his Latin teacher had made that day, eh would never be able to wake up to the smell of pancakes being cooked on a Saturday morning and know that there was nothing he had to do for the whole day if he didn’t want to do it. He had wanted that, once, but he had stopped asking for that when he had first lost Kelsier. Now all he wanted was the knowledge that Kelsier would still be Kelsier as the days stretched on. “I want to believe you,” Nico managed, shaking his head just a little bit. “The rest of the world seems… I don’t know. The rest of the world lies. The rest of the world could be wrong, and it doesn’t make sense, and… and I don’t know what to believe if you’re wrong. If I have to keep telling myself over and over again that you’re wrong…” he didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t believe he was strong enough. He had tried to be strong for so long… there were days and days where he had come in to talk to Kelsier, to try to bring him back. There were days when he had practiced sword fighting on his own because he wanted to be good enough to surprise Kelsier when he was himself again. And then there was this… this proof that they had been somewhere else, that something had happened that didn’t make sense with reality… and for the first time, Nico’s world was crashing down around him. It was possible that the world wasn’t real. It was possible that Hades still had them. And as long as Kelsier said it was real, Nico was going to believe him. He just didn’t know if he would be able to believe that when Kelsier started saying it was a lie. “I don’t know what to do if you get lost again,” Nico whispered, tearing his gaze away. “I don’t want to do it alone.” Technically, he knew he wasn’t alone. But his family… the boys who had become his family… they couldn’t possibly understand, even if they tried. All of their lives had been touched by Hades, but none of them knew how skilled he was at manipulation. If Kelsier was gone, could he rely on them to keep him here? The honest answer was that he didn’t know. Hunter knew he may have been a bit harsh, but it was a harsh topic of conversation. As far as he was aware, there wasn’t really a way not to be harsh, and it was probably better that Hinata come to terms with what had happened sooner rather than later. Although… he did understand why the other boy was quick to jump straight to denial. If Hunter could believe that it hadn’t happened, then… he likely would have made that choice. But it had happened, and now they had to face it. Eventually, they were going to have to find the others. Hopefully, they weren’t going to get lost… hopefully some of them had at least a little bit of sense. Knowing who he was talking about, Hunter figured he wasn’t going to get too lucky.
“I was with Rue,” Hinata said after a moment, glancing in the direction he had left the girl. “She didn’t notice anything. It was just a daydream, I wasn’t gone for more than a moment.” He knew based on what Sal had said that he had actually been gone for much longer, but… it had felt like less than a second here. How did that even work? Hinata wasn’t used to feeling quite so far out of his element. He remembered racing Juuzou for the weapons. What would he have done if he had gotten to choose one before Juuzou had plucked his knives from the wall? Who would he have hurt if Juuzou hadn’t killed him almost immediately? The thought sent a shudder down his spine. He was fast enough that he would have been a contender. He didn’t like that much at all. “Maybe… well, do you remember when we were playing volleyball, how sometimes the whole team would see a play before it happened? Maybe it was like that! Just… a bad feeling or something. Maybe we can just stop it from happening and it was a warning!”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 8, 2021 0:55:57 GMT -5
Juuzou didn’t know how to begin, once he was there. They were talking in hushed voices. Clearly, something had happened, though he didn’t know why any of them would want to get in a fight after everything else. He wanted to speak up. He wanted to walk away again. Maybe he just wanted to know if it would be okay beforehand, so he didn’t have of go through this part blind. The fact was that he’d killed both these boys. He’d wanted to. He’d been angry, so angry that he hadn’t been able to think. He’d wanted to hurt them, and so he had, without hesitation. He would understand if they didn’t want him around anymore. That was the usual reaction, probably. When Noah turned, he froze, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. Their eyes met. He waited, waited for the worst, waited for Noah to tell him to go. That wasn’t what happened. He gasped as Noah hugged him, muscles going stiff and still with shock. And he began to cry. Tears slipped down his cheeks, the sort that had already dropped from your chin before you even knew you were crying at all. He stood still letting himself be held for a very long moment before he even tried to stop, because somehow...things were okay. Somehow, Noah didn’t hate him. Somehow, he didn’t have to go. “I’m sorry,” he managed in reply, breath catching in his throat. “I’m so sorry.” He let Noah pull back and wiped at his eyes, brushing the tears away and glancing at Ronan for a moment, before focusing back on Noah. “Is...everyone else okay?”
Varian kept walking, aware that Kaladin was there behind him, but unable to bring himself to turn around. Ronan’s anger had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. Even Noah’s response hadn’t been what he’d expected. That was okay. It was one more problem he could solve, now. When he brought back everyone they’d lost, they wouldn’t be angry anymore. They’d understand. He’d make them understand, if he had to. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been forced to show what he meant, not just explain it. He wanted to be Kaladin’s brother. He wanted to think of himself that way, but he didn’t know if he had that right. Not after what he’d done. He’d killed Tien. Made it so, if there was ever a cure, it wouldn’t include him. If there was a way ihe could fix it, he had to take that chance, didn’t he? How could he possibly wait? What if it passed him by and he lost his dad and Tien all over again? Kaladin, of all people, had to understand what he meant. Kaladin missed Tien, too, more than Varian ever could. “I know,” he managed finally, his steps slowing as he came to the edge of camp. As the full hopelessness of the situation began to hit him. There was no path to follow. No trail, no hints as to where he needed to go. He looked both ways, hoping to see...something. Anything that might tell him where to go. “I know it was a lot. I was there, too. But we don’t have time to process...we don’t know where they are, or if they’re leaving, or anything! It could be too late already. We don’t have time to waste, or we could lose this.” You can’t end death permanently. It was the last thing Varian wanted to hear. The very last thing he wanted to be told. “How do you know?” He asked, turning to face Kaladin, ignoring the crack in his voice. His face was a mask of desperation, his eyes pleading with the older survivor as they met his. It was almost as though he needed this, more than he wanted it. He needed to be able to fix it. To do something. “How do you know I can’t? Why do people have to...why isn’t there any way? I don’t get it, Kal, I don’t understand, I...nothing good comes out of it! Nothing!” His hands balled into fists, his head lowering so he was staring at the ground under his feet instead. Tears burned at his eyes, but he fought them as best he could. He didn’t have any use for them, not now, when he was so close… “Of course we’re human if we don’t die. We’d be even better! You’d...you’d never have to worry about anyone again! I can bring Tien back, and heal him, and keep him completely safe, don’t you want that? How did anything good come out of his...out of me...what I did?”
Sometimes Ronan intended to be dangerous and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes, he tried to look intimidating, tried hard to appear as terrifying as he could. He’d done that with Varian. He’d been angry, he’d wanted the younger boy to know, and it hadn’t worked. Sometimes, it just happened. He hadn’t intended to be venomous to Kaladin. He hadn’t planned to use the nickname as a weapon. It didn’t excuse it, but it was a very different sort of experience, whether he had intended it or not. He rarely felt bad for the first sort. He could be made to, though. Adam and Gansey had had a special gift, the ability to make Ronan Lynch regret his actions. He did regret the second sort, sometimes. When he knew he’d gone too far. When it wasn’t a game anymore. When, like now, he was well aware he’d been awful, and what was more, he had decided to be awful. He shook his head a little. Kaladin wasn’t there anymore. The attack had been fair. He’d needed someone to ground him, and someone had grounded him. He didn’t understand himself at all. “Nah,” he replied, glancing at Noah, gaze steady. “He wouldn’t have killed me. Damn, he’s good.” Not that he had any chance of learning from him, now. It was probably better that they keep their distance. “It doesn’t work that way,” he added a little sharply, looking down again. “Being dead and then being alive again. It won’t just go away. It still happened, and I don’t think that’s okay.” He might have gone on, but he’d noticed Juuzou. He went still, eyes watchful as the other boy stood, as Noah turned, as Noah hugged him…he didn’t speak. What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know how Juuzou felt about the whole thing yet. He really needed to decide if he was angry. He didn’t think he was. But most of his emotions had a bad habit of impersonating anger even when that wasn’t what they were. He didn’t look away from Juuzou, but he didn’t move forward either. “You’re not dead,” he said at last, inclining his head towards the younger boy. “I’m not dead. Noah’s not dead. I’m guessing everyone else is okay, too. Plus new scars, unless you got off easy and didn’t get one?
Spook knew it was just a place, really. Just weeds, just an old building falling apart...he knew it wasn’t a solution. But it was a refuge, and wasn’t that almost as good? He had to believe it was something. He wanted to believe that. Maybe...maybe it could be something to Wylan, too. He wanted it to be, somehow. It was as though Wylan didn’t count as a draining presence, Wylan was...his presence was reassuring. He was gently and persistently present. Spook never wanted that to change. The blush spreading across Wylan’s face set Spook’s heart ablaze again. It always had that effect, somehow. He didn’t know how to use words, here...he didn’t know how to say it right. He’d never been that good at explaining things, after all, and now was no exception to that rule. So he didn’t speak at all, just...existed. The flower was a start. He didn’t think it was anywhere near enough, though. He knew...well. He didn’t know if anything ever would be enough. He didn’t think it would. And if not, then he’d just have to keep trying. “It’s easy,” he replied, very softly. As if, if he spoke too loud, he might shatter this place entirely. He smiled a little as Wylan moved into position, as he got a little closer...his heart couldn’t possibly go any faster, could it? He didn’t see how it could. This was all he needed. This was absolutely everything he wanted. He moved a little, gently stepping to the side, his movements slow and steady. This was everything. This was everything. How did people do this without losing their voice? He tried not to move too fast. Tried to keep his simple, easy to follow. He was leading, naturally, though it was an unusual sensation...he didn’t often lead, not in any circumstances. “How’s this?” He managed after a moment, voice breathless.
Sweets knew all too well how reasonable Newt’s feelings were. Of course he wanted to know the world as if had been...that was all the adults ever seemed to talk about. He couldn’t give thst to him. He couldn’t tell him what it was like, not in the way he wanted. It was one thing to describe. It was entirely another to live it yourself. And Sweets couldn’t offer the second one. He wished he knew more about where Newt came from, at least. If he could only know...well. It wouldn’t do much, probably, but it might be helpful for them to grow closer. Maybe...he just didn’t know. He wanted Newt to be happy, mostly. That was all. He could tell that that was a tall order, though. Once, he’d been easily one of the youngest people in his new family. Once, Booth had insisted on calling him twelve years old had tried to intimidate him into submission, and once, he’d succeeded. Now...now, Sweets was some of the adults. Now, he had actual kids to compare himself, to. His conclusion? Adults and kids weren’t all the different after all “You’re right,” Sweets agreed, shaking his head a little bit. “He wasn’t totally wrong. He was just...not totally right either. Just because someone has a rational reason for their beliefs, doesn’t always make it a rational belief, you know? It’s not quite the same thing.” He wouldn’t have been offended by the question. He wouldn’t have minded answering, because...it was a fair question. And Hodgins deserved a little doubt. He missed Hodgins. He missed everybody, actually. But he was glad to be here. He was glad to have Newt...glad to have a lot of people. Even when it was hard, really, really hard. He nodded a little. Truthfully...everyone would have a hard time going back to the way things had been, he imagined. Everyone would struggle to fit into a civilized life, no matter how much they missed it. He knew he would, and the kids most of all, having been like this pretty much as long and they could remember. He wished it was simpler. But he knew the chances of going back were slim to none, anyway. “I guess the world changed us all,” he admitted, shaking his head a little. “It’s not surprising. We’re shaped by our surroundings. But...it can feel very disconcerting at times, when you know you couldn’t live in the world the way it was, anymore. I wonder if I could even go back to my old life now, you know? I’m not the same person as I was, then. I’m not sure I’m built for that life anymore. I guess none of us probably are.” He looked at Newt, and gave a small smile. “But enough about that. I’d love to be a psychologist again...I really would. I think everyone should be looking for a purpose, even now. It would help us cope with all the negative emotions surrounding our situation.”
Sal knew how much Zuko had been through. He knew it was more than anyone should have have to go through, no matter what their age was, but least of all a kit. Zuko...he’d been too young to be forced to deal with everything. Too young to go through what he had, and he’d come out of it alive. Sal knew it wasn’t something to be grateful for, or something that was acceptable in any way. He was just...proud of who Zuko was. He was proud of whom he’d become, proud of how honorable he was. He needed him to know that, that was all. He needed him to understand that even in the position he was in now, he was worthy. He was worth everything, and he didn’t even seem to know it. His new family had his back. They would be there for him, forever, if he wanted it. They would all catch him if he ever fell, and Sal would be at the very front of it, ready to see Zuko succeed, as he knew he would Even if they did ever meet Zuko’s old family...he had to bee live that would he okay. That they wouldn’t be able to hurt Zuko, that any control they’d had was gone now. He needed to believe that, he needed to think Zuko was safe, as safe as he could get in a world like this one. Family...it wasn’t who you were born with. It was who you chose. It was who you wanted to be with. At the end, it was whoever you wanted it to be. Sal was comforted by that knowledge. That this family they’d built...it was as real as any other. As real as it could be. He shook his head a little bit. He knew Zuko was right...he even know why he felt her way. It was all too easy to hate who you’d been. More then easy to despise yourself for being blind, when no one ever mentioned you even had eyes to begin with. How could he have known? How could Zuko have possibly known how to be who he was now? Sal firmly believed this wasn’t his fault, but he knew it wasn’t that easy to believe it, when it was you. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s probably a lot easier to hate who you were than blame anyone else for it,” he offered breathing out. “You have time gentle with yourself I think. It’s not easy. But you have to be kind, like you would be to someone else. You know? It’s not...it’s not like you could have known. You were a kid. Even if you did make mistakes...that’s allowed. You are allowed to be imperfect. Everyone is.” He knew this wasn’t easy. He knew it wasn’t simple, but he hoped that Zuko would be able to be kind to himself. He deserved that much. “Good,” he replied quietly, and squeezed Zuko’s hand lightly. “We should...probably see if the others are okay. They might be worried about us.”
Kelsier didn’t let go. He didn’t want to let Nico go, he never wanted to let him go again. What he wanted was the make things right again. To go back, to where he could just make soup and ask questions and learn his name and save his jacket and everything else. Everything was so complicated now, and he hated it. Why couldn’t he just hold Nico and have it be okay, again? If he could have had a life where Nico was his son and they lived in a peaceful world, where their biggest problems were ore and school...he would have given anything for that. Anything, to be able to be there for him, to not be the thing he was afraid of. If he could change one thing, it would be that. He would never have that. He would never be able to give Nico the childhood he deserved. Nothing could bring that reality back. Nothing could make it even remotely possible. And now...now, they were lucky to even be able to have this conversation. He didn’t know how to make this okay. But he did know how to be there, for as long as he could. He breathed out, staying as relaxed as he could. He would be an anchor for as long as he could be. He would be there as long as he could, and if in the end it wasn’t enough...no, it would just have to be enough. That was all. The world was real. This world...it had to be real. It didn’t make sense if it wasn’t. It didn’t make sense if this was all just some game Hades was playing...he couldn’t let himself believe that, not for a second, or he might not be able to stop. “Nico, hey,” he murmured, breathing out. “Listen to me. As long as I can be, I’ll be here. I’m not abandoning you. If I do go...I’ll do all I can to come back. Okay? Please believe me, I don’t want to go. I will try as hard as I can not to go.” He wished he could make a better promise, but he couldn’t. This was all he could offer. This...this was the best he could do, and he knew, he painfully knew it wasn’t enough. “I might not go at all,” he added quietly, catching Nico’s gaze. “I might not have to. I think I’m getting better now, Nico. I think, maybe...there is hope after all. I just need you to see it too. Can you do that?” It wasn’t a fair request. But he asked it anyway. It wasn’t fair to Nico to ask him to try to have hope, not again, but what else could he do?
Kenma hesitated, taking in the words. Hinata had a way of sounding like he meant everything he said with all his heart, and now was no exception…the way he said it, it made sense. Or at least, it didn’t make any less sense than anything Kenma could think of. He didn’t want to just dismiss a theory because it didn’t feel right, either. If that was what Hinata believed had happened, then Kenma was willing to give it a fair amount of thought. He glanced at Hunter, trying to see whether the other boy thought there was a chance Hinata was right. He guessed he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t speak for him, he knew. “It was only a couple minutes for you, wasn’t it?” He said finally, his voice almost too soft to make out. “That’s why it feels like it could have been a feeling for you. Like seeing a play before it happens…but that happens because you’re used to the game. You don’t actually see the future. You just predict what’s going to happen, because you know how it works. I don’t…think that’s what happened here. I’m sorry.”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 8, 2021 12:43:30 GMT -5
There was a part of Kaladin that wished that nobody would ever have to die. That wished that the world could go on as it was, that there could just be more and more people, and that they could all know their families generations and generations backed. He wished there was a world where Tien had never died, where he could have seen his baby brother grow up and become a man. He wished he could see the light in Tien’s eyes once more, wished he could have held one of the colorful and interestingly textured stones that Tien was fond of collecting and giving to the people he cared about. If Tien was back… Kaladin could go home. He could see his parents again and tell them that he managed to keep Tien safe. He could hold Tien and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that it was all just a bad dream and that Kaladin was going to fight off anyone who dared hurt Tien. It wasn’t that simple. Even if Varian could do it, Kaladin wasn’t entirely certain he wanted him to. Of course it would be wonderful to have Tien back, but it was a slippery slope. How much would have to happen before there were millions more people on Earth, billions of people that the Earth just couldn’t support. “Maybe you can,” Kaladin conceded, taking a deep breath, “but maybe you shouldn’t.” He let the words hang in the air for a long moment, then took a quiet step towards Varian. He didn’t want to upset the boy, but he needed Varian to give this all some thought before he ran off and did something that could come back to bite all of them. Varian, it seemed, didn’t think things through very often. He just… acted. Kaladin could understand that, but he was familiar with how much trouble it could get Varian into. “I want Tien back,” Kaladin murmured, keeping his voice quiet. He wasn’t sure he could admit that in a much louder voice anyway. It felt like a secret. He should have been starting to move on, but he couldn’t stop seeing the way Tien’s eyes stared up at him, long dead even as his body was cooling. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the image from them. “Have you considered how far this will go, Varian? Have you thought about any of the consequences? If we bring some people back, then those people will have others that they want back. People that they knew when they were young, perhaps, people that they don’t remember as well… and then how can we deny them that? And when those people want to bring more people back, will you just allow them to? Will you allow hundreds of generations on the Earth at the same time? And what of people who specialized in being cruel? If you refuse to let those people back, then someone is going to try to get hold of your technology to bring them back anyway. Varian, it never ends. I can’t replace my family. I would never want to. But I have a family here. And part of being human is… is picking yourself back up and telling yourself that you’ll be stronger next time.”
Noah almost pulled back as he felt Juuzou tense up, but it only took a few moments for the tension to ease away and for them to just become two boys in an embrace, two people who had been hurt in ways that nobody should be hurt, two members of a family who had been separated and broken apart and hurt in ways nobody should be hurt. Noah found he couldn’t blame Juuzou, even though Juuzou had been the one wielding the knife. If anyone else had been as skilled as Juuzou with such a convenient weapon, that person would have killed the most people. Noah had no doubt about it. Noah had never killed anyone. Had never even killed a zombie. He did his best to avoid it, because looking at the undead reminded him that there might still be a person in there, struggling to get out. It made it hard to end their life, even if they were actively trying to kill him. The point was that even Noah had wanted his friends dead wherever they were. It took a lot to make him consider bloodshed – he knew what murder and unkindness felt like, and he would never wish that on anyone. But whatever had made Juuzou angry enough to kill had made Noah angry enough to do the same. The difference was speed. The difference was that Noah had felt anger, but he hadn’t been fueled by it. The feelings that made him want to kill in that situation were more rooted in fear, which meant he was a little bit less likely to strike first. Which meant he had been the first to die. So he didn’t blame Juuzou. How could he, when it really could have been any of them? He took a breath, then pulled back and offered Juuzou a small smile. He hadn’t expected the tears, but he wasn’t going to tell Juuzou to stop them. Sometimes, you just needed a good cry. Noah could understand that. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Noah whispered, catching Juuzou’s gaze. “I mean… it was unexpected, but it didn’t hurt that bad, and I’m okay now. And… I don’t think it was your fault. I think it was the fault of whoever it was that took us from here and brought us there.” Noah Czerny very rarely made definitive statements, but he wasn’t going to back down on this one. It hadn’t been Juuzou’s fault, but it had been someone’s fault. Varian was right about at least one thing – someone was behind this. Someone had technology they couldn’t even begin to understand. “Oh,” he murmured, his thoughts drifting. They probably should have checked on the others, but it hadn’t come to mind. He had been a little bit preoccupied by Ronan. “I think everyone’s probably alright,” he said to Juuzou after a moment, offering what he hoped came across as a reassuring smile. “I mean… we’re both okay, even though we were dead. I don’t know why anyone else would be permanently hurt if we weren’t.” He glanced at Ronan, trying to read his voice. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking. Difficult to tell whether or not he was angry. “We should… maybe go check? Just to make sure that we aren’t the only ones who got away.”
