Drift Fleet // Canon

[theboogieman]

[Zhas is going to make this exceedingly simple.

when they get to the cargo room, he wrenches Coil around, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and slams him back hard against the nearest wall. he closes the gap, presses hard into the boy's chest with his arm, and snarls at him.]

Stop being so fucking selfish.

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[mortalcoil]

[he knows to just not breathe during times like this. it's better to have less in your chest there to collide with solid objects; it's better to collapse under the force than have the air knocked out the hard way.

so, he wheezes and coughs when Zhas crushes him, instead of bracing against it.

and he hangs his head away, keeping his eyes from getting anywhere near him. maybe submissive, but more likely avoidant. there's an important difference between the two.]

[theboogieman]

Look at me.

[he catches that immediately. he eases up on his chest, but that might just be so that he can bash him again if he doesn't obey.]

[mortalcoil]

[he obeys, but he's hesitant about it, lifting his head enough to slide his eyes to meet Zhas'. veiled and waiting.]

[theboogieman]

[see, that's not good enough. he pushes him into the wall again, a little jolt.]

Look at me.

[mortalcoil]

[it shouldn't be this hard to comply. he doesn't remember buckling under this so easily before.

it takes an enormous demonstration of will to straighten up and look at Zhas head-on like he should. and when he does, he feels as though he can't sit still. he isn't moving an inch, but he feels the compulsion to fidget, shift around, flex the tension out of his limbs.

he's antsy and upset and still waiting, and trying to pretend like he's not.]

[theboogieman]

[and he holds him there, waiting. he can still feel the tension under his arm. he knows that Coil wants to bolt and shift and that's not acceptable. he glares at him, searching for something, gaze flicking between his one good eye and his scars and his neck and back to his eye.

his eyes narrow. he pushes down on him harder. careful, measured. intent.]

[mortalcoil]

[Coil's composure is just an act, and he can't help the rising panic when he realizes that Zhas is going to see right through it. he's going to push him right out of that corner, when all Coil wants to do is hide.

...stop looking at him like that.

his breathing gets tense, and then then that tension spreads. the pressure against his chest makes him claustrophobic. it's pushing against something that isn't structurally sound anymore.

and eventually, Coil cracks.

his gaze breaks and crumbles to the side again with an audible breath, and he squirms under Zhas' arm. he almost tries to shrug it off of him.]

[theboogieman]

[ah. that's what he thought. he lets him go.

so that he can grab him and throw him across the room. if Coil wants to run and hide, Zhas will give him a chase. if Coil still has fight in him, oh, Zhas will give him a fight.]

[mortalcoil]

[Coil scrambles to catch himself on his feet once he's thrown, determined not to fall all the way to the floor when he trips over his own legs. and he's already panting when he pulls himself up to standing tall again--already high on adrenaline as he whirls to face Zhas.

now rattled by music from the deepest reaches of his past, all of the conflict of the past weeks has wound tightly enough to put him into a survival mode.

it's automatic instinct. Zhas is facing him and Coil is standing there in the mental place to defend himself. it's there on his face. it's desperation, and it's defiance.]

[theboogieman]

[this is not how things are supposed to be, at all. he's never seen Coil act like this. he doesn't swoop in for the attack, though he'd been so ready to a second ago--if Coil is panicking, he's not going to listen to a single thing he says.]

Look at yourself. [he growls, arms spreading wide. it's not a friendly gesture. it's not a fighting gesture. the gesture says that there's absolutely nothing Coil could do to him that would matter.] Who are you fighting.

[mortalcoil]

[he is so ready for a fight, poised with clenched jaw to counter the hell that he knows is about to rain down on him... and then that suddenly has nowhere to go.

Zhas throws his arms wide, his question rings its way into Coil's head, and all that fight just kind of turns around and bites at itself instead. the panic in his breath gets worse, and he turns inward and retreats a step.

he shakes his head. he doesn't want to fight Zhas. he doesn't want any of this, but doesn't know what else to do. everything is out of control and just getting worse.

the water is over his head.]

[theboogieman]

Coil.

[he says it sternly, lowering his arms. he needs him to stay in this moment, with him, enough for them to get through to each other. he takes a quiet step closer to make up for Coil