godsays | metal 055 . death toll/cabin spam

metal 055 . death toll/cabin spam

[ Waking up like surfacing, like breaking out of deep, dark emptiness to the light of half-panic. Zane is in incredible, liquid pain, centered on heart and head. One is familiar. One is new. He gasps and breathes and sobs softly.

When he can move, when he's alone, he slides off of the broad, heavy-wood bed, taking the blanket with him, and collapses on the ground in the closet. The distinct lines of storage shelves on his left, the slats of the closet door on the right leaking light into the darkened space. He wraps the blanket around himself and stays quiet. ]

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I'd come and visit, but I was killed as well. let me know when you see this or if you need anything. I love you <3 <3

I know.

I'm fine.

sorry

[ The response isn't immediate. It waits until Zane is paging through messages, when things don't hurt so much that he can't concentrate. ]

Thats stupid.

[Bucky's response takes a similarly long time to come. The painkillers aren't really working, and his head is still pounding.]

look, most guys I shoot I don't have to have breakfast with afterwards, so I'm going to apologize.

you made it that I didnt kill anyone else so thank

you

you're welcome.

you did the right thing

I know.

[Zane is heavy. It is difficult to get him back to his cabin, but Cassel manages, somehow, maybe through sheer stubbornness; he doesn't really know. What he does know is that after this he will not be able to leave until Zane wakes up. Until after that. Until he's stable, whenever that will be.]

[Something has happened. He doesn't know what, but - something terrible.]

[He sits quietly by Zane's bed, gloves off, making things out of scraps he finds around the room and leaving them in odd corners for his friend - his family - to find later, when things are a little better, when the worst has worn off. When Zane begins to wake, he lights to his side and wraps his arm around his shoulder.]

It's okay, man. It's okay, I'm here.

[ There's a lot of wood in this quiet, comfortable place. It would be just like a medieval cabin, albeit one with hand-carved wood pieces for the posts of the bed, at the feet of the table, at the ends of the shelves, except that one door opens onto a fairly standard modern kitchen and one opens onto an absurdly luxurious tiled bathroom. (Hey: Zane missed out on indoor plumbing for enough of his life. Now he makes up for lost time with an enormous bath and a glass shower stall with a showerhead that makes water fall like rain or pulse or spray or whatever he wants it to.)

But there are plenty of little broken pieces, as in any place that's as lived-in as this. Torn shoelaces, a couple of pieces of gnawed wood where Zane replaced parts of the rabbit hutch. A shirt torn into rags. Scraps of paper he won't need anymore. A mug with the handle broken off. Plenty of scraps that can be modified.

The sudden, cold fear that rises when he's awakened dims down to a manageable level with shocking abruptness, making him feel like he's had the breath slammed out of him. There isn't anyone he'd rather be here than Cassel. No one. Not Aslan, not Morgana. Cassel might understand. And Cassel is a warden too - he doesn't have to resent Zane's power. He knows what it's like to struggle to be good.

Zane is good at managing pain. Not so good at managing fear. The path the bullet took through his skull burns, but the spike has always burned.

He turns his head in towards Cassel's chest and starts to cry. ]

[Cassel's bare hand comes to the back of Zane's head automatically, like he's done it a thousand times before, every day of his life. Fear is palpable in the room, like an ugly gray haze, like a scent that lingers too long on the back of your tongue. He can feel it and knows how hard it is to push it away.]

[Zane is crying. Cassel thinks this is perfectly appropriate, considering. A bad thing has happened. Technically speaking, Zane has done a bad thing, but Cassel has trouble thinking of it in that way. The divide between will and hallucination has been so hazy, and he's so hesitant to place blame in Zane's lap under any circumstances.]

[It's too complicated to think about, so he just cards his fingers through Zane's hair and makes quiet shushing noises, rocking him gently and patting his back.]

[ He calms down from the initial surge of emotion eventually. It has to do with Cassel's hands. Cassel's presence. It's as good as having a Soother around, and more permanent.

Eventually, he breathes steady enough to actually speak. ]

Do you know - who I killed?

[ The faces are a blur, in his mind. He thinks - at least two. ]

[He shakes his head against Zane's shoulder.]

No. I don't know. I just know that you did.

[It's someone else's job to inform Zane of the specifics. To give him that guilt. Not Cassel's - which is fine, because he really doesn't want to. He wants to be here to comfort, instead.]

[He threads his fingers with Zane's, to show he isn't afraid. Not now, not ever, anymore.]

[ He squeezes tight on Cassel's hand. Tight as he can, which isn't much; he feels like he's been pewter dragging for days, only now left without. He is shaky, and weak. And his throat and his eyes feel raw. ]

It was so easy. I just gave in. It was easy.