It was a little bit more than a place to Wylan. It wasn’t just a place, it was Spook’s place. To him, it didn’t matter what had come before or would come after. What mattered was that he and Spook were here together, and Spook trusted him enough to share this, something that nobody else in their little group of survivors even knew about. It struck Wylan that Spook was either very good at sneaking (very true, and therefore definitely a possibility), or he just hadn’t been noticed when he left their makeshift camp to come… well, here. It was worth it, he thought. Worth the risk to come here, because it was more beautiful than anything Wylan had seen in a while, even if it was basically just ruins. It was a set of ruins that belonged to Spook, and here they were. Together. Here they were, dancing. Wylan had never expected to learn how to dance. It didn’t seem like something that was likely to come up when he was first learning history and had asked why nobody really held balls anymore. Wylan forced his thoughts back into place, letting the feeling of Spook’s on his waist flood him with feelings he wasn’t entirely certain he had ever felt before. “It is easy,” Wylan whispered, allowing Spook to pull him around the room just a little bit. It wasn’t too fast, and it wasn’t too forceful. It was… well, it was comfortable. And being held like this felt safer than Wylan had felt since… possibly before the apocalypse started. “I’m enjoying it immensely,” he added, just in case that hadn’t been understood loud and clear. “I… I think I like this. Dancing. Or… maybe just dancing with you in particular. You’re… you’re a good leader,” he informed Spook, a little bit breathless from the spinning and the moving around… I think I love this. I think I love you. If Wylan had lost control, even a little bit, the words would be out there. He managed, barely, to swallow them back. They were still dancing, and Wylan didn’t pull away. “It’s… this is all… perfect.”
Newt listened, more than happy to hear more about Dr. Hodgins, more than happy to hear about Sweets’ life, even if part of him was still a little bit jealous. He hadn’t lied when he had said there were people he wanted to meet, though he had a feeling they would be far less happy to meet him than he would be to meet them. Then again… maybe they would be grateful that he had kept their friend company. Maybe they would thank him for being there for Sweets’, even though it had mostly been the other way around. Sweets had saved his life in more ways that one. Newt glanced down at his leg, noting the fact that the limp was still more pronounced than he wished. If he had been able to get to an actual doctor, it may not have been so bad, but all he’d had at the time was Sweets. Not that Sweets’ PhD didn’t count, it was just that… he’d hurt his leg before they had run into Kaladin. “I guess what your Dr. Hodgins believed isn’t terribly different from some of the things people believe now,” Newt allowed, giving a small smile. In a way, people had gotten far more superstitious after the apocalypse had begun. There was no ‘Google’ (though Newt was still curious how Google worked, and if he had ever had the occasion to use it), so you couldn’t just ‘look things up’ unless you managed to find an un-raided library. Even if you could, the world had changed so much since the last books had been published. Newt had no doubt that there were people still writing books – it amazed him to no end that even after everything, people still kept creating – but there was no way to get those books out to the wider public. If there were experts on what was going on, they were only experts within a specific niche, and there expertise could only reach so far. “I think people could probably adjust back to what used to be normal,” Newt allowed with a small shrug, “Only there would probably be different laws. Laws in place about how to handle a situation like this if it were to ever happen again. And maybe people would be more suspicious of their neighbors. People wouldn’t want to give up their weapons… I guess you’re right. I guess it might be different enough that it would be difficult to settle back into it. I don’t know enough about the way things used to be to know for sure. But… when this is all over, we’re going to have to rebuild anyway. And rebuilding requires working with others and trusting them, and once we can all do that again, maybe it won’t be too hard to adjust to a life that’s at least similar to what it was before.” Newt shrugged. He believed that people could rebuild. Look at their own little group… they were still living out of tents, but they had settled in enough that there were some things that were more permanent. Things they couldn’t take with them when they eventually had to leave. They were just a microcosm of the rebuilding that would eventually happen once the majority of the threat was wiped out. “You sound like a shrink,” Newt teased lightly, a smile ghosting the edge of his lips. “It suits you.”
There was only so much self-reflection Zuko could stand before he got absolutely fed up with thinking about himself and wanted to think about something else instead. He had needed to take a long while to adjust from the person he’d been to the person he was becoming, and he didn’t feel he was all the way there yet. Perhaps part of being a good person… part of making the right decisions… meant you never felt you were quite ‘there.’ Perhaps it meant that you always felt there was something you needed to struggle and strive for. He pushed the thought away, instead focusing on Sal. Sal, who seemed to think more highly of Zuko than he deserved, though he wouldn’t say that out loud. He had a feeling Sal might reprimand him for it. Zuko had only ever had Iroh to believe in him, at least after Ursa had left. It had been too long since he had last seen Iroh. Too long since he had told his uncle that finding Nico di Angelo was more important than anything else. That going home was more important than making a new home, that he prioritized Ozai and Azula over Iroh. Iroh could be dead now, and the last thing Zuko had said to him was cruel. He shoved that thought back, too. That wasn’t the point. The point was simply that it had been a long time since he’d had anyone to support him, so he was incredibly grateful to have Sal. “In which case,” Zuko managed softly, golden eyes flicking up to meet blue, “I’ll try. But there were still things I should have known. Things I should have realized back then, things that didn’t make sense but that I didn’t actually want to think about because… well, because it would mean admitting that things weren’t as perfect as I was pretending they were. I thought family was everything. And… it is, but I think I was looking at the wrong kind of family. I can’t blame them for everything, though. They didn’t control who I was or what I did. That was all me. I’m just… learning from it now.” Zuko sighed, deciding now would probably be a good time to drop the subject. He was never going to think he was blameless in what he had thought and done before he had known better, and Sal was going to push to give him the benefit of the doubt. They could probably go in circles for hours. “Okay,” he said after a moment, pulling back a little bit and forcing himself to stand up. “Let’s go make sure everyone else is okay.” He turned, reaching out a hand to help Sal up, if he wanted it. They were going to do this together, and even if that place had been messing with their minds, he wasn’t going to leave Sal’s side. He couldn’t help the fact that he blamed Nico a little bit for Sal’s death still, just as he couldn’t stop blaming himself for Varian’s. They were all going to be a little on edge for a while, it seemed.
Nico breathed out, trying to take Kelsier’s words to heart. He had believed for so long in this reality. He had told Kelsier over and over again that he was real, that they were here, that they were safe, as safe as they could possibly be. And Kelsier had lashed out at him. Kelsier had tried to hurt him. Looking at it that way, it would make more sense for Kelsier to be fake if this reality weren’t real. Hades would want to hit Nico where it hurt, by using Kelsier against him. By making a version of Kelsier that hated him and torturing him with it. But that wasn’t what had happened. Nico believed, more firmly than anything else, that Kelsier could not be replicated. He could believe that the man was breakable. He had warned him of that their very first meeting. He had told him not to promise he was unbreakable, because nobody was. So it wasn’t too much of a stretch that Hades had managed it. But Kelsier absolutely could not be reproduced, even by someone as manipulative as Hades. So… so if Kelsier was real, this had to be real. It had to be. Nico was going to repeat that to himself until he believed it wholeheartedly. “Okay,” he whispered, curling in closer to Kelsier. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be left behind. He wanted to freeze this moment, freeze the ability to be held by his dad, freeze the fact that they were both there, that they both felt that this was reality, that, for a brief, shining moment, everything was okay; everything could be okay. How long had it been since Nico had last had hope? “I wouldn’t agree to try to hope for anyone else,” Nico whispered, pressing his forehead into Kelsier’s chest like he could imprint the sound of Kelsier’s heartbeat on his mind forever. He tried to breathe along with it. Tried to use it to anchor himself. It wasn’t racing as much as his own heartbeat was. It was grounding and steady and gentle, the way Kelsier was when he wasn’t being dramatic as all hell. Nico loved both sides of the man. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. “I don’t know how not to lose hope if you go again. But… but I promise I’ll try not to. And… and if you do, then I’ll try to stay here, and I’ll try to find a way to get you back.” His breathing was beginning to even out, the panic subsiding. The situation wasn’t perfect, but they hadn’t had perfection since… well, Nico wasn’t sure he had ever had a perfect moment. The world had a tendency to steal those away before you could appreciate them. “I promise,” he mumbled again, eyes flitting closed. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall asleep.
Hunter glanced between the two of them, crossing his arms. He had no shortage of snarky answers to what Hinata was saying, but he had managed to filter himself. It didn’t matter what he thought. This was… well, nothing short of traumatizing. Hunter still had a lot of work to do when it came to recognizing his own trauma, but this was trauma, plain and simple. They had been friends, they had been stuck in a small space, and they had been told they hated each other. It felt like they were some sort of experiment. Hunter had been an experiment before, and it wasn’t an experience he ever wanted to repeat. “It happened,” Hunter said simply, the cross of his arms leaving no room for arguing. “What we need now is a plan for what to do if it happens again.” It wasn’t a possibility that Hunter wanted to consider, but it happening once should have been impossible. Once the impossible was done, there were always people who wanted to do it again.
“Only a couple minutes?” Hinata asked, suddenly growing very, very serious. There were very few things he looked serious about. Really, there were only two things that could get him like that: volleyball and the possibility of losing his friends. If he didn’t handle this situation properly… he glanced at Hunter, then Kenma. This was serious, so he really needed to be serious. “Um… yeah. Was it… longer for you? What… Kenma, what happened?” He knew he could have asked Hunter, but he was closer to Kenma. And he had a feeling that Kenma would give him a less sensationalized (okay, maybe sensationalized was too strong a word, but biased at the very least) take on events than Hunter would. Assuming either of the had survived…
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 1, 2021 22:28:41 GMT -5
Varian hated the idea of people going away and never coming back. He was terrified of it, the idea of losing someone like that, or a barrier he couldn’t cross rising between them at a moment's notice. It had happened already, and he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t make it okay…but now he could. Now, there was actually something he could do to make this right again, and he wasn’t letting it slip through his fingers. He knew Kaladin wanted that too. He knew that Kaladin wanted Tien to be alive. He had to understand. And it wasn’t as though Kaladin himself were safe either. He could die, too. Someone could come and take him away and he would never come back ever, just like Tien. That thought terrified Varian more than almost anything else. How could he care about what they’d all been through when he had the opportunity to fix everything? He wasn’t thinking ahead, that much was true. He wasn’t thinking about what would happen after he brought them back. He wasn’t considering the number of people this would involve, he just knew that death was horrible and he wanted nothing more than to make it stop hurting people. He froze as Kaladin spoke, the words going through him like a shock wave. Maybe you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t what? Save his father? Fix his mistake? Make his family happy and safe? He felt like he was falling all over again. He had already latched onto this hope, it seemed. He didn’t want to let it go. “I thought you of all people would understand…” he managed, his voice very small. “You know how it feels to lose someone, how…how can you stand there and feel that pain and tell me I shouldn’t fix it?” He flinched as Kaladin continued, hugging himself as shivers went through him. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear a word Kaladin was saying to him, he didn’t want to consider it, he wanted to just fix it and if there were consequences? They couldn’t be worse than what would happen if he didn’t act. It felt like he was killing Tien all over again, as though he would be single handedly responsible for every person who didn’t live if he didn’t do this. Everyone. Everyone would be dead and the world would still be broken and the pain wouldn’t stop and he wouldn’t ever see his father’s face again. He didn’t look at Kaladin. He could feel tears burning at his eyes, but he fought them. “I can’t,” he managed, voice strangled. “You’re…you’re wrong. I don’t care what happens! If I don’t do this, it’s like I killed him again! Kal, please!” He turned, eyes wide as he stared at Kaladin, expression desperate. “What if you die too? What if you leave me alone and…and everyone else dies too and I have no one in the world?” He breathed out, hard. It was too big. It was just too big. “I can fix everything. Just trust me! It’ll work! I promise!”
Juuzou had killed before. He had killed a lot, actually. This blood on his hands, it was fresher, but it was the same color it always was. He was used to the feel of it, the way it drenched his skin and drowned him. He was good at killing, that was all. He was practiced at it, so of course he’d been the one to kill the most. Noah, who had never killed anyone, hadn’t stood a chance against him, not when his victims' names piled higher than he could climb to count them. It wasn’t an innocent mistake that had brought him here. It was his own actions that had made this possible. If Noah didn’t hold it against him…Juuzou couldn’t see why not. He had killed him, and almost everyone else, too. He had done that, and as far as he could tell, no one had forced him to. They had made him angry, but he was the one who hadn’t controlled it. He was the one who had decided to hurt his family. If Orpheus hadn’t convinced him to come back, he probably would have run away right then, disappeared into the nothing and never come home. It would have hurt him more than he had words to describe, but he’d have done it, because he couldn’t imagine a world where any of these people…his family…could want him back now “I killed you,” he replied, shaking his head a little as he met Noah’s eyes. “I killed you. No one made me do it. I wasn’t a zombie. I was just… me.” He looked down. He didn’t know how to make Noah understand…he didn’t know how to understand it himself. He breathed out. If Noah said it wasn’t his fault, then…he would try to believe it. He would try. He managed to relax a little, wiping the tears away from his eyes and nodding. “Orpheus found me. He didn’t think anyone was dead or missing,” he offered, glancing between the other boys. “So maybe they’re okay, if they aren’t, then…” he hesitated. How could he possibly finish that sentence? “Then I guess we’ll have to be okay anyway,” he attempted. These strong emotions didn’t come easily to him. He didn’t know how to even begin to process this. “Do you know where anyone was supposed to be?”
Ronan didn’t know if he was angry. He didn’t know what he thought of this, only that he hated it. This…this wasn’t fair. This whole thing was stupid and awful and Noah had been hurt, and Ronan just wanted to take it all back. Of course life before that hadn’t been good, but…but this? This was horrible. It hadn’t even taken a half an hour for them to destroy each other, it hadn’t taken more than an instant for Juuzou to start killing once they’d walked in that room. And now? Now, they were just supposed to move on, and pretend it hadn’t even happened? Except for Varian, it seemed. Varian was determined to make this a good thing, no matter how impossible that task was. Ronan didn’t want to make this a good thing. He wanted to feel the utter wrongness of it. He wanted to be angry and bitter and sure he was in the right to feel those things. Varian was trying to look on the bright side, but the bright side was so often meant to blind those in the dark. It took the punch from what had happened, and what had happened was worse than a punch, and in this moment, there was no moving on. Not when Noah had been dead. Not when they had all been dead. It would have been so much simpler to just believe it was Juuzou’s fault. Then he’d have someone concrete to be angry with. Instead he just..had this. This truth, these memories, this inability to make what had happened make sense. He hated it. “Whatever,” he said, which meant he was giving in for the time being. He glanced between Juuzou and Noah, jaw set. “I don’t know where the others were, but if they’re not dead they’ll probably be looking for us. Except Nico. He probably went to see Kelsier.” He didn’t elaborate on why he thought that. “Whatever,” he repeated, for good measure. He glanced around the camp, eyes narrowed. “Let’s just find them.”
Truthfully…Spook was never sure how much was him sneaking and how much was his natural tendency to be invisible. He was quiet by nature. He blended in, even in their camp, even in their smaller group, the family that had allowed him in, somehow. He wasn’t as noticed as the others…he probably never would be. It was a curse he’d carried all his life, and though he couldn’t pretend not to feel the sting…he could use to his advantage sometimes. Like now. Like when he’d never even been missed when he ended up here. Sometimes, being alone was better than being ignored, after all. He tried not to feel bitter. But sometimes he couldn’t help it. It was better to let those feelings out where they couldn’t hurt any innocent bystanders, he figured. It was…a bit of a vicious cycle, perhaps, coming here to feel better about being forgotten, and coming back only to find not one person had realized he was gone. But not now. Not now. Now. Maybe, of every person who could pass him by, it was Wylan who he most longed to be worth a double take to, a second glance, a pause… A dance. Of all things. He must have been insane to have been the one to suggest it. To stand so close…who was he to deserve this boy’s hand in his? His brown eyes met Wylan’s and held them for a moment, before he gently dared to pull him into a spin, his hands steady, his hands shaking, his hands not letting go of him, not letting him fall even if he lost his balance. This felt like playing with fire. This felt like a confession and a secret in one. Did he dare? He dared. Words sprawled across his tongue. If his lips were to open, they would escape in a moment, in a breath. Did he dare? He wanted to. Maybe that was the same thing.
“It’s all about perspective,” Sweets confirmed. He’d never really thought he’d see the day he actually defended Hodgin’s paranoid ramblings, but…they’d both come a long way, he had to admit, from when he’d accused him of being a cannibal. Water under the bridge. Probably. Unless Hodgins had planned to get him back in an elaborate revenge plan that he’d worked tirelessly on and told only Angela, while swearing her to secrecy and appealing to her naturally chaotic nature to ensure her support. In which case she’d undoubtedly told Brennan not an hour later, who had not seen the sense in ‘getting back’ at anyone for a perfectly reasonable accusation and had said as much, at which time Cam had probably poked her head into the room and asked for clarification, which Brennan had immediately provided, much to Angela’s dismay. Or something like that. Psychology was not an exact science, and neither were the interpersonal relations of the Jeffersonian. Both happened to be areas of expertise for Dr. Sweets, though. Ah, man, that probably means everyone except me and Booth know about it, He realized with a hint of dismay. Oh well. Except the interns. They probably didn’t. Who was he kidding. The interns definitely knew about it. He focused on Newt again. That was something he could consider in depth later, probably. He listened, nodding along as Newt spoke. He was right, even if he didn’t know how it had been before…he clearly knew enough. Sweets didn’t want to think about humans making their own recovery harder, but that was just how humans were, even on a much smaller scale. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction for someone who was used to having to fight being unwilling or unable to relax, even in a safe environment. The human race had collectively suffered major trauma. He couldn’t expect it to just…recover. Not without help. He wished he could do more. But he would do all he could. A wry smile pulled at his lips. Newt was right. His psychobabble had slipped out, and like a Jack-in-the-box, it was much harder to get back inside. “I think…I think we’re gonna be okay,” he said quietly, looking at Newt. He wasn’t just trying to comfort him. He hoped his tone made that clear. “I really do. Things are really, really bad sometimes, but they always were, in a way. I don’t think we’re over. I think…I think we’re gonna make it.”
Sal could handle more self reflection than Zuko, perhaps. It wasn’t the highest bar he’d ever seen. But even he tired of it eventually…the line between self awareness and overthinking into insanity was slimmer than he’d have liked it to be. He tended to err on the side of caution. He wouldn’t have reprimanded the thought. He wouldn’t have liked it much, either. He didn’t think he gave Zuko too much credit…he didn't think his opinion of him was too high. Of course, he wouldn’t, since he was his own opinion, but…well. He had reason to think he was right. He knew Zuko probably missed Iroh more then he let on. Hell…Sal missed his dad, and they hadn’t been anywhere near as close. Sometimes, he thought, you missed a feeling more than a real person. He thought he might miss the feeling of his father more than the man himself. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable thought. He pulled away from it. Zuko was right. Sal couldn’t say he was blameless. People were responsible for their own actions. It would be wrong of Sal to try and take that responsibility away…it would be disrespectful to who he was now. Disrespectful of the choices he’d made to get here. If he could be praised for his accomplishments, he was responsible for his decisions. But it worked in reverse, too. He looked up as Zuko stood, then reached forwards, taking his hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet. How quickly should he let go? It probably…didn’t matter. It definitely didn’t matter. Had he been holding it too long? He let go. “All I’m trying to say,” he murmured quickly, trying to cover up his moment of panic. He met Zuko’s eye, blue meeting gold…between the two of them, he thought wryly, they ought to have a full face. He didn’t say it, though. “All I’m trying to say is that you can’t say you’re responsible for your actions when you screw up without also being responsible for your actions when you don’t. Do you see? If you’re responsible for your actions, and their consequences, you’re responsible for all of them. Even the good ones.”
Of all the things Kelsier had expected…this hadn’t ever come close. He hadn’t ever thought he’d break, of course. He hadn’t ever thought anyone would make him this shell of a man, least of all when he had someone who had needed him. If he couldn’t stay for himself…Nico should have been enough to keep him there. But it hadn’t stopped his mind from cracking. It hadn’t stopped him from becoming dangerous to the wrong people. To his own son. He hadn’t expected that, but he’d been forced to come to terms with it. He was no longer shocked by it. But he hadn’t expected this, either. Nico, curled close. Nico, in his arms. Nico, needing something he could actually give. Kelsier, giving it. He knew in a deep, uncomfortably factual way that this wasn’t entirely safe. He could still slip away…he could become dangerous again, and Nico would be in a vulner position if he wasn’t warned in time. He should tell Nico to stay back. He should warn him not to get too comfortable. He should under no circumstances allow his son to sleep this near him. This wasn’t a matter of whether he was reckless or not. This wasn’t a matter in which he could ignore the risks and do as he pleased. Not when Nico’s safety was in jeopardy. Never then. He watched the boy. It wanted to just…stay there and hold him and protect him from everything, even the nightmares. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was a weapon, and one that had been wielded in the wrong side before, and might be again. Just a little while. Just a little while, and if he felt himself slipping, he would warn him. He couldn’t make him go. He couldn’t be the one to push him away again. So he held Nico, and he looked at the entrance, eyes narrowed. Nico needed sleep. If Kelsier could help him get it…he would.
