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Dreams are just a reality away from memories.
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I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.
There were cracks in its armor. His victory drew near. Sander could smell it; the rusty scent that had begun to permeate the air. Blood. The monsterβs blood. As the orb descended, he watched, uncaring of the lumbering titan before him or the wounded serpent in the sky. Those werenβt his concern. The scent was. His duty was to kill, and that was that. He could do it, and he knew he could do it well. Behind him, he could vaguely smell Callanβs sweeter scent. She was bleeding, somewhere. Above, Chris was wounded as well, the scent of pine needles was very strong. A part of him wished he could help them. The rest knew he couldnβt.
So Sander just held on the singularity of his purpose. He dashed toward the falling orb, leaping at the very last moment to knock it out of the air and into the ground. The impact only threw up more dirt and debris, but Sander soon resumed his pummelling on the metal surface. A touch of desperation was there too, as he moved his hands to catch and absorb the sliver of red.
Sander rained blows after blows on the smooth metal, but even against his unbridled strength, it held. Frustrating. It was the Facility all over again, where even the monstrous heat of his fire failed against the clasp of stag chains. His teeth ground together, red eyes saw nothing but the obstacle between him and the rusty scent of blood. His arm pulled back, readying another blow before everything darkened. Metal enclosed around him, pressing him against the orb he was attacking. Then it moved, slamming him against something.
There was no pain, just the dull thud of the impact. It was only in his way. He reacted immediately, throwing back an elbow to free his arm before gripping at whatever was holding him in place. This metal fell apart beneath his fingers easily enough. As the titanβs fingers fell apart around him, Sander gave one last stomp on the deformed palm and lifted the stubborn orb up.
He would soften it up first. Using all his strength, Sander lobbed the metal orb into the sky, aiming for the floating snake.
Even beneath the metal shell, this thing was human. Sander could smell it. The scent was wrong; rusty and sharp, like all those fake people in GZ. He wasnβt sure why. Didnβt really care. He knew where the heart was, and that was good enough for him.
He would tear it out.
His limbs were steady as he latched onto the creatureβs jagged hide. Bits and pieces of metal jabbed at him, but between the protective layer of wishalloy and his own invincibility, Sander hardly felt anything. Just the fire in his ribcage and the desire to sink his teeth into something warm.
No. Focus.
Gritting his teeth, Sander held fast against the sudden lunge of movement, steadily making his way upward until he reached the spinning sphere. This was the heart. He could smell the human inside. What came next was easy. While his legs and remaining arm found purchase on the metal surface, Sander pulled his right fist back, before beginning to slam it against the smooth core.
Sander couldnβt remember the last time he drank this much. It had been too long, and the memories so blackened by the fire in his heart he didnβt even want them anymore.
But he recalled them nevertheless, when the power filled his lungs and bled into his limbs. He held it back with his newfound strength; the fire snuffed to ashes in his ribcage, barely embers. Its warmth taunted him still, ghosted along his skin like smoke and sent his heart hammering, but he was holding. He hadnβt lost control.
Yet. He knew that the moment he loosened his grip, the tainted power would take over, like it did so many times before. But for now, he was holding back the currents. And that was enough.
He kept his head slightly downturned, arms wrapped around himself while thin wisps of red smoke rose upward through the fabric of his blue hoodie. He was wearing nothing beneath the jacket, not even the provided βarmorβ. He didnβt need it. Just like how he didnβt need anything else they gave him. Not even the phone. The cuff alone would do, and he knew for a fact that any orders or directions would have a hard time getting through to him once he reached the height of his power. He needed to be there in this fight. Because he promised Christmas he wouldnβt get hurt, and this was the only way he could be absolutely sure. And he could get back sooner, too, since he could defeat this monster faster. This wasnβt arrogance. He simply trusted his power that much. For all its fire and madness, it had never failed him.
The black X on his throat was his only certainty. It had been for a while now.
As the truck began to move, Sander kept his head down, seemingly lost in thoughts. Even when cold hands reached up to grip his arm, he only lifted his head a fraction before looking back down again, hiding the red gaze at his feet.
When one of his teammates, Angel, tried to start a conversation, he kept his answers short and curt. This was definitely not a good time.
Eventually, the truck arrived at their destination. They werenβt immediately ushered into the desolated warzone around them, but Sander suspected they didnβt have long. The scents of death and carnage around told him enough; this place was a death trap. A knot tightened in his guts. He had a bad feeling about this, and the feeble flame in his chest couldnβt drown it out.
Almost mindlessly, he began to wander away from the main group, his jumpy limbs unable to stay still.
With his hands still around Sander's arm and his thoughts as scattered as the nearby debris, Christmas found the sudden movement a welcome change, even if he nearly stumbled after Sander. His roommate didn't look in the mood to talk, so Christmas let go, unsure if that was the best way to approach what could be death in mere moments, but he didn't want to distract Sander, whose role was so crucial.
Sander halted his steps once he felt the grip on his arm loosen. He half-turned, looking at his roommate, waiting.
Christmas looked back, eyes wide.
βThis placeβ¦isnβt good.β -Sander explained, head jerking toward a particularly fresh whiff of blood ββStay safe.β
"But you're--you're fighting the--that," Christmas replied, half-turning towards the distant monstrosity. "It's worse f-for you."
βCanβt hurt me. Iβm stronger.β -Sander lifted the corner of his lips in a grin that might have shown too much teeth. He trusted his power. Far more than he trusted himself. His expression mellowed soon enough though, as he looked at Christmasβ t-shirt ββYouβre cold?β -As if to confirm, he reached over to take the blond boyβs hand in his.
The rain and cold had barely registered to Christmas in the devastation of the moment. At the reminder, though, he realized he was quite chilled from both the water and the cooling temperature. It seemed the wishalloy he had clumsily applied in the truck wasn't capable of blocking out temperature changes, unfortunately, and he had forgotten his jacket at the suite when soldiers had come to pick them up for the second briefing.
"J-just a little. I'm okay."
Sander stared on a few more moments, before he finally reached up to unzip his hoodie and slipped out of it. The cold weather barely registered against his skin, even when his power was at its lowest, so he figured he could do without the jacket ββHere.β -He draped the blue hoodie over Christmasβ shoulders -"Better?"
The lingering warmth from Sander's strange body heat whenever his powers were in effect clung to the soft material of the blue jacket and Christmas clutched at it instinctively, goosebumps rising on his skin as his body soaked up the welcome heat.
He nodded to the question, breathing in the scent of cologne again.
"Please--please be careful."
He knew it was selfish to ask for that because he wanted Sander to come back to him, but the fading light felt too much like an ill omen amidst the horror of the town--horrors he had intentionally looked away from every time his eyes found a splash of color too dark to be normal.
"Please."
βCanβt hurt me.β -Sander repeated the assurance one more time, his hand fell on the blue ribbon looped around Christmasβ wrist ββDonβt let them hurt you.β
In the distance, he thought he could catch a glimpse of a helicopterβs spining blades. His ride? Reality nagged at him, and he knew he didnβt have long. Best get this over with ββIβll see you after this, yeah? Iβll find you.β -He gave the ribboned wrist a last squeeze.
"Okay," the healer whispered back, following Sander's gaze. The ribbon on his wrist was a bad place if it got caught on the belt or anything, and he was afraid of it tangling with his fingers if he had to fumble with the equipment again, so Christmas pulled it loose and tied it back into his hair, the habit still fluid despite a week without the strip of cloth. He managed to put the helmet on afterwards, managing--by some small miracle--to figure out the buckle and velcro.
It was in those little gestures that he found sparks of bravado and the flicker of resolve caught the faint red of Sander's eyes, bright with the dying light like a smoldering flame and a promise that they wouldn't die here. Christmas braced his nerves.
"I-I'll be waiting," he offered in response.
Sander only grinned, an expression that seemed almost too carefree and contented to belong in warzone. With a final tap on his roommateβs shoulder, he was gone, walking briskly toward the waiting helicopter.
Breakfast went by quickly enough, mostly uneventful as far as Sander was concern. Yet, there was still no sight of the blond boy. This, however, concerned him, since his roommate had looked quite...nervous earlier. So he thought he would ask.
You are alright?
For almost a minute, there was no reply. Finally, a small bubble popped up in the corner of the screen to indicate a response in progress.
yeah sorry are you done eating?
Sander responded quickly, persistent with his question.
Not very hungry. You are alright?
The message came back faster now that the other end seemed more prepared.
yeah sorry im fine
I will wait outside.
A nearly instant response.
you dont have to
Are you sure you are alright? Need anything?
im okay you dont have to wait
I will wait.
After several minutes, the faint sound of a faucet running petered from the bathroom. Soft shuffling noises and the intermittent rustling of paper towels filled the next two or three minutes and finally the bathroom door opened, as hesitantly as the hand behind it.
Christmas's face was damp from the water and red from where he had rubbed it with the paper towels, the colors mixing with the fading bruises and painting across his pale skin. The clownish complexion didn't hide the red nose and eyes swollen from crying, however, and he kept his gaze to the ground as he exited the restroom.
"...I'm sorry," he whispered after another few seconds.
Sander had noticed the scent before the bathroom door even opened, so he turned toward it, waiting. Once his roommate emerged, he offered a soft smile, moving closer to meet the blond boy halfway.
βHeyβ¦I told you. Donβt have to be.β -He leaned down, trying to get a better look at his roommate. And it didnβt take much to tell that Christmas was definitely not okay ββUh, somethingβs wrong? Are you hurting again?β
"N-no, um..." "Sorry" was on the tip of his tongue again, so Christmas waited until the word had faded before continuing. "I'm--I'm okay." He watched Sander's shoes instead of looking up. "Thank you for--for waiting."
"Are you scared?" -Sander ventured, thoughts returning to the team allocation and breakfast with Ernie -"Scared of...Ernie?"
No response for several seconds, then a whispered "Everything."
Two thoughts surfaced from the depths of fear--one where Sander didn't return and one where a weak-willed boy with an ocean of muted words on his shoulders had to continue living with that consequence.
He had been afraid of dying, and the panic had boiled and settled with that initial fear, but this new thought that came with the sight of digitized words on a screen and the memory of a ribbon was a deeper terror. Even panic couldn't save him from this.
But the gentle voice was there like a bulwark against the abyss and Christmas reached for the wrist ringed in blue with shaking hands. "I'm--I'm scared of n-not coming back. And--and then not...not coming back with...with you."
Sander felt fingers wrapped around his left wrist, and he let them. He warned Ernie, despite the presence of everyone else, and he thought that was enough. But there was more fear, still. Fear that was further away than an Aberration with cocoa liqueur scent. Fear that he, for all his borrowed strength, couldnβt chase away. He wanted to make the blond boy feel better, and he thought he knew how. But he couldnβt do it. Couldnβt offer what he didnβt have. And Christmas had already given him so much by just staying.
This wasnβt fair. All because he couldn't do enough.
With a quiet sigh, Sander tugged his roommate closer to him ββLetβs go back to the suite?β -He suggested, voice low and dejected.
Sander led the way when Christmas nodded, the smaller boy still carefully counting his steps across the ground as they walked, mind looking for something harmless to focus on that wasn't the upcoming battle and wasn't the fear of never seeing Sander again, one way or another.
By the time they reached the suite, Christmas had managed a decent enough job of simply not thinking, and he would have shuffled into the door if Sander hadn't opened it in the nick of time. A quick blink reoriented him to everything that weighed on the moment and his legs moved towards the folded knife on the desk before his nerves could give way, his hand still refusing to let go of Sander's wrist.
There was a steady, unfeeling heft to the knife when he picked it up, and Christmas let that sit in his left hand, waiting for resolve to catch up to his actions.
Sander obliged the movement, and when he saw the folded knife in his roommateβs hand, he said nothing. With a gentle hand on Christmasβ shoulder, he ushered the blond boy toward the nearby bed, and once he had sat down and pocketed the knife, Sander lowered himself in front of the boy until their eyes met.
βHey, Christmas.β -With a sad smile on his lips, he reached up from his crouching position, fingers skirting the curve of Christmasβ lower jaw ββLook at me.β
Sander's hand on his shoulder and then tracing his jaw were beginning to separate themselves from the memories he used as comparison. It was becoming counterpoint, even as the instinctive discomfort from the motion reared up for the briefest of moments. Christmas's right hand clung to Sander's wrist in response, the trembling hold calming enough to clutch a bit more firmly.
At the request, he looked, blue eyes catching blue and they held their gazes.
βIβm sorry. I canβt help you when you are scared.β -Sander admitted the obvious truth, letting his free hand drop to the mattress, right next to Christmasβ thigh ββCanβt protect you either. Power doesnβt let me protect.β
A short pause, and Sanderβs jaws clenched a few times as he pondered his words βββ¦but I will find other ways. I willβ¦kill the thingsβ¦fast. I will come back to you. Promise. Wonβt let them hurt you.β
"You do help--r-really. Just--come back here--here a-after. ...Please? Whatever--whatever happens, please come back?" The words were quiet and plaintive.
βNot about here.β -Sander reached a hand over to the ribbon around his wrist, tugging on the knot there after Christmas let go. Once it came free, he wrapped the strand of fabric around Christmasβ left wrist. Three loops, held together by the knot he had memorized. It looked better this time, when practice had staved off the initial clumsiness ββYou. I will come back to you.β
Christmas didn't know what to say when the assertion was so clear and honest. When it matched the words he was too afraid to say himself. He followed the lines of blue and wondered if Sander would ever understand the feelings that darted beneath.
And it felt fine now, without the veil of being okay, even if his roommate never would. Sander would come back. Not to a place, and not to a vague pretense of friendship and something more that neither of them knew how to properly define. To Christmas. Sander would come back to him.
Words came and went with every small movement of his eyes and Christmas couldn't find any to supersede the things he wanted to say but didn't dare. And Sander didn't mind that he never seemed to have the right words. Always told him it was okay, and meant it.
So he didn't apologize this time. He thought he might be getting better at it, too.
Instead, he caught Sander's hand with both of his, holding the slender fingers and pulling the back of the hand closer where he watched the grooves and ridges of knuckles and followed them with the pads of his thumbs. Sander's hand collected heat between his palms and Christmas gripped the warmth a bit tighter. Just the barest hint of a wish that he wouldn't voice because he couldn't offer anything worthwhile.
He pressed the knuckles against his lips instead and pulled that hand down, the moment so brief he might have claimed it never happened.
"I believe you," he finally said.
There was a strange fluttering in his chest, and Sander didnβt know what to make of that. So he just ignored the sensation and scooted closer to Christmas, leaning his forehead into the blond boyβs lap ββThank you.β -His voice came out muffled, and he closed his eyes ββFor staying.β
βPlease stay.β
"...As long as you want." Christmas tracked the discolored shade of hair spreading from the roots, realizing now that he was looking so close the blond tinge in Sander's hair. He almost moved a hand to sift through the sleek, carefully maintained strands, but stopped himself just in time, returning the aberrant hand to clasp around Sander's fingers once more.
βThank you.β -Sander said it again, because he could never say it enough. He was contented to stay close instead, since Christmas had told him that he liked Sander near ββIβ¦want you near too. Notβ¦the power. Not forβ¦coffee. Me. I want you.β -He confessed into the fabric of the blond boyβs shorts, the words a touch more hasty than he liked. This wouldnβt be their last time together; he would try his best, but he had to say it, just in case.
The words were impossible to misunderstand--at least to Christmas, but his beating heart did its best to hammer a different interpretation there, because for all that was wrong with the week, the morning, and all that would be wrong with the coming battle, he was--
--scared.
--uncertain.
--selfish.
--stupid.
--happy.
It all filtered down into a pleading grimace and then into tears that he covered with the forearm of his jacket sleeve, rubbing them away so he could see Sander.
Christmas nodded, the movement small, but steady.
"...Y-you, too," came the teetering words wrapped in a quiet sniffle.
Sander heard the sniffle, and he heard the unusual thickness in Christmasβ voice as well, so he lifted his head and looked up ββW-why are you crying?β -He straightened himself, reaching up with his free hand and wiping at the tears with his thumb ββDonβt cry. Please.β
More nodding, and it seemed to help lessen the tears. Without realizing, Christmas leaned his cheek into Sander's hand, then withdrew the pressure once the spreading heat across that side of his face reminded him he was asking for too much.
He wiped at the tears again, adding more spots to his sleeve, but finding a bundle of nerves in the midst of it. There was enough there to think he could at least reassure Sander.
So he offered the worried eyes a tiny smile.
"I'm okay." He meant it.
Sander reciprocated with a smile of his own, but he had heard the βIβm okayβ so many time, he just had to make sure. So he searched his memories and he thought of what made him feel better back then. Back when he was younger and happier. Back when he was afraid of heights and his favorite color was blue.
Feeling slightly bolder, he rose to his feet, still crouching slightly to hold the gaze of blue before him ββMay I?β
Wide eyes and a single nod answered him.
Once he got the confirmation from Christmas, Sander wrapped an arm around the blond boyβs shoulder and pulled him into his chest. The hug wasnβt too tight, but Sanderβs arm was firm, and he just held his roommate against him, while his other hand still wrapped within Christmasβ fingers. He breathed in coffee for a few moments, before tuning it out, focusing on the scent of his own shampoo that Christmas had been using and resting his chin against the boyβs hair.
Christmas froze in the hug, eyes open and unseeing for seconds he didn't count, until the shock dissipated and left him warm against Sander's body. There was a gentle pressure on his head where Sander settled, and he closed his eyes, breathing deep of the faint scent of laundry detergent and that crisp, woody cologne he remembered as a clear, blue-tinted vial nestled with Sander's array of bathroom supplies.