Easier to give in. Harder to build yourself back up to not giving in.

You'll be okay. [Not it's okay. Because it's not. It'd be a lie to say it was. Killing people is never okay, but Zane knows that without having to be told.]

[ A slight nod. He believes it when Cassel says it. ]

...my head hurts.

[ It hurts really, amazingly badly. All of him feels grey and washed-out. Weak. Like pewter drag a thousand times over. ]

And I don't want to start over again.

[He brushes his fingers across Zane's temples, wishing he could take the pain, or at least make him feel - less. Zane's made his heart still often enough, but he can't do the same in return.]

You never want to. But then you do it anyway.

There was - a boy. I was trying to kill him. But a girl came between us.

I think Scott was there.

[He stills, his fingers curling at Zane's hairline.]

You don't remember who died?

[Does it really matter? Probably not. They'll find out soon enough. But he wants it not to have been Scott.]

The other one. Not Scott. I don't know him well.

Was it Stiles?

[Bush saw Bucky's announcement; he has no idea what state Zane will be in. But he cannot imagine that a basket of fruit will go awry. He is managing on one crutch these days and much faster, so he is able to bring a little tub of oranges and a pineapple to Zane's room. He had tried the infirmary first, and found it crowded, with no sign of Zane. Now he is at the room, trying the handle with his crutch clamped under his arm.]

[ He's on Zane's filter; for him, the door will open, though it might take a long moment to spot Zane curled up just inside the closet, the door only slightly ajar.

Zane wipes at his eyes. ]

William?

[It is Zane's voice that makes him see at last-- he makes his way over, leaning his crutch against the wall and using it to lower himself down. He sets the fruit aside]

Yes, Zane, dear. It's me. My poor lad, what's happened-?

You should stay - back. I don't.

[ Trust myself. Doesn't like that electric feeling on his fingertips, the sensation begging him to move and strike before he can be hurt. Bush can hurt him. ]

[Bush sits heavily against the wall outside the closet, troubled.]

I shan't, then, but I'll be here.

[ He is clenched tight and shivering again. ]

I killed people this flood. I was afraid.

The fighting madness?

[Hesitantly.] You heard voices, again-?

[ He nods, tightly. ]

Whatever was in the mirror maze caused hallucinations.

There wasn't just god's voice. There were others. Some I recognized.

But it seemed like the best thing to do was just to kill them. Anyone I saw. Kill or control.

And I - liked it. I always like it. Why does it feel so good?

Edited 2014-08-04 00:14 (UTC)

I don't know, lad.

I have brought you some fruit. Have some grapes, they will make you feel stronger. [He pushes the basket into the closet doorway.]

[ It's the purple kind. Zane's favorite. He plucks one, and turns it over and over in his fingers. ]

Sometimes I think it would be easier if I could kill like that all the time. I could make people love me anyway.

[ This is stupid; he knows it. It wouldn't be the same. ]

I would be very disappointed if you chose to be mad and dangerous again.

I know.

Why are you in your closet, Zane? Do you fear you'll do me a harm?

Yes.

I will stay outside, here. But I'll talk to you a while, if you'll let me.

Yes.

[ That's fine. ]

I might not be able to hurt you anyway.

It's. Toll.

I heard it was. But I want you to be easy; I won't intrude if it'll make you worry.

You know that it isn't all your fault.

It's not that.

It reminded me how nice it is. Killing is so simple.

And you are a good man who knows that easy ain't always right. You are, Zane. When you are tempted, you will do right. I am certain sure of it.

I need time.

[ He doesn't think Bush understands how ferociously he wants it to be easy. Love opened up a new world for him, but then it tied him here. He doesn't know how to be good, day to day. ]

Time I will give you. But not too much, Zane, it is not good for you brilliant young people to be alone with your black moods too long.

I never was able to explain honour to you satisfactorily, was I ?

It is what stands between us and all the easy things that enrich one man's life at the cost of another's. Honour takes frightened men to war because to shirk would make them happy but their country insecure. I believe you have honour though you may not know it. I believe it will stand between you and the easy desertion of your humanity.

My poor Zane. I love you, dear. And I will leave you be, for a while.

[ Zane didn't mean time away from him. He didn't mean to make Bush leave. But now he struggles with asking him to stay, because of stiff pride, because of humiliation. ]

I understand that.

[ And he does, now. It's a code of behavior. And it might be specific, in ways Zane doesn't understand, but it has a purpose that he can. ]

May I see you before I go?

[He half leans around the frame of the closet.]

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metal 055 . death toll/cabin spam

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