Kenma let out a quiet breath as Hinata seemed to understand what they were trying to tell him. It wasn’t that he wanted Hinata to get how bad it had been, but…it didn’t occur to him to try and make it better, either. Covering it up wouldn’t even protect him. It wasn’t like no one else would say anything, after all. If it had just been him, he wasn’t sure he’d have ever said anything. But it hadn’t just been him. It had been everyone…all thirteen of their little group. And he had been a part of it, whether he had wanted to be or not. “Well…you died,” he said after a moment, meeting Hinata’s gaze. “Juuzou killed you first. And then Noah, too…and then Nico killed Sal, and Juuzou killed Nico.” His gaze shifted to Hunter for a moment, and he hesitated. He may have been against lying to Hunata, but that didn’t mean he wanted to say anything that would come out wrong, or wasn’t his to tell. If Hunter wanted to say he hadn’t attacked, Kenma wouldn’t contradict him.
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Aug 2, 2021 2:08:08 GMT -5
If Kaladin could have a world where Tien had never died… would he take it? It was a hard question. He didn’t know for sure. Once, that answer would have been a resounding yes. He would do anything to have his baby brother back, and while he would still do more than he cared to admit if it meant getting his brother back… he didn’t know if he would be willing to erase everything that had happened with a time machine of sorts. He didn’t know if he would be willing to stop death forever just so Tien could live a little bit longer. A life without death… there were so many ways that could go wrong, but it was clear that Varian was so desperate for a solution that he failed to consider that there might be more problems with the solution than problems the solution was fixing. The ‘solution’ he proposed would bring people back. It would make it so the people who had died, who had suffered… it would make it so that the living could hold them again. They could squeeze them tight and tell them everything the had never gotten a chance to say. How could he tell Varian that this was a bad idea? “I do understand,” Kaladin said after a long moment, stepping closer to him and reaching out a hand – trying to forge a connection, trying to make sure that Varian had someplace safe and warm to run if he decided to run towards someone instead of away from his mistakes. “I understand what it’s like to lose someone, and I know the pain it causes. I know that there’s nothing like the loss of knowing that you’ll never see someone again. But the world isn’t made to be static, Varian. I would give my life up a thousand times if it meant that Tien lived, but I wouldn’t want Tien to live in a world where nobody dies at all. I don’t want him growing up knowing that there’s no way for him to take over in the future to lead his generation. I think… I think that there’s a lot you haven’t thought about, Varian. Death isn’t something that can just be ‘fixed,’ even if you can undo it. Even if you can make it like it never happened. I don’t like that people have to die, either. I don’t like that we’ve both lost people we never should have lost. I don’t like that this virus has made us lose so many more people than we ever expected to lose. But stopping Death itself isn’t the solution to that, Varian.” In truth, Kaladin didn’t know how to convince him. He didn’t know what words might penetrate, might get Varian to see that the issue was far more complex than he was allowing himself to see. “Varian,” Kaladin whispered, reaching out a hand to rest protectively on Varian’s shoulder. “You are a good person. You do your best at everything. But the deaths that have happened… they aren’t your fault. It’s not your fault if you don’t bring everyone back, you have to understand that it’s not as simple as you think-” And then Varian’s words processed and Kaladin moved back, eyes wide as he came to realize what they meant. Kaladin couldn’t promise never to leave Varian. The last thing he wanted to do was make a false promise to the boy. “I’m tough enough that I’m pretty hard to get at, kid,” Kaladin said after a moment, not daring to look away from Varian. “And even if something terrible happens. Even if I’m not here, you have so many others who love you and care about you. Find the people you care about and love now. Let the dead rest, Varian. Don’t they deserve the chance to rest after everything they did in life?”
Noah tilted his head, watching Juuzou for a long moment and rubbing absentmindedly at the smudge on his cheek. He had been killed, once before. Well… he hadn’t exactly died, but he thought most people would consider being bitten by a zombie worse than dying anyway. And Noah hadn’t died, but he thought sometimes that a part of him had. An important part of him. A part of him that would be able to navigate this situation and know exactly what to say. The part of him that had known how to be charismatic and cocky, the part of him that was reckless and loud and brave… the part of him that was a Raven Boy, through and through. He knew there were people ho would have hated who he was before, but… he wasn’t all that different. The difference was just that he was a shadow now of a boy he used to be. That wasn’t the point. The point was that Noah had now been on the receiving end of two deaths caused by friends. He had seen Whelk’s gaze as he pushed him down, had seen Juuzou’s as he had swung a knife. The expression Whelk had worn that day was the same as the one he wore when he was upset that he hadn’t gotten all the questions right on a math test. Like it was annoying, like he was going to have to work harder to do better, and he had never worked hard a day in his life. Juuzou’s expressions had been very different. The expression that Juuzou had worn in that room… it was very different from anything Noah had seen on Juuzou’s face ever. It was anger, of course, but Noah had seen Juuzou at least mildly angry before. He had never seen him full of bloodlust. He had never seen him want to kill. Noah wasn’t a fool. They had spoken enough about their lives before that he knew that Juuzou had killed others before, but this was different. “Something made you do it. The anger that you felt. The hatred towards us that wasn’t your own. That wasn’t you. It wasn’t you who made the decision to try to kill, even if you remember it making sense at the time. It’s… it’s not your fault if people make you feel things that you wouldn’t feel naturally.” Noah knew it would have been much easier for Ronan if they had both decided to blame Juuzou, but Noah couldn’t just do that. Juuzou had killed the most people, but he was also just as much of a victim as any of them were. “We’ll have to be okay. But that’s okay, because they have to be okay, too. We’re okay. So they have to be. They must be.” Noah glanced around camp, trying to catch a glimpse of any of them when Ronan’s words caught his ear. “Nico… did what?” he asked, clearly confused. “He just got away from one family who tried to kill him… so why would he go right back towards another family that wants desperately to kill him? That doesn’t… I don’t get it. Why would he do that? Do we need to rescue him?”
Wylan noticed when Spook disappeared. He had never said anything when it happened – he figured that Spook went somewhere because he needed his privacy, and the last thing he needed was someone pestering him about where he had gone and why he had ventured away from the group. He had never been invisible to Wylan. In fact, Wylan had a hard time imagining anyone seeing Spook as invisible. He was, he supposed, a little bit “plainer” than some of the others, but only because he was less flashy. Somehow, it made him even more handsome, like he didn’t even have to try to get it to come across. There was something charming about Spook. About his face, about the way he presented himself to the world, the way he acted when he was around other people, the way he acted when it was just the two of them… Wylan did his best to stop his head from wandering, but it was harder than he cared to admit. He had wondered, in the past, where Spook had gone all the times he disappeared, and to find out this was the place… it made perfect sense. This place felt like Spook. It was the kind of place that most people would walk right by because it seemed dilapidated and completely useless, but the traveler who stopped to get to know it better would find that it had so much more to offer than most places where others stopped. Convenience stores had dwindling supplies. Supermarkets tended to have even less, as they were picked over first. None of them had any beauty… none of them had any secrecy or intrigue, they had nothing careful and romantic. This place embodied careful and romantic. This place was Spook. Wylan flushed bright red, realizing he was thinking of Spook in the same sentence he was thinking romantic. He didn’t want to imagine Spook being romantic with anyone but him. And that… it didn’t seem like it would happen. Except they were hand in hand now, and they were dancing, and Wylan felt the wind ruffle his curls as Spook pulled him into a turn, and there was a smile on his face that was wilder and freer than it had been in longer than he could remember. I love you. The words pulsed with his heartbeat, but he didn’t know how to say them. He would rather just… dance. He would rather take this in, squeezing Sal’s shaking hands and looking in his eyes as the world spun around them. Like Spook was the sun and everything had to orbit him, now.
Newt wasn’t a psychologist. He wasn’t a mind reader, either. He didn’t know what Sweets was thinking about, didn’t know anything at all about the dynamics within the walls of the Jeffersonian. All he knew was that the people who worked there had been Sweets’ friends, and Newt would have given a lot for the chance to meet them. He wondered if any of them had survived. He wondered if he would ever be able to shake their hands and tell them they were very lucky to have a friend in Lance Sweets, because he was the only reason that Newt was still alive. Maybe they would tease Sweets for adopting a baby brother. Maybe they would ask Newt to babysit for them, if Sweets had been right about Booth and Bones being interested in one another. Maybe… maybe the world would all be okay, and Newt would be able to meet his family’s family… yes, he would have liked that a lot. He doubted they would like him nearly as much as he was going to like then, but that didn’t matter. Newt tried to picture Sweets’ face if he were to see his old friends right now, alive and well. The thought experiment came up short – Newt didn’t think he had ever seen Sweets that happy. That thought dampened the mood, though Newt still did his best to think of positive things instead of the fears that kept threatening to choke him. “I hope so,” he said after a moment, pulled out of his thoughts by Sweets’ voice. It seemed he had lost himself trying to figure out what Sweets had been thinking about. It was all a little… complicated. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind. “I find it hard to believe that things were ever consistently this bad, but I know enough history to know there were some pretty dark times. We always came out on top, didn’t we? Humanity, I mean. I know that we might not. I know that we might die with the world like this. I guess… it’s hard to think about whether that’s worth something now. We’re just trying to survive. We’re not even trying to make things change. I just… I don’t know.” He broke off, cheeks reddening as he realized he hadn’t made much sense at all. “I guess it’s just hard to picture what ‘making it’ might be like,” Newt admitted after a long moment. “I can’t fathom a normal life. Not like you can.”
Zuko had a hard time differentiating the decisions he had made into ‘good decisions’ and ‘bad decisions.’ Perhaps that was just because he had never tried to do it, even in his head for practice. He was afraid he would be far too overwhelmed with the ‘bad decisions’ to even begin thinking about the good ones. He had kept Nico alive. He had chosen not to betray his family. Wow, yes, such great accomplishments. It was almost as though he had passed the low low bar of actually being a somewhat decent person. Or, more accurately, not being a complete scumbag. He let his gaze rest on Sal’s for a long minute anyway, though. He wanted to believe Sal. He wanted to see himself the way Sal seemed to see him, because he thought the view would be far more flattering. Zuko looked at everything he had done and saw mistakes and regrets. Somehow, Sal seemed to look at him and see progress. Perhaps that was just proof of how horrible he had been, though. If the bare minimum was a marked improvement… he shuddered a little bit, letting his eyes close as he did his best to process that. He had never set out to be a bad person. He had just… wanted to go home. He had wanted to stop the apocalypse. He hadn’t succeeded at any of that. He didn’t want to go home anymore, at least. Unless you counted the nights he spent tossing and turning, looking for nightmares that gave the sense that he needed to go home. That his father might still accept him back, as long as he… as long as he betrayed the people he cared about more than anyone else in the world. “I’m not sure I’ve done much good,” he said after a moment, deciding that honesty was the best way to go. “But I try. And if you think I have, then I must have succeeded at something, so… thank you.” “We should uh… start looking for the others,” he said after a long moment, grateful that his scar seemed to hide most of his blush.
Nico knew this was a stupid idea. He knew that he needed to leave immediately, that he couldn’t risk Kelsier turning on him while he was asleep. He knew that he needed to sleep on his own, that he probably should have been training instead of sleeping anyway, because at least he didn’t have nightmares when he was so bone tired that he just tumbled into sleep. He was comfortable here, though, and there was something about Kelsier that was comfortable and safe, because while Kelsier had once been the One Good Man Left, he was now the One Thing Nico Believed. Somehow, Kelsier managed to be the only one capable of something in Nico’s eyes, at least until he met someone else who had the same qualities. The world seemed cruel and uncertain to Nico. It always had, but even moreso when everything had gone wrong. Even more when he had lost Kelsier. He had him back now, however temporarily. He shouldn’t be falling asleep here. He could hear Ronan yelling at him, could hear him ask if he was insane, because nobody with half a brain would even think of sleeping that close to Kelsier. But Nico didn’t want to be alone, and he didn’t want to be with anyone who might not be real. Kelsier was real in a sense nobody else really seemed to be. Not yet, at least. Slowly, Nico turned off the voices in his head telling him that this was a bad idea. Slowly, Nico eased himself against Kelsier. Slowly, he let himself fall, light as a feather, into sleep. As though there was nothing to fear from resting unprotected in Kelsier’s lap.
Hunter knew what happened. He knew what he was done, and though it hurt… he couldn’t get around it. He had hit Kenma in the head with his staff, and he had been ready to kill him. He hadn’t killed him, but he had been ready to. The thought made him uncomfortable, but there was no point in hiding it. Even if nobody had seen it other than the two of them… it would be so easy to avoid telling the truth. He could have told Kenma not to say. He could have taken over telling the story, and nobody would know how close he had come to hurting Kenma. Hunter wasn’t exactly a stranger to telling lies, but he wasn’t the only one he had messed up here. How could he pretend that he hadn’t been close to hurting his friends when Juuzou had to deal with killing them all? When Nico had to live with killing Sal? There were probably others among them who had killed, but… Hunter hadn’t been paying the best attention. “I almost killed Kenma,” he said, crossing his arms and looking away. He grit his teeth, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him.
“O…oh,” Hinata whispered, eyes wide as he looked between Kenma and Hunter. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to remember the way he had felt, and he didn’t want to remember the hatred in his friends’ eyes as he raced past them. He was… intense. He was competitive and full of spirit and ready to beat anyone at any time, but… the consequence was never death. He had never hated anyone as much as he had hated his family. To think that it was all real… what had caused it? What had made them all hate each other? Could it happen again? No. Hinata wouldn’t let it. He would do everything in his power to make sure that they never ended up in that situation again. But… he had died first. He had died before he’d even had a chance to think about what was going on. Was it because he had raced towards the weapons? He had been the first one there, but… but he hadn’t been fast enough. “So… you both died, too,” he said, expression almost sad. “How?”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 17, 2021 17:56:52 GMT -5
It was an easy question for Varian. If he could make things right, of course he wanted to do it. If he could undo the damage he’d done, if he could take it all back and bring everyone’s loved ones home again…he could imagine his family meeting the people they’d lost again. He could imagine it, even if he’d never met those people. Everyone he knew had lost someone, and it wasn’t right, and he was permanently and unavoidably aware of how mortal they all really were. He was scared. He was far more scared of people dying than what would happen if there was no death at all. Maybe that was because he wasn’t letting himself think it through. Maybe he didn’t want to think it through and come to the conclusion that Kaladin was right. His fists clenched at his sides, and he stepped back, widening the distance just a little bit. He didn’t know how to run towards someone. He didn’t know how to have a destination that wasn’t only away. How many times had he run away from the things he’d done? How many times had he been forced to give up any chance of warmth and safety, because of his own actions? Kaladin…he was safety, now. He was everything Varian longed for, but he didn’t know how to take it. Not now. Not when he could fix it all, as long as he didn’t listen. As long as he didn’t let anyone stop him. He looked at Kaladin, biting his lip as the other survivor spoke. He didn’t want to do this…he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to cling to this solution until it worked. He didn’t want to be told to give up. He didn’t want to be told to let go. “Then tell me,” he managed, staring up into Kaladin’s eyes. Searching them, like he thought maybe, maybe he could find an answer there. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it, because if I can’t make it stop, if I can’t protect everyone, then…then the technology they discovered is useless! What was the point in everything that just happened if we’re just going to give up?” He didn’t want to listen to Kaladin. He wanted to run and keep running until he found this technology, and then he wanted to throw himself into working on it until he succeeded. He let out a tiny breath as Kaladin reached him, looking down. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted so badly to turn and run, but he didn’t. He stayed still, his shoulders shaking as he tried desperately to fight his mind into submission. To find the words to convince Kaladin he was right. And then Kaladin moved back and Varian looked up. He hadn’t meant to say the wrong thing. He hadn’t meant to admit how he felt at all, it had just…happened. “I don’t want you to die,” he whispered, voice higher than he’d meant it to be. “Not you too. I didn’t…I didn’t see it coming. When it happened before. When my dad…and then Tien…and now they all died too, but it was okay because they came back, and all I want is to make the other ones okay too! Why is that so wrong?” It was the sort of crying where you didn’t realize you were crying until there were already tears on your face and it was too late to wipe them away, though it didn’t stop him from trying, as fiercely as he could. He stood still a moment longer. And then he moved forward, towards Kaladin. It wasn’t really an answer, but it was as much of one as he could manage.
Ronan had known that something in Noah had changed from the moment they’d found each other again. He’d known that this was still undeniably Noah, but in the way that he was still undeniably Ronan after Niall had died. There was before, and there was after. For the person themself, that applied to the world in general. For everyone else, it was only the one person who had changed. Grief was a wild and bitter thing, and if Ronan was honest, that was what he had assumed had happened to Noah. He didn’t know who, in particular, it had been. They’d lost enough people that it was probably more than one person, actually. Ronan hadn’t asked. He’d have killed anyone who’d asked him, after all. He knew they were all coping differently. He knew better than anyone that no one dealt with things the same way, but it didn’t make this any easier to handle. Once, he might have just pushed them all away as he tried to force his mind to deal with it. Now, he knew that was a form of running away. Of refusing to deal with a thing because you didn’t know how to deal with it, and you didn’t think you could. Knowing a thing and knowing what to do about it were not the same. But he wasn’t going to run from this. He wasn’t going to push them all away because of what had happened. They were alive, weren’t they? They’d survived it. He let Noah and Juuzou talk. He wasn’t going to interrupt them, even if he did want to get going. Noah was much better on the reassurance front, anyway…Ronan would probably have made him angry somehow. He’d succeeded in angering both Varian and Kaladin, hadn’t he? He glanced at Noah as the other boy looked at him, clearly taken aback by his remark. Which was fair. It wasn’t that he was calm about the realization…he knew full well how deadly Kelsier could be, and he knew, grimly, that if he was right, Nico had jumped from the frying pan neatly into the fire. But it hadn’t been a leap for him, as it clearly was for Noah. He stared back at him for a moment, then turned, looking for Kelsier’s tent. The man shouldn’t have been allowed back. He’d almost killed Nico, and even he couldn’t promise not to try it again. They shouldn’t have let him track them. They shouldn’t have let him see Nico, ever again. He hissed a curse between his teeth and looked at Noah, who still probably wanted an explanation for his leap. “It’s what I would do,” he said finally, his voice flat. He was no longer the only one here who’d lost a father, true, but it didn’t matter. If Niall had returned, insane or not, Ronan would go right to him if he felt lost and confused. Nico was the same. It was only because Ronan wasn’t in his shoes that he could see what a stupid idea it was. “I’m going,” he added, turning away. “You two, go find the others, make sure they’re okay or whatever. I’ll catch up. Probably.”
Juuzou wished he could know it hadn’t been him. He wished he could say for sure that it hadn’t been his fault, that he couldn’t be held responsible for the deaths of his friends. He’d killed all but two of them, after all. Everyone but Sal and Varian, and he’d have killed them too, if he’d been fast enough. He had wanted to…it had made sense, at the time. It had been the simplest thing in the world. It hadn’t even occurred to him to question it…Zuko’s words still rang in his head. As he stalked him. Waited for an opening. The shield had given him time, but Juuzou had been ready the moment there was an opening, and it hadn’t mattered. Juuzou had died, too. Only he didn’t know that for sure. The others, they all had confirmation, because Juuzou had been there until the end to make sure of it. But when he’d closed his eyes, there had been no one left alive to see if he still breathed. He watched Nico, unsure how to answer him. It had felt so simple then, but now… now, it was complicated, and he didn’t know how to make it better. He wanted Noah to be right. He wasn’t convinced that he was, but he did at least want him to be, and maybe that was a start. He could argue. But he didn’t want to fight with Noah. Or anyone. He wanted to stay as far away from fighting as he could. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said finally. Secretly, he thought at least one of the people he’d killed was going to have a grudge against him, but he didn’t say it. They’d find out, assuming everyone had come back after all. He went quiet as Ronan spoke, his eyes widening a little bit. If Nico had gone to Kelsier…he had blood on his hands. Nico did too, technically. Sal…he’d killed Sal. But this was the last thing they needed. A death they couldn’t take back. If Nico died at Kelsier’s hand today, he thought they really would all break, and not in the way that they could fix. He almost replied to Ronan’s order, but he just looked at Noah. Of the two of them, Noah had known Ronan for longer, after all.