He still didn't think Sander really understood anything, but he no longer thought Sander was entirely unaware, either. And that precipice was, perhaps, more frightening than their prior status quo. But those were later thoughts for later moments. Something to look forward to--or maybe dread, but it promised a future where they both survived.
Christmas let himself relax there, burying his face against the fabric of Sander's shirt and letting the moment last as long as--who?--wanted.
Sander held the blond boy close for as long as he could. After a while though, he thought he smelled coffee again and his heartbeats were starting to get weird, so he let go. He kept a hand on Christmasβ shoulder though, reluctant to be apart from this source of warmth he had just found.
βAre you alright now?β
A nod that came after a quiet second, and Christmas offered that weak smile again. It faded quickly, but he thought he might get better at that, too.
βTired?β
"A--a little..." he admitted, the lack of sleep from earlier just barely catching up.
βYou should go back to sleep.β -Sander nudged at his roommateβs shoulder to a slow nod and a slower glance at the nearby bed. Christmas tugged at the sheets and slipped under them, checking quickly with his phone the time. They still had several hours left. Reassured, he laid down, thoughts still swarming with worries, but tempered by the steady presence nearby and the enveloping warmth of that embrace. Once the blond boy had settled down, Sander stood at his bedside for a few more moments, looking like he wasn't sure what to do next. Eventually though, he decided, and crawled into the bed with Christmas, leaning against the headboard as the smaller boy shifted away to make room, surprise on the bruised face now smudged with red where Christmas had been rubbing at his eyes. The healer stared at Sander, frozen again like he was afraid something would break if he breathed wrong.
βIβll be right here.β
Moments of silence settled on them after the words, and Christmas nodded again, reaching for Sander's hand with a light touch. "Th-thank you."
He didn't fall asleep for a while afterwards, despite the lingering drowsiness, but eventually warmth and the comforting silence of Sander simply being there lulled him into a light sleep.
Sander woke up once during the night, when it first started to thunder. Only then did he remember how long it had been since he last heard that noise. Funny, but it was one of the rare things he didnβt miss at all. Just noises, grating on the nerves. So he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
The rest of the night passed peacefully enough, at least until guards burst into the room to wake him and Christmas up again. At least they gave him time to use the bathroom and wake up a bit. As they were ushered out of the suite, Sander had just enough time to grab his blue hoodie. It was the same one he wore on his GZ trips. He wasnβt completely sure, though he could hazard a guess.
Another fight. Worry and fear coiled in his guts, but his steps were steady. A small mercy (?).
Sander wasnβt wrong. He would be surprised if he were, really. Why else would they keep him alive, after everything he had done? They wanted his power. Wanted the beast that breathed for war and thrived in slaughter. And so they would get it. But what gave him pause was a simple word.
Human.
He looked at the thing of brass and chrome and wondered. Was it still human underneath? Well, was he?
He decided that he didnβt have any answer for both of those questions, so he didnβt think about them anymore. All in all, he just didnβt want to fight humans. He knew that they would have to, eventually. He just didnβt want to. Didnβt want to hurt anyone, because he would like to believe he was more than his power. Yet, he was so willing to throw all of that away for a little blond boy.
Funny. Because even when he would like to be more than his power, it was all he had left. The only thing that wouldnβt crumble and fall apart like flakes of dried blood. The only certainty he ever knew. Yeah, funny. But he didnβt feel like laughing. Just more thoughts for him to push into the back of his mind.
While Sander didnβt eat breakfast often, Christmas did, so he just hovered around the blond boy, fingers wrapping around a paper cup of black coffee. He wasβ¦distracted though, far too occupied with tracking the sweet scent of mudslides across room. They did mention that Ernie would be in the same team with Christmas, so that meant he would be near his roommate. And Sander didnβt like that. He couldnβt argue with them. Not with these matters, so he didnβt. To be honest, Sander wasnβt quite sure what to do at all. Wasnβt quite sure if he should do anything, especially out in the field where the blood high twisted his thoughts.
Lost in his thoughts, Sander just leaned back into the sofa, staring off into the gloomy weather outside. He barely even noticed Christmas running off.
Sanderβs next upgrade unlocked. He can now convert the blood he consumed into a backup power source of sort and draw from them at will. The storage lasts up to a day. He can also select which stage he would like to be in and spend the appropriate amount of blood to stay in that stage. New infusion of blood will go into maintaining and prolonging the stage he has chosen. The maximum amount of blood he can store is equivalent to the amount he needs to reach stage 4 normally. The telegraph for this is wisps of red smoke rising from his torso. Hereβs some graphic reference.
A quick glance at his phone told him he had a new message, and Sander picked the phone up, reading the text and firing back a quick reply.
Hello Callan. Can I help you with anything?
Yeah. I need to talk to you. u busy?
Now is not good. Some other time?
Its kinda important. When r u free?
I am not sure. You can call me.
uh. I'd prefer to talk in person. Room 430. I'll be here pretty much all day. Just come over when you get a chance plz
I cannot go. Sorry.
What? Why not??
Staying with Christmas.
A few minutes passed.
Is everything ok?
Sander glanced to where his roommate was, tucked into his bed with Meditations in his hands, before typing out the answer.
Everything is fine. So just talk to me?
Yeah
Sander frowned, part of him wanted to give in to Callanβs insistence, because it was important. But Christmas had wanted him near. He couldnβt just leave the boy by himself. Another nervous glance in Christmasβ direction, before Sander finally stood up and walked over, the gaudy phone slipped into the pocket of his jeans.
βHey.β -He said once he was standing by the bed, tapping one finger on his roommateβs forearm to get his attention ββYouβre alright there?β
Christmas blinked at the tap, having been focused on trying to understand some of the thoughts in the book. "H-huh? Yeah?"
βCan I go somewhere? Itβll be quick. I promise.β
"Y-yeah...?" Yesterday's conversation with Marcus and then the aftermath of Sander's talk with Ernie pulled at his worries and Christmas scanned Sander's face for a moment before continuing. "Nothing...nothing bad, r-right?"
βNo. No.β -Sander said immediately, reading the worry in his roommateβs eyes ββIβm just going out. To see Callan. To talk. Itβll be quick.β
"O-oh." Christmas looked back down at the book, wondering if feeling down about that was all right, but he didn't say anything. He knew what being fond of someone was. He also knew there was nothing but Sander's kindness between them, and Sander...wasn't kind like that to everyone, no. Hadn't been for Marcus. Hadn't been for the unknown future victim of Ernie's Stigma-fueled torment. But it was still beyond him to think that special treatment could mean anything important.
It was okay, in the end. He had made his demand on Saturday and had tricked his roommate on Friday and that was enough. Saturday evening in particular had been one word ("important") and one worry ("not worth") ad nauseam in his mind and Christmas rubbed his arm nervously to hide his mixture of reactions about that surging back to the foreground.
"Have, um, have fun," he said.
βAlright. Iβll be back. Call me if you need anything.β -Another tap instead of a goodbye, then Sander was already moving toward the bathroom with a change of clothes in his arms. A compromise, this. Their suite felt safe, and Sander promised himself he wouldnβt take long. If anything happened, he could go back fast enough. It would be alright.
Around thirty minutes later, Sander was standing in front of the slightly open door of suite 430, decked in a crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark colored jeans. He knocked on the door exactly three times, tentatively, before letting his hand drop to his side.
Callan sat up, shoving aside several of the pillows she'd been lounging on while watching a rerun of Crazy Ex-Boyfriend on her iPad. At least her parents had been merciful enough not to change the Netflix password when they basically deleted her out of their lives. Not that she was still salty about that. Not at all.
"Come in!" she called out, lowering one leg off the bed just far enough to kick one of nine candy wrappers under her bed. She shoved her iPad and several misplaced pillows into the corner so he'd have somewhere to sit... if he chose to sit. She never could guess exactly how at ease Sander was. Hell, she never could guess much about him at all. She hadn't even been sure whether or not he was coming over with the way their conversation had ended. She could only guess why Sander was so reluctant to leave Christmas's side. She thought she knew, but she definitely wasn't bringing that up again.
"Hey, you made it!" she smiled, attempting to be casual as she tucked one leg under the other. If she was being totally honest with herself, she'd almost hoped he wouldn't show up so she could keep putting this conversation off.
βYeah.β -Sander offered a soft smile in the face of Callanβs easy enthusiasm, blue eyes subtly scanning the little corner of the room. It was far tooβ¦cluttered, for his taste, but he refrained from making any comment. It wasnβt his place, really ββMay I?β -He gestured toward the small space on the bed, waiting.
"Yeah, yeah," she nodded encouragingly. Her eyes wandered towards the room's entrance as she briefly wondered when Siena or Marcus might be back. She decided not to worry about it too much. This shouldn't take long.
"Uhm... so...," her eyes fell on Sander, "Tell me about your power." She inwardly kicked herself. NO. That's not what she wanted to talk about. Well. It was but it wasn't. She was putting off the main issue-- again. But the request was made. She waited.
Sander had barely settled down on his seat before the question dropped, and he looked up immediately, blue eyes alarmed ββWhyβ¦do you want to know?β -He asked, expression guarded.
"Ah," Callan froze, her gaze immediately falling to his shoulder. Was that a taboo question? Marcus and Siena didn't seem to mind talking about their abilities. Ernie and Emma hadn't seemed to mind either, but... maybe it was different for everyone. "I just thought it might be a good idea to ask. Since we'll be sparring together and all... you still wanted to do that, right?" She locked eyes with him again, looking more apologetic than anything.
βYeah. Iβll do it. With you.β -Sander broke off the eye contact, staring at a wrapper on the carpet instead. He was silent for several moments afterward, before exhaling. More reasons he couldnβt argue with.
But maybe Callan deserved the truth too. She had seen him there. Had fought him. And she wanted to talk to him, still. It was odd, and he wasnβt sure it was just because she wanted to pit her own strength against his, but he supposed he was okay with that ββIβ¦you already know this. I drink to get stronger. And it makes meβ¦lose control. Thatβs pretty much all I do.β
"You don't completely lose control though," she said pensively, "I mean... you're still you, right?" She inwardly kicked herself again. She was supposed to be talking about herself-- not drilling Sander for details on his ability. But she'd already brought it up and she had been meaning to ask, so she figured she might as well continue for now.
βI would like to believe that, yeah.β -Sander shrugged, tried not to think too much about his bad choices ββBut itβsβ¦hard. Always was. I can never be sure. So thatβs why I told youβ¦itβs dangerous.β
Callan leaned back against the wall. "Mm," she furrowed her brow, trying to think of what to say next instead of the guilt. At least he'd warned her. Her thoughts wandered back to Monday and Tuesday-- to all those canisters. "How much do you have to drink before you start... y'know?"
βUhβ¦It depends.β -But on what, Sander didnβt elaborate. This wasnβt a topic he was comfortable with, but also because he wasnβt quite sure himself. He didnβt know the exact measurements. He justβ¦knew. And once he got going, it was also difficult to keep count.
'On what?' she wanted to say, but stopped herself there. He didn't seem very enthusiastic about going into detail. Not that she could blame him. He'd said he'd been a subnatural for a while, hadn't he? But he'd arrived at USARILN East at the same time she did. So she could only assume it hadn't been much longer than herself. Sander was probably still getting the hang of things, right? She was silent for a moment, lost in thought.
"You remember everything that happens?" she asked finally. It was about time she ask him about Misery. The fact that he hadn't brought it up with her all week had been a bit of a concern, but if he wasn't talking to her about it, he probably wasn't talking to anyone else about it either, right? She could hope.
"...yeah." -Sander confirmed, tone light, but he lifted his gaze to watch Callan carefully.
"So... you... uh," her shoulders tensed and she looked down at her hands in her lap, "You remember that thing."
Blurred shapes and flashes of white hot pain across his torso. Of course Sander remembered. Despite what some people might say, pain wasnβt something he could get used to. Even after all those years ββRemember yourβ¦claws?β -He willed his face to remain neutral, hiding the grimace ββItβsβ¦alright. I donβt blame you.β
"No," she looked up suddenly, "It's not. That wasn't supposed to happen. But worse than that-- I should've told you. And I'm sorry. If my cuff hadn't gone off...." She trailed off. She didn't want to think about what would've happened. For now she could only be grateful that it didn't.
"I'm really sorry."
βBut the cuff had gone off, so itβs alright.β -Sander blinked, unsure what to make of the apologizes. They felt the same as Christmasβ. She was apologizing over nothing. Was it because she felt bad for hurting him? ββIβm alright. I told you before the fight, didnβt I? Itβs alright if you hurt me. I can take it.β -He assured gently, hoping to take that guilt off Callanβs shoulders.
She folded her arms stubbornly. "Don't give me that," she shook her head, "That's not what this is about anyway. Its name is Misery. And it's way stronger than either of us. I can barely control it-- so I don't use it. But that day I... had some other things on my mind. It slipped out when it wasn't supposed to. You made sure I was aware of all the risks, but I didn't tell you. It wasn't right."
She chuckled uncomfortably, running a hand through her bangs cathartically, "Honestly, I totally understand if you don't want to spar with me again."
βOhβ¦So the claws? Those werenβt you?β -Sander titled his head, sightly taken aback by Callanβs revelations ββWhat do you mean you canβt control it? Arenβt youβ¦an Arbiter?β -He tapped a finger on the black mark that they didnβt share, as if to emphasize the point.
βNo, I told you I would spar with you. So itβs alright. Even if you want to useβ¦uhβ¦Misery next time. Itβs alright. Though you might want to be careful with theβ¦cuffs.β -The black claws and blinding pain loomed in the back of his mind again, and he closed fingers around the sheet, chasing the memories away. It didnβt matter. Once the blood high rose up to consume everything, heβd be alright. He wouldnβt feel a thing.
"Me...? No, it's... it wasn't me." As she said it she almost felt more like she was trying to convince herself. It wasn't her. It was Misery. She'd given it a name to make that clear. Misery destroyed her home. Misery almost killed Lawrence and Sander. She wasn't entirely blameless, but...
"I mean... if I get too worked up or start to panic... Misery crawls out. And its angry and violent and I can really only give it basic commands. I'm still figuring it out. I'm an Arbiter, but... I've got some control issues of my own I guess." She traced the mark under her eye as her eyes followed Sander's hand to his mark. Perhaps that was why she felt like she understood Sander's problem. At least a little bit. The only difference being that Sander was his own monster while she... wasn't?
"Unless you suddenly get a whole lot stronger, I'm afraid you won't be seeing Misery any time soon." Callan smiled incredulously. She wouldn't have blamed him for backing out, but she didn't really think he would. But she didn't think he'd openly invite her to whip out Misery again, either. Was he a glutton for punishment? She knew he was durable, but the wound in his chest after only a second or two with Misery was enough to convince her Sander was being way too overconfident.
βUhβ¦I can get stronger if thatβs what you want.β -Sander said quickly, before the Stigma could drown out the words with the voices from his past and the choices he couldnβt make ββItβsβ¦not safe. But Misery is stronger me, then I canβ¦if you want.β -Even in his clearest moments, Sander pushed the choices away from himself. Because he couldnβt make them. Never couldnβt.
Maybe he should repay Callan for this. She was his equal, in a way. A monster lived under her skin too, white mark or no. She understood. So maybe, she deserved more than a half-truth. It was better now anyway, for her to find out from him, rather than later on the field. So she knew what to expect, if they were to fight side-by-side. So maybe if he found himself over the edge, she could stop him, when he couldn't stop himself.
And there was also that promise he made. Another loop of blue around his wrist. He wouldn't get hurt anymore, and he wouldn't hold Callan back, too. So, a compromise.
βItβs about last time. Iβ¦didnβt let you win.β β Sander confessed, fingers weaved together in his laps, fidgeting ββBut I didnβtβ¦give myself a chance to win either.β
Callan blinked back at him, piercing together what Sander was trying to say. "You mean you didn't drink enough to win," she stated, hoping she'd understood correctly. There was no anger in her voice. Everything suddenly made a lot more sense, if that were the case. Her mind wandered toward the possibilities. That meant he could probably match her, didn't it? Maybe even match Misery.... She waved the thought away. It was still too dangerous. Nonetheless, her mouth quirked into a smile, thinking of how much better the next fight could be with this newfound knowledge.
She smoothed out her expression the best she could, but her excitement had already been made clear. Sander probably had his reasons.
"Uh, I don't understand," she smiled apologetically, "Why?"
Sander wanted to give Callan the truth. He really did. But for all he tried, he couldnβt put that visceral feeling of power, when the fire burnt away his very mind and replaced his heart, to words. Not that he wanted to. Because despite everything they had in common, Callan could still separate herself from the monster. She could name it. While his monster already had a name.
βItβsβ¦not safe.β -His tone was flat, drenched in defeat as he spoke, because he still couldnβt bring himself to say the truth. So they had to settle for a pathetic half-truth instead ββIβ¦uhβ¦can be a little stronger in the next fight. Even Misery canβt hurt me.β
"Not safe?" Callan started. She wanted to protest, but managed to stop herself before she said anything she'd likely regret. She wanted to know how strong Sander could get-- to test her ability to its limit. But she kept forgetting about the risks. Misery was on her mind, sure, but she needed to consider herself. She didn't want to put Sander in a bad position. If he accidently punched her spine out, she wouldn't be able to simply regenerate like Kusari.
"Just enough so we're evenly matched. Don't worry about Misery."