It was easy to assume you were invisible to everyone when you had been for a long time already. When you were the observer. When you didn’t think anyone ever looked back. Spook had been the quiet, watchful one as long as he could remember. The one who saw everything but never got seen in return. Who could leave a conversation and not interrupt it, who could enter a room without drawing a single eye. Maybe he wasn’t as invisible as he assumed he was. It was possible that, as someone who saw everything, he’d forgotten to check if anyone happened to be looking at him. He didn’t know how to believe that, but he’d been trying to, with the boys he believed to be his family. He had been trying to believe he really could exist in their eyes. It wasn’t easy, but he wanted to. It was even harder when he thought of Wylan. Most of the boys felt like brothers, but not him. Somehow…brother didn’t even come close to how Spook felt about Wylan. With the other boys, he could work in secret to feel seen. With Wylan, it felt almost like doing that was pretentious of him, like thinking he could ever be noticed by someone like him…why would he be? He was just Spook. He didn’t have any amazing talents. He wasn’t particularly good at anything besides sneaking, and even that was done better by plenty of others he knew. Like Nico. No one saw Nico if he didn’t want to be seen. He shook the thought away. Who was he, to think he couldn’t be seen, while he danced with Wylan? He could imagine himself only a ghost when he couldn’t feel Wylan’s pulse though his hand. When he could breathe again, because he didn’t think he would until this eventually came to an end. He hadn’t thought about the place much. Once he’d found it, he’d been glad, happy he had a place to himself. It hadn’t taken him long to picture bringing Wylan, too, but he’d never actually expected it to happen. He didn’t want to stop. He’d never felt more real. What would happen if he said it? If he let himself risk it all? Everything…the world was in balance every single second he didn’t say it. Every second where he could. He wished he could picture it. But he didn’t quite dare. He didn’t want to let this break, even inside his head. He didn’t want to see Wylan twitch away from him like he was something that had been very beautiful, but unexpectedly cold and slimy to the touch. He didn’t want to be told to give him space. He had had enough space for a lifetime. What he wanted now was to be loved as fiercely as he loved, to be held as if he might disappear if it was allowed. To be wanted… He felt wanted now. He felt…home. Like anywhere could be called that as long as this boy was at his side.
Sweets glanced at Newt, giving him his full attention. He was probably one of the worst of the adults who tended to get lost in the past. It was too easy to think about it, too easy to forget where he was now. But things weren’t all bad here. He had Newt, didn’t he? And the others, too. And he was even able to help, somewhat…maybe not as much as he used to, but there were people in the group who had needed his expertise more than once. He was even helping right now. He hesitated. Newt had a point, of course. He didn’t have previous society to base things off of…he didn’t know what it had been like before. It was a good thing, in a way. He couldn’t miss it that way. But he knew it was a bad thing too. He knew it made things hard at times. “We have to start somewhere,” he said finally. “I know it’s worse now than it was, and I know you don’t remember the world before this, but maybe we don’t have to be building back towards the same world. Maybe you don’t need to remember it. I know it’s hard to picture anything that different from what you know, but you have a place to start. All you have to do is start with the things you know need to be changed.” He wasn’t really the best at being inspiring, but he was trying. He just didn’t want Newt to think it was impossible. Sweets really didn’t believe it was going to be impossible to change things…hard, certainly, but not impossible. And he knew that overall, it was the kids who would probably be the ones to do it.
Sal knew it wasn’t as clear cut as simple good and bad decisions. He knew it wasn’t as easy as that. He couldn’t have categorized everything Zuko had done into those two things, either, but that wasn’t the point. But it wasn’t that he’d been horrible and anything was progress. It was that he’d grown. He’d started out raised by a terrible man, and it was all too easy to end up terrible too when that happened, but Zuko hadn’t. He’d tried to do the right thing his whole life, it had just been difficult to figure out how. He had made some real mistakes, of course. He had done things Sal knew he would probably never forgive himself for. But he was still trying, and he was better at it, and Sal was going to be proud of him no matter what he said. There was no undoing it. He gave a small nod, letting it drop. They’d both said what they wanted to say. He didn’t want to push. “Do you have any idea where they might be?” He asked quietly, frowning a little. “I wasn’t keeping track. I’ve just been out here.” He needed to get better about keeping track of the others, but for now, he just had to hope Zuko knew more than he did. Otherwise, they’d just have to hope.
Kelsier wished he could tell Nico not to fall asleep here. He wished he could protect him from himself…this was dangerous. This was irresponsible. If anything happened…it would be firmly on his shoulders. If Nico was hurt, he would be responsible for it. But he couldn’t make himself tell him to go. He couldn’t turn him away when he needed him, when he needed the Kelsier he’d first met, not the shell he’d been forced to deal with for so long now. It would be okay. He would be able to tell if something started to happen. He wouldn’t let Nico be hurt. Not again. He leaned his head back, keeping his eyes open and fixed on the entrance. He didn’t expect anyone to come, but he knew it wasn’t impossible. If they couldn’t find Nico, they might look here. He hoped they wouldn’t…he couldn’t think of anyone who would allow this, except maybe Orpheus, but even he wasn’t a guarantee. He just wanted Nico to be able to rest, for once. Especially now, when he had been through something terrible.
Kenma gave a small nod as Hunter said it. He didn’t think anyone else had seen what had happened, but he didn’t know that for sure. Lying to Hinata wouldn’t have been his favorite option, but… He wouldn’t have argued. He wasn’t the best at telling how these things were supposed to work. He figured not many people would be equipped to handle this in particular, but still…he was glad he could just tell the truth without having to figure out how to edit it in his head. “Juuzou killed us,” he replied simply. There was no getting around that, even if either of them had wanted to. By the time they’d died, there had been hardly anyone else left who could have done it. “I think we all died,” he added quietly, still not quite meeting Hinata’s gaze. It was easier not to, somehow. He often was looking down or off to the side anyway, so it wasn’t all that unusual, either. “Or almost all. Juuzou and Zuko were fighting, but…I think that Zuko was hurt.”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Aug 19, 2021 14:47:46 GMT -5
Everyone had lost someone. The world was cruel, it was impossible to make it through without suffering that loss at least once. The world was also uncertain. Kaladin had lost Tien, but he had no idea if his parents were still alive. He desperately wanted them to be, but he had no way of finding out if they were or not. If they weren’t… well, he would never know, would he? It was easier to imagine that they were alive, that they had found somewhere to call home, and that they were doing as well as anyone could in a situation like this. It was easier to believe that they still prayed for his and Tien’s safety every night. Surely they were somewhere far away, believing with all their heart that both of their sons were still alive. Kaladin had failed them by letting Tien be turned. He had failed them by killing Varian’s father… if he hadn’t done that, would there still be a chance for Tien? But if he hadn’t done that, then Varian wouldn’t be here. He would be a zombie, too, and Kaladin… Kaladin would be lost. He loved Varian as fiercely as he had loved Tien. Seeing him like this… seeing this desperate, dangerous hope… it was nearly enough to break him. Nearly. “We’re not going to give up,” Kaladin replied softly, trying to make his tone as gentle as possible. Kaladin Stormblessed was not a gentle man. He was forged in fire and all the sharper because of it. He was a fierce warrior, and anyone who stood in his way was in danger. But not when it came to his little brother. Not when it had come to Tien, and not when it came to Varian. It was as though he was able to sheathe himself around then, as though he could be the adult presence they needed in spite of barely being an adult himself. He wanted to be there for Varian. He wanted to take this out of the boy’s hands and fix it, but nobody could fix death. Even with the technology Varian was certain someone had discovered. “We’re going to help L and Sherlock look for a cure that can help everyone who’s a zombie. I’ll help you look for this technology, if that’s what you really want to do, but we can’t fix death. Not real, permanent death. I wish we could, I wish it were that simple, but…” he let out a soft sigh, crouching down so he was at Varian’s level. “Nobody is ready for death. Nobody sees it coming, and nobody is ready to handle it when their loved ones disappear. I don’t know if you believe in an afterlife, but… but I do. Wherever the people we love are, it’s somewhere nicer than the world is right now. You’ll see them again eventually. They’ll be waiting to welcome you with loving arms, but it would be cruel to them to drag them back down here. They’re watching you, and they’re proud of everything you’ve done. If I know Tien… he wants to meet you, and he wants to give you a hug for keeping me company down here. For finding me when I was lost. I can’t promise you that I won’t die. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to stay here forever, but… I’ll try. And if I can’t, then you search like hell for a cure for the virus. And if I’m gone gone… then know that I’m watching, and I’m proud of you. But don’t try to bring me back.” Kaladin watched quietly as Varian stumbled towards him, then wrapped his arms fiercely around him. He couldn’t protect this boy from the terrors of the world. He was barely old enough to handle them himself. But he would do everything he could to keep him alive. Everything.
Noah was torn. He wanted to follow Ronan to make sure he was okay, but he also wanted to give him space. He didn’t know what the right decision was… it wasn’t as though it was spelled out for him clearly. In the old days, Noah would have hung back and allowed one of the others to deal with Ronan. If nobody else stepped up to the plate, then Noah appeared right next to Ronan and made himself his friend’s problem for the next several minutes. It was usually enough to distract (or piss off) Ronan long enough that he forgot whatever he was upset about. That had been in the days after. Ronan had been easier to deal with in the before. Noah hadn’t really understood the before and after before. He had assumed that Ronan was hurt, that he was grieving, but that he would bounce back. He never had really bounced back. The fact that Ronan was in front of him was proof enough that he had managed to move on, but… moving on wasn’t the same as going back to normal. Going back to normal assumed that there was a ‘normal’ to go back to with whatever had changed. For Ronan, there was no normal without Niall Lynch in the background, pulling strings and reminding Ronan of everything he could be. For Noah there was no normal if he knew that he could turn at any time. That someone he had trusted had decided they would rather kill him than risk danger to themself. It had been selfish, but Noah couldn’t think of it as cruel anymore. Too much of the world had ended up having to choose between themselves and their friends. How could Noah blame someone for choosing to keep living for just a little bit longer? Ronan wasn’t entirely wrong that Noah was grieving someone. He was just… wrong about who Noah was grieving. In a way, he was grieving himself. He was mourning the life he would have had if he hadn’t been bitten. If he didn’t have to worry about what he would become if the virus spread. He was mourning who he would have been if he weren’t so afraid all of the time. And he was mourning the friends he had once had, because why would he put any of them at risk if he managed, by some miracle, to find them again? Noah refused to be as selfish as Whelk had been. “I know we should check to see if the others are alright,” Noah murmured to Juuzou, offering him a small smile, “but would you mind waiting here for a few minutes while I go see if Ronan is okay?” He knew that Ronan hadn’t been ‘okay’ in years. He knew that the likelihood of Ronan actually talking to him was slim to none. Still… he liked to think he knew Ronan well enough to know that having someone there would help, if only a little bit.
Spook had never been invisible to Wylan. Wylan saw the way he tried to hide in plain sight, the way he succeeded most of the time. It was a skill he envied, sometimes… it was hard to hide with carrot top hair and a face that most people thought of as belonging to Jan Van Eck. He hated that he bore a resemblance to his father. He hated that people said he looked like his mother, too, because it had been far too long since he had seen his mother. He doubted that Jan Van Eck had ever truly loved his mother. He doubted he cared that she was gone. He doubted that his father even cared that he was gone. It was sad to him, to know that his parents had never felt what he felt for Spook right now. The fire that seemed to start in his heart, that spread out through his veins and left his entire body feeling warm and tingly. This was the all-consuming feeling of Spook being right there. Of Spook in his arms, of Spook, alive and gleaming and more wonderful than Wylan had words for. He loved him. He was too much of a coward to tell him that, but he did. “I wonder if the people who don’t believe in magic have ever done anything like this,” Wylan whispered, just loud enough for Spook to hear. “I mean… dancing with someone somewhere so beautiful it’s like the rest of the world can’t even touch it.” His voice was scarcely more than a breath, and he couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up into a smile, his grip on Spook tightening just a little bit. He didn’t ‘even mind that he had cut his hand. He didn’t mind that they had been through hell together, because this felt a lot more like magic than appearing someplace they had never seen and coming back to life after dying. This was real magic. That had been trickery. The words danced at the edge of his lips. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. He would say them, eventually. He would say them when he was certain that it wouldn’t shatter this magic. He would say them if he was certain that they wouldn’t go careening back down into reality, where there was no space for love. Where, as his father seemed to believe, love was whatever got you the most advantage. Wylan had been an advantage, once. Until he had proven himself useless. He didn’t want Spook in his life because of any advantage the boy might provide. He wanted Spook in his life because of the magic that soared through him, that lifted his heart into the clouds and made the world feel like it might be something manageable as long as he didn’t have to face it alone. “All we need now is some music,” Wylan added quietly, letting his eyes close. He wished it was nighttime, too. Fireflies, usually so abundant in this area, would make the whole thing seem even more magical. They would have to come back, eventually.
“It feels selfish not to want the world the way it used to be,” Newt admitted quietly, hugging his arms close to his chest. “I mean… everyone else wants things how they used to be, and I don’t even know how they used to be. I can’t even begin to imagine it. And… I know that the world may not ever be like that again, but if it’s not… everyone else will be unhappy with that. The thing is… it might actually put me on even ground for once.” Newt blushed, hating how whiny he sounded. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want others to be able to have the world they used to know, it was just… he wanted to be able to help create the world however it was going to be. He didn’t want to be at a disadvantage just because he didn’t actually remember how the world was when he was growing up. There were expectations that the rest of the world seemed to have that Newt just… couldn’t wrap his head around. It was simple things, too. Things everyone was supposed to know. Like… money. Everyone surely expected money to go back into circulation as soon as the world was created anew, but Newt didn’t understand that at all. He didn’t get why paper was worth anything at all – why not cut out the middleman and just give what you had to spare to someone who needed it in return for whatever they had that you needed? It was just… simple. “I think I’m one of the only people I know that would be fine with a world that’s completely different from the way it was before.” He looked away, hand clenching into a fist at his side. “I’m… sorry.”
Zuko knew he had made progress. He was just… consistently aware the progress he had made was never enough. He didn’t know when it would be, but he did know there were things he needed to work on. Things that needed improvement. Things that just… he gave a small sigh, shaking his head. This wasn’t the time to think about this. They had the others to find, and Zuko knew that if he mentioned his thoughts out loud, Sal was going to point out that there was no such thing as ‘enough’ or ‘not enough.’ There was just doing as much as he could, and that was what Zuko had been doing consistently for as long as he could remember. He had just… found the right path this time instead of blindly believing in the path his father had set before him. “I don’t know where everyone is,” Zuko replied after a moment, looking around to see if he could catch sight of anyone. “I was sparring with L, and we left before most people had made their way out of the campsite. I know I passed Ronan and Noah when I went, though… they were right in the middle of camp. Nico was sitting out by Kelsier’s tent…” he didn’t want to push that thought through to its conclusion. After an event like this, Zuko would have run directly for Ursa or Iroh if either of them had been here, no matter how much they hated him at the moment. Which meant Nico may have run for Kelsier. He tried not to dwell on how horribly that may have ended. “Maybe we should just… head back towards the middle of camp and see who we can find.”
Combeferre didn’t know where Kaladin was, but he knew it was time to check on Kelsier. He didn’t need bandages changed anymore, and Sweets was taking care of the psychology things, but Kelsier was still technically a danger to himself. He needed to be checked on, and Combeferre had to admit, he thought Kaladin liked the company. Granted, Kaladin and Kelsier spent most of the time sassing each other when theyw ere together, but he could see there was respect there. It hadn’t been easy for Kelsier to come back from wherever he had been. Combeferre couldn’t help but respect the man, too. He had made it out, but he was a long ways away from fully recovered. Combeferre had to admit he wasn’t entirely certain that Kelsier would ever be able to make a full recovery. He seemed to have more time in between episodes lately, though, so… there was no harm in having hope. The point was, Combeferre was fairly certain that Kaladin hadn’t gone to check on Kelsier. His bag of supplies was still in their shared tent, after all, which meant… there was no harm in Ferre doing it for him. He needed something to do, after all… there was only so much sitting around and waiting a person could stomach, and there had been no injuries lately. Combeferre sent up a silent prayer for that. He knew it was technically a good thing he hadn’t had much to do, even if it was weighing on him. Slowly, he made his way towards Kelsier’s tent, and gave a quiet rustling of the tent door to announce his presence.
Hunter wished he had paid better attention to what was happening. He wish he could explain to Hinata what had happened, because being certain was always better than not knowing. He hadn’t seen Juuzou fall. He should have been the one to kill him, but he hadn’t moved fast enough. Although… he wasn’t sure he wanted Juuzou’s blood on his hands. He had done some bad things in the past, but he had never killed anyone who was still human. He didn’t’ want to start by killing one of his friends. He had never had very many friends to begin with, killing one (even if it was temporary) seemed like a good way to lose something he was keen to hold onto. “By the time we died, there were only four left. I think… Wylan and Spook had the same idea we did. Juuzou caught us, so… he probably caught the two of them, too.” He had no way to prove that Zuko and Juuzou had died, too, but… Juuzou didn’t seem the kind who would stop until he had done what he had set out to do. He wouldn’t stop fighting until Zuko was dead.
“We all… died…” Hinata repeated, trying to meet Kenma’s gaze for a few moments before he gave up and looked away. He didn’t want to face the fact that the people he cared about were dead. Not permanently (unless this was the afterlife? It seemed too similar to life to be the afterlife, but that didn’t mean anything), but still. They had died. Rue had been wrong. It hadn’t just been a bad daydream. It hadn’t actually helped to go talk to his friends. It just made him worry more about them. Had Juuzou killed them all with the efficiency he had killed Hinata? Hinata remembered what it was like to die, but… it hadn’t been painful. It had just been… cold. Unpleasant, yes, but painful? “But we still like each other now, right?”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 21, 2021 21:27:57 GMT -5
Varian didn’t have anyone left to wonder about. He knew his father was dead. Everyone else…well. It wasn’t like he’d ever known many people. He knew a lot more people now than he had before the world ended. He’d always kept to himself, though not quite out of shyness. He was just good at getting lost in his head. He had thousands of ideas and he needed to try them all. He had experiments to try and books to devour and it had always been enough to keep him spending all his time in his basement. Now, of course, he didn’t have a basement to live in. He had more friends than he’d ever dreamed of having. He was far from miserable, here. He was still working on a cure, still trying his hardest to fix the world, because really, that was all he’d ever tried to do. Solve problems, in odd ways perhaps, but workable ones. No, he wasn’t miserable. But he didn’t know how to handle what he’d just been through. It wasn’t a leap that someone had discovered the same sort of technology he’d poured half his life into trying to invent, was it? Did anyone have another explanation? Kaladin didn’t. Noah and Ronan hadn’t, either. He wasn’t wrong. No matter what, he wasn’t wrong. Which meant that it wasn’t that Kaladin didn’t believe him. It was that Kaladin thought this was the wrong choice. Varian didn’t understand how it could be, or maybe he didn’t want to understand it, maybe he was trying his hardest to ignore anything that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Kaladin was difficult to ignore. He had a way of being heard anyway. Did that say more about him or Varian? The cure couldn’t help his father or Tien. They both knew that. Once, it would have. But Varian had made sure that not only was one of them lost forever, but both were. It had only been a split second decision, a reaction, he hadn’t thought it through…just like, he knew, he wasn’t thinking this through. He was being warned against a mistake, and he wanted with every cell in his body to ignore it and work fast enough that the possibility of it going wrong couldn’t catch up. As if he could outrun failure, as he’d always tried to. Not this time, he knew, even as he fought to hold onto the hope that had burst into life in his veins. Not this time. He was going to have to let it go. He went limp in Kaladin’s arms and felt it fade. Denial was safer than grief, even if it was an old grief by now. Old and new at once, because even if they were back, he had lost his whole family today. He wanted to believe it didn’t affect him, but that was only denial. “Kal?” He asked after a moment, his voice quieter, the tension replaced with exhaustion. “It’s…still okay if I call you that, isn’t it? You were mad at Ronan.”
Ronan didn’t know for sure that Nico had gone to see Kelsier, but he had his suspicions. He didn’t know for sure that Nico wasn’t dead in a random room somewhere, either. All of them. They could all be dead, aside from Noah and Juuzou and Varian. But the more people they found alive, the better the chances for the others, right? Not that reality cared about chances. It would be easy enough for them to all come back except for one or two. They had no comprehension of what had happened, so they couldn’t make any guesses. Which meant it was entirely possible that they were going to slowly realize that no one had seen one of them since it had happened. He clenched his fist, pushing it away. He couldn’t lose another family member. He didn’t think he could go through grief again. That kind of pain… No. He couldn’t. So it wasn’t going to happen. That was all. He didn’t let himself wonder if Noah would follow him. Juuzou wouldn’t. And he’d told Noah not to, so maybe he’d see the sense in keeping his distance. Kelsier’s tent was, conveniently, on the other side of camp. Ronan headed towards a it, pausing as he saw Combeferre heading the same direction from much closer. He narrowed his eyes - had he heard something? Had he seen Nico? Or was he just checking on Kelsier because that was probably a good thing to keep doing?
Juuzou watched as Ronan strode off, expression just a little bit muted. He was thinking, mostly about the room they’d been forced fo cope with. About Nico and the concept of trusted adults, too. The closest thing he had to that was Orpheus, and it wasn’t that Orpheus made him feel safe, exactly. Not the same way he’d seen some of the others gravitate towards the older members. Nico went to Kelsier when he wanted to feel like a kid again. Ronan was angriest about Niall when he was scared or felt small and didn’t want to be the one to handle things. Varian seemed to see Kaladin that way, though Juuzou thought that was closer to an older brother than a parent. Juuzou didn’t know how to see someone as a protector. He didn’t need protecting most of the time, for one thing. As the room had effortlessly proved, he was at least one of the most dangerous people in this group, if not the most. He wasn’t bragging with that fact, either. He didn’t think it was something to brag about. It was just…true. He looked at Noah as the other boy spoke. Right…that made sense, Juuzou didn’t know how to tell how Ronan was feeling, and he had never been one to know how to offer advice or comfort, but he knew Noah could. “Maybe I can go look while you talk to him,” he suggested. It seemed like a good idea to get going, and he didn’t mind splitting up. He wanted to have something to do anyway.
Sometimes, Spook had to wonder whether his parents had cared about each other, once. He knew Wylan’s most likely hadn’t, or if they had, it had been one way. Truthfully, he felt that Jan Van Eck had had a much larger impact on Wylan than either of his own parents had had on him. They’d never particularly cared about him one way or another. He knew he was lucky for that, in a way. He hadn’t had to deal with the same sort of animosity Wylan had. He hadn’t ever been expected to be anything, and all it had been easy to fulfill any expectations. A quiet, shy boy in a family that couldn’t care less about him had made becoming a living ghost easy. They hadn’t loved him. He hadn’t been able to blame them for that. He hadn’t loved him, either. He loved Wylan, though. There was no escaping that, he knew now. Not that he wanted to, even if he could have. But he knew, even if he never said it, even if they just stayed friends, he was going to love him forever. “They can’t have,” he breathed back, shaking his head a little. “Not…not like this. If they don’t believe in magic…they have never danced with someone like this.” They can’t have ever seen you before, then, Wylan Van Eck. He couldn’t say that part. But he thought it as fiercely as he could to make up for it. He knew that this wouldn’t feel as perfect with anyone else at his side. He knew that it wasn’t the flowers that made this moment feel more valuable even than food and clean water was. He gave a tiny smile at that, wishing he had music to offer, somehow. If Orpheus were there, he’d have been all too happy to offer it, most likely. Spook wasn’t very musical…Wylan was the more musical of the two, even if Spook did sing sometimes, when he was alone. If he tried it now, he knew his voice would fail. He could never make sounds when he was feeling too strongly, and he was feeling everything at once. “There’s birdsong,” he murmured back, gently leading Wylan into a turn. “Maybe that can be our music.” There was so much he wanted to say, and so much he was afraid even to think. But maybe they could have this. Maybe they could just dance with no strings attached. For right now…maybe he could deal with the rest of it later. For now…he was simply happy.
Sweets nodded, listening as Newt spoke. He was good at listening. He was also good at trying to figure out what was happening inside someone’s head while they spoke. For Newt…Sweete could understand where he was coming from. He was pretty sure he knew why Newt felt the way he did, and he guessed that there might be some shame attached to feeling that way. “Wanting a world where you’re not the only one who doesn’t know how things are supposed to work doesn’t make you a bad person, Newt,” he said after a moment, glancing at the younger survivor. “If you were trying to destroy the world, or keep it broken, then yeah, that might be bad. But you aren’t doing that. You wanting to have a world that doesn’t leave you out doesn’t actually hurt anyone else.” He considered for a moment. “The thing about selfishness is that it’s not as easy as you think. Wanting things for yourself isn’t selfish by default. Even wanting something to happen that other people don’t want to happen doesn’t have to be selfish. There are a lot of people still trying to live in the past right now, because they don’t like the way things are now and they don’t see a third option. But you’re in a unique position. You don’t have the memories that make you think going back is the only solution. Maybe…if we get there…you’re the one who can imagine the way the world could be instead. Not the past, or now, but something else. Maybe even better than before.” He probably sounded idealistic. And he wasn’t actually sure anything he was saying was helpful. But he wanted to be able to help, somehow, and he meant what he said.
If Sal had known what Zuko was thinking, he’d have been surprisingly pleased. If Zuko could start quoting him, that meant two things. One: Sal was known, which was something he had never really thought he’d be. Two: His efforts to help were paying off, if Zuko could hear what he was going to say before he said it. That meant he was taking it to heart. Maybe eventually, he’d even believe it. He gave a small nod, thinking. He, too, had to immediately consider that Nico may have gone to Kelsier…they were close. Or they had been, once, and were doing their best to be again. Kelsier had been sort of better lately. It didn’t make him safe by any means, but at least there was a chance that if Nico had ended up going to him, it would have ended okay. He shook his head a little. By now, after their conversation, he was fairly sure if something had happened, it was over already. It wasn’t a comfortable thought, but there was no reason to rush back. And there was no reason to assume that was what Nico had done, anyway. He wasn’t stupid, he’d have been careful, even if he was upset. “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he agreed, turning back towards camp. “That’s where they’re most likely to end up, even if they aren’t there right now.”
Kelsier almost wished he was tired enough to sleep himself. At least, it would be nice to not have to worry about something happening for a while. Even if he might not wake up as himself. He wasn’t going to try falling asleep, though. He wanted to be alert enough to defend Nico if anything happened while the boy slept. He tried to pretend the only threat he was thinking of was the dead, even though he knew it wasn’t. But he felt okay at the moment, and he thought he would be able to warn Nico if he started slipping again. He just…wanted to be normal again. He wanted to be something sturdy for others to stand on, not the thing that needed propping up. He hated needing people. He wanted to be needed. He wanted to be the thing you depended on, not the thing you had to support. He breathed a quiet sigh. He couldn’t change what had happened. He just needed to fight his hardest to become who he had been. Or, as Sweets said, who he was going to be. He wasn’t supposed to try to go back, because who he had been before was dead. Which hadn’t sounded like a very helpful thing to be told at the time, but after a while, Kelsier had to admit it was probably true. He hadn’t been the same man after Mare’s death, had he? Hurting Nico was just as bad as that has been. Maybe worse. He breathed in as the tent rustled. Someone was there. Combeferre, probably, since that was his usual way of announcing his presence. It could have also been Kaladin…it didn’t matter who it was. Kelsier knew anyone with any common sense would see what a bad idea this was. Kelsier himself knew it, and he knew Nico had, too, but it seemed they were both desperate enough to let it slide. He couldn’t imagine anyone else would see it that way. He didn’t answer. Maybe, if whoever it was thought he was asleep, they would leave him alone a little bit longer. He hated himself for hoping it, but he did.
Kenma nodded a little, confirming it as Hinata said it. Unless Juuzou had survived, of course. They’d have to get more details about the end of the room when they found the others, but for the moment, at least nearly all of them had died, and Juuzou had been the one to kill almost all of them. Kenma doubted it meant anything…Juuzou just happened to be highly skilled with the sort of weapons that could be used from across the room, as well as up close. It had been hard to stop him once he was armed, and there had been plenty of knives for him to choose from. He glanced at Hunter for a moment at the question, then looked back at Hinata without replying for a long moment. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I think…whatever happened faded when we came back. I can’t feel it anymore.”
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strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Aug 22, 2021 1:41:35 GMT -5
Kaladin knew that Varian tended to run headfirst into things without thinking them through first. He didn’t want to think about consequences, he just wanted to act. Kaladin knew he himself was the same way. He did things because they were right in front of him and because he could, and if there were consequences, he would deal with them later. That was partially what had gotten Tien turned in the first place. Varian might have been responsible for Tien’s real death, but Kaladin had been responsible for how he had been turned. He hadn’t been there in time to save him. He hadn’t believed that he would be put in the way… a sick feeling rose in Kaladin’s stomach and he bodily shoved the thought away. He didn’t need to be thinking about Tien when he was trying to help Varian. When he was trying to show Varian that though the option was pursuing didn’t make sense, he wasn’t alone in this. He didn’t have to suffer alone. He didn’t know what to say. There were no words that could take away the pain of a wounded heart. There were no soft murmurs that could ease away grief. You just had to live with it until it stopped shattering you ever time your thoughts drifted in that direction. It was like water cutting its way through a canyon. A slow process, but eventually you would stop being cut by the sharp edges. The evidence of the pain would always be there, but it would stop hurting quite so much eventually. Kaladin tightened his grip on Varian as the boy fell limp. He combed a hand gently through his hair, the movement familiar in that his mother had done the same for him when he was little, and unfamiliar in that Kaladin had never done the gesture to anyone else, even Tien. He would have, but they had been separated, and by the time he had found his little brother… he swallowed. Too late. Always too late. He swore mentally that he wouldn’t be too late to protect Varian. “Yes, Varian,” Kaladin breathed, the nickname warm and comfortable in Varian’s voice. “It’s okay if you call me that. Just… not if anyone else does.” He didn’t know how to explain the difference, and he found he hoped that Varian didn’t ask. Would it be enough to say the nickname was for little brothers and little brothers alone, or would Varian take offense to being referred to that way? He didn’t want to make him feel like he was a replacement for Tien. He wasn’t. The two were so different… “You have my permission. Ronan didn’t, and he knew well enough that I don’t respond well when Sherlock calls me Kal. He knew what he was doing when he called me that.” He tried to squash his anger, but it just turned into frustration. “What did you want to say, though?” Kaladin pulled back just enough that he could see Varian’s face. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wanted to make sure that Varian heard him loud and clear, and that the kid felt safe saying whatever he wanted to say.
Noah glanced at Juuzou, then gave a small nod. It would probably be better to make sure the other were alive than to just… assume that they were. Juuzou wasn’t likely to stray too far away, either, especially if the was looking for the others. Besides, he probably had a better sense of where most of the others would be than either Noah or Ronan would. Ronan seemed set on finding Nico, though, based on the way he was watching Kelsier’s tent. Noah couldn’t blame Nico if that was where he had decided to go, but he was worried about it. Kelsier was dangerous, even if he was more aware of his surroundings than he had been before. He could still slip back at any moment, and Noah hated the idea of Nico or anyone else in danger because nobody had been paying attention when Kelsier slipped. Sometimes he thought they should give him a bell or something to ring when he felt himself slipping into a reality that wasn’t theirs, but that didn’t work when the shift happened in Kelsier’s sleep. If he had his way, Kelsier would just be normal all the time. Noah knew better than most that you couldn’t always have what you wanted, though. Was Kelsier’s affliction worse than his own? It was hard to tell. They could both seriously hurt people. They were both doing everything in their power not to. “I think Combeferre is checking,” Noah said softly, coming to stand by Ronan. “If Nico’s in there, then he’ll make sure he’s safe. Nico’s good at fighting, you know that.” He knew he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Ronan, but it did feel better hearing it said out loud. Nico was capable of taking care of himself. Kelsier might be a danger, but Nico was one of the better fighters in the group. "Juuzou is looking for some of the others," he added, giving Ronan what he hoped was a comforting smile. “I bet he’ll be better at finding them than either of us would. I mean… he’s better at keeping track of where people are, and we were both kinda busy when we appeared back here.” Noah rubbed at his cheek, trying not to remember what that place had been like. They had been certain that it was a trap, but they had been looking out for the wrong sort of trap. They had tried to be careful… somehow, they had failed. It wasn’t a comforting thought. They couldn’t fail to find the others. And they couldn’t fail by checking Kelsier’s tent too late… the idea of one of their family members, dead for good? Noah pushed the thought away roughly. They were all fine. They all had to be fine.
Wylan wished he could freeze this moment and keep it forever. He wished he could put it in a snow globe and install a music box inside so that he could replay this over and over and over again. A tiny Wylan and a tiny Spook dancing into eternity. That wasn’t what life was like, though. It wasn’t a fairytale, although this felt like ti might be one at the moment. It was the two of them wheeling through the world like there was nothing in it but them and the flowers. They didn’t need music, although it would have added to the magic. Or maybe it would have detracted to have someone else with them. “I’m glad that we agree this is magic,” Wylan breathed, squeezing Spook’s hand and lifting his arm to spin the other boy around. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been at peace. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt as happy as he did in this moment. He knew it would be better if he were abl to tell Spook the truth, but… he was afraid. He wanted to keep it to himself for just a little longer. He didn’t want to lose his best friend. “Birdsong is better than music,” Wylan breathed, making a note to try to figure out how to mimic birdsong on his flute. He wanted to be able to bring this moment back to Spook as best as possible. His mind would freeze it for as long as possible, but it would be better to learn the birdsong. The moment, as all moments were bound to, was drawing to a close. The arm Wylan had raised to spin Spook was hiding something from both boys. The skin around the cut Wylan had balanced was red and swollen. It was beginning to turn black, and beginning, worst of all, to spread through Wylan’s veins to the rest of his arm. He hadn’t noticed it. It didn’t hurt, not like it might have. The moment they’d had was magic enough to ward off anything else. Wylan had yet to notice it. He wasn’t looking at his arm, and he wasn’t thinking of the pain that went with it. He couldn’t feel it, though whether that was because he was wrapped up in the dance or because there was no pain was anybody’s guess. The infection was spreading. Slowly but surely, it was beginning to make its way down his veins to his elbow. It was stark and black against white, mostly pale skin. Wylan didn’t have long if it remained untreated. As happy as the moment was, it had to end. Magic would flee, and reality would come crashing back in its place. It could only be kept at bay for so long.
“I don’t want the world to stay broken,” Newt replied, appalled, “I just… I guess I don’t care how much of the old world we get back. If the new world we build is functional, why does it matter how much it resembles the world we left behind? I know that’s controversial, but… I don’t know how to fit into the world that used to be. I don’t want to try to have to fit into that world. I’m sure there was a place for me at some point, but…” he shrugged, pulling his arms tight around his chest. “I still feel selfish for saying it. I feel selfish for not wanting what everyone else seems to want. I just… I want a future where we’re all alive and we don’t have to worry about zombies. I want the freedom to try to figure out what to do with my life without there being some sort of expectation. And it seems like there was always an expectation the way the world was before. I don’t think I like that very much.” Even if Sweets said it wasn’t selfish… Newt couldn’t shake the feeling that deep down, it was. “I’m not a leader,” he added after a moment, blushing bright red. “I don’t have the kinds of ideas that are worth listening to. I guess… I have some ideas about what would be ideal, but I don’t know if any of it is even possible.” Newt stared at the ground, nudging the dirt with the tip of his shoe. “I guess it sounds stupid, but it seems like everyone in the world seems to believe that there’s nothing better than the way it was before. Who do I think I am to want to take that away from them?”
Even if Zuko didn’t yet believe some of the things Sal said, he was grateful to have the other boy in his life. He was grateful to have someone who believed in him, who knew he was just doing his best even when his best wasn’t good enough. Somehow… he’d come out the other side with a family that was much more genuine than the one he had started with. Somehow, he had found a boy who seemed to know exactly the right things to say, and who could make Zuko feel as warm as though he was sitting besides a campfire. He tried not to think too hard about that feeling. It wasn’t important. What was important now was finding the others and making sure they were okay. Or… as okay as they could be. Zuko tried to remember how each of them had died. Was he the only one who had sustained an injury that would affect him even outside of the room they’d walked into? Without thinking, Zuko reached for Sal’s hand. He needed to believe the others were okay, but he didn’t think he was capable of actually believing it until they were right in front of him. Until he had actual proof that it wasn’t just him and Sal that had made it. He wanted to take off towards camp at a run, but that wouldn’t change what had happened. Besides, he had a feeling he was likely to topple with his newly uneven depth perception. It was hard enough to walk, let alone run. Hopefully he would adjust to it sooner rather than later.
Combeferre stared at the tent, waiting for a response. Usually, Kelsier was pretty good at letting him in. It took a few knocks sometimes, but eventually the other survivor would peer through the thin fabric of the tent, even when he wasn’t himself. On those days, either Kaladin or Combeferre would have to be braced for an attack. There was no indication of whether Kelsier would be at his best or at his worst, so they generally prepared for the worst as much as possible. They could deal with being pleasantly surprised. They couldn’t come back from Kelsier killing one of them for being Hades’ lackeys. “I’m coming in,” Combeferre said after a moment. “If you’re indecent or anything, please let me know.” He waited just a moment before he stepped into the tent, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. The tent did a decent enough job of deflecting sunlight that it almost felt like evening or nighttime on the inside. Once Combeferre’s vision had returned to normal, his gaze swept across the room, then fell on the boy sleeping, his small form pressed up against Nico. Combeferre was fairly certain he felt his heart stop. Metaphorically, of course, but he could understand where the metaphor came from. It was the plummeting of his heart into his stomach, the dread that came over every part of his body. “Kelsier,” Combeferre murmured, words severe, “You helped us set up the rules, didn’t you? Nico is allowed to come visit you, and he’s allowed to stand guard for you if you want him to, but under no circumstances is he to stay with you. I know… I know you must miss him. I know it must be hard to live not knowing whether you’ll wake up yourself or not. But you’re getting a lot better, I can tell. I just… I’m concerned about having Nico with you until you’re closer to one hundred percent.” The boy was asleep. Combeferre could tell that much – he also knew that Nico didn’t sleep enough. He was loathe to disturb him now, but he would rather have an annoyed but alive Nico than a dead one in a few hours because Kelsier had slipped without being able to say anything.
Hunter wasn’t convinced that Kenma had felt it as strongly as the rest of them in the first place, but the wasn’t going to say that to Kenma’s face. It felt a little bit too much like what he had told him in that room. That he didn’t care. That it was obvious Kenma didn’t care, and that was what was most annoying about him. It was a lie, but… implying that it hadn’t effected Kenma as strongly felt like saying almost the exact same thing. Maybe he was just better at regulating it and pushing it down than the rest of them had been. It hadn’t been impossible to fight, right? Hunter had fought it when he hadn’t killed Kenma, but it hadn’t been enough to stop him from hurting him. “I don’t either,” he said after a moment, gritting his teeth a little as he looked at Hinata. “I want to be angry at Juuzou, but… I’m not.”
Hinata gave a small nod, eyes still wide as he looked between his friends. He bounced up and down on his heels, trying to figure out what to do now. Normally when he felt like this, it was because of something he had done wrong. The awful squirmy feeling in his stomach was usually proof that he had messed up and let down people that were count on him. It wasn’t a good feeling, but it was a feeling he could get rid of by practicing whatever it was he had failed at. He couldn’t do anything about this. No amount of practicing was going to make this knot in his stomach go away. “I’m… gonna go find some of the others,” he said after a moment, thinking that maybe he’d feel better if he was moving around looking for the others. He didn’t know where they would be, but he was the fastest out of all of them. If anyone could find them and gather them all, it was him.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 24, 2021 17:39:44 GMT -5
Varian wanted to pull away, at the same time as he’d never wanted so badly to stay. To let himself be held…he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to be safe anymore, if he ever had. He hadn’t really believed that bad things could happen to him, once. Now it was hard to believe anything else would. But he wanted to trust Kaladin. He wanted to believe he would be hard for anyone to take away. He knew that Kaladin couldn’t promise not to die, no matter how deeply Varian wanted him to. If he had promised not to die…Varian would probably have believed him. But he knew that was never going to happen. He didn’t really know exactly how he saw Kaladin. Not as a parent, though. That wasn’t right. Friend, of course, but there was something else. He trusted Kaladin. He wanted to go to him when he was scared or unsure or alone, like he was now. He didn’t usually understand his own feelings, especially when he was in the middle of feeling them. But he was drawn to Kaladin when he needed someone he was sure of. Someone to rely on. He breathed out, giving a tiny nod as Kaladin replied. As long as he was allowed, he would keep doing it. He didn’t know why he was the only one allowed…he had never heard Tien say it, either. But he didn’t ask. It probably didn’t really matter why. “Ronan was just mad,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. I should have listened to you before…I just wanted to fix it. I thought they’d be excited. I really thought…this meant it would be okay, now. I just wanted it to finally be okay again.” He breathed out, letting himself lean on Kaladin a little more. He wasn’t leaving. He was right there. “Oh…I was just going to say, I…I still think we should find the technology. Even…if you’re right. Something really did happen, and maybe someone like me made it, and they don’t have someone like you to convince them not to use it.”