βI mean it when I said even Misery canβt hurt me. Itβs a part of my power. When I get strong enough, nothing can hurt me.β -Sander said, eyes still on his folded hands ββYou can go all out. Wonβt hurt meβ¦but you have to make sure I wonβt hurt you as well.β
Her mouth hung open for a moment before she clamped it shut, staring at Sander skeptically with her lips pursed. She would be lying if she didn't say his offer sounded tempting. Unbelievable, even. Watching someone beat Misery into the ground was a strange thought-- about which she felt even stranger. A sick sort of pleasure coupled with unease. Was it guilt? Or was she reluctant to acknowledge something could really be that strong? Just the idea of it set her heart racing with dread and excitement all at once.
"I'll think about it," she answered finally.
"Sure. Take your time. I'll be here."
"Uh." Now it was her turn to start fidgeting. She pulled her sleeves up over her palms. "One other thing..."
"Would you you mind keeping this just between us? Lawrence is the only other one that knows. If you already told Christmas, that's fine. I just, uh. I think it would be better coming from me, y'know?" The real question was when. They certainly deserved to know, but... wouldn't it be so much easier to tell them after she figured out how to control it?
βSure.β -Sander nodded. If anything, he thought he could somewhat understand the reason behind that request ββI wonβt tell anyone.β
"Thanks."
"So...anything else you need me for?"
"Er--," Callan wondered if their conversations were always going to end this way. Like an impromptu appointment. "No, that's all I wanted to talk about," she smiled at him before standing up, "Thanks for coming by."
βDonβt mention it. Give me a call whenever you need me.β -Sander moved to stand up as well, taking that as the cue to leave ββIβll leave then?β
"Yeah, if you want," she chuckled, "I'm done buggin' ya. You gotta get back to Christmas anyway, right?"
βYeah. I told him Iβd be back soon. I promised.β -Sander smiled apologetically ββSoβ¦see you around.β -With that said, he turned and walked toward the door, closing it quietly behind him as he left.
"See ya," Callan waved. Walking back over to her bed, Callan sat down and flopped backwards, staring holes through the cieling. She had a lot to think about before she scheduled their next sparring match. After several minutes void of any progress, she reached for her tablet, sliding it across the bed towards her. Holding it above her head, she unlocked her screen and opened the broswer. Immediately she was taken back to the page she'd been viewing the night before.
Cancer (Seiji Renge // 19): Wish granted, Rad. Next on the list is Cancer. So this guy's nickname stuck a bit too hard from first impressions when his power has nothing to do with cancer or carcinogens. He wears his "magic pet" like a weird, black blob around his neck and shoulders, and it's supposed to be imitating a feather boa or something. Someone at an editorial office late at night probably thought the joke would be hilarious (the social media backlash actually got the guy fired), but didn't bet on the name sticking thanks to the internet and the whole "what is dead may never die" mindset of trolls online. Cancer has a pet that devours everything it touches besides him and his allies, because he can fine tune that control.
Callan sighed. The information on Death and Taxes about the Precursors and Cat's Cradle wasn't as enlightening as she'd thought it might be. She couldn't help but wonder if there had been some threads on the old forums that would've helped her figure out this weird relationship she seemed to have with Misery. Of course, it was just her luck that the site would get shut down when she became a subnatural. Er-- mage.
A few taps of the screen later, her finger hovered over the empty search bar of a new window.
s h a d o w
She tapped in the word and hit enter.
Definitions and synonyms, a wikipedia page, the Jungian Shadow, Shadow the Hedgehog, some movie from 1994 called "The Shadow", Shadow of War....?
She scrolled through the results without bothering to click on anything or read past the blue font. What am I doing? she inwardly sighed. The only way she going to figure this out was on her own. She needed to find a safe place in Ground Zero and just... practice. Without being scared out of her mind or crying like a damn baby. Yeah. She nodded confidently to herself before suddenly rolling over onto her stomach, pulling her ear buds out of the pocket of her hoodie. With a push of the home button and a tap of a familiar red and white icon, she stuffed a pillow under her arms and propped the screen up against the wall.
Sander did say the visit would be quick, but as the minutes ticked by with only the printed words on a page to keep him company (and they weren't even accompanied by riveting images or background music), Christmas found his thoughts drifting again, especially to yesterday where it felt like he had come full circle, but with a few crucial specks of himself rearranged.
The memory brought back Lily and her kindness that was too much for him, because he had never offered anything to her. Not a thing, and she was too much. Like Sander. But at least with Sander he had found a skewed equilibrium. One where he let Sander take the brunt of emotional backlash for his inability to face down his own problems. He could name their friendship what he liked, but he wasn't doing much giving. Only taking. For some reason, they had both decided without ever clarifying the terms that the trade was all right if he simply remained by Sander's side.
Marcus had asked about a "thing" between them, and Christmas hadn't known what to think. He liked Sander. And Sander was nice. Too nice. Too much for him and he thought it was more than enough to just be near. If there was any "thing" between them, it was only because he had tied it to Sander's wrist without asking, and he knew that quiet guilt draped in cornflower blue loops. Sander didn't even understand what he was promising. His roommate was just kind enough to be completely unaware--but Christmas congratulated himself on realizing it this time. Asking Sander to stay near felt like a kidnapping that the hostage wasn't aware of.
Everything turned a darker shade when he thought of it that way, fear and guilt tightening around his throat like a noose. He was undoubtedly taking advantage of Sander to satisfy his own insecurities. He had known that the moment a desperate ribbon had wound around Sander's wrist. A "trust pact" was certainly part of it, but Marcus hadn't caught the reverse side: dependency.
His fears from that Monday evening crawled into view, and that ribbon was coexistence or crippling attachment. Or maybe that was too simple. Maybe it was a bit of both or a bit of neither. And, god, he wished he could define it better, because he kept wanting to be a good person but it always came down to how easily he gave in when someone threw him a bone. Or a Vita.
He trusted Sander. He did. But everything Sander said was colored by the knowledge that his normally gentle roommate simply didn't understand the insidious nature of needing someone. Didn't understand it the way Alan didn't. It was like they both could read the selfish grasping of his loneliness and knew the right things to say and do. But not the right things to feel.
Suddenly Sander returning soon was a little frightening, because it seemed like at any moment the strip of blue and the "thing" between them would fall apart and Christmas would watch his hopes crumble with it. He had done something right the day he bought himself that ribbon--like commemorating and displaying an achievement--but the aftermath was so eerily familiar now he half expected Alvin to knock on the door and remind him to say "Thank you" for the help.
It would have been marginally easier to expect Ernie at the door instead, because painkillers could fix bruises. They couldn't fix the careful selection of words and actions that was Alvin and his exacting promises of affections like transactions. Christmas put his book down, deciding to leave before he affixed unpleasant memories to the new room. He didn't want that here. It wouldn't take long--just a quick breath of air to take his mind off useless thoughts that seemed to float towards the surface every time he let himself think for too long. He should have just lost himself in daydreams instead, before the scent of peppermint and the image of cold eyes gripped his mind.
The door clicked shut behind him as Christmas stumbled out, realizing only as he exited the building that he had left his phone behind. But he just needed to breathe, before the panic set in and curled his limbs around himself while his mind relived memories and pieced together thoughts that terrified him. Just a quick breath of air.
That had been the plan, at least, before he found himself hunched over on a bench near the registrar's office, staring at the cement like it would offer answers to questions he couldn't even formulate.
Lily was, as always, aimlessly wandering around and had just rounded the corner when she saw the boy hunched over on a bench. She stopped. Small frame, blonde hair. The other healer. What was his name again? She vaguely remember it as a holiday.
Halloween? No, that doesn't sound right. It can't be Thanksgiving, can it? She bit her lip.
Hannukah? She rubbed her eyes. Why was she so forgetful?
A few more minutes and her face lit up. Christmas! She thought triumphantly. But the smile on her lips turned into a frown when she remembered their last encounter with each other. It was just after the flag football game... He had a really potent healing ability but while it healed everyone, it left him wounded. She had decided then to try and help out and maybe even befriend the meek boy. But he riled her up so much that she almost gave back more than what she took. She stared at him from the short distance, trying to decide if it was a good idea to approach him or to just let him be.
But then she had nothing better to do.
So, the small blonde teen shrugged and walked over to where he was.
"Hey. Are you okay?" she called out.
The voice was barely familiar for him, and Christmas nearly flinched on looking up, finding Lily in front of him again. He had avoided speaking with her on Wednesday, and the atmosphere then had helped prevent any unnecessary interaction, but now he didn't have any excuse to remain quiet, especially not when she addressed him directly.
"F-fine," he answered quickly, covering the recent thin cut on the back of his left wrist. He had seen what she could do and that wouldn't stop her, but instinct had moved his hand anyway, so he left it there and turned back to the ground. The bruises on his face were still plainly visible, but there wasn't much he could do about that besides keep his head down. "...Sorry."
She saw how he covered the cut on his left wrist and ducked his head but she knew of his injuries before she could even look. Normally, she would have heard the voices of her stigma egging her on to take it and then create pain with it but spending time wreaking havoc in Ground Zero had calmed the voices significantly. "I'm not gonna force you to give it up, if that's what you're worried about."
That had been what he was worried about, among other things, and Christmas couldn't bring himself to look up, so he nodded at the ground. "S-sorry." He chewed on the inside of his lower lip for a moment, fighting against the urge to just remain silent and hope she'd leave. He hadn't found the nerve to approach her after Monday. Had decided that was okay. But it wasn't, so a deep breath helped pull the words reluctantly from his mouth. "About--about Monday, t-too."
Lily looked at the boy, wondering what could have happened to him to make him be like this -- awkward and spineless. Or maybe that's who he's always been? It's sad, in a way. Being too awkward didn't really give him a chance to make friends. Not tht she could... But whatever the case was, she merely shrugged. Somehow, she felt that he really didn't want her there but at one point, she knew she needed to talk to him. And so she stayed. "Don't worry about it. You do what you do. I shouldn't meddle in it too much. So, I suppose I should be the one saying sorry for Monday."
"N--I...was, um..." Words came easier to Christmas when he wasn't trying so hard to make them fit. That's how it had always worked and how it had always bothered him. When he didn't need them--didn't want them--they were there, ripe and ready to say. But when he wanted to explain that he had been scared of her, only because she was so much more and he couldn't fathom that someone whose value existed higher than null was taking on his self-inflicted injuries, the words just shriveled into specks that darted easily out of his grasp the harder he tried. "...Sorry," he repeated, an apology for both himself and the words he couldn't find. "Not--not your fault."
"1...2...3..." Lily stared at the boy, still trying to figure him out. "That's the third time you said sorry. You really don't need to apologize too much. Although... if you can't find the words, then sorry can probably be a good alternative..." She chuckled. "Or don't listen to me. I'm probably talking nonsense." She was trying to be friendly, hoping that he'd loosen up a bit. He was, after all, the only other healer in their group aside from her. She figured it would be better to try to get along with him than to be at odds. Teamwork and all that shit. But looking at him, it was obvious that being friendly to the boy wasn't going to be an easy feat. "Well, I guess that's that. Would you rather I leave now?"
The easy answer would have been "yes" so he could avoid explaining even the tip of the iceberg. Avoid the difficult things. Leave it all in limbo and hope everything would work out if he closed his eyes and covered his ears long enough. Yesterday's echo of "important" still rung in the back of his mind and Christmas clutched at the fabric of his light-gray jacket, pinching it between two fingers. He didn't have a buffer here to fall back on and look for strength in. And he might have laughed at how even talking required that kind of preparation from him, but the sound would have broken into coughs anyway.
"I'm--uh--" What would a normal person's reaction be? He couldn't guess it, much as he tried, but Lily had at least let him have his "Sorry"s without questioning it. "A good alternative." "--not w-worth it. But, um. T-thank you."
Lily scratched her head and wrinkled her brow. He's not worth it? What's he talking about? Does he want me to stay or does he want me to go? She stood there, once again trying to make sense of what he had just said. Walking away would have been easier. Apologies have been exchanged, there was really no need to stay. But... She sat down next to him. "Where's that guy you always hang out with? It's a little strange to find you here all alone."
Christmas blinked in surprise at both the topic change and Lily sitting down beside him. He turned to look reflexively, the expression sliding back into unease when he remembered why he was out there to begin with. "H-he's...um...busy...?" It wasn't exactly the right word for Sander leaving to talk with Callan, but it would have to do. As for being all alone, he had felt it like a weight on his shoulders most of his life, but the stifling pressure had been constant enough that he could fool himself into believing it was comforting.
Being with Sander had lifted that delusion, and it was frightening at times to realize that leaden weight had never been as companionable as he had tried to believe.
In this moment when he was alone again, unable to fool himself, and scared of wanting companionship, Christmas thought he found a glimmer of that remarkable clarity from Monday night. Just a particle smaller than dust, but it filled in so many of the cracks between his words. Not perfectly, but more than enough.
"He's...he's too nice. And--and so are you." Blue eyes darted across Lily's face, a flicker of anguish in a minute frown and strained temples, but the moment passed and Christmas turned back to the mindless solidity of concrete. "S-sorry." For not being worth that kind of concern. Those words were there, forming in cleanly ordered sets of letters on the forefront of his mind and drifting towards his tongue. He swallowed them instead, deciding the only person here who needed to listen to self-pity more than once was him.
When Christmas said that she was nice, Lily's hand automatically went up to the base of her throat where the black X mark was. How can someone think she was nice when she had such intense need to destroy...to hurt. She shook her head. No, she wasn't nice at all. She couldn't even remember why she was found nearly dead outside USARILN East. "No, I'm not nice. I just... try to be," she voiced out. She turned her head towards the boy. "Of course, you're worth the concern. We all are. And where else would concern come from? The people here don't care about us. We're just weapons to them. In the end, we all need to look out for each other." She shrugged. "Or at least, that's what I think."
He found that mirror of a response in both Sander and Lily, and wondered if all the people who were better than him still considered it not enough. He couldn't stake a claim on despair because two months to five years felt too vast. And he couldn't claim to hold "trying" near his heart because if this pattern kept up, then his flailing imitation of effort was just as worthless as the rest of him when his betters were trying as well, and they had more to start with.
"I don't know--don't know if I can...look out for people..." Christmas admitted. He could barely look out for himself. "But...um. If--if you want I can...can--next time you need to--t-to heal I can. H-heal you, too...?" He stared at her shoes as he said it, thinking too much and too little about consequences and pain for himself, but even if all he had was a feeble mimicry of resolve...
Even if that was all he could manage. He still wanted to lay it out in front of himself as proof of meager accomplishment.
Lily's lips curled up into a smile. "Oh, I think you do a good job looking out for people. Even if it hurts and even if you don't want to, you still do it. That's enough to qualify."
He looked up then, eyes wide. "Really?" It was less a question of belief and more a question of validation, but the word had already tumbled out on that little hope and Christmas cleared his throat afterwards in embarrassment. "S-sorry."
The little blonde laughed this time. "Oh, no need to say sorry. I'm just saying it as I see it." She reached out and gave Christmas a half hug that surprised a stiff gasp out of him. He still looked shocked after she backed up. 'Let's look out for each other then, okay? I... Well, I'm a little different from you... I heal people differently and well... my..." she trailed off, thinking if she should continue what she started to say. After a few seconds, she shrugged. No use keeping things that were obvious. "My stigma can sometimes make me... well... crazy." She laughed again. "As if being Bipolar isn't enough." It was really the first time she admitted out loud that she had the disorder. "Anyway, yeah... you heal and I'll get rid of any monsters that gets in our way."
At the mention of "crazy," Christmas tensed, but when Lily moved past the topic of mental disorders to the comforting agreement of helping in kind, he blinked the thoughts away and rubbed the corner of his sleeve against his nose for a bit longer than was necessary, obscuring the lower half of his face. She was bipolar, and that should have worried him more, but after Sander, after Ernie, and after himself and the things he was still holding onto, it seemed he had half-expected something to be wrong. Even then, he thought she was more admirable than him.
"Thank--thank you."
Lily nodded her head, a delighted look on her face. "It's nice to hear you say something other than sorry for once."
He didn't know what to say to that, so Christmas just kept rubbing his nose, hiding a tiny smile.
As the seconds of silence filed in, he remembered with a quiet "Oh" that he needed to be back in the suite soon or Sander would worry. Pointing and turning hesitantly in the direction of the Arbiter dorms, he mumbled something like "I-I'll go back to the--the dorm," before looking back at Lily. "If--if you need, um. H-help? The--um--suite t-two hundred and two."
Suite 202... Hmmm... I wonder if an Aberration like me can actually come up to an Arbiter's room. But even with those thoughts, Lily found herself curious about what an Arbiter dorm looked like. Unlike her, they were rooming together. So it was only logical that their room was a bigger than hers. Lost in her thoughts, she gave Christmas a distracted smile and a small wave before she wandered off.
With a quick wave back at Lily, Christmas returned to the dorm building, steps hasty because he hadn't been keeping track of time and wasn't sure how long he had been out. Not long, by his guess, but without his phone to confirm, he didn't want to risk coming back slowly.
The room was still empty when he returned, and he breathed a sigh of relief, removing his shoes and curling back up in his bed, sheets across his lap and Meditations back in his hands. He wasn't exactly trying to hide anything from Sander, but it struck him that it might have looked a bit like that from how precisely he replicated his position from earlier, so he moved to his desk chair instead, slowly flipping through the book there and trying not to think too much about feeling better despite everything that had happened yesterday.
It was a fairly chilly Saturday afternoon as Marcus strolled across campus. He'd been strolling around the grounds significantly more this week - partly due to the added freetime he had, and partly due to the hectic week he'd already had. Between the date with Emma and the heart attack that Callan had given him, the therapeutic walk through the school was a welcome diversion. He'd considered bringing his lunch out to eat it in the privacy of a wide-open field, but decided against it. Right now, he had a belly full of food and a hand full of drink, and he was pretty content with life.