Ronan didn’t move as he felt more than heard Noah coming to stand near him. He watched the tent, waiting as Combeferre went inside, tension flooding his body. Was he waiting for him to shout? Call for help? Or would it be silence, as it had been with Ronan? The quiet, unobtrusive end of a world that would never return? Nico wasn’t dead. Nico wasn’t dead. Nico was not going to die. Not again. “I think I hate him,” he said finally, voice flat. He didn’t look at Noah as he said it, but it was clear that was who he was talking to. There was no one else there. “F(oops). We should have just left him. We should have just kicked him out.” He prodded the ground with one shoe, letting a moment pass before he glanced at Noah again, eyes shadowed and hard to read, hands in his pockets. He studied him for a long moment, and he discovered that not only was he not angry that he’d followed, he had expected it, deep down. He had known Noah would follow like he’d known Nico would go to Kelsier. It seemed he was the only one he struggled to predict. “If we found Glendower, what would you wish for, now?” He asked finally, his voice low and serious. He didn’t look away for even a second, and he didn’t move, though the rest of his body was still facing Kelsier’s tent, as if his torso hadn’t yet gotten the message that he wasn’t needed there.
This was what inspired artists, Spook thought. This was what made people so determined to capture reality however they could. How could you make someone feel the way you felt? How could you make someone feel like it had happened to them? It was why paintings existed, it was what inspired songs. It was why people wrote and danced and every other way they fought to communicate the things there was no way to communicate. You couldn’t capture a feeling, but if you could, then you would have to do it through art. Spook didn’t need art now, though. He didn’t need to capture this, because he was living it instead. This was not a memory, this was a moment, and for now, it was the present one. He existed here. He could try to capture it all he wanted once he’d lost it. “Birdsong is music,” he replied softly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Wylan. “But I know what you mean. It’s perfect. It’s everything a song would have offered.” He didn’t see it coming. He was too caught up in the moment to consider all the different ways it might end, some better than others. The dead, they could have run from, hand in hand. Time, they could have handled as they always had, flowers gathered together, the dance over but still thrumming through Spook like it was a living part of him. Or black veins, creeping towards Wylan’s heart like death itself. Spook stumbled, the rest of the words dying in his throat, the peace of the moment shattering into shards that seemed to cut him, the pain startling him all the more for the fact that a second before, he hadn’t been in any pain at all. Even the fear that never seemed to leave him had held its breath, as though allowing him to have this one thing. Or had it simply been inhaling in preparation for a scream? “My Wylan…” It was barely audible, almost said the way someone might say ‘ouch’ when they were in pain. He didn’t let go of Wylan’s hand, but he wasn’t moving anymore, his brown eyes frozen on the red wound, the black veins. The infection, already spreading, tainted blood forming a weapon. It was heading for Wylan’s heart. It didn’t seem to matter that Spook had gotten there first.
Sweets hesitated, shaking his head. “No, that’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s not like you want people to be hurt or something. The world you want would be fixed. There wouldn’t be any zombies anymore. You can’t want something you have no comprehension of, and you don’t have any memories of how the world was before. Or course you don’t want to get it back. No one expects you to want that. And, you know…not everyone who has ideas has to be a leader. Groups aren’t built to only rely on a single person like that.” He glanced at Newt, trying to read his expression. He didn’t want to tell him he couldn’t be a leader, because whatever he said, they were made, not born. Anyone could lead. Some people were naturally better at it, maybe. But that was like saying only the people who were naturally fast were allowed to run. Someone who was naturally fast but never practiced would always lose to someone who was naturally slow but ran every other day and ate healthy and generally did what they could to get faster. “I think you could be a leader, if you wanted to be.” He said finally. “But more importantly…let’s try a thought experiment. Say I’m the new guy who just joined our group. If I asked you who the leader of our group was, what would you tell me?”
Sal didn’t hesitate before he took Zuko’s hand, thought he tried not to read into it. It probably didn’t mean anything. Or, he amended, it didn’t mean what he was tempted to believe it could mean. It meant Zuko trusted him. It meant they were close. It meant they were going to keep supporting each other forever, the way they’d learned how. Sal didn’t need it to mean more than that, even if he secretly wanted it to. He started towards camp, keeping his movements slow. He wanted to let Zuko set the pace, since Zuko was the one who wasn’t used to being half blind. He hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to get used to…he had lost his eye a very long time ago, so he didn’t know if it would be harder to get used to it for Zuko. Sal had been four. He hadn’t had all that long to get used to having two eyes anyway, losing one had just been a different learning curve. He wouldn’t be able to relax until they found the others. He knew he wouldn’t. He wished he could have lasted longer in that room, in a way…he was grateful he hadn’t seen them all die, but he hated not knowing what had happened. He wouldn’t make them talk about it, but he wished he knew what they had gone through. It didn’t feel fair that he had barely experienced any of it, while they had been forced to go through so much more. He’d been weaker than most of the others, he hadn’t been able to defend himself. Or maybe he’d just been at in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Kelsier closed his eyes, cursing inaudibly as Combeferre - it was indeed Combeferre coming to check on him - seemed to take his silence as even more of a reason to come in. Which, in fairness, was reasonable. If he wasn’t himself enough to reply, that was a bad sign. And Nico had been keeping watch before he’d entered, which meant there was now no one keeping watch, which was probably alarming in itself. Silence plus no guard? It would have been easy to wonder if he’d slipped and decided to leave his tent, even knowing it wasn’t really a tent and he couldn’t actually escape that way. He pushed the thought away. Sometimes, having those sorts of mundane thoughts was an indication that he was beginning to slip. They weren’t threatening in themselves, but according to Sweets they were an indication that Hades was on his mind, even if he didn’t consciously realize it. But he wasn’t going to slip now. Not when Nico needed him. Something far more important had just happened, and the last thing Kelsier wanted to be was another problem. He didn’t move as Combeferre slipped inside, the other man blinking and taking a moment to get used to the dimmer lighting. Kelsier had to do the opposite, usually. He didn’t leave very often, so his eyes were no longer used to sunlight. He listened silently to the words, his gaze steady and unflinching, even though he knew Combeferre was right. He himself had agreed that it wasn’t safe for Nico to stay with him. He’d been trying to be reasonable, trying to add his own voice so that Nico would listen and stay safe. Now, he almost wished he hadn’t. “Don’t wake him,” he murmured finally, keeping himself still so the soft words wouldn’t disturb Nico. “I’m fine. He’s safe. See? We’ve both just fine.”
Kenma didn’t know if he’d felt it as strongly as the others had. Whatever it had been, it had made them all into killing machines…Hunter himself had very nearly killed Kenma, and Kenma didn’t even know what exactly had stopped him before he’d made the final blow. He had had a clear shot. Kenma hadn’t been able to defend himself, and once he had gone down, there was nothing more he could have done…the others, Juuzou, had been preoccupied. Hunter was the only one who had had any chance of stopping it. If Juuzou had been affected enough to kill almost everyone else…if Nico had been pushed far enough to kill Sal…why had Hunter been able to resist it? And did it have anything to do with the fact that Kenma hadn’t seemed as affected himself? “Wait…” he glanced up at Hinata, hands folded in front of him as he regarded the other boy. He knew he was used to action, and needed to be on the move, but this was one thing that Kenma actually did have an opinion about. “I don’t think you should leave camp,” he told him after a moment, dropping his gaze again. “This is where they will be trying to come, if they want to find us…if you go out looking, you could miss them.”
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No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Aug 26, 2021 0:37:18 GMT -5
If anyone were to ask Kaladin before this moment whether he considered Varian a little brother, he may have waffled over it. He may have tried to come up with some other explanation or have said something about how he was maybe sort of like a little brother, but it was different because they weren’t blood related… but none of that mattered. Kaladin loved Varian as fiercely as he loved Tien, and he was going to do everything in his power to protect Varian where he had failed to protect Tien. Varian was… unlike Tien. Tien had never hurt anyone. He cared too deeply, he was too sensitive… Varian didn’t allow himself to be sensitive. He never seemed to consider that he was capable of being vulnerable… it was like he saw a situation where he might be vulnerable and instead of facing it or acknowledging it, dodged straight ahead into something he was convinced would help him. It was heartbreaking, in a way. Kaladin wanted to be there to remind Varian that he still had the right to be a kid. He still had the right to be vulnerable and to need someone to lean on. It was odd, how Varian had earned himself the right to the nickname that had once been reserved only for Kaladin’s past. Tien had never called Kaladin anything other than ‘Kal.’ His parents preferred the nickname unless they were upset with him. Then it was always Kaladin. Once he had let Tien die? Once he had failed his parents? The name was nothing but a sharp reminder that he was nothing but a failure to his family and the people he loved most. It wasn’t like that on Varian’s lips, though. “I don’t blame you,” Kaladin said after a moment, shaking his head firmly. “Ronan knew exactly what he was doing. He may have been angry, but he should have been watching his actions.” Kaladin allowed Varian to lean on him for a few more moments before he managed a response. “I’ll come with you to find the technology. You don’t have to do that alone.” He didn’t know if there was anyone like Varian in charge of it. If there were… he had a feeling they would have done something far kinder (or… perhaps misinformed, but still good-hearted) than making a bunch of teenage boys kill each other and then undoing it to prove that they could. Anger pooled in Kaladin’s stomach as the thought crystallized. He wanted to punch whoever had thought that was okay.
Noah followed Ronan’s gaze, letting his hand slip gently into his friend’s. He knew Ronan’s concept of physical affection was… well, not punching someone in the face, but he wanted Ronan to know he was there. He wanted Ronan to remember that he was okay, that he was alive, and… and that if they could find the others, everything was going to be okay. Juuzou had left to go find them, and Noah had faith that he would be able to. Juuzou was amazing, even if he was the one who had killed them all. In the back of his mind, Noah had to wonder if Juuzou thought they were just trying to get rid of him. That hadn’t been the intent, it was just that Ronan had headed towards Kelsier’s tent, and Noah knew how to talk to him. He may not have known exactly how to stop him from fighting, but he did know how to calm him down after other serious events. Or… maybe not calm him down, but at least convince him to think about other things. “Nico wouldn’t have forgiven us,” Noah replied quietly, tilting his head as he looked in the direction of Kelsier’s tent. He didn’t know if the man would ever be the same person Nico had rambled about the first time he had actually opened up to either of them. He didn’t know if Kelsier would ever be as brave or as kind as the man Nico held in his memories. He wanted to believe he would. And then Noah’s thoughts were pulled away and he looked up sharply, eyes wide. “I’d wish for a cure,” he admitted, searching Ronan’s gaze. “I think…” he trailed off, rubbing at his cheek. He couldn’t tell Ronan the truth now.
Wylan wasn’t prepared for the moment to end. It had just begun, as far as he was concerned. The moment was all magic and music and light, and then it was as though someone had turned the Earth upside down so they were hanging off of it, desperately clinging to beauty that didn’t feel like it existed anymore. If this went wrong… not only was this the end of a moment unlikely any other, it was also the last moment like that Wylan was ever going to get. His gaze drifted down to the injury, to the black spreading up his veins. It was slow, but it was obvious. How much time did they have before it reached his heart? Did the infection kill when it reached the heart, or when it reached the head? Had anyone survived past the point the heart had been taken? It wasn’t fair. Wylan had wanted to give his heart away, not have it stolen from him. My Wylan… The words struck a chord in the boy, and he froze, eyes wide as he looked up at Spook. There was so much contained in those two words, a conversation that could last hours and hours if they let it. They didn’t have the time for that now. If they didn’t get back quickly, they might never have the time for it. So far, their group had been lucky. Nobody had been turned. As unfortunate as Kelsier’s situation was, he had come back to himself, at least momentarily. They had all been through heartache and hardship, but they had come through it to the other side. Their group was still whole, when very few groups were. Was Wylan going to be the first to die for real? Was he going to make them mourn someone for the first time in months? Wylan wasn’t moving. Logic told him he should be heading back towards camp. Logic told him that they had doctors there that could help him if he moved quickly enough. He was lucky. The infection was in his wrist, and he had some time before it spread past his arm. Maybe there would be a way to eke it out of him. Maybe there would be a way to kill the infection. If Wylan was honest, he wasn’t very hopefully. He had to believe, though… “Spook,” Wylan whispered, eyes wide as he looked up, trying to meet Spook’s gaze. “I… I need you to know… I…” he trailed off, words failing him. He didn’t know how to say it. It was the last chance he had, but how could he burden Spook with that now of all times?
“I don’t think anyone else thinks of it that way. I guess… the world makes sense to them how it was before, so that’s how they want it to be. I get it, I really do. I just… don’t want it that way. And I don’t want to offend anyone or step on any toes just because I can’t want something I don’t remember. Maybe… I should just try harder to believe everyone when they say that things were better the way they were before.” Newt knew that wasn’t possible, but he also knew he could try. He could pretend, at least, that he believed that everything would be better if it went back to the way it had been. It would be, technically. It would be better than it was now, but… Newt wanted a world he believed he could have a place in. Whatever place he had occupied in the world before, that place had been stolen from him. All he had of it now was a vague recollection of a sister and the sound of a voice calling him in for supper. He didn’t even have a name to connect it back to. He could have an entire family out there still looking for him, and he wouldn’t know. He didn’t even know for certain how old he had been when he was taken. “I… guess not,” Newt added after a moment, brow creasing. He knew most groups had a leader, but he hadn’t stopped to consider that this one… didn’t. There were people in positions where they were protectors or healers, but nobody made decisions for the group. They made them as a whole. “I would say… nobody. But if they wanted to speak to someone with a little bit of authority, who knew the group best… I would send them to you.”
Zuko flushed, gaze moving back towards their hands for a fleeting moment before he forced himself to look back up again. He trusted Sal, true. They were close. The way Sal saw it was accurate, but there was also something more. Something lurking underneath the surface that Zuko wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. He wanted to be the kind of person Sal could love. He wanted to believe that he could deserve someone as kind and wonderful as Sal was. The truth was, though, he didn’t think he was worthy. He had done what he could do minimize the damage he had caused, and he had learned from his mistakes. That didn’t mean he dserved a boy like Sal. It was odd, moving with part of his vision missing. It was as though his body was already beginning to compensate. It didn’t feel like he couldn’t see out of one eye. It wasn’t like there was a hole. It was more like his body decided to fill in the hole with what it assumed must be on his other side. Fortunately, Zuko had lived like this for a few weeks when he had first been burned. Unfortunately, it had taken him at least a week to adjust then. This time he didn’t have Iroh to guide him through it. He did, however, have Sal. That was better, almost. Sal knew what it was like to live with only one eye. Zuko had lasted until the end. He had seen all of them fall, had felt the dread and the pain as the memory returned to him, as he sliced through Varian, as… as he realized that the hate he felt made less sense than the order he’d followed for years to capture the di Angelo boy. It was hollow. It was a lie. And he had killed for it this time, like he had almost done the first time before he’d found Sal. “Do you think Varian will ever forgive me?” Zuko asked after a moment, his voice small. He didn’t like seeming vulnerable. He didn’t like admitting weakness. He just couldn’t stand to lose any more family.
Combeferre had suspected – worried, more like – that this had been the case when he had noticed nobody guarding Kelsier. Nico wasn’t irresponsible. He was the last one who was going to let Kelsier just walk away. This was, however, much better than the other option that had come to mind: Kelsier fleeing, Nico’s dead body cradled in his arms or strewn on the road behind him depending on whether or not the shock of killing Nico had brought Kelsier back to himself. Sweets would be the right person to make a judgment on that, not Combeferre. He enjoyed his talks with Sweets, analyzing the intersection between psychology and medicine. Sweets knew more about medicine and health than he seemed comfortable admitting, if only because there were very few mental illnesses that didn’t cause physical symptoms. Combeferre, though he had been in the middle of med school when the virus had hit, was woefully uneducated about mental health despite taking an interest in it while he was in college. Sweets was enough to help bridge that gap. This situation in front of him… he breathed out, watching the slow rise and fall of Nico’s chest. When was the last time the boy had gotten a proper night’s sleep? When was the last time he had looked that vulnerable in front of anyone? If Combeferre were in Kelsier’s position, he may have started to believe it was a trap, because would Nico really allow himself to be so vulnerable if he knew how great the danger was? Hades had done a number on Kelsier’s mind, but some of the conclusions he had come to were understandable. “For now,” Combeferre replied, keeping his voice just as quiet as Kelsier’s. “You’re fine for now. But you know better than I that your moments of clarity aren’t forever. How can you be certain he’ll be fine until he wakes up?”
Hunter felt at least a little validating in the fact that Hinata wanted to do the same thing he had, at first. It felt better to go after the people they were missing. Surely, that had been the instinct the others had, too. Kenma may not have cared very deeply about a lot of things, but he had sound logic. If they were all out searching for each other, then it was just going to take longer for them all to find each other. The best thing to do would be to wait here. The only thing they could be absolutely certain of was that the others would all return to camp eventually. It might take a while for the more stubborn ones to stop searching, but camp was the only safe place they knew of. They would come back here eventually, if only to get more supplies before heading back out. Eventually, they would run into all of the others. Except maybe Juuzou. If he thought it had really happened… would he run? It seemed like a distinct possibility.
“I guess,” Hinata replied, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was obviously nervous, and he was used to there being something he could do to make a situation better. Sitting around and waiting was never going to be his style. He didn’t know how to just sit still and bide his time while they hoped the others made their way back to camp safely. If the others knew it had been real… “What if some of them go out searching?” Hinata retorted, not caring much for the logic of it. Logic didn’t stop his heart from thudding or his feet from aching to run and find the others. “What if they waste a lot of time and get themselves into danger because they don’t know we’re all back here? I can run fast enough that I probably will find them before they get beyond the borders. That way we know everyone is safe.”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 30, 2021 16:41:08 GMT -5
It wasn’t easy for Varian to be a kid. He didn’t often let himself get anywhere near it…was it that he didn’t want to be a kid, or he just didn’t see himself as one? He had never seen himself as a kid, really. He knew he had been, but he was fourteen, now. A teenager. He was capable, and he knew he could accomplish anything an adult could. He didn’t know for sure that Kaladin saw him as a brother. It felt…wrong to think so, without being directly told. Tien had been Kaladin’s brother, and Varian was the reason he was gone. Maybe Kaladin wasn’t angry with him for it, but that didn’t mean it was okay to think for a moment that they could be family, too. He did see Kaladin as a brother, though. He couldn’t help it. He hoped that was okay. He looked down. Ronan was always reckless, but most of all when he was angry. He didn’t think, he just acted. Varian could understand that. It wasn’t usually anger that motivated him, though…more often than not, he was just trying to help as best he knew how, even if he’d have seen what a bad idea it was if he’d thought it through. Not that he never acted out of anger…he shook the thought away. “I’m still sorry he did it,” he murmured. “And…that I made him mad enough to.” If there was anyone behind this - and there had to be, right? - then they might have been trying to help. Maybe they hadn’t meant to hurt anyone…maybe, like Varian, they had gotten ahead of themself and the consequences had caught up to them. Maybe they didn’t even know anything had happened. It could have been a side effect, nothing more. Varian didn’t think they’d know until they found it. He looked at Kaladin, then managed a small smile. “Okay,” he agreed quietly. “I…I want you to come. I don’t want to go alone. I think maybe whoever did this didn’t mean to, but…I don’t know. There are some really bad guys out there.”
Ronan wasn’t thinking about Juuzou anymore. He had been the one to kill Noah, and Ronan would never forget that, but he didn’t like to dwell on things he wasn’t doing anything about. He had other things to think about. He didn’t look at Noah, but he didn’t pull away, either. It was soothing, in a way. He rarely made physical contact with anyone, anymore, and when he did, it was often more aggressive than affectionate, but it was Noah. He missed it. The casual touches that felt as far from casual to him as they possibly could. Pulling Adam to his feet in a moment that lasted a thousand years and barely a second. But it was gone, and he couldn’t get it back, ever. Just like everyone else…he had to live with it. “I know,” he replied darkly, eyes on the tent. So far…Kelsier hadn’t taken anything they hadn’t been able to get back. But he was a threat. He was a constant threat, and the second someone screwed up… Ronan wasn’t careful with his own life, but he would protect his family with everything he had. If anything happened to Nico… He glanced at Noah. A cure. It was the right answer. Who wouldn’t wish for one? The world couldn’t go back to how it had been until they had one. “You think what?” He prompted, watching him. He rubbed his cheek when he was feeling self conscious, usually. What had he been about to say?
Spook hadn’t meant to say it, but it was there, now. It wasn’t the words he couldn’t ever take back. Not quite. But it wasn’t nothing, and he knew Whaln had heard him. He knew it opened a door he hadn’t been sure he was ready to open. But it was overshadowed. It wasn’t something they could talk about now. The black…the injury was getting worse, and fast. How had Spook not noticed until now? Wasn’t he watching? Wasn’t he paying any attention at all? Not enough, clearly. If Wylan died because he hadn’t been watching… They didn’t have time for him to feel guilty. He could do that later. For now, every second they stood, frozen, watching it, was another second closer to Wylan being stolen away, permanently this time. It wouldn’t be something they could wake up from this time. It wouldn’t be something they could undo. How had they gotten so lucky for so long? They’d almost gotten used to it…maybe they’d been getting too comfortable. Too sure that they could live as they had before. That tragedy was something so rare, it was often dismissed as though it were impossible. That wasn’t the world they lived in. Tragedy was a given. They should have been more careful. He reached out, taking Wylan’s hand, his grip firm. There was no time left. The magic was gone. They’d been fools to have ever trusted something as flippant as magic in the first place. “Can you run?” He breathed, searching Wylan’s eyes, his own wife and terrified. If they made it back in time…would it matter? It had to. If not… Spook didn’t know how he would survive it.