He'd explored the campus pretty well in the last couple days - right now he was hanging out around the security outpost and the cafe, watching the canopy of trees above him shift and sway in the wind. He'd already been up on the north side, having scouted out the big water tower in that area. Plus, the exploration had given him a chance to stop by the registrar's office and drop off another requisition sheet; a couple of necessities that the first outing had taught hm would be useful.
- A pistol, ammo, and a holster. - A knife crowbar and some sort of strap for it. - A smile!
In the week since he first got dragged to this place, a bunch of monsters got dangerously close to the school. The way he figured it; knowing all the best locations around the place offered him a bonus if the beasts ever actually made it. Hell, if he managed to map out the vents, his USARLIN survival map would basically be complete.
He shivered slightly as the cool wind blew across his face. He was never a fan of the cold, preferring the hot months of the summer. He wrapped his hoodie around himself a little tighter, zipping the front up the whole way. He still hadn't reaplced the tattered thing, despite the ruined sleeve that marred it. He kind of liked it though - it was a story, like some metaphor or something. The torn boy with the torn jacket - he scoffed a little bit at the joke, sipping his drink in contemplation.
He stopped his walk and brought the drink down from his lips as something strolled across his current path. It was a shape the Marcus immediately recognized, but not for any good reason. A dog, probably a stray, sniffing along the trail ahead of him. As if he didn't have enough trouble with Siena's little mutt, he had to worry about strays around the campus too. He quelled the inkling of fear that snatched at his chest with the knowledge that it hadn't noticed him, and that he was just going to turn around and go the other way, angrily muttering the whole way.
His heart skipped a beat as the dog turned to him, ears perked up. A Shepherd by the look of it - decently sized, but much thinner than he would have expected. His breath had started to quicken as he backed away, both hands up as if to surrender to the mutt. The nervous swell of heat and familiar numbness of fear started to bloom as the dog crouched low and growled - a hunting position.
The eyes.
By the time the dog barked and started running towards him, Marcus had abandoned all attempts to remain calm and started to flee. He turned around and started running, hoping silently that the dog would just get disinterested and wander off, and he'd just take the long path back home.
Experts recommend that, when faced with a wild dog, you do not run - running triggers their instinct to chase and attack things. Unfortunately for Marcus, he'd never talked to a dog expert; though this tidbit of information would certainly explain the hot pursuit of the dog, and the quickly shrinking gap between them.
He needed to escape. He had to get out of there before anything could go wrong. Before anything like last time could happen again. The familiar sound of static filled his ears as he focused on his destination. He was going to get the hell out and dash forward, and then crawl into bed and curse the world. There was something different about this jump though; the static seemed warbled, drawn out much longer than usual, and he wasn't jumping. The weight of the cuff around his ankle reminded him of his restrictions - the inevitable delay that followed his attempts to use his power.
Finally, the familiar vertigo struck him. The ground shifted on him, but the delay had thrown him off a bit. When the sensation passed and the ground returned to him, he faltered and hit the asphalt. The boy barely had enough time to turn over and fearfully scoot backwards before the dog was on him. A quick, panicked boot to the head elicited a yelp from the animal, and Marcus scrabbled back even further. With a pained shake, the dog regained its composure and was on him again.
This time, when Marcus attempted to kick, his attack was not as successful. The dog found its mark; a powerful bite easily piercing the thin denim of his pants, and found root in the skin and muscle of his lower leg, just above the ankle. Marcus cried out in pain, trying to deliver a few more kicks to the dog's head, everyblow he made forcing the dog's teeth to tear his leg further.
The teeth.
Even as he struggled to free himself, pain and blinding fear clouding his mind, Marcus was acutely aware of something. Normally after he jumped - there was some sensation of emptiness; like something he always had on him was very briefly missing. Now, however, he didn't feel the same sensation. He had jumped, but he still felt as if it was there, ready to be used.
Another kick to the head, and the dog released hold. Marcus spent no time in examining his ruined calf, instead drawing upon the power that he felt remained. Static again, a slight delay as the dog moved in to attack again, and the sense of vertigo. He somehow managed to jump again - trying in vain to leap to his feet before his leg collapsed underneath him. When the jump ended, he had only managed to pitifully crawl a few feet, a few drops of crimson marring the asphalt between himself and the beast.
The sensation of emptiness had returned, indicating that he was out of options. Marcus slowly scrabbled backwards, his pantleg slowly turning red, his face streaming down tears of both pain and fear, and him only feebly managing to let out a quick shout.
Meanwhile...
Home was a wonderful place for any creature who had become accustomed to it. There were dangers of course, like any other place in nature. Although the Upright were annoyingly fickle in how they treated Wanderers like Lizzy. Some were liable to pet you, others strike you, unlike in the wild where if you encountered a species they were likely to act like any of their kind. It was part of the reason so many creatures feared them- unpredictability was not something commonplace in nature.
Still, while Home was overflowing with Uprights, it was not an altogether bad place to live. There was security from the Awakened, who hunted all indiscriminately and for now had replaced the Upright's position on the food chain. And for those Wanderers who chose to let themselves become Bound, they often led a content existence. Some might even say a better existence, although many like Lizzy were unconvinced. There was an appeal to freedom that not even companionship and an easy life could replace. Besides, for those Wanderers who had their wits about them, the most important commodity was ever available to be supplied by the fickle Uprights: Food.
It was for this commodity that Lizzy now- as ever- hunted. There was no food to be had at her den, not so long as her partner was where she couldn't follow. It had never made sense to Lizzy what the uprights would or would not allow, but at least she wasn't confined to her den without a meal like many of the Bound would be. Still, she couldn't argue the advantages of her situation, gaining some of the benefits that the Bound experience with her partner. She certainly weighed more than when Home was her den. For those Wanderers who thought they owned Home and all of its food, such an increase in size was a nice deterrent. Not that mere Wanderers could strike fear into Lizzy after staring down the Awakened with her partner. Perhaps some of his own apparent fearlessness had rubbed off on her- but that was too close to making her Bound to consider.
It was almost when she had returned to the den from her daily hunt when the hairs on Lizzy's back began to stand up- A feeling she had no intention to ignore. Briefly her tongue wet her nose to better catch the smells around her, and she lifted her muzzle to the sky and sniffed. Her brain quickly sorted through the assault of hundreds of scents before signalling out two: One was Sharpjaw, a Wanderer she had not met in some time. The other was one she had caught on one of the Uprights in her den before, but was otherwise unfamiliar with it. Knowing Sharpjaw's temperament it wasn't hard to puzzle out the reason her hair was standing up and in a rush she took off in the direction of the smells.
The two came into sight just as the Upright defied nature, and smell of blood added itself to the air. Not hesitating, and with Sharpjaw's attention fully fixed on his prey, Lizzy threw herself onto the other Wanderer. The two had fought before, and she was fully intent on avoiding his namesake. Using the weight she had gained over the past few months to her advantage, Lizzy kept her jaws tight around his neck, forcing his face into the ground while he attempted to turn around and scratch at her stomach. Perhaps with a Wanderer she was less familiar with Lizzy would aim to kill- but for now she simply held him fast and waited. If she knew one thing about Sharpjaw it was that he was quick to fight, and quick to run. A coward at his core.
And she was soon proven right. Unable to gain an advantage, and aware of who he was fighting and that his life wasn't in danger, the other Wanderer eventually settled, and whined in submission. It was only then that Lizzy finally let go and back off, placing herself between the Upright and Sharpjaw, flashing her teeth in warning. They stared at each other for some moments, then her adversary lowered his head and scampered off towards Home to scavenge for an easier meal that night.
Satisfied, Lizzy then turned to the Upright that had filled the air with the smell of his blood and approached, tail beginning to wag at the prospect of earning some food from him for his rescue. She deserved at least that after all, not to mention a scratch behind the ears in thanks. With this in mind, Lizzy sat in front of him and waited, head cocked to the side in anticipation.
Lunch had been quiet--calm, even, despite the turmoil of the week and bruises that Sander hadn't been privy to. Christmas had taken the painkillers that morning and once again before lunch so the blond boy was at least functional, even if he still seemed slightly uncomfortable with movement.
But it was Christmas who had been the one to take a walk after lunch, lost in thought. Sander had simply followed, and this time Christmas hadn't protested. Simply nodded and fell into step beside his taller roommate. They had wandered in companionable silence for some time, following the sidewalk and heading in one general, but aimless direction, content with company and uncertain paths.
Sanderβs steps halted when a familiar scent crept up on his sense. It was subtle at first, normal, then suddenly intensified. Not dangerously so, but it was still worrisome. In the distance, he thought he heard shouting.
βI think--uhβ¦hang on.β -He turned to Christmas, the words halfway out of his mouth when he cut them off, jerking his head toward the now-closer shout. That didnβt sound good. And it was someone he was vaguely familiar with. Scattered memories from the flag football game came back to him, and he remembered the head of chestnut hair, brown eyes that looked at him from behind wounds old and new. From the scent alone, he could tell that the scarred boy was bleeding.
βIβll be back.β -Sander offered his roommate a quick assurance, receiving a wide-eyed nod in response before turning and heading off the path they were taking. A few quick strides into the direction of the scent, and the blood mage found Marcus. Who definitely looked like he could use some help.
But Sander wasnβt sure he should be the one to give it. His mind blanked, initially; desires and confusion with its whats and whys colliding in the space of his head, before Sander snapped himself out of the daze. He backed up a few steps, the movement hasty but deliberate. Because he was still afraid of what his instincts would do. However, before he could do much, one of the two furry assailants ran off, while the other one assumed an idle position.
Marcus scrabbled backwards, taking the sudden distraction as an opportunity to try and pick himself off the ground. With his panic and his injury however, all he could manage to do was feebly inch his way backwards away from the fight that was taking place in front of him. The scenario didn't appear to be any better for him - there were now two dogs in his path, and he'd undoubtedly be left injured and alone with the stronger of the two. His leg had started to throb, and he was vaguely aware of the uncomfortable warmth that was running down over his ankle.
When all was send and done - the black and white dog having scared off the Shepherd - Marcus stopped his escape. It sat in front of him, head turned slightly and tail wagging, waiting for something. He looked the animal in the eyes, trying to gauge the intent of the creature from gaze alone.
Nothing. It wasn't angry. It wasn't hungry. It just wanted to kill.
This one was different. Even the Shepherd had been different. There had been motive at least; hunger or territorial instincts. They were both things he could recognize - and this one seemed to be looking back at him expectantly. His pockets were empty, and his drink had been thrown in his initial panic - all he could do now was hold his hand up in a 'stay' position and continue to scoot away.
"G-good dog." Macus said in a shaky voice. His breaths were heavy, and his eyes still welled a few droplets down his cheeks as the blood pounded in his ears.
Sander moved closer, motivated by his desire to help, but his steps were hesitant as he didnβt know how. So he just hovered a few steps behind the dog, gaze flitting between Marcus and the creatureβs turned back. This one wore a collar though, which meant itβ¦wasnβt a stray?
Slowly the tail stopped wagging as the Upright continued to move backwards, away from Lizzy. The fear was evident, although she had done nothing to harm him. They were, however, always unpredictable in how they acted. Still, surely he had something to offer her.
Licking her nose once more, she took another sniff of the air with closed eyes, hunting for anything that smelled like their delicious food. She had, of course, caught notice of the drink, although their beverages were wholly unappealing to her. Other than that though the only scent she could make out was that of the Upright himself- and his blood. With a snort of derision to voice her displeasure, Lizzy closed her eyes and stuck her nose in the air, turning away from the food-lacking Upright and trotting off towards her den once more. Leaving him in his pathetic state.
With the dog trotting off, Marcus allowed himself a deep breath. He was safe - he had figured himself to at least be about to get mauled. Some part of him sincerely hoped the cuff would pick something up before one of the newest 'weapons' they had could get killed by a stray animal. He wiped his hands over his eyes, taking a few moments to regain his composure. Plan of attack; he needed a plan here. If he couldn't walk, then it was going to be a long hopping session over to the infirmary.
A figure to the side caught his eye. Sander- not exactly his first choice for assistance at this current moment, but beggers really couldn't be choosers. Especially not when they were bleeding profusely from the ankle.
"Sander. Come give me a hand over here..." he said, extending his arm to the aberration.
Sander stood his ground, despite the request. He didnβt dare to move at that moment, not when warm blood was pooling just a short distance away and the scent had definitely got worse ββUhβ¦H-Hang on. Maybe you should wait forβ¦β -The frantic beats of his heart thudded loudly in his ears, and Sander swallowed drily βββ¦help.β -He craned his neck around to look for someone, eyes on anywhere but the bleeding Marcus.
Christmas had watched from a safe distance as Sander approached someone on the ground several meters away. The person was definitely familiar, but he couldn't place a name to the face despite seeing that scarred visage in class before and on the monitors from Monday. More importantly, an angry dog was charging at the downed, injured student. He had taken a half-step backwards when yet another, larger dog barreled into the former, the two canines tussling on the grass before the emaciated one seemed to surrender and turned tail, dashing off towards the arboretum.
He had never seen strays fighting that close before, or at least, one stray. The other dog had a collar. And he didn't want to think the violence (that didn't threaten him) was as fascinating as it was terrifying, especially since the small rush of adrenaline he felt from the scene's proximity still hammered in his ears and jittered his pulse.
A reflexive breath slowly in and out like he could calm his nerves that way, and his eyes trailed after the second dog as it peered curiously at the the student on the ground before trotting away. Distant footsteps heralded a guard approaching close enough to assess the situation, but when nothing seemed to warrant an emergency on school grounds, the soldier responded to someone on his phone, looked up again at the three boys, and caught Christmas's wide eyes with a quick nod and point towards the injured student. The man paused again to make sure everything remained all right, then left as briskly as he had come.
Christmas pulled on the sleeve of jacket as he waited for his body to stop trembling enough that he could manage to heal without slicing himself more than necessary. Fredric's folded knife was in his right pocket, weight like an anchor while he stared at the student bleeding from the ankle. He thought he'd maybe heard a name or something in class without paying attention (Mark?), but finding out could come later. Or not at all, he decided as he walked slowly towards the scene. He didn't really mind not knowing the name of a fellow classmate, and that was callous--
"S-sorry," he finally mumbled to Mark (?) as he reached the two of them, keeping himself partially behind Sander.
Marcus sighed loudly, arm still extended, glaring at Sander. He really wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. Not as he was crumpled over and bleeding on the ground. He said nothing, glaring at Sander with still-glassy eyes, but fueled with more anger than pain. Of course the kid wouldn't help him - why would he have put any faith at all in 'Took His Clothes' Sander?
His eyes shifted to the second person standing there; a small kid that he definitely recognized, but had no recollection of his name. The kid mumbled something, but Marcus couldn't quite figure out what it was from his position on the ground. That really wasn't the thing he was concerned about at this moment, though.
"Hey, can you come give me a hand over here?" he said, extending his arm to the new guy.
"U-um..." Christmas glanced at the injured leg, then the prominent scarring on the student's face before looking back at the hand. He bit his lower lip and didn't move at first, but after several seconds had passed the healer stepped out slowly from behind Sander and grabbed the extended arm with both of his, pulling upward. "Sor-sorry," he mumbled again for mistakes left unsaid.
"You're fine," Marcus said, using the leverage to hoist himself up. "Unless you can control dogs or something, in which case, I'll be a little upset." he spoke through slightly clenched teeth as he hopped to his full height, with his injured leg awkwardly held just above the ground. He tried to put some weight on it, just to see how bad it actually was, but that was a fruitless endeavor. Thank god the denim was there, because he wasn't sure how much of his newly-acquired wound he wanted to see.
"I don't suppose I can convince you to help an injured, down-on-his-luck, boy over to the infirmary?" He said, leaning slightly on the student. His eyes glossed over him - the kid was a white streak like himself, but that really didn't mean much to him. Slight bruising, but that was to be expected at this school, with the amount of things they had to go through.
As the blond boy moved to help Marcus, Sander only crossed his arms and watched, guilt in his features. This was something he couldnβt help with. Probably could never help with. Better for everyone if he just stayed out of the way, so he did, breaths slow and shallow, even with his ability switched off. And he kept the damn power surpressed, leaning on it with the force of his resolve and frustration combined.
"I--um--h-healer," Christmas tried explaining, letting go and fumbling in his pocket to grab the knife. He still considered it Fredric's knife, but with every use it seemed to become more and more his. What he made of that, he still wasn't too sure. The light cuts on his left hand had since healed, and the bandage was no longer there, but he could still find the red lines to cut across again, like a template for appropriate self-harm. It was one thing he had always been good at as a child: cutting on the lines. Coloring and gluing was a mess, but the little cars and animals he snipped out of sheets with dotted lines were always perfect. He remembered being proud of that. He couldn't remember when he had stopped feeling proud.
As soon as Christmas stammered out that he was a healer, everything clicked. That's where he recognized him from! This was the kid who stabbed himself in the arm right after he had walked into the observation room! The kid with the magical healing blood that he'd seen Lily drinking from like a water fountain. That kind of healing seemed like it took its toll on the kid though - having to slice yourself open anytime someone needed a quick pick-me-up?
Still, the benefits of an instant heal...who knew how long he would have normally been recovering from something like this. He debated over it in his mind; the poor kid had probably been through a lot already, he didn't imagine that a tool like 'instant healing' was wasted under Zhang's roof. The cost was too much, he finally decided on.