Sweets frowned a little. Newt had a point…being the only one who didn’t remember the way things had been meant he was also the only one who wasn’t trying to go backwards. Mostly. If there were any children young enough not to remember, then they would probably be similar, as they grew up. Looking at it that way, it seemed like Newt had an advantage. He didn’t have to be held back by memories. He could be perfectly ck tent with a completely different sort of world. And since the people who would build that world were almost certainly going to be the children who didn’t remember anything else…maybe he’d be able to fit in better, that way. But he did see why Newt was distressed about it. He didn’t want to minimize that. “Yeah, that’s…not a good idea,” he replied diplomatically. “Repressing how you feel is never smart. Almost never. I mean, it’s never healthy, even if it’s necessary in certain cases…it’s a coping mechanism, that’s all, and you don’t need coping mechanisms unless you’re not in an ideal place. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a world where you aren’t at a glaring disadvantage. There’s also nothing wrong with people like me wanting the world to be how it had been before.” He put his fingers together, tugging lightly to demonstrate. “What we want isn’t in conflict. When two people want different things, that’s just life. It only becomes conflict if what one person wants directly opposes what the other one does. I can want…” He searches for a moment. “Maybe I want karaoke nights back. You don’t not want karaoke nights, right? You just want a world where you’re not the only one figuring stuff out. I don’t not want a world where you’re not the only one figuring stuff out. I can have my karaoke and still have to figure out how to live, just like you would.” He let his hands fall to his sides again. “The point is that we don’t have to have all or nothing, Newt. The old world isn’t coming back. But maybe pieces of it never really left.” He walked for a moment, hoping that had made any sense at all. It had sounded good in his head, but had it come out right…? Then he paused, glancing at Newt, startled. “Me?” He repeated. “Wait…me? Really? You think I’m…?”
Sal couldn’t say it. Not now…he didn’t know how. He didn’t know if it was allowed. Zuko was trying so hard to become the person he thought he should be…Sal understood, as best he could without being in his head. He was determined to improve himself, and make up for his mistakes. It was a noble goal, and one Sal supported, but at the same time, who Zuko was now…he was better than he knew. He was amazing. He didn’t see it, but just by trying, he’d already accomplished what he was trying to. If his goal was to be a better person…he’d succeeded. He would continue to succeed. Sal believed that with everything he had. He was already someone Sal could - and did - love. But for now, it wouldn’t be said. Sal was brave, but he wasn’t that brave. Or maybe the risk was just too high. HeKd never been one to make gambles when he could help it. He hesitated, looking at the other boy. It was a vulnerable question. It meant more to Sal than he would ever be able to express that he was someone Zuko trusted with it. “Yeah, Zuko.” He said softly. “I think he will. He’s family, and not the kind that didn’t have a choice. I mean…I’ve already forgiven Nico, and I haven’t even talked to him yet. Whatever happened, it wasn’t our fault. My death wasn’t Nico’s fault. And Varian’s wasn’t yours. He’ll understand that. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will. He’s probably more worried about you than anything else.”
It had been dangerous for Nico to come to him. Kelsier knew that. It had been dangerous to come at all, but especially when he was already in a vulnerable position. Especially when he wasn’t quite thinking clearly, when he was weak and exhausted and half convinced Kelsier had been right all along. If he hadn’t been himself…what would have happened? Would he have killed Nico? Or just confirmed that they were still trapped? Would he have believed it was really Nico if Nico had told him he was right? He didn’t know. But he was more grateful than he could express that it hadn’t happened. He’d been able to help, even if it wasn’t by much. And now…Nico felt safe enough to sleep here. And in spite of every risk, everything that could go wrong, Kelsier couldn’t make himself say no. Nico needed him. He had to be there for him. He hadn’t been for far too long already. If there was any way he could make it right now…or even if he couldn’t make it right, at least start over, try again…he couldn’t let that chance go. A muscle worked in his jaw as he watched Combeferre, and he steadied himself. The other man was just trying to protect Nico. That was nothing to be angry about. It was good, that there were other people here who cared enough to defend him. Nico deserved that sort of support. Even if it wasn’t what Kelsier wanted just now. “We have to start somewhere,” he breathed out, keeping his voice soft. “I can’t live in fear forever. I can’t let this get in the way of…of everything. Of him. I won’t slip. Not now…not when he needs me.”
Kenma knew staying out and waiting wasn’t what most of the boys were going to want to do. It wasn’t as active as most of them were. It didn’t feel like doing anything, and most of them seemed to hate doing nothing, especially when they thought they needed to help someone. It didn’t make it a good idea. Kenma didn’t know what had happened, which meant he didn’t know if he could happen again. I’ve didn’t know where the others were, or whether they would think to try camp before they wandered off to look other places…Hinata hadn’t even really searched the camp yet, as far as Kenma knew. He wanted to help, but his instincts weren’t pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t want to argue, especially when Hinata was undoubtedly trying to make up for having been killed first by proving he could help now. But he couldn’t help being worried. “What if you miss them?” He asked, looking up at him again, his gaze steady. “How will you know where to look?”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Aug 31, 2021 1:27:16 GMT -5
Kaladin couldn’t help but see Varian as a kid. Perhaps it was because he was barely older than Tien had been when he had died. Perhaps it was because Kaladin was old enough to remember what kids had been like before the apocalypse had hit. He knew that kids Varian’s age shouldn’t have been forced to grow up quite so quickly. He still remembered when he was around Varian’s age… he remembered the way the world had changed. He didn’t know for certain how old Varian was, but he knew that he was around the same age when the world had turned itself around. He hadn’t been as mature as Varian was now. He had wanted to help by learning to fight zombies, but his father had insisted he learn first aid. Anyone could be a fighter, but there were very few who were equipped to be healers. It was a good thing that Kaladin’s father had gone to medical school. Kaladin had never been given that chance, though he had learned far more medicine than most people knew. “You shouldn’t have to take responsibility for things that other people did. Even if you were the catalyst.” What Ronan had done wasn’t Varian’s fault. Kaladin wasn’t the most well-spoken person. He didn’t know how to say things that would make situations better, he just… he tried to help when he could. He wasn’t sure he was handling this situation correctly. He didn’t know how to tell Varian that he saw him like family. He didn’t want to push him away – Varian had a real family that he wanted to bring back. Kaladin was the reason that family was gone. The world was hard and cruel and complicated, and just once Kaladin wished it could be simple. It was very… Varian to assume the best of the people who had pulled Varian and his friends into… whatever they had gone through. Kaladin had a hard time believing that anyone capable of that had any good intentions whatsoever, but he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt if that was what Varian wanted. “I’ll make sure that anyone bad can’t get to you,” Kaladin promised quietly.
Ronan was getting too good at reading him. He had always been good at it when they were kids, mainly because Noah hadn’t been particularly difficult to read. He had learned to hide things, now. He had learned that there were secrets that were too painful to share. Grief that his friends shouldn’t have to go through. He didn’t know if he was going to turn. He didn’t know if the infection still lived inside of him. Were his nightmares the result of fear, or the result of the infection slowly eating away at his brain? He was aware that he wasn’t the same person he had once been, but… was that because of the bite or because it was nearly impossible to stay the same when the world was crashing down around you? Noah didn’t have any solid answers to that. He doubted anyone else around him did, either. “I guess… I was just going to say that wishing for a cure might be a little bit selfish.” It was true, but it likely wouldn’t make sense without the context that he wanted to use it on himself. Why would he wish for a cure instead of something that could reverse time and bring everything back to the way it had been? They would lose the family they had found that way, but wouldn’t it be overall better for most people? Especially if they could prevent the virus from being created in the first place? “I don’t want to lose… this. I just want everything to be okay.” This was vague. This was the family he had earned over the past several months. This was humanity and the ability to love and be loved. The ability to think instead of just being a shell for a virus’ hunger.
Wylan was going to spend hours agonizing over the cadence of Spook’s voice, the panic in it, the soft core of My Wylan. My Wylan. My Wylan. There was no time, however, to think about it now. There was no way for Wylan to ask about it when there was the infection to worry about… he could spend the rest of his life hearing those words playing on repeat in his head as he tried to figure out if it would be okay to ask Spook what he had meant by them. He just… needed to move fast enough that he’d have a rest of his life to live. Spook was right. They weren’t going to fix this by standing there dumbfounded. Shock settling deep in his bones, Wylan glanced towards where their hands were connected. If he had to die hand in hand with anyone, he was glad it was Spook. But… how did the infection spread? If Spook touched it, would he be infected too? Wylan didn’t want to risk that, but adrenaline was making it difficult to think about anything but getting back to camp. “I believe so,” he managed, his entire body pulsing with the need to start running. He knew it was just a response to stress, but he knew he needed to do something, and he couldn’t fistfight the infection spreading up his arm. He began to push forward, making sure not to actually start running until Spook was right beside him. He could feel the way the infection spread up his veins. He could feel it sapping his energy, reaching up towards his brain. If it left his arm… he would be dead. He would be worse than dead. He knew that others saw being turned as a version of death that was potentially less permanent, but if Wylan were honest with himself… he would rather just die, even if he couldn’t be brought back.
“Right,” Newt replied, staring straight at Sweets. “Like there’s anyone alive who hasn’t repressed anything, especially after the world turned to shit.” He knew it wasn’t quite fair. Sweets’ answer was a valid one. Repressing the way he felt was probably just going to end poorly. Still… he didn’t feel right wanting a world that was just as foreign to everyone else as it was for him. He could try to have nostalgia for the way the world used to be, even if he had never been part of it. Deep down, he knew Sweets was right. It was best to just sit with what he was feeling, even if it wasn’t something he could just… get rid of. It would have been so much easier if he could remember his childhood. Then he would have a world to look at through rose tinted glasses. “I don’t think there’s a single person left alive who doesn’t have a maladaptive coping strategy,” Newt admitted after walking a few more steps in silence. “But… I do appreciate you calling me out on mine. Even if it’s technically easier to keep living with them, because that’s what I’m familiar with.” It was hard to imagine a world where Sweets worked with people all day every day to figure out healthy ways for them to cope. It was hard to believe he had assessed FBI agents and had decided whether or not they should be allowed to go back into the field after major events. Sweets was without a doubt one of the smartest people that Newt had ever met, and it amazed him that he was friends with him. He had gotten very, very lucky. At first he had cursed the fact that the one person who had been there when he was ready to die was a psychologist, but now he was grateful behind words. Sweets was the reason he was still alive. He was also probably one of the closest friends Newt had ever had. “I have no idea what karaoke is, so I don’t think I don’t want you to have karaoke. I guess… the idea that we get to create the world how we want it is exciting. But… it’s never going to be right for the people who remember the way life was before. I guess… I hope you’re right that we can reach some sort of compromise.” Newt let his arms swing at his side, then looked up to give Sweets a tiny smile. “You know all of us better than we know ourselves. If someone wanted to know anything about us, I’d say they should go to you. If they needed medical attention I’d send them to Kaladin or Ferre, but… you’re the only adult with any leadership skills.”
Zuko looked over at Sal, letting all of his uncertainty and fear to remain written across his face. He had a mask of his own that he wore around other people. One that said he didn’t’ care about the way things were, one that said he was just looking out for himself. It wasn’t what he truly believed, but it was easier to navigate the world if everyone assumed that he was only in it for himself. It made him more intimidating. It made him the type of person that people got out of the way for. It was the type of person that was resistant to people trying to make friends. It wasn’t that Zuko didn’t want friends, it was just that… he didn’t know how to have them. Sal was an exception, and Zuko had no idea how to react around him now that his feelings were growing stronger. “I hope you’re right,” he breathed, trying not to remember what Varian had looked like as Zuko shoved the sword into his stomach to get him to shut up. It hadn’t been that malicious, of course, but… that was, in essence, what he had done. While Zuko had definitely forgiven Juuzou for his part in it, he was having a difficult time believing that Varian wouldn’t hold it against him. “I guess we should… try to find them,” Zuko breathed, glancing down at where he was still gently holding Sal’s hand. “Let’s go.” They weren’t going to find anyone unless they started looking as soon as possible. Had the others already started to discuss what had happened? Zuko may have known his family well, but this was the type of event that nothing could prepare you for. He had no idea what sort of state the others might be in.
Combeferre had to admit that it tugged at his heart to see Nico curled up against Kelsier as though there was no reason in the world he should be anywhere else. It was abundantly clear that Nico loved Kelsier, and even more clear that Kelsier loved Nico in return. It was just as real as any biological father and son Combeferre had seen in his life. A good deal closer, in fact, because they had chosen each other. Of course… that was before Kelsier had fallen into the death trap in his own mind. In a perfect world, Combeferre would have been able to walk out and leave them both alone. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t have to remind Kelsier that what was best for Nico wasn’t necessarily what Kelsier’s instincts as a father informed him to do. There were any number of things that could start out innocent until Kelsier slipped again. The last thing Combeferre wanted was for Nico to die because of it. “I know you do,” he breathed out, shaking his head just a little bit. “How long have you been yourself?” he asked, searching Kelsier’s gaze. “We need to start gauging how much time you have as yourself versus how much time you spend inside your head. When that starts to reach a decrease, then… we can speak about how best to accommodate Nico. But this, right now? I’m sorry, it’s not going to work. I want you to get better, but I don’t want to put him in a situation where it’s that easy for you to hurt him if something goes wrong.” Clearly, something had driven Nico in here. Combeferre didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t his place to ask. What was his place was making sure that Nico was kept safe, even if it meant keeping him safe from Kelsier.
Hunter frowned a little bit, looking around to see if anyone else had come into view. Not yet, it seemed. Wherever they were, they were either on the other side of camp or they were somewhere else. Not very many people had been in camp this morning, if he remembered correctly. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it hadn’t really been more than a few hours. It was odd, how much things could change in that short a time. There were conversations they all needed to have. Conversations that none of them wanted to have, he was certain. Were they all content to just… put it behind them? Hunter wasn’t sure he was. He knew he didn’t really blame Juuzou, but… they needed some sort of plan, in case things happened again. He didn’t do well when things didn’t go according to plan, and it was even worse when there was no plan at all.
“I can leave signs or something!” Hinata replied, though he wasn’t sure what sort of sign would be clear enough that the others would know what they meant. He didn’t want to miss them, and the borders they had set out were pretty big. Small enough that two people were enough to keep watch at night, but… that was only because they’d set up a good system for that. Actually searching all of their boundaries… that would take a long time, especially if the others had decided to go beyond them for their own search. “I just… I have to do something. I’m not any good to you guys if I just sit and wait for things to happen. I’ll just look through camp, and if I can’t find them, then I’ll search around the borders. And by the time I get back, some of them might be here already. Or maybe I’ll see some while I’m checking the boundaries. And by the time I get back, if I miss them, then… we can get everyone together to form a big search party and we can comb the whole place as a group.”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Aug 31, 2021 22:24:23 GMT -5
After everything he’d been through…Varian didn’t know how to feel like a kid anymore. He had never quite felt like one, or at least he had never called himself one, but the apocalypse had only made that even deeper. Now…he was as competent as any adult here, and arguably a lot more mature than at least two of them. Three? It wasn’t hard to be more mature than Sherlock. Kelsier wasn’t exactly the picture of adulthood, either. Sweets…Varian would have guessed that he was more mature than Sweets, too. He saw Orpheus and L and Kaladin as adults, even though they weren’t all that old, all things considered. “I know, but it’s Ronan,” he replied quietly, prodding the ground with his shoe. Ronan was the sort of person you had to apologize for. Not necessarily because you were taking responsibility for his actions, but because he often left a trail of people who deserved apologies, and none of them would get any otherwise. Still, Kaladin did have a point…Varian hadn’t wanted him to be mean. It wasn’t important. He looked up at Kaladin, searching his gaze quietly for a long moment. Kaladin was family. There was no escaping that fact…Kaladin may have been the reason why Varian’s dad couldn’t ever come back, but he was also the reason Varian was still here. He had never intended to hurt Varian, not like Varian had intended to hurt him back. He wasn’t to blame. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice small as he looked down. “And, uh, Kal? Thanks. For having my back. I’m sorry I don’t exactly make that easy all the time.”
Ronan had had a long time to get used to reading Noah. He had been with him before he’d found anyone else here, and he’d known him long before the apocalypse had struck. Maybe Noah had gotten harder to read, but Ronan had gotten better at it, so it mostly canceled out. Noah was different now, of course, but so was Ronan. So was everyone. It wasn’t possible to be who you had been, anymore. The world had changed, and it demanded that everyone else change too. He stared at his best friend, frowning a little at the words. “Wishing for a cure is selfish?” He repeated finally, eyes narrowing. “Wishing for something that would save countless lives, not even including your own, is selfish?” He snorted lightly, looking back at the tent. “Right. If you say so. But you’re going to have to call a lot more people than just you selfish, then.” He fell silent, breathing out. He knew what Noah meant. This…this was something more, because it wasn’t only surviving. This was still being alive, in spite of all the odds. Those odds never went away. They never stopped being in danger. “Well, we aren’t dead, right?” He replied finally, voice hard. “We aren’t dead, and we aren’t going to be dead. We survived that stupid room. We can handle this, too.” He knew he couldn’t promise it would be okay. He couldn’t promise anything would be okay. But he wasn’t trying to. They were okay, and they weren’t guaranteed to lose that. No matter what the odds were.
It was possible that Spook had just said something almost exactly like the words he’d been agonizing over. It wasn’t quite the same…was it? He hadn’t thought before he’d said it. It had just felt right. He was terrified for Wylan. The black spreading up his arm…it wasn’t going away on its own. This wasn’t something they could leave alone, and Spook didn’t know how to make it okay again. How could a moment as beautiful as the one they’d just shared turn out like this? He gripped Wylan’s hand, not letting go. It didn’t even occur to him to be afraid the infection would spread to him. He didn’t care…as long as Wylan lived, it didn’t matter what happened. As long as he could be okay. He gave a tiny nod and began to move, speeding up with Wylan, until they were both running, hand in hand. They were a similar speed, at least. Spook wasn’t worried about leaving him behind, so he didn’t hold back, just sprinted for camp. He didn’t know how it worked. He didn’t know that Wylan’s increased heart rate could make it worse. All he knew was that he couldn't lose Wylan. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose him. He loved him. Even if he wasn’t brave enough to say it…he did. Even if Wylan could never love him back. That was okay. All that mattered was that he was okay. Was turning better or worse than just dying? Spook didn’t know. He thought whichever one happened…he would probably wish it had been the other one. He would wish Wylan wasn’t a threat, if he turned. He would wish there was a chance of getting him back, however slim, if he died.
Sweets opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, looking down. It was a fair point. No one in the world could afford healthy coping mechanisms anymore, nor completely. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to repress things, but what other option was there? It wasn’t like anyone could just take the time to work through things, or see a therapist, or whatever they needed. Sweets could have worked as a general therapist for the group - and he had actually tried to - but he could count on one hand the number of people who’d be willing to actually give it a try, and they weren’t even the ones he thought needed it the most. For all his attempts at helping Kelsier, who really only talked to him because he didn’t have a choice in the matter…Sweers would have really liked talking to Nico about things, too. It has to wear on him, seeing his dad in that condition. Being nearly killed by him. And now, this…maybe he’d see if he could make therapy for the boys nonnegotiable. Or at least very heavily recommended. He could talk to the people closest to each of them, maybe. “It’s kinda habit, I guess,” he admitted, glancing at Newt. “Calling people out on problematic behavior is kind of my thing. But you’re right. Mental health isn’t exactly on the top of everyone’s priority lists anymore, if it ever was. I think that we can still use a lot of the same things we’ve had for a long time already to help ourselves cope, but it’s harder now. I don’t know. I don’t want to just believe that people have to lose all their progress in the field of mental health. Even if the world ended.” He shook his head a little, letting it go. He couldn’t say for sure that Newt was wrong. All things considered, he wasn’t quite the same as the others, because he didn’t have those memories. But Sweets really did think it wasn’t hopeless. He smiled a little, a bounce coming into his step as Newt continued. “Leadership skills?” He repeated, turning the words over in his head. That meant a lot, especially coming from Newt. The idea that he was the one Newt would send a newcomer to…he hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected it at all, but it made him feel unexpectedly warm. “Thanks, Newt,” he replied, clearly touched. “That means a lot to me.”