"I'll be fine..." Marcus said, a forced grin and a slight shrug following his words. "Little bit of Neosporin and a bandage...I'll be right as rain!" He teetered slowly as he said this, trying to keep his balance on one leg.
βYouβre sure?β -Sander chose that moment to speak up, his nose scrunched up slightly as if there was something unpleasant in the air ββIβm notβwell, youβre bleeding a lot.β
Marcus looked down at this pantleg again, frowning slightly. Sander was right...he was bleeding a fair amount. The white-hot throbbing of his ankle was another point in the 'instant healing' column.
"I mean...they can probably..." he said slowly. His argument had effectively been neutered when Sander spoke up. Still, he didn't want to outright ask Christmas to slice himself open for someone else's wellbeing. It seemed selfish, in a way...but maybe he was projecting.
"Oh...o-okay," Christmas nodded, eyeing again the bleeding ankle but not protesting the student's insistence. He left his hand in his pocket and looked to Sander in case his roommate had anything more to say.
Sander frowned at the thought of Christmas getting hurt again. So soon, when his previous wounds had barely scabbed over. But he didnβt interfere, only taking one step backward and glancing off into the distance. He wanted to help. He really did. If the scent were weakerβ¦
βChristmasβ¦Can youβ¦uhβ¦just a little?β -Sander turned to the blond boy then, tapping the back of his left hand with fingers from his right one, indicating the spot. It wasn't fair; he could just keep the scent surpressed for as long as he could, but it had the tendency to get away from him. He was still too afraid, even when it was such a small thing.
Blue eyes looked up at Sander, then flicked to the hands showing where to cut. The gaze eventually fell to the grass, settling into vague confusion, like the boy couldn't decide if he enjoyed (was proud of) the need for his power or if he still couldn't bear the weight of even small things.
"C-can, but--um..." Christmas looked back at Marcus. At least he had decided he wouldn't be making the choice for anyone else.
Marcus avoided the healer's eyes for a moment, almost as if he was ashamed of the injury he'd taken. He still didn't want to outright ask, but it would certainly make his life a lot easier. He paused, trying to find the nicest way to ask. "Yeah...I guess it would be better..." he said, having to force the words out of his mouth.
Christmas stared at the grass like it was a puzzle again, but he withdrew the knife from his pocket and carefully unfolded the blade. It still wasn't much easier than Monday, to decide he was going to cut himself, but he took a shuddering breath and pressed the knife edge against the thin remnant of injury on the back of his left wrist, slitting it open with a sharp exhale and set jaw. The pain was dulled from the small, white tablets he had taken earlier, but a bit of the sting still sliced through the easy haze of oxycodone.
As usual, he never had the nerve to make any deep cuts and the situation luckily didn't call for it, so the spun-glass mist shimmered from the wound, pulling out blood at a glacial pace to spread through the air. With the injured student in front of him, the power didn't need much more than several slow seconds to wrap around the small group, still trying to spread further as the skin on Marcus's ankle sewed itself together slowly and the blood lost was restored at much the same rate.
Roughly a minute and a half later (and with the mist spreading a bit further than the necessary distance), there was no trace of the injury left aside from the short streaks of blood flecking the grass and staining the student's torn hem.
Sanderβs body was tensed, even after the mist had faded away, taking with it the heady scent of coffee that he could never get enough of. That cut was on him, even when it wasnβt, because he still couldnβt stand a little spilled blood, despite everything the ocean threw at him all those years. Ridiculous. Without a word, Sander walked over to Christmas, reaching for the left sleeve of the blond boyβs shirt and began rolling it up, movements brisk and light. Christmas looked up briefly, but returned his gaze to the ground without saying anything, having grown a bit more used to Sander's method of concern over the past week, especially after Thursday. He fumbled with the knife in his right hand, instead, managing to click the blade back into the folded configuration after a bit of one-handed struggling while pressing the blunt side against his thigh. The small weight of decisions that were slowly but surely becoming easier to make settled back into his pocket soon afterwards.
Once the sleeve was folded up to the blond boyβs elbow, Sander took the hem of his shirt and dabbed at the wound gingerly, frowning as small spots of red stained the gray fabric. He could take this, at least. Just have to focus. Keep the scent off his mind.
ββ¦careful with theβ¦stains.β -Sander said, voice breathy and eyes glued to Christmasβ golden locks instead ββSorry.β -He mumbled after a short pause, eyes flitting briefly to Marcus, the apologize was partly for the scarred boy as well.
Marcus stood stock-still as the glassy mist wrapped around him, a slight metallic scent in the air. The throbbing in his leg had stopped, and he gingerly rested his foot on the ground, leaning on in slightly to ensure it had healed completely. Once again, he was impressed with the boy's ability, but he still felt terrible for asking him to literally cut himself. He didn't like putting people at harm for him - no matter how small. Sander's concern seemed...odd, but it certainly wasn't something he was going to mention.
"Thanks..." he said, shooting an apologetic look at Christmas, before standing up straight and sticking his hand out. "I don't think I ever got your name. I'm Marcus, but 'Over There', 'Hey Stop', and 'Chew Toy' work too!" he added, humor slowly returning to his words.
"Um. C-Christmas," the healer replied, staring at Marcus's hand a moment before reaching out tentatively with his own. It was a handshake like any other, but he had paused at the memory of an alleyway and a dumpster in the face of a new hand. The moment passed and he looked at the large scars across Marcus's face. "You're--you're okay?"
"Like new!" Marcus said, rotating his ankle. His gaze passed over the kid's face again - the slight bruising that stood out against the flat skin tone. "I could ask you the same thing; looks like you've had a rough time yourself!" he said, looking over to Sander. He'd seen some of the things the guy could do...especially when he was 'berserking'. If this kid hung out with him very often, then bruises wouldn't surprise him.
Sander only returned the scarred boyβs gaze, not sure what to make of the look.
"Huh?" Christmas turned to look at Sander, too, because Marcus had, for some reason. Was he asking Sander?
"The..." Marcus said, circling his finger at his own face, trying to point out the discoloration in the most tactful way he could. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably a bad thing to bring up. He didn't try to bring up poor choices in conversation, it just seemed to happen to him a lot. Came with being the loudmouth, he supposed.
It took the healer a second to remember that the bruising on his face was still prominent (something a morning glance in a mirror had definitely confirmed), despite two days of recovery. He had forgotten about that between violent dogs, a bleeding ankle, magical healing, and the medicated bliss of opiates. The realization that Marcus was asking about the injuries tapped on that familiar reflex.
"I-I'm okay."
Looming over Christmasβ shoulder, Sander frowned, clearly disagreeing with that statement.
Between Christmas's rushed insistence that he was fine, and Sander's looming, Marcus had enough information to make his own judgement. The healing blood was something that hadn't even crossed his mind until he thought about it - something that was probably irresistible to what basically amounted to a vampire.
He narrowed his eyes, looking at the pair. He wasn't normally the one to push the issue, but he hated bullies. Right now, he was torn between both of those prospects. He maintained the upbeat attitude though, but combined with a healthy amount of skepticism.
"You sure? Looks kinda rough, and this is coming from the guy that just got attacked by a dog!"
Christmas just nodded. "I'm--I'm okay."
βWeβ¦should probably go back to get you a bandage?β -Sander suggested, putting a hand on Christmasβ shoulder as he did. Christmas seemed to freeze briefly at the gesture, shoulders tensing in response, but the sudden agitation passed soon enough and the blond boy took a small breath in the aftermath. Sander's gaze remained on the scarred boy though, eyes flickered toward the bloodied pantleg before dashing right back up ββMarcus is fine now, right?β
"Oh yeah, I'm fine now." Marcus said, crossing his arms. "Thanks to Christmas, at least. Good thing he was here to help me with that raging beast." he said, emphasizing his words carefully. "It's a shame though; there might be other dangers on this campus, waiting to hurt people to satisfy their hunger." he said, making it a blatant point to catch Sander's eyes.
The conversation's turn was unusual--even for the situation--and Christmas just stared at Marcus, uncertain how to respond to the comment. Raging beast? (T-the dogs?) Other dangers on the campus? Did Marcus mean the other students--maybe Ernie or an Aberration? But it seemed strange to bring up general danger now all of a sudden. Was this some kind of hidden warning about the Director, maybe? The abruptly cryptic words so carefully enunciated brought to mind dramatic VN stories. Not that he was sure applying video game logic to reality was ever a wise choice, but the comment was just so strangely delivered he had little basis to fall back to other than that.
The words hit close to home for Sander, because he knew hunger, and it showed. The hand on Christmasβ shoulder grew lax all of the sudden, and Sander let it fall uselessly to his side while a wide-eyed look passed through his features ββI-I didnβt hurt anyone here.β -The words came out too fast, and Sander could only swallow drily in their aftermath as if he could take them back. Because that wasnβt the truth, and he knew it βββ¦I didnβt mean it.β -He clarified, still holding Marcusβ gaze, but he could already feel the urge to break eye contact rising.
"Mmmhmm" Marcus hummed angrily. He wanted to blow up, to shout at Sander until he either retreated or punched him. To defend the poor kid who tagged close behind. He wanted to show what happened to people when they picked on the little guys - but he didn't have that kind of power. He didn't have the strength that Callan had, and he didn't quite have the temper that Max had - unafraid to speak her mind in situations like this. Still, he wasn't going to idly stand by, especially after the kid had healed him twice now.
"Maybe you should control yourself then." he said flatly. "Try and keep from beating the hell out of our healers, alright? Do you remember that part from the flag-whatever? The big lesson we were supposed to learn there? 'Protect your healer'? That part?" he said, nodding towards Christmas.
"H-huh?" All attempts at trying to process the previous comment smashed into a mental wall as Marcus laid out the accusation. Christmas stared at his newest acquaintance now with a new version of confusion, reworked from previous bewilderment to include a sizable quantity of horror, too. "Wha--what?"
βIβ¦didnβt beat anyβ¦healer?β -Sander furrowed his brow, turning to look at Christmas. The thought of him hurting the blond boy scared him far more than he could take, so he really didnβt want to think about it. He had been getting better. He would like to believe that.
Now Marcus was starting to get angry. It was as if he'd done nothing wrong, again. He ignored Christmas's reaction, full steam into berating Sander.
"Look at him, Sander. Are you telling me that you aren't the one that did this?" he said, uncrossing his arms and gesturing dramatically at the healer. "I've seen what you do. Who you are. Do you really expect me to believe you when you say you had nothing to do with this?" he said, voice rising in anger.
Wait, wait, what? The misunderstanding finally clicked for Christmas and his mouth fell open at the severity of it. Marcus thought Sander had beaten him up. He blinked rapidly, eyes jumping across random spots in his field of vision as he tried to think of how that had come about. He hadn't said anything strange had he? Why did Marcus think Sander--no, it wasn't--Sander wasn't an alley and the cold. Wasn't the stench of garbage and reminders of worthlessness. Just--
"Not--no--w-wasn't Sander," he tried to say, the words coming out in short bursts of breaths as the small panic rose to his throat. It scared him--far more than it should have--that someone thought Sander had done it. His roommate was too removed from that moment, and it felt wrong to even consider Sander as a suspect. A part of him thought he could see where Marcus was coming from, but it was quickly drowned out in the growing clamor of his thoughts.
ββ¦wasnβt me.β -Sander blurted out, echoing Christmasβ words. The blond boyβs distress suddenly became apparent again, and Sander forced his hand onto that spot on his roommateβs shoulder again to a surprised inhale and several fearful blinks, the touch as smoothing as he could make it ββIβd neverβ¦β -He began, but knew enough to cut himself off there and then. That felt oddly like a promise. One he didnβt know he could keep or not. Better to keep those words to himself.
Marcus stepped back for a moment, as if the words had physically punched him. He was sure that Sander was one of the few people who'd lose control like that, but to hear Christmas say that he wasn't...All of the anger that was in his bones evaporated immediately, as his head whirled to disassemble the scenario he was so sure he'd put together.
"It...wasn't.." he stammered, a mixture of confusion and regret coursing through his brain. He'd gone and done it again - jammed his foot so far into his own mouth. A misunderstanding, his own perception of Sander, and huge mistake on his part. Life was so much easier back when he was the shy, quiet one.
"Then...who-?" Marcus said, regaining his bearings.
A flash of panic across Christmas's face and he took a fraction of a step closer into the curve of Sander's arm now that colder memories of warning touches on his shoulder had faded much more quickly than they used to. "N-not Sander," he said again, fear rounding out his eyes.
Marcus asked the question that Sander had been avoiding for days, and now that his thoughts had been brought back to the topic, Sander, too, wanted to know ββChristmas.β -He began, leaning down to look at the blond boy ββIβ¦want to know. Can you tell me?β
Panic in his ears and it was running along his heartbeat, but Christmas didn't want to lie to Sander. Still, he was trying not to involve his roommate in the half-baked deal he and Ernie had agreed on without explicitly stating the terms, because a bottle of pills could fix that, so it was okay. "Next time" clung to his thoughts like tendrils and Christmas didn't want it--not at all--but what could he do? It was all he was good for and a part of him begged on folded knees and clasped hands to disagree, but he couldn't bring himself to follow that. Not...not yet. Right?
"Have--have the p-pills," he replied, trying to insist on the stopgap measure like it was a permanent solution. There was a decision here, and he didn't want the full burden of choosing. Never did. This, especially, was all on him.
βShouldnβt have to.β -Sander lowered his voice, taping a few fingers on the blond boyβs shoulder ββI can help. Please?β
Breathing was a conscious effort now because it scared him to acknowledge there was a problem. Scared him to let anyone know something was wrong because that, too, felt inherently wrong. It was a choice between Ernie's complex situation, the subsequent compensation--both sincere and insincere all at once--and Sander, the roommate who showered kindness without thinking and whose own problems came to light after Ernie's explanation on Friday.
But Sander was insisting, in that small, but firm way of his and Christmas suddenly wished the entire conversation hadn't happened, because he didn't want this for Sander. Didn't want to tell anyone that he was okay with being the punching bag because he thought asking for more was something reserved for those whose net worth wasn't lower than garbage.
So he clutched the bottom of his jacket for several silent seconds, looking between Marcus and Sander and trying not to let the din in his mind convince him to leave and hide in better, fictional thoughts.
"D-didn't--he didn't mean it," Christmas whispered, parroting the words from earlier and unsure if that was exactly how a Stigma worked but he at least understood the lack of choice in the matter. Ernie...Ernie couldn't help it, right? So it wasn't--it was okay.
"He?"
"D-didn't mean it. So it's--it's okay...?"
βNo. Itβs not okayβ¦because itβs you.β -Sander sighed, but he was patient, still ββCan you tell me who it was?β
Again, the insistence and it almost hurt to try and convince himself to refuse it mentally. He couldn't keep this up, because every time he wouldn't answer properly, he knew Sander wasn't happy with it. And that mattered a lot more than he would admit.
But what kind of decision was this? He was afraid, and on a surface level had been justifying his reticence with a desire to keep Sander from dealing with the problems of a coward who had already solved it (right?) with 15 milligram white tablets and reluctant resignation.
He knew it went deeper than that. Hold worthlessness close to his heart and maybe he could find a suitable excuse to stop trying and give up. The thought sparked something like indignation, but without the force of will behind it, and Christmas's eyes drifted to the ribbon on Sander's wrist, pulling back bits of reason towards a small haven in the storm. Try, try, try, because he hadn't left home and hell behind to repeat it all here, even if pain couldn't get enough of him, one way or another.
A week ago--and it only struck him then in full force how much could change in just a few days--he would have chosen himself and all the twists and trappings that let him remain the same. Had already made that choice in the room of monitors, with Lily and help he was too afraid to receive.
Now, he wanted to think, despite how wrong it seemed to let help in, that there was more to him than garbage and rotting sandwiches. He had already decided to be more than just fear, but did he dare to keep totaling up the bits of himself that amounted to someone better?
"Can I?" he asked quietly.
"I'm here."
And Christmas wanted to be there, too.
He glanced at Marcus, but even the presence of a stranger didn't stymie that lurking sensation that pushed the name from his lips with a thought that felt like finally, finally, finally. He remembered being young and stamping his feet, wanting something he couldn't recall, the scrap of memory winging in on the same undercurrent of emotion. Some kind of turbulent satisfaction that was the disturbed depths stirring again, but as wrong as that felt, it was also vindicating in a way even panic couldn't dull.
The feeling culled his weaknesses and justifications down to the simplest answer.
"Ernie."
Marcus stood to the side, watching the entire scene unfold. Clearly there was more to this pair than he'd originally thought, and even Sander's gentle persuasion caused Marcus to rethink some things. Perhaps he'd just seen Sander at his worst, and had made some unfair judgements about him. Still, the revelation of the abuser left him in an uncomfortable situation; how exactly was he supposed to react? It was a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts; one that left him a little unsure of where to go now. He certainly wasn't going to press Christmas about the situation any more.
But the change in the antagonistic party meant that Marcus owed Sander an apology, at least. "Sorry, Sander...I guess I misunderstood." he said, rubbing his own temples. It was a short and curt apology, one that still contained some bitterness, but was genuine nonetheless.
Ernie, huh? It made sense; the attack on Allison seemed to take a new light with this information. Still, he hid it well - Marcus had thought of them as two sides of a coin when they first talked. Apparently, Marcus didn't know that coin as well as he'd thought.
Sander was silent as the words sank in, and frankly, he was horrified. And angry. Because he shouldβve noticed. For all the cheery words and the small favours, Ernie shared his mark. The same thing. He shouldβve known. Rage darkened his thoughts, and unknowingly, the touch on Christmasβ shoulder grew firm, earning him a quick look and a slight tremble from the boy. He noticed that soon enough, and with a quick breath, he relaxed his grip.
βItβs alright.β -Sander forced a smile for Marcus, the gesture wasnβt very convincing with the traces of a frown still lingered on his brows ββCanβt blame you.β
βI justβ¦β -He inhaled sharply, reigning in angry words and the urge to slam his fists into something warm and soft and undeniably human. Between the blinding rage and the bitter defeat in the face of his own ignorance, Sander fell back to the latter. Safer βββ¦Iβm sorry. I shouldβve known.β
"Hey, can't be expected to know everything." Marcus said, trying to reassure Sander. "Not unless you're the second coming of Foresight or something!" he joked. There really wasn't much to be done here anymore - he highly doubted that Zhang would allow them to go on a manhunt for Ernie, and he still hadn't sorted out his feelings himself.
"You sure you're gonna be okay, Christmas?" Marcus said, trying to sound more tender than his conversation with Sander.
He still had the pills, so Christmas nodded. The brazen bit of emotion that had flared up for a moment was simmering down now and all the worries were shuffling back into place, especially since someone he hardly knew was getting wrapped up in it, too.
"Didn't mean it, I-I think," he offered the words again, thinking lack of choice was placating enough.
βThen maybe he should be more careful.β -Sander mumbled, rage hardened the line of his jaws ββMaybe he shouldnβt be near you.β -Hypocrisy, coming from him. But he was selfish and he was angry, and his restraint wasnβt as good as he thought.
"But I...t-the pills," Christmas responded, eyes fearfully regarding the tension in Sander's face and shoulders. "...It's...okay."
"Dude, I'm not exactly the best source here, but there have got to be better ways of getting your meds if you need them. Don't let yourself get reduced to a kickboxing dummy!" Marcus said, the energy returning to his voice. It was time for a pep talk, and fortunately, that was his area of expertise.
"And Sander, you're not going to do much good drooling on the floor because Zhang tazed you. Just remember the game; protect your healer, and don't give him away." Marcus said, turning to look at him.
βDonβt have to take them. Donβt have to hurt, in the first place.β -Sander shook his head slightly, looking at the fading bruises on Christmasβ face ββI canβ¦help. I want to.β -He offered, knowing full well this wasnβt another lunch or another shower. He knew what awaited: empty chambers and far-away scents, a nothingness clawed at his chest with every breath, and the knowledge that this was where he belonged hung heavy.
But it would be worth it. Because despite everything, Christmas stayed. And there was precious little he wouldnβt do for that small mercy.
βIβm not really good at protecting. You were there.β -Sander returned the eye contact, once again forcing a polite smile for the scarred boy.
The solution Sander had offered in regards to Kusari that Tuesday evening suddenly sounded like the words behind his offer to "help" now with Ernie. Christmas caught his roommate's decorated wrist in both of his hands, clutching at the myriads of thoughts he was trying to put into words, because it was too much. Sander always offered too much, and Christmas was only just realizing that the generosity went both ways, on both extremes.
His mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times, before stray thoughts about red eyes and recklessness sparked a small ember in the ashes of his more selfish wants.
"How...how would you help?" he asked slowly, because he needed to be sure.
βI can try to make sure that Ernie wonβt be near youβ¦would that be enough?β -Sander looked at the ribbon around his wrist ββOr youβd like me toβ¦β -He pressed his lips into a thin line, the soft shade of blue reminding him of the promise to try. Indulging that part of himself would be losing. But if Christmas wanted. She had wanted that from him. But he had also decided that Christmas wasnβt the same. And he trusted the blond boy βββ¦make him go away?β
"No." The denial was firm, and surprised Christmas with exactly how much he did not want that. That gave him a foothold to repeat the word he rarely used so seriously. "No."
Red eyes and recklessness and solutions that were too much. Too far.
"More than--" It felt presumptuous to say it. For him to say it. "You're more than that."
And that selfish arrogance where he thought he could say what he wanted. Don't you dare.
Marcus felt a little out of place in the situation. He'd become relatively certain he'd pieced together all the puzzles here. Which, if he was right, was way different than what he thought was going on at first. Nearly the opposite, as a matter of fact. Still, Sander was letting his emotions take control of him again, and Marcus cleared his throat.
"Don't mean to interrupt here, but how exactly would you even plan on doing that? We have classes together. We sit in the same room. And even if you managed to get close enough to 'make him go away', what's your plan from there?" Marcus said. He started counting off on his fingers, coming up with possible actions. "Get shot to death? Get electrocuted? Maybe have Prism come down and turn you into a puddle?"
"What makes you think Zhang has any tolerance for that?" Marcus said, crossing his arms again.
Christmas turned to Marcus, relief and gratitude on his face for the many things he couldn't say himself because he didn't have the presence of mind to put all those worries into clean, clear words. He managed a barely audible "Thank you," in response.
βJust solitary confinement, before. If I overstep. Thenβ¦β -Sander kept the faint smile when he spoke to Marcus, but from the way he worked his jaws while choosing the words, it was clear he wasnβt comfortable βββ¦reconditioning. Might be different here, but itβs alright. I donβt mind.β
βWhat else can I do?β -The question was genuine, yet tentative. Sander looked between Christmas and Marcus, waiting.
I mind. Christmas's hands tightened on Sander's wrist and his breaths came in shallow.
He didn't want to pay Ernie back--or maybe he did, but it wasn't clear enough to act on. He didn't want Sander to make Ernie "go away" just as he didn't want Sander to do the same for Kusari. He didn't need anything like that. It was just--did he have the nerve to voice? Not just ask. Not just quietly half-word a request.
Demand.
Did he dare?
"Sander. While I admire you're wanting to help, that's a terrible idea." Marcus said. He never thought he'd be on the side of inaction, but this was a different situation altogether. "I doubt there's any reconditioning going on here. Remember when we first arrived? Kusari slipped her cuff, a scared guard merely pointed his gun at us, and Zhang shot him without hesitation."
"What exactly makes you feel so sure that you'd be different? If you threaten whatever weird project they've got us in - you're going to end up as meat. Doesn't matter what, or who, you are. And I doubt Christmas here would fare any better if you were lying in the dirt." Marcus said, trying to get Sander to focus.
He was ending up being the bad guy a lot today, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Some people, like Angel, just needed a quick chat and a few jokes. Some people like Sander needed a hard talking to. He was happy to provide both, normally. In this case, having just been angry for something that didn't happen, it felt weird to pull the angry-talk card again.
Again with the fears that had been too much for him to put into words and Christmas held onto Sander's wrist like it could stop his roommate from doing something they'd all regret. He wanted to thank Marcus again, but there was a buzzing heat rising to his ears and it was hard to focus on anything other than how careless Sander wanted to be. He didn't like it--any of it. Not Ernie beating him up, not a promise of "next time," not Sander's retaliation. None of it. And he especially didn't want to feel this rising panic and something else at the thought that Sander wasn't concerned about solitary confinement or whatever "reconditioning" meant.
βThey wonβt kill me. Probably. But I wonβt let Ernie doβ¦this again.β -Sander directed a distressed look at the blond boy ββI have to do something.β
"Oh. Good. Probably." Marcus said, literally facepalming. "Glad we sorted that one out, team. Probably won't die." He was done. Speechless. There was nothing more he could say to Sander. The logic was infallable. A perfect plan, by his calculations.
He shot a pained look at Christmas. Hopefully he was better at talking sense into Sander's thick skull, because Marcus was about ready to give up.
Christmas was still staring at the length of blue ribbon wrapped around Sander's wrist, mouth drawn in a thin line as he tried to hold on to different thoughts. It was Monday with Lily again, but something was different, because this wasn't about him and his selfish fears--not completely.
And Sander was probably not going to get killed.
A trickle of a laugh wound its way into a cough and he glanced at Marcus briefly before looking back down at the ribbon, wanting just a little bit of that clarity where he could voice everything that scared him.
"Don't--I don't want--not that," he tried instead, hands shaking on Sander's wrist as his knuckles whitened. Please listen.
βThen what do you want? I have to do something.β -Sander frowned, desperation in his voice. It was simple, to him. He had asked Christmas to stay. Now it was his job to make sure the blond boy wanted to stay with him. It couldnβt happen without effort on his part. Without sacrifice. And he really didnβt mind that ββTell me. Iβll do it. I promise.β
"Don't have--don't have to," the healer insisted. "Just--stay near. Th-that's enough." It was, it was. So please listen.
βBut I stayedβ¦It wasnβt enough. You still got hurt. Please, let me do something right. I want to.β
"It's enough." Doing something right. He knew that feeling, but it was wrong here.
The same and not the same as refusing Lily's help. He was trying to refuse the mistake Sander wanted to make--for Sander's sake? Maybe. But it was really for me. He didn't know where the audacity came from--maybe he stole some from Marcus because Marcus could say everything so easily, so clearly--but it was there, black as pitch and heated to boiling, offering him so many words on the tip of his tongue and it scared him so much.
Sander simply gave his roommate a puzzled look afterward, brows still furrowed and lips still slightly parted, as if he still had something to say. But the βenoughβ had a sense of finality in it, one he had heard enough time to recognize. So Sander gave, shoulders slumping slightly as the tension bled out of them.
ββ¦alright. If thatβs what you want.β
Christmas heaved a shaking sigh of relief, the thundering of his own pulse in his ears still loud, but gradually fading into an aftermath of tremors and slowing breaths.
He felt he owed the courage to Marcus. And he knew it didn't make sense outside the space of his mind, but he was grateful all the same.
"Th-thank--thank you," he finally stammered out at the other student, because Marcus had stopped Sander from going away.
Marcus stood nearby, watching the relationship blossom. Normally, he felt like he would have been completely out of place and snuck away somewhere in the first conversation, but he felt like Sander's insistence wouldn't have happened if he wasn't there. In a roundabout way, he'd be at fault if Sander got killed, and he seemed important enough to the kid that just fixed his leg that he didn't want that to happen.
"Happy to help!" Marcus said, flashing a grin at Christmas. He honestly hadn't done much but unsuccessfully try to talk some sense into Sander, but he felt like he'd had some effect on the whole scene. Wishful thinking? Maybe; but everything had turned out okay, so there was nothing wrong with a little bit of self-back-patting.
Christmas would have returned the infectious grin, but he ended up pretending to scratch his nose instead, looking back to Sander after his expression settled back into a pensive neutral.
There was something he wanted to say, but it was hard to find the right words. Always had been, even on paper and high school essays he barely passed with C's and C minuses. He glanced again at Marcus, eyes tracking the raised, darkened skin cutting across the other boy's face, and the nick at the corner of his grinning mouth. Stronger than him by far. Marcus could spare some of that fortitude, couldn't he? Just enough of the words for Christmas to borrow.
"...S-shot to death. Electrocuted. Soli--solitary confinement. Recon--reconditioning," he repeated the words and the worries, eyes jumping from Marcus's face to Sander's. Clear words that weren't his, but a grin through the scars had cleared a bit of the flotsam away: the messes that covered up better words and thoughts that would fit his failing courage. Christmas took a few breaths, steeling himself to just a fraction of what Marcus had accomplished. He just needed that much to make the quiet, hypocritical demand to Sander.
"I wish--I wish you'd care about yourself."
Sander was silent in the aftermath of the sudden request, brows scrunched together as if he was having trouble understanding the words. He might as well have. Because for years, this was the first time he had heard such a request. His recklessness was justified; he wasnβt the same thing as many other mages. The magic changed him. Changed his body. He was like Kusari, in some ways, except for him, the monster stayed under his skin. He didnβt care so much about himself, simply because he didnβt have to. It was redundant, when he could pretty much heal up from anything. One of the small mercies (or?) he was granted.
But Christmas had asked. Such a strange thing to ask, but heβd do it. Was it the same thing he asked the blond boy, just a few days ago? Was this what he must give in exchange? Equivalence? When he distilled the sentences down to just words like that, it was easier to understand. And he didnβt have to think too much about what was behind the request. Taking care of himself. Sure. He could do that.
βAlright. If thatβs what you want.β -Sander nodded again, same words with the same meanings. He didnβt have too many of them, anyway ββYouβd do the same, right?β
"...I'd...w-want to, yeah."
βYou believe me right? Iβll do it. I promise.β -Sander smiled, pushing his blue-wrapped wrist into the warmth of Christmasβ hands ββPromise me too?β
Somehow, that was harder to promise than making a demand Christmas couldn't manage for himself.
He stared at the wrist now clasped between his hands, wondering if he had the nerve after all he had used up on borrowed strength and stolen words. But he wanted to. He did.
"Pr--promise." And "next time" promised, too, but it didn't crush him this time. If he was lucky (or brave), it wouldn't have to hold his fears hostage either.
"Alright you two, this is all sweet and stuff, but there's still a problem here. A 'recently-transferred-table-leg-wielding' problem to be specific." Marcus said. Sure, they were making promises and feelings and yadda yadda, puke. Things that wouldn't exactly help the next time that Ernie needed a training dummy or something.
"Christmas; if you want Sander to not splatter people, then you need to meet him halfway and make sure you don't voluntarily put yourself in a position where Sander needs to splatter people. This...thing of yours needs to be able to hold up on both sides." he added, guesturing between the two as he spoke.
Marcus was right, but Christmas didn't have a single solution to it. If Ernie didn't beat him up, someone else would take it, right? He'd like to think he didn't care enough, but he also didn't want to be the indirect reason someone else passed out in a dumpster bin.
But what came out of his mouth was an instinctive reaction instead.
"Th-thing?"
Whoops. Was it not a thing? Was he making terrible judgements again? He made a mental note to think for a few seconds before he opened his mouth from now on - a note that would certainly be discarded mere moments after creation.
"This...uh...little trust pact of yours." Marcus said, quickly scrambling to cover his bases.
He hadn't (dared) put a name to it, and that was as good a label as anything else, so Christmas just blinked at Marcus for a moment, deciding he wouldn't question what his friendly classmate thought. "Trust pact." It was a part of it, definitely.
"U-um...y-yeah. ...Thank--thank you?"
Sander mulled over Marcusβ words, though to be honest, the scarred boy didnβt suggest much of a solution. Was there even a solution for this? He wouldnβt know. Didnβt know anything beyond what he had offered. That wasnβt veryβ¦appropriate for someone who would like to believe he wasnβt the same thing, but old habits died hard, and he knew his were still alive and well, despite everything he had promised.
But he was trying. Fumbling through to it all, but he was trying.
βMaybeβ¦I can ask Ernie? I will just ask him to stay away. Is that alright?β
"I mean. You can try, but I don't exactly see you as the diplomatic kind of person, here." Marcus said, smirking a little bit. Let the rampaging nude-beast try talking for a change - that'd probably be a huge success. "What if, and stay with me here because this is a complex plan, Christmas just avoided him?" Marcus said. His voice was probably more full of contempt that usual, but he was still trying to imagine Sander calmly talking to Ernie.
"I mean, as long as you just stay away from him, he can't beat on you. Simple as that!"
"But didn't you say we have class together and everything?"
"He's not exactly gonna punch Christmas in the middle of class, now is he? I mean outside of classes, man." Marcus said, shaking his head softly.
βThatβs it?β -Sander raised an eyebrow, still skeptical about thisβ¦method ββButβ¦Ernie can still findβ¦you.β -He turned to the blond boy then, hesitant. Ernie had seemed reasonable on that night at the bar. Maybe it was the Stigma? ββI can ask him toβ¦not find you? Iβll just ask himβ¦uhβ¦nicely?β
"Uh..." Christmas mimicked the sound, at a loss for words. He certainly didn't have a better solution, and maybe if they tried both things? "M-maybe?"
He looked over to Marcus, guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach for having involved not only Sander, but another classmate. And Marcus was helping...or trying to help. It was still a lot more than he had expected when the other student could have simply left them alone. Not bothered asking about the bruises. Not bothered caring.
"Sorry," he mumbled in Marcus's general direction, eyes on the bloody pant leg. "For...for the trouble."
"Listen kid," Marcus said, voice straight but still warm. "A couple minutes ago I was trying to figure out how long it would take to literally hop over to the infirmary. If I can help you with your bully problem, then I'd consider that a fair trade!. He sighed for a second, thinking.
"I'd play it like this: Avoid Ernie and don't cash it on whatever your pill deal is, if he tries to hunt you down, then you have Sander ask nicely. You don't want to start with direct confrontation, in case he retaliates." Marcus said. Bullies were a force he was familiar with, but pretty much every teenager was in some form or another - the difference was in dealing with them.
"Th-thank you," Christmas replied, not confident in the plan, but grateful. That was about as effective a strategy as they could get, he figured. He looked back at Sander, pulling on the taller boy's wrist between his hands. "It's--it's okay, right?"
βYeah.β -Sander seemed satisfied enough with whatever plan they had come up with. Because really, any plan was better than no plan, and even when he could offer violence so easily, he didnβt really want to resort to it at all. Not when there was an alternative ββIβll find Ernie later.β -He casted his mind back to that night at the bar, remembering the sweet scent of cocoa liqueur and irish cream.
"Alright, well that's settled. I guess." Marcus said, shooting an exasperated look at Sander. He thought for a moment, trying to think of other possible plans. One stood out to him, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the chestnut phone he'd been given.
"You've both got phones, right? Wanna give me your numbers, so you can at least have one extra person as backup if Ernie rears his ugly head?" Marcus said, navigating the menus.