It was easy to pretend not to care. It was a lot safer, especially if you could convince yourself it was true. If you could convince everyone else, that was better than nothing, but convincing yourself…that meant you would be that much closer to it being true. You could only lie to yourself for so long before you were in danger of being right. But here he was. Caring. Talking about caring. Zuko wasn’t in any danger of losing that. He loved them all as fiercely as they loved him back. They were getting closer. He could tell…it made it both easier and harder to be around him. Easier, because it wasn’t a bad thing, because Sal cared for him and loved being around him, because he felt safe and comfortable with him. Harder, because he didn’t know how to proceed. He knew his feelings were growing, the temptation was to ignore them, in case they made anything uncomfortable or broke anything, but…he didn’t want to do that. He had to admit to himself that he didn’t actually want to give these feelings a chance to fade. The most he had ever had was a brief crush…he’d never had feelings for someone like Zuko, someone who was already a close friend. He didn’t let Zuko’s hand go. He didn’t want to be the first, even if he wasn’t sure Zuko was okay with the others seeing it. Which was a stupid thought, because it didn’t mean anything. He was overthinking it. Friends could hold hands. He was probably overthinking it because it wasn’t only friends who held hands. He gave a small nod and moved, once he was sure Zuko was coming too. He hoped they were all okay…they had to be. If Sal and Zuko had made it back, the rest of them had, too.
Kelsier knew why Combeferre didn’t want to leave them alone. He knew it was probably a good thing that they’d been found so quickly, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept that, once again, he was the only one standing between Nico and what he needed. Nico needed rest, and he needed to feel safe, and he could have both, as long as Kelsier didn’t slip. As long as he stayed himself. If he were to slip now…would Combeferre be able to do anything with Kelsier this close to Nico? Nico had his sword. Was Combeferre armed? Did it matter? The sword was within easy enough reach. He pushed the thoughts away with as much force as he could and looked at Combeferre. He wasn’t going to slip. His actions were his own. The man’s fears were understandable, but…not this time. Nico needed to rest, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Kelsier would make sure of it. “I woke up fine,” he replied as quietly as he could, glancing down at Nico. How soundly was he asleep? It was Nico, so probably not very…eventually, even whispers could be enough to wake him. “Don’t wake him,” he added finally, his voice even softer as he met Combeferre’s eyes. “Combeferre, I can do this. I won’t slip. Just…trust me, because I won’t let any more harm come to him. Be silent.” He knew better than this, and so had Nico, but…after what had happened, Kelsier couldn’t bring himself to be safe. Not this time. It wouldn’t be forever…they’d go right back to being careful when he woke.
Kenma hesitated, giving the camp a quick look, though he didn’t know what he expected to see. The others would probably have come to them already if they’d seen them. He didn’t think there was anyone who was going to want to be alone at the moment, except perhaps Juuzou. Juuzou…what was he doing? Did he know it was real? Kenma didn’t know him as well as he knew some of the others…he didn’t think he could predict him well enough to know. He looked back at Hinata. Searching camp was safer, he guessed, than leaving to go look outside. He still thought they should stay put for at least an hour, but he wasn’t going to argue if Hinata felt like he needed to go searching. Besides…his plan did sound like he could work. He gave a nod, looking away. He didn’t tend to make his own suggestions, especially about what he should do, but… “Maybe…I could help you look, then,” he offered quietly, studying his hands. He didn’t know what Hunter would want to do, but… Kenma felt oddly against letting Hinata out of his sight, at the moment.
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Sept 1, 2021 1:59:52 GMT -5
“All the more reason to not apologize for him,” Kaladin replied, a half smile touching his lips. He knew Ronan tended to move through the world like a knife. He didn’t particularly care who he cut, so long as he never cut Noah. It seemed he had pulled some of the other boys into the group of people who were protected from his lethal edge, but the thing about knives was that they had a tendency to cut even the people who wielded them if they weren’t careful. Kaladin wasn’t nearly close enough to Ronan to wield him, and he was fairly certain he never wanted to try. He was more than happy to tolerate Ronan’s presence so long as it made Varian and some of the others happy, but he doubted he would ever be close to the boy. At least he didn’t hate him as much as he hated Sherlock. If there was one person Kaladin would kick out of the group given the chance, it was the former detective. Kaladin pushed the thought away, then reached forward to ruffle Varian’s hair. He was grateful he hadn’t been taken wherever the boys had been taken. He knew he was deadly. Perhaps not as deadly as Juuzou, but deadly enough. “You don’t have to thank family for standing beside you,” Kaladin replied, aware it wasn’t the most poetic way to say it, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t change the meaning behind it. “Do you want to tell the others your plan to look for the people who pulled you there, or do you just want to start? I should let Combeferre know if I’m going to be gone for a while, but… we can leave as soon as you have an idea of where to start.”
As terrifying as it was to know that someone was aware of what he was thinking, Noah had to admit that it was rather nice that Ronan could still read him. Even if he was scared that the other boy would figure out his secret. That was the nice thing about denial, he supposed. If Ronan were to guess the secret, he wouldn’t be able to believe it was true. He likely would never bring it up, and then they wouldn’t have to talk about it. The thought of having to explain it all to Ronan… a shudder moved through Noah. He knew one day he was going to have to explain it. He knew one day Ronan was going to have to know, especially if he started having symptoms… there were days when he felt like it was moving through him. He had expected that fear to pass, but it never had. It had just gotten worse as time went on. Noah pushed the thought away. He was being selfish and he knew it, even if Ronan didn’t have a clue why he thought the words were selfish. If Ronan knew, would he agree? Noah didn’t want a cure just so he could fix the world. He wanted a cure so he could fix himself and his friends. “It’s selfish because of why I want it,” Noah retorted, pulling his arms close to his chest before deciding that was uncomfortable and letting them flop awkwardly at his sides. Apparently, despite how much he had changed, he was still as awkward as ever. If nothing else, it was an indication that he was still the same person on the inside. “Okay,” Noah believed, wanting nothing more than to believe Ronan. They were going to be alright. They might even be able to find Glendower. And then they could introduce their old family to their new family, and then it wouldn’t be like having two families, it would be like having one big one. “Do you think Gansey and Adam and Blue would like the family we have here?” he asked, not really thinking the question through before it left his lips.
Wylan didn’t have the time or energy to think too much into what Spook had said. He didn’t know or care that running, that panicking like he was might make the infection spread faster. He could practically feel the black spreading up through his veins. He could picture himself dying, knew that if they didn’t get back fast enough, he would leave Spook alone here. The dance was supposed to be a precursor to something else. To something bigger than either of them. It had been a promise, and Wylan wanted nothing more than to make good on that promise. He didn’t want to leave Spook here. He would have the rest of their family of course, but… Wylan couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t the same. He didn’t want to believe that Spook could love him on the off chance he was wrong, but… they were closer to each other than they were to the others. That was undeniable. Camp was close. Further away than they were supposed to have gone, but… it was close. Close enough to get to before the infection spread past his arm, right? Wylan gasped in breath, panic worming its way into his mind. He didn’t know how much further he could run. He didn’t know if the infection would start impacting his mind before it was visible in his veins. He had never stayed to watch anyone turn before, especially not from a cut as small as the one Wylan had gotten. Wylan’s grip on Spook’s was tight, tighter than was probably comfortable. “Promise me,” he gasped between gulps of air. “Promise me you’ll be okay, whatever happens. Promise me… you’ll go back there, and… and you’ll dance… whether I’m there to dance with you or not.”
Newt had to agree that most of his friends probably needed therapy, but he doubted that many of them would be willing to talk to Sweets. He… honestly would have been supportive of making therapy mandatory for all of them, but… they all had secrets. They were all carrying things that they didn’t want other people to know. Giving that sort of information to someone who was travelling with them all, to someone who knew everyone else’s secrets, too… Newt could see why a lot of the others would be reluctant. Secrets were rare in their family, but… they still existed. It would have been strange if any of them had no secrets at all. Newt knew there were things Sweets knew that he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell the boys that made up his family. It wasn’t because they were bad things, it was just that… he wanted to leave the boy Sweets had met that first time in the past. It had only been a year or two ago, but he was a different person now. He had something to look forward to and believe in, even if he wasn’t certain he wanted the same world everyone else did. He didn’t want to taint his family’s view of him by letting them see the boy he had been, once. The boy who had been more than ready to give up. He wasn’t going to give up now. He didn’t want any of his family to believe there was even a chance he might. “I get it,” Newt replied quietly, giving a small shrug. “I really am grateful for it, actually. I’m definitely a lot healthier now that I know you than I was before. I didn’t actually know most of how I was coping was destructive. You’re… actually really informative, if you can get people to listen to you.” He didn’t mean it as a dig, at least not towards Sweets. It wasn’t Sweets’ fault that nobody in their group wanted therapy except for the people who needed it the least. “It’s a pretty low bar,” Newt laughed quietly, arms crossing. “I mean… Sherlock thinks he has leadership skills, but we both know he’s wrong. Kelsier’s in no shape to lead, and L and Orpheus are too busy pining after each other to even notice when one of us wanders off. Kaladin’s fine, but he’s no people person. I guess your biggest competition is Ferre, and he doesn’t want to be seen as a leader, so…”
Zuko had a tendency to either not think at all, or overthink things. Right now he was acutely aware of Sal’s hand in his, even if it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter if anyone saw it. They were friends and they had just been through something traumatic. That was it. Zuko hadn’t ever really had a crush before. He had thought he liked Mai when he was younger, but he had just thought she was really cool. He had wanted to be friends with her, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. He had been fairly convinced it was a crush. He had learned after that that he was gay, though he hadn’t really known what that meant for him in the context of being trans. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered. It wasn’t like a scarred kid was going to find anyone to date in the middle of the end of the world. He hadn’t given it much thought, and he most certainly hadn’t pursued anyone. Except Nico, and that was most definitely not in the romantic way. It was ironic, then, that someone he might actually be interested in pursuing romantically had been the one to get him to stop trying to capture Nico. He shook his head of the thought. He wasn’t thinking about romance right now. He was looking for their friends. “There,” he whispered, lifting a hand to point straight ahead of him. “That looks like Noah and Ronan. Which… means they’re safe. Should we go talk to them, or should we try to find some of the others first?” Zuko hadn’t realized how scared he was that his friends were all still dead until the knot in the pit of his stomach released. They were safe. The others were all okay. He still wanted to see them all to be absolutely sure.
Combeferre reluctantly glanced from Kelsier to Nico. He knew that the boy was a light sleeper. Most people were these days given everything they were going through. If you couldn’t wake up to the sound of zombies stirring nearby, you were dead meat unless you were travelling with people who woke up a lot more easily. Most of the people in the group were light sleepers. It was the best way to survive in this strange and terrifying world they had ended up in. Some days Combeferre thought he hated it. He hated the man who had started it, at least. He had always believed people who said that hate was a very strong word. Combeferre had done his absolute best not to hate anyone unless they really, really deserved it. Hades most certainly deserved the hatred Combeferre directed at him. It was his fault that Combeferre couldn’t in good conscious leave Kelsier and Nico here. He didn’t know if there were other options. There were weapons here. Who would get to Nico’s sword first if Kelsier were to lose himself again? Nico was asleep, and he very clearly trusted Kelsier. He likely wouldn’t think much of a small amount of movement. He would probably just try to go back to sleep, which would give Kelsier plenty of time to heft the sword and stab down. It was a bad idea and they both knew it, but looking at Nico there… it had been too long since the boy had been given a chance to just sleep. “I’m sorry, Kelsier,” Combeferre replied, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “I like you. I really do. I just… I can’t trust you on this one. I’m sorry.” He glanced at Nico, then gave a soft sigh. “I’m going to stay in here. The moment you feel yourself slipping, you tell me, and we wake him up. You have to promise me that.”
Hunter glanced between Kenma and Hinata, unsure if he was welcome in their search of the camp. He didn’t see any particular reason why he wouldn’t be, but they were clearly closer to each other than they were to him. Hunter wasn’t offended by that, it was just… the way it was. He didn’t have anyone he was particularly close with, but he didn’t want to intrude where he wasn’t welcome. He could wait here, if they wanted. Make sure that anyone that came their way knew that there were others in camp, they just needed to wait for them to finish looking around. Although… here wasn’t the best place to do that. Hunter had a feeling Kenma liked this spot because it was more secluded from camp. It likely wasn’t the first place the others would think to look. “The med tent is sort of the central point of camp, right?” Hunter asked, standing up and brushing off his knees. “I can stay there while you two look around. That way I can see anyone who crosses into camp. And I can let them know that you’re looking around. You’re right, we could keep missing each other if we move around too much. If we have one person staying still… it might help.
A younger Hinata might have chalked up Hunter’s willingness to stay behind to laziness, but it was clear that wasn’t what was at play here. Hinata had never really had a solid grasp at logic. He usually leapt straight ahead and did whatever his heart told him. He had learned through spending time with the others that there were other ways to do things. Acting purely on logic wasn’t great either, but if they could reach some kind of compromise… that was why he and Kenma were looking, but not looking beyond camp. Yet. Hinata would feel like he was doing something, and they wouldn’t be far enough away that they would make it even more difficult for all of them to come together and make sure they were all okay. Hinata hadn’t seen any of them die, but… if they all had, were they okay? Were there any that hadn’t recovered as miraculously as the three of them? “Where… do you think we should start?”
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Sept 6, 2021 16:28:37 GMT -5
Varian knew Ronan could easily be considered a weapon. Have the time, at least, he even seemed to try his hardest to look like that was all he was. If Varian had just met Ronan today…he would have been afraid of him, most likely. He would have never wanted to speak to him again. It was probably fortunate that they’d all seen Ronan through Noah’s eyes, in a way. Not literally…Varian had yet to invent anything with that sort of ability…but they had seen Ronan as he interacted with Noah before they’d seen him as he was with most of the world, and somehow, it seemed they’d managed to tolerate being enemies long enough to become allies. That was how Ronan seemed to work. You were his friend, or his enemy. No in between. That meant, of course, that you were an enemy by default and had to work at being anything else. He glanced up at Kaladin, warmed at the words. Family…Kaladin was his family, no doubt. As much as any of the boys were. Kaladin had been there for him before hekd even met them. Kaladin had let him come back after everything he’d done. Had he forgiven it? Varian didn’t know for sure, but…he wasn’t angry, anyway. “Oh, that? That…might be a small problem,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t actually…have any idea where to start looking. If there was something to track, maybe, but I don’t even know what direction to start in, or how far, or whether it’s on land or underwater or…anything. I could just start walking, but searching the entire earth, with no clue where I’m going…” He looked down. “I don’t know how to find it. And the longer it takes, the more likely it is that someone will use it again.”
Ronan had no idea that Noah had a secret. Maybe he should have known. Or suspected. Or even had the idea cross his mind. Was it possible he knew, deep down, that there was something, and he just didn’t want to admit it? Was it denial that made him think there was no reason to worry for Noah? Or was it something else? He was better at repressing things than he thought he was. He was blunt and very honest, yes, and sometimes it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, he was just mean. But he could repress things he didn’t want to deal with. There were three kinds of secrets. The question was simply, which kind was this? “Okay, why do you want it?” He shot back, scowling at Noah and crossing his arms. He didn’t see what possible selfish reason Noah could have for wanting the cure. It wasn’t like he needed it for himself. No one else was bitten in their group. Somehow, they’d all gotten ridiculously lucky with that so far. He blinked, then looked away at the question. It hurt, more than he’d expected it to. The idea of this new family of his meeting the people from before, the ones he’d have died for in a second…he couldn’t picture it. They didn’t exist in the same version of reality. The same version of him. “Are you joking?” He said finally, glancing at Noah again. “Can you see Gansey not pissing off Nico moments after meeting him?”
Why has they gone so far? Why had Spook asked him to go outside the border? He has caused this. If he hadn’t suggested the flowers, if he hadn’t said he went further than he was supposed to, then they’d have been close enough to her back before anything happened. Now…he didn’t know that, not for sure. If Wylan died from this…no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t die, not like this, not after the moment they’d just had. The dance that had felt like the start of something new, something Spook wanted more than anything. And now, they were running back, and Wylan was dying, and it was Spook’s fault. He didn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t slow, he couldn’t slow, he just needed to make it back, they were so close…close enough to start yelling? When would they be heard? Would anyone be able to see them? His grip tightened as he heard the words, and he didn’t slow, but he did risk a glance at Wylan through wide brown eyes that reflected Wylan’s panic back to him. Then he looked forward and forced himself to go faster. He was quick. They both were. They could make it. And Spook wouldn’t have to make a promise he knew h could never keep. Because if Wylan died… He would never go back to that place. Or if he did, it would be to burn it to the ground. He would never dance again.
The thing about therapy was that Sweets didn’t need all their secrets. He didn’t need to know everything they had been through, everything they’d done…he didn’t need to uncover everything they wanted to keep close to their chests. All it would be for was helping them cope with the things they’d been through. Which…talking would certainly help with. But he would never force it. It would have to come gradually. He had been able to help Newt, at least. He had been able to do what he could to make sure Newt healed, to make sure he made it. It hadn’t been easy, but nothing was. Maybe…he could help the others, too. He’d have to talk to some of the other adults about the idea first, but he thought it had potential. “At least I’m actually one of the older people here,” he replied. “It would just be weird for any of you to call me a twelve year old. I wonder if I could get the adults to participate in some therapy too…Kaladin could probably use some. And L and Orpheus, but I really don’t know how much I could help them.” He snorted with laughter at the descriptions. It was…accurate. L answer Orpheus both so obviously had feelings for each other, he had to wonder sometimes how they could possibly not have any idea. Sherlock was…well, Sherlock. Sweets was pretty sure if he gave Kaladin any therapy, Sherlock’s name would pop up eventually and not with pleasant context. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “I dunno. I’ve never really been, like…In Charge. But I guess I sort of am, when you put it like that.”
Of all the times and places to catch feelings for someone, the middle of the end of the world as they knew it, and collapse of civilization, and the birth of the undead wasn’t top of the list. Sal hadn’t really ever expected to be able to feel that way about anyone before the apocalypse. After, he couldn’t imagine how low the chances had dropped. And here they were. Friends. They were close, at least, whatever else they were. He looked up, blinking as he caught sight of the two boys, both alive and well. He breathed out, letting some of the tension bleed out of him…they were okay. At least Ronan and Noah were also okay. And that meant the others probably were, too. He glanced at Zuko, hesitating at the question. “If they’re safe…and they have each other, so they aren’t alone, maybe we should go find some of the others,” he said finally, frowning a little. “I want to know everyone is okay, and there could be someone who was alone when they came back…they could think everyone else is dead, if they haven’t found anyone else yet.” He glanced around, hoping to see anyone else. It didn’t look like they had all made it back yet, though. Or if they had, they had gone off again, as Zuko and Sal were probably about to do. He had to hope they wouldn’t keep missing each other.
The way this had ended up, Kelsier unable to trust himself, and Nico afraid to get too close…it was everything he hated, everything he wanted to avoid. It wasn’t fair. Not to Nico, and if not to Kelsier, and not even to Combeferre or Kaladin or…or anyone else, either. He shouldn’t have had to be a problem. He shouldn’t have had to stay in his tent at all times because he was too afraid he’d lose himself the moment he tried to do so much as go for a walk. And no one should have had to keep an eye on him and be prepared for the worst. Least of all Nico. He couldn’t take it back. But he could force himself to believe it wouldn’t ever happen again. He couldn’t go back to that. He couldn’t hurt Nico, not ever again. He was getting better, everyone said so. Sweets, Kaladin, Combeferre… Did they know that he wasn’t always so sure? He had to be sure now, though. For Nico. He couldn’t be something that needed to be dealt with. As long as Nico was with him, he would be a dad, nothing more, nothing less. He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing internally as Combeferre spoke. He knew he should be grateful for the backup in case he slipped, but truthfully…he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be watched. He didn’t want to have to second guess every passing thought and feeling and wonder if it was the beginning of another episode. He had to wonder if he ever triggered them himself just by thinking about it so much. Did he ever cause himself to slip by trying so hard not to? He gave a small, sharp nod. Arguing was just going to wake Nico, and he knew Combeferre was right, anyway. His feelings about it, strong though they were, would do absolutely nothing to keep Nico safe if he did slip. Hopefully…Combeferre would just be quiet and let him rest.
Kenma gave Hunter a small nod. That works be helpful, he thought…not having to worry about no one being at camp. This way, even if they made it back, they’d have some reason to stay put instead of all wandering back out and missing each other again. As long as Hunter could convince them to stay, of course. Kenma hadn’t exactly succeeded with Hinata, and Hinata wasn’t the most opinionated of the group, though he was more so than Kenma was…no, he didn’t think Hunter would have much of a problem with it. “We could all go to the medical tent,” he suggested. “It is the central point of camp. Someone else might have already had this idea. And, if anyone was still hurt…”
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