Wordlessly, Sander retrieved the diamond-studded phone from his pocket and fumbled with it for a few moments, getting his number onto the display. Once that done, he offered it toward Marcus.
Christmas spared the strangely opulent phone another glance, still not quite used to the ritzy device. Tearing his eyes away from the brilliant jewels on the phone chassis, he pulled out his much simpler, black phone and offered Marcus the contact information as well, inadvertently staring at the scars again before immediately looking back down with a quiet "S-sorry."
Marcus gave Sander a double-take as he pulled out the girliest phone he'd ever seen, stifling a small laugh. He took the phone from Sander, looking over the number and copying it down, before adding his own number and handing it back. He repeated the process with Christmas, giving him a confused look when he apologized, but not saying anything.
"There we go! All connected!" he said, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
βThank you.β -Sander smiled, slipping the phone back into his pocket ββI supposeβ¦weβll see you around?β
"Thank you," Christmas repeated, putting his own device away as well. He stared at Marcus's shoes for a second, before breathing in and continuing, finding it easier in the moment to speak after trying to follow Marcus's pace before. And he wanted to help in return, too, because a "thank you" wasn't enough for the help Marcus had offered, for the words he had provided.
"Can--you can call for, um, h-help, t-too. If--if you get, um, get hurt again."
Sander frowned at that offer, but he didnβt say anything. Christmasβ choice. He tried to subvert that choice once, in the security room. That didnβt turn out well. So he wouldnβt make that mistake again ββAlright. Letβs go.β -With a final nod to the scarred boy, Sander turned and walked off, Christmas following with a small wave back at Marcus.
And that left Marcus by himself. He shook his head, still trying to piece together the afternoon. "What a day..." he said to himself, sighing and looking at the overcast sky.
From behind the cafe pillar that served as his hiding place, Ernie sank to his feet. Ah, he was totally fucked, wasn't he?
All he'd wanted was a snack from the cafe. What he got instead was a front row seat to a Looney Tune-esque chase out in the field, courtesy of Marcus and a psycho dog. Then Christmas and Sander arrived. Then everything went wrong. Ernie had ducked behind the bushes and heard everything.
He had it coming. He should've seen it coming. God, what was he even going to do? Ernie couldn't blame the kid for ratting him out like this. He only had himself to blame. If he'd just shown some goddamn restraint and kept it all below the shoul-- FUCK.
Ernie bashed his chest with a fist. Even now, he didn't have the guts to face it. It was all Ernie's fault. So why did he keep finding reasons to say that it wasn't?
Because he was a coward. Because the consequences would be too much for him.
He shivered. Sander wanted to kill him. That psychopath spoke about it as if he were discussing dinner plans. He'd already planned to do it and he'd already come to terms with the punishments that would follow. Ernie wasn't ready for that. Despite all the shittiness he brought to the world, there was still some scrawny animal in him that held on to dear life. God, he wasn't ready to die yet.
Ernie rose to his feet slowly, unsteadily. He needed to leave. Find a place to hide. Find someone to help. The guards wouldn't do shit for him here. The Aberration gazed around for any signs of the Berserker, only to find that Marcus was still there. Fuck, that guy probably hated him now. But he was the only person who knew the situation. Ernie had no other choice.
He composed himself. Reined in the erratic breaths. Willed his hands to stop shaking. Then he strolled forward, as if he was merely stumbling across a friend in the park and not bartering with a guy he barely knew for his own life.
"Sounds like I'm in trouble, huh," Ernie said a bit too casually, walking up behind Marcus.
Marcus wasn't even fazed. Of course Ernie had heard all of that. He sighed to himself again, wondering if it was even worth the effort to turn around. Hopefully this conversation was about to go smoothly - he'd just had Christmas heal him, and he'd hate to call him so soon.
"Only if you play your cards wrong." Marcus said. He turned to look at Ernie, arms crossed and gaze very much unimpressed. "I'd say we came to a pretty peaceful plan just now. Maybe just stay away from Sander and Christmas for a little bit while they simmer down." he added, the tone of his voice making it very clear that this was more than just a suggestion.
"Right, cos the insane bastard who chomped on a supergirl and barrelled through a freaking wall is gonna 'simmer down'," Ernie retorted. Geez, why was he even talking to Marcus? Was he looking for help? Like Chestnut here was gonna do anything for him after what he'd learnt. The sides were clear in this situation. Ernie wanted to cry, but it only came out as awkward, choked laughter, "He's going to fucking kill me, Marcus."
"Hopefully not." Marcus mused. "I tried to be as charismatic as possible when I was telling him how terrible of an idea that was. Hell, Christmas might be your saving grace here, ironically - keep Sander from getting killed trying to end you."
He still wasn't sure what to think of this situation, and he certainly hadn't been prepared to face the grey morality this soon. He'd thought that Sander was a complete monster - but it turned out to be a little more complicated than that, and now he was faced with the same circumstances with Ernie.
"Keep your head down - walk the other direction if you see Sander, and you'll probably be fine. That's about the best advice I can give you, here."
"The best advice a guy with zoom-speed powers is giving me. Gotcha. Do you think Sander's the kind of guy to let something like this go so easily? You saw what was going on between him and Christmas. And..." Ernie resisted the urge to scratch at the X on his throat, tugging at his shirt instead. He grimaced, "When you've got the option-- the power-- to make something go your way, Aberrations generally take it. No matter how long it takes. This isn't the kind of thing that'll get resolved after a week of doing nothing. All he has to do is wait til I let my guard down. The school guards won't do shit about it either. They didn't do anything when the precious healer got hurt, that's for sure."
Ernie finished the last statement with obvious bitterness. He'd spoken from experience. A waiting game that spanned years. A crossfire that had ruined him and everyone he knew.
Aberration. He recognized the word from that mysterious card that he'd followed. The violent ones. The ones who picked 'incorrectly'. He'd read about the other side - their 'stigmas' and such. It was probably the reason he was so uncertain about Sander, and now about Ernie.
"Listen, I can't pretend like I know what you're going through, or sit here and tell you exactly how to resolve this situation. Right now, you're pretty fucked, yeah." Marcus shrugged at the statement; it certainly wasn't his problem - but he just had to try and smooth things out with everybody. It would have been way easier to just turn around and leave, but that just wasn't him.
"I didn't think Sander was the type of guy to let things go. Course, I didn't think you were the type of guy to bludgeon someone's face in or beat the shit out of someone else. I've been surprised a lot this week, in all honesty. I'd suggest apologizing, but I honestly don't know if that would help." He paused here, thinking again. "You've got the mark in common - he'd understand better than I would at least. Maybe that'd be enough. If you put yourself in a position where Sander's bearing down on you of course."
"You goofed. Time to own up, buddy."
Understanding. Would that really be all it took? It made an eerie amount of sense to Ernie. Maybe just thinking it all through was all he needed. Sander of all people would get how hard it was to maintain control. Marcus would never be able to know what it took to live as an Aberration, but Ernie would be an idiot to dismiss it just because it came from a white-mark.
The corner of Ernie's mouth twitched upwards at the last 'buddy'. Was it a coincidence or did this guy just really want to rub it in? He seemed cocky enough to do it, from the little time Ernie'd spent in his company. Even in this mood Ernie could respect that strange humour. This, all of it, was exactly what he needed to hear.
"Well. I didn't think you'd be such a sensible asshole either," Ernie smiled ruefully, "But I guess you're right."
He wanted to say more. Maybe about how it wasn't all about control that day, but weakness. Maybe about stupid school things, stuff normal teens stressed about instead of genuinely fearing for their lives.
Maybe about how, in some universe where Ernie wasn't a total sack of shit and none of them had to worry about monsters and doombringers, he hoped that they would be friends.
But he didn't. He wasn't going to spiel all that to someone who knew what he really was. He wasn't going to embarrass himself like that. So he settled for whatever he could.
"Thanks. That's... yeah, you said it well. Thanks... buddy."
Urgh. On second thought, he'd embarrassed himself already, letting Marcus see his fear. It was... necessary, and it had given him one of the answers he needed. But it was still uncomfortable as hell. Marcus wasn't the kind of person he felt comfortable spilling all this out to. He was an Arbiter. But he was there and Ernie heard what he needed to hear. Ernie didn't want Marcus having this sort of emotional dirt on him.
Time to switch gears.
"Sooo. Killer campus dogs. Are there a lot of those here?"
Marcus chuckled a bit at the 'sensible asshole' statement. It was a title he was fine having - with everything that was going on in this place, someone had to be the calm, level headed one.
"God I hope not. We've got enough problems without there being packs of dogs tearing us apart." He looked anxiously over hs shoulder, back the way that the first dog had run off. "And I didn't do so hot against one, so I'm really hoping I can just go back to my dorm and forget that happened."
Ernie racked his brains. Marcus deserved some help for hearing him out, no matter how little it was. "Can't say I've got any solid advice for dog problems besides spraying yourself down with vinegar everytime you leave your room. Maybe you should invest in a police baton. Or pepper spray."
"Vinegar? Is that a thing that works, or are you just pulling my leg so I'll show up at class smelling like a science fair project?" Marcus shook his head here, his posture loosening up a but and a grin cracking its way across his face.
"I think the dog already did a decent job of pulling your leg," Ernie wisecracked back, "Nothing wrong with smelling like bathroom cleaner. I think oranges and chili work with dogs too, if you'd rather smell like an exotic dessert."
"Eeeeh." Marcus said, shaking his hand to denote unsureness. "Biting. Ripping. Tearing. Basically everything but pulling - it didn't quite get to that point. And I'll have you know..." he paused here to strike a slight pose, "...I always smell like an exotic dessert."
"Is this the part where I go up and sniff you to make sure? Cos I don't think either of us would like that."
"No. Absolutely not. Right now I probably only smell like blood and fear. Which is not as good as exotic desserts, I believe.
"Oh yeah," Ernie glanced at Marc's bloodied pants, his mouth forming an instinctual frown, "Yeah, you should get yourself cleaned up. If you need help with clearing those stains, I could lend you some stuff. It's actually kinda my specialty."
Ernie said that last statement with a bit too much pride for a 16-year-old boy.
"Nah, I'll probably just throw it in the wash and see if it's salvagable. If not - I'm sure I've still got money on that card they gave us. Plus, you should probably get out of here just in case Sander decides to come back." He said, jerking a thumb back towards the direction the other pair had walked off in.
At the mention of just throwing it in the wash, Ernie's expression turned from mild worry to outright disapproval. Before he could call Marcus out on his awful laundry habits, the Arbiter raised a fairly good point.
"Sander doesn't have some kinda hunting sense, does he?" the Aberration blanched. "Shit, I should go then."
"I'm...not sure? Maybe?" Marcus said. He tried thinking back to the Flag Fight, back to how Sander had pointed the healer out. Had he literally sniffed him out, or was that just another benefit of his power? The ability to randomly find people? Marcus shrugged, giving Ernie a noise of uncertainty.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later," Ernie turned to leave in some direction that wasn't the way Marcus pointed out. He'd probably need to take a few detours to get back to his dorm, "Sorry for... stuff. And thanks again. I'll see you in class?"
"Hopefully. Unless I get eaten by another dog on the way back to the room!" With that Marcus turned around and started walking, giving Ernie a small wave before he left. It had been a long day, hell; a long week even. Maybe he'd just chill out for the rest of the day. Somewhere safe and warm where he could just relax.
"Exotic dessert, buddy! Keep it up!"
Ernie began his journey back to Building B with a genuine smile, reflecting on the conversation. It was...really nice just to have a normal conversation for once. Just meandering talk that wasn't about Stigmas or eye-stabbings or control. Stuff normal high-schoolers did. It'd barely been seven months since he'd gotten captured by the USARILN system and enrolled into the magic high school. He had to admit that he'd hoped for less magic and more high school at first, but eventually he had to face the fact that he'd never be just a normal kid like his classmates.
But Marcus. Cal, Siena and, hell, even Emma. They made him feel like he could try to pretend. He could worry about stupid things like clothes and schoolwork instead of the turmoil in his mind. Pretending was fine. It was good. It wouldn't last, he knew that. But it was close enough to the real thing or at least, what he thought was the real thing.
So he'd keep going. Until he inevitably drove them all away.
Sander pulled on his hoodie, fingers fumbling to get the zippers aligned. The weight of the decision was still heavy on his shoulders, and he felt like he was chafing. The Stigma was thrumming behind each and every one of his thought. What if his control slipped? What if he hurt Ernie? What if he killed Ernie, and they came for him? Should he fight back, to keep himself from getting hurt? But wouldnβt that make him the same thing?
Sander groaned, pressing nails into his palms until pain took the edge off his thoughts. It was just a talk. He could at least do this. Before his Stigma could goad him into backing out, he left the bedroom and headed toward the door as fast as he could. However, the blond boyβs prone form on the sofa caught his eyes, and he faltered. He could just leave without saying anythingβ¦but it felt wrong. Christmas deserved to know. Justβ¦not the details. So he made a detour for the sofa.
βHey.β -Sander said, once he was standing right next to his roommate ββIβm leaving for a little bit, alright?β
Christmas had been dozing off dinner and another drink of water and painkillers, but at Sander's announcement that he was leaving again he blinked himself awake and sat up. "You're...leaving?" he mumbled back, still half-asleep.
βYeah, just for a bit.β -Sander tried to smile ββJust toβ¦talk.β
"T-to Marcus?" His thoughts somehow strayed automatically to the conversation at noon, wondering if Sander was going to keep discussing it with that student and the corner-cut grin.
βUh. No. To Ernie.β
"Huh?" But it had barely been six or seven hours since. He thought Marcus had meant for them to try and steer clear of Ernie for a while. "Al-already?"
βYeah. Iβ¦will be back soon.β -Sander placed a hand on Christmasβ shoulder, gently ushering the blond boy back down. There was a sharp inhale from the healer and brief tension in the shoulder, but that settled soon afterwards.ββGo back to sleep, alright?
"Talk...j-just to talk?" Christmas replied after several seconds, laying back down but still watching Sander warily.
βJust to talk.β -Sander confirmed, the touch on Christmasβ shoulder lingered for a few moments, before he straightened himself up ββWonβt be long.β
The blond boy nodded, but watched Sander until the door closed.
A knock on his dorm door roused Ernie from a night of online browsing. That was strange. He'd only given Angelique his dorm room number. If she needed something she could've just texted him.
He opened the door and immediately stiffened as he saw Sander standing in front of him. He should've guessed it would happen so soon.
"Hi," he said, revealing no emotion. They both knew what he was here for, "Do you want to come in?"
βHello, Ernie.β -Sander lifted the corners of his lips into a smile that didnβt reach his eyes ββSure.β -He accepted the invitation easily, walking inside the room right when Ernie moved out of his way. He remained standing right in the middle of the small dorm room, shoulders stiff and fingers just a little bit too restless, but nothing else betrayed the simmering rage beneath.
"How 'bout you sit down and we can talk?" Ernie gestured to his desk chair, taking a seat on his bed himself. His heart started pounding as he saw Sander's smile. Completely lifeless.
βI prefer to stand, if you donβt mind.β -Sander turned slightly so he was looking straight at the other Aberration. He waited politely until Ernie had completely settled into his seat, and then some, before continuing ββSoβ¦I came over to ask you something. Is that alright?β
Why couldn't his fucking heart stay still? Ernie gripped the bedsheets, feeling his hands start to sweat too. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible.
"It's about Christmas isn't it. What I... did."
Something darkened in Sanderβs blue eyes, but he kept the pleasant faΓ§ade up as best as he could. Christmas already asked him to. He was better than this. Even when there was a part of him (Stigma?) that kept telling how he was probably making a mistake, Sander ignored it and pressed on ββPlease stay away from Christmas from now on.β -He paused, exhaling slowly ββPlease donβt come near our suite again.β
ββ¦Iβd know if you do.β -A pensive look passed over his features, and Sander added after another moment of silence. It wasnβt a threat, but a warning. A promise.
Too calm. Sander was beyond the shallow, obnoxious anger that the bastards at Reno had always flaunted. There really was no hope in here, huh. Ernie nodded silently. Another potential friend lost.
"I know. I'll..." 'Try' wouldn't be good enough. Just 'try' would have Sander rip him to shreds. And to be honest, Ernie didn't even know if 'try' was what he'd be doing. He hoped that the fear churning in him right now would give him enough incentive to leave that shit alone, "I will. I... lost control. I won't touch Christmas again. It won't fix things but I'm sorry."
That was all he could say.
Sanderβs gaze flickered down to the black X on Ernieβs throat when the other Aberration mentioned βcontrolβ. He, of all people, knew what it was like to lose control. It felt wrong then, to ask Ernie to stay away, when he himself should do the same. Because he was just as bad. If not worse.
βWas it the Stigma?β -The memories of sweet drinks and hazy glow nagged at him, prompting Sander to soften his voice. Because despite everything, he didnβt want to hurt Ernie. Didnβt want to hurt anyone. Even when the universe didnβt give him that choice something, or he himself couldnβt see them, Sander didnβt want to pick the easy way out. He had changed. He had got better.
The long-haired boy looked up at Sander, hopeless resignation in his eyes. God, what a stupid question. Ernie thought back to Marcus' advice. Understanding. It wasn't forgiveness that he was looking for, nor was it what he needed.
"It's always the Stigma, isn't it? You'd think that after so many times there'd be a better reason. Something that wasn't so senseless and stupid. But there isn't. There's no excuse for what I did to him. To everyone else."
βGround Zero?β
"Doesn't work for me. Not completely. It needs to be... people. Feelings."
Sander furrowed his brows ββSo you needβ¦people? There are people in GZ?β -They were fake, and they smelled wrong, metallic and prickly but screams all sounded the same and their flesh gave just as easily. Sander couldnβt understand his fellow Aberrationβs predicament.
Ernie stood, his voice rising with the motion.
"Feelings, Sander! I need to know them. What they like and don't like. What makes them cry..."
Ernie felt the shame rise in him. It sounded so filthy out loud. But it was what he'd been doing.
"I need to talk to them. Then I need to watch them fall apart."
Sander was quiet for a few moments, blue eyes watching Ernie carefully. This was new, for him, at least. Then again, he hadnβt met that many Aberrations before. Or many people, for that matter ββI seeβ¦β
But he knew the strength of the Stigma, and he knew it was strong enough to overcome all the words that Ernie had promised. He couldnβt let Christmas get hurt again. So he had to make this choice. Wrong or no. He had to. It was selfish and it was disgusting, but he clamped down the Stigma-fueled thoughts and got the words out.
ββ¦can you find someone else then, please? Someone who isβ¦not Christmas?β
Disbelief. Ernie stared back, realising the helplessness of his situation. Sander wasn't going to help. Sander wasn't going to fix everything that was wrong with his horrifying strength.
The long-haired boy clawed at his X-mark.
Oh god, was that what he'd been hoping for all along? For someone like Liam, like Owen, to come and fix everything again? That pathetic reliance made Ernie want to drop dead. It was just going to go on, over and over until the guards finally found the sense to shoot him dead. Sander's roundabout selfishness had condemned him to that cycle he'd been trying to escape ever since he set foot on USARILN grounds. It was all just so fucking cruel.
Ernie wanted to cry again. Sander wasn't going to tell him he was wrong. He wasn't going to stop him, or pay Ernie back with everything he deserved. Because somewhere too deep to actually make a difference, that was what Ernie had wanted all along, wasn't it? But he was too much of a fucking coward to admit it and Sander didn't care. He wouldn't have been able to take it anyway. Worthless, every single one of them. But even through all that horrid realisation, Ernie found some twisted solace in Sander's words. Because really...
"You're..." Ernie smiled widely, that same smile he'd shown Christmas.
Right before everything started crashing.
"You're really terrible too."
Sanderβs face fell, defeated, but he didnβt look away βββ¦I have toβ¦β -Not really, no, but he was scrambling to align Christmasβ wishes and his own, so nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. He was regressing back into that pattern again: selfish and childish and terrible, like Ernie had pointed out. But he wanted Christmasβ constant presence more that he feared himself. He had gone without that human warmth for so long; he didnβt know what he would without it now that he was given a taste.
He would do anything to keep that warmth to himself.
Bad choices after bad choices. He was going to regret this.
But he would still do anything.
βI would do anything.β -And he repeated the words out loud, just to be sure.
"Yeah. I got it."
Ernie shook his head. What a load of shit. All of this. Both of them.
"I won't touch him. I won't go near you two."
Fucking garbage. He looked to the door.
"Could you leave now? I think we talked everything that needed to be talked."
βSorry. But I have to make sure.β -Sander followed the gaze, the message went through crystal clear. Without another word, he moved toward the door. However, just as he opened it, a thought flashed through his head and he paused at the threshold βββ¦I donβt want to hurt you, Ernie.β Donβt let me.
Anger carved Ernie's expression. So getting hurt by Sander was still a possibility. And the other Aberration didn't even have the balls to follow through with that loaded threat. Ernie thought back to their first conversation at the bar. 'Shouldn't' enjoy it. But he would. If he went near those two again, the last thing he'd ever see would be that bloodthirsty smile Sander had flashed during that brutal game on Monday. So Ernie could do nothing but parrot empty words and empty promises.
"I don't want to hurt anyone like that again."
But he would.
"Someone like Christmas never deserved it and I never should have done it."
Why did it matter who deserved it or not? All he needed to know is if they would fight back. If he would be able to beat them down over and over again.
"I'm staying away. So get out of my room, Sander."
βGood luck.β -Quiet words were thrown over his shoulder, and with that, Sander left.
The door to his suite closed behind him, and Sander spent a few moments leaning back against it, pressing fingers into his forehead, chasing away the stray thoughts elicited by his Stigma. He was doing the right thing. Not good. Terrible, in fact, but the right thing. Christmas would be safe now, when there was no longer a Stigma-driven Ernie to hound his steps. And Sander wouldnβt have to become the same thing he was before.
So everything was alright.
Except for whoever that was going to be affected by his bad choice.
He frowned, letting the hands fall to his sides. As long as Christmas was with him, that would be worth it. This was different from before. Different reasons. Different circumstances. The same thing, but different. So it was alright. He had changed for the better. Human, now. Closer to people, and further away from whatever he was.
Not.
Sander clamped down on whatever emotions that were bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, and stalked over to the sofa, where he knew the blond boy was.
Christmas was sitting up, phone in his hands when it seemed like Sander had been gone just long enough to worry. His roommate didn't look good coming back, not with his hand against his forehead and a harsh set to his shoulders.
"You're--you're okay?" he asked as Sander approached.
Sander didnβt say anything at first, simply moving closer before kneeling down to the floor, leaning his upper body against the sofa so he would be right next to Christmas. He kept his eyes glued to the blond boyβs torso, though for once, the scent of coffee didnβt flood his sense.
βHey.β -He began, ignoring the question in favour of asking one of his own ββCan Iβ¦hold your hand?β
"Y-yeah...?" Christmas set his phone aside, reaching out tentatively with his hand. Normally he would be happy about this, but Sander didn't seem all right. "T-the talk?"
Sander clasped the smaller hand in both of his larger ones, and he looked at it, before leaning down to press his forehead against that offered warmth. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he didnβt. Either way, he was trying to be. And that had to be worth something right? How he tried didnβt matter. Right?
βItβs fine. Ernie wonβt go near you again.β -He exhaled softly to get the cracks out of his voice first, before answering his roommate.
Relief came at the heels of guilt, because he had involved Sander in this and now nothing seemed all right. "I'm--I'm sorry." Christmas felt that heat against his hands and bit back another apology. "Wh-what happened?"
Another question Sander didnβt want to answer. Couldnβt. Still couldnβt. Because telling Christmas then felt like a mistake, and he thought he had made enough mistakes to last a lifetime. So he asked for something else, instead. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he didnβt.
βYouβd forgive me, right?β
What had he done? Christmas was afraid of a question like that, and afraid of what needed forgiving. So he ran through the fears and thoughts, finding where his own limits lay. He would forgive a lot of things if Sander wasn't that monster on the screens. And even then, he wondered if he hadn't already forgiven that, too, with every encounter in front of red eyes and teeth. But there was something more than that, beyond just pretending like the problems of a blood mage weren't his to grasp.
He decided he would forgive a lot now and worry a lot later.
"Y-yeah." His other hand reached for Sander's as well. "You're okay?"
Sander still didnβt answer the question, instead just heaved quiet breaths against the sofa and hid his face in Christmasβ hands. It was pointless, asking for forgiveness like this, when he couldnβt even confess what he did. So he cheated a little, and just let himself indulge in that swindled warmth just a little bit more.
βIβm fine.β -He finally said, voice barely above a whisper ββI kept my promise.β
Christmas moved a bit closer, afraid of the worst scenarios, like guards would come in and take Sander away. Or gun him down. His hands tightened against Sander's.
"Ernie is...h-he agreed?"
βYeah.β -Sander shifted slightly, lifting himself up and breathing the answer into the palm of Christmasβ hand. Still just the smell of skin, and not coffee. Still safe ββWonβt bother you anymore.β
"But..." It was stupid to worry about it, because Ernie had probably been doing this for however long he had his power, but Christmas couldn't forget the certainty of "next time." It had been a guarantee. Who had Ernie hurt before? How many? How many more? But to say he was completely satisfied with the solution felt like Christmas had shoved the problem over first to Sander and Marcus, then to someone entirely unknown. And it was even worse when Sander seemed so upset.
"...he promised a next time."
βHe wonβt bother you anymore.β -Sander simply repeated the empty assurance.
"...D-did he hurt you?" Christmas looked to the folded knife on the coffee table. "I can--I can heal?"
βNo. He didnβt.β -Sander blinked, alarmed ββI kept my promise. Really.β
"But he...has to? H-he said so."
"There are other ways."
"Other ways...?" That wasn't what Ernie had said on Friday. It wasn't. And if it wasn't Christmas surrounded by garbage, and it wasn't Sander hurt in his place, then...who?
"Other ways."
"...Other...people?"
Sander suddenly grew very still. His grip on Christmasβ hands tightened.
"S-Sander?"
"I have to." -Sander frowned, still refused to look up. He knew full well how much Christmas wanted to be nice, and this...went against. But he couldn't help it. This was the only solution he could think of -" I can't let you get hurt. Ever."
"Sorry."
It didn't make sense to Christmas, what Sander was apologizing for, but it also didn't make sense why Sander was so adamant on not letting him get hurt. He was supposed to be hurt. His power demanded it, and even though his roommate could take blood without hurting him, Sander had asked before, too, with red eyes and teeth on the battlefield. In the forest. So what was just one more thing? Ernie now, and Friday had taught him the certainty of it. Stigmas and Aberrations and everything they had no choices in.
"But--but why?"
βB-Becauseβ¦β -Sander fumbled, finding his justification. He paused to think, before finally lifted his head and looked into his roommateβs blue eyes βββ¦you are important. To me.β
It was Christmas's turn to freeze, and his eyes tried to look elsewhere as if answers could be found in the carpet or the walls, but his gaze continued returning to Sander and he couldn't hide the panic on his face.
"But Ernie...E-Ernie said it wouldn't be as--as bad next...next time. And he...I asked--asked to bring the pills, t-too."
βI told him to find otherβ¦ways.β -Sander sighed. It was the security room again, where he ripped the choice away from Christmas just to satisfy his selfish wants ββDoesnβt have to be you.β
βIβm sorry. Are youβ¦upset?β
Christmas's breaths were coming in faster to the pace of his quickened heartbeats, but he didn't know if he was upset or simply afraid. "I...I would've...been--been okay...?" He held onto Sander's hands desperately. "T-the pills can fix it."
Wordlessly, Sander reached up with one hand, fingers brushing the edge of a fading bruise on Christmasβ face. The pills couldn't fix everything.
At the touch, Christmas's panic twisted into something worse, because he was relieved it wouldn't be him anymore and he also knew it had to be someone under Ernie's feet. But what scared him most was how much his thoughts kept circling back to those words. Important to Sander. That should have made him happy enough to cry, but the words had come from one problem solved and another one made.
It was horrible of him to think that as long as Sander wasn't going away--as long as guards wouldn't make his roommate disappear--everything else was relatively acceptable.
"I'm scared."
βHey, itβs alright.β -The touch lingered as Sander let fingers ghost along the curve of Christmasβ jaws, mapping the lines there. So he would remember. It was important that he remembered ββIβm scared too.β
"W-why?" Christmas breathed in quickly at the light touch, his hands gripping even harder.
βBecause I donβt know what to doβ¦if youβ¦get too hurt.β -The hand fell away at last, and Sanderβs gaze followed it downward ββI donβt want to find out.β
βCan Iβ¦make a wish too?β
"Wha-what?"
"Don't get hurt?" -Sander grimaced, because asking for this was wrong and selfish and he would regret this later. But that was for later. He had the now ββPlease.β
"M-my power..."
"Only for your power."
Christmas pulled Sander's hand closer, watching the ribbon shift with the movement. "...What about...th-the other person? If--if someone else...and Ernie..."
He wanted to be nice. But maybe it was time to really admit he wasn't. He was so selfish it made his worth null and void. That's why he thought he deserved everything that came his way, whether he liked it or not.
βThatβsβ¦Donβt think about it.β -Sander frowned, once again faced with the consequences of his bad choices ββIβ¦As long as it isnβt you.β
"Sander...I'm...not--not worth this."
βYou are. To me.β
"I'm not nice." Christmas pulled Sander's hand towards him again, clutching it against his chest. A prayer, but for who he'd be hard pressed to define. "Do you--do you believe that?"
βDoesnβt matter to me if you arenβt.β -The beating heart beneath his hand called to the Craving, but Sander held it back. And he still didnβt smell coffee- βI donβt mind, as long as itβs you.β
"If...if it was the--the other way around. I think--I...I might have done the same." His hands shook around Sander's, and Christmas watched his roommate's expression with wide eyes. "I'm scared that I'm--I'm not nice and I'll never be."
βItβs fine.β -Sander leaned in closer, placing his free hand on top of the blond boyβs trembling ones ββIβm here. Staying here.β
"I'm sorry. For--for...a lot." Christmas hunched over the clasped hands slightly, like he was trying to hold on to more. "I'm always selfish like this." And it was easy to say. Easy to admit. Because Sander was staying. Even though they were both going about this the wrong way and Ernie would find someone else to hurt. "Always just...thinking about me. Not--not nice. I'm sorry."
He brought Sander's hand closer to his mouth, a reflexive attempt to hide away what he was ashamed of saying. "That's why-- why it's always okay. Because I'm not nice."
βDonβt have to be sorry around me. Iβd never blame you.β -Sander let out a breathy laugh, his fingers reached out to brush against the blond boyβs face ββI thinkβ¦everyone is not nice in their own way. Doesnβt have to be you. I donβt want it to be you.β
"I don't want it to be--to be you, either. Don't--don't want you to get hurt. Just--really selfish and--want you near." Christmas didn't know if it was okay to think like that. It seemed wrong. But Sander had fixed something for him, at the cost of someone else and it terrified him that for all he wanted to genuinely care about someone else--He. Just. Didn't. Not enough to matter. Any attempt to worry about a potential them without regards to himself would ring astoundingly false.
It was for his own guilt, and he understood a bit of Ernie's motivation from Friday.
"If I...find that person, I-I'll heal them?"
ββ¦Yeah.β -A breath of resignation, then Sander nodded ββItβs your power. Your choice.β
"...Okay. I...yeah. I'll--th-thank you," he stumbled through the words, because everything else he tried to say wasn't all there, but "thank you"s were reflex enough that he didn't need to put the words together as carefully--or carelessly.
"Thank you too. For...being here." -Sander smiled, or at least he tried to, because in the end, he still didn't tell Christmas everything. Maybe the blond boy would leave, if he ever found down. Maybe he wouldn't. But Sander didn't think too much about that, because he wanted to keep himself right in the here, and not whatever dark place his mind would take him.
"I'm--I shouldn't have forc--m-made it your problem. I'm sorry." Christmas slid off the sofa, tucking himself into a spot beside Sander on the floor. He remained quiet a moment longer, hands still wrapped around Sander's and holding that ribboned promise against his pounding heart for ransom.
Sander was kind, and it was because Christmas was "important." The word rang in that echo chamber of his mind now, but instead of receding in volume it seemed to swell until the shallow thoughts of people he didn't care about taking blows that should rightfully have been meant for him couldn't stem the satisfaction of being important, even when the revelation came at the cost of someone else.
All he cared about, truly, in that moment was himself. Himself in relation to Sander. Himself in relation to Ernie. Himself in relation to the entire world.
Christmas wondered, as memories of home and his personal hell crashed through the rising crescendo of "important," if he had spent his entire life just caring about himself.
Was it just more of that same selfishness that compelled him to care about Sander and the warmth between his hands?
"I'm sorry," he apologized again, because it was all he could do. There was nothing else he could help. Not his emotions, not his regrets, not his mistakes. And not that growing insistence that he wanted Sander to always be near, always be--
"I'm so sorry."
βDonβt have to be.β -Sander murmured, again, because Christmas didnβt seem to believe him. But he supposed he didnβt mind repeating. So he said it one more time for good measure, louder this time, just in case the blond boy missed it, while his left hand moved in a soothing pattern above Christmas's frantic heartββYou donβt have to be sorry.β
Smaller hands pressed down on Sander's left hand, the touch shaking, but there.
"I don't know what--what else to be. If--if not sorry."
"Be happy. I want to make you happy."
Hopes and guilts tore at each other in Christmas's downturned expression. A corner of a smile, but his eyes were straining to open wider as panic creased his brow.
"If you...if you're h-here. I--I'll try."
He took quiet breaths after that promise, mouth opening and closing hesitantly. A squeeze of Sander's hand finally leveraged the words.
"You--I want you to be happy, too."
Sander was happy once. He remembered those hot summer days, back when he could still get dizzy from carbonated sweetness and the warmth between his fingers was something other than blood.
But he had lost those days, somewhere between the distant thunders of gunfire and vinyl floor surrounded by white walls. And he wasnβt supposed to get them back. They were long gone. Burnt to ashes by the fire in his ribcage and scattered somewhere he couldnβt reach. Funny. Being happy was such a small thing. Easy. He knew how. Yet, he couldnβt do it. He promised he would do anything, but not this.
Sander smiled a little bit at his own hypocrisy, head lowered slightly so the blond boy wouldnβt notice. He was silent for a few minutes afterward, letting the rhythm of Christmasβ heart distract him instead.
βI woke you, didnβt I?β -He spoke up later, glancing at his roommate tentatively ββWant to go back to sleep?β
"I-I'll stay up a bit. Not, um, not sleepy."
βAlright.β -Sander nodded, slowly rising to his feet. The movement tugged on Christmasβ hold around his left wrist, and the boy let go. Already, Sander had missed the warmth ββIβllβ¦use the shower, yeah?β -After a nod of confirmation from the blond boy, Sander headed into their shared bedroom to retrieve his clothes, then went straight into the bathroom afterward.
I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.</div>
Mixtape Ghost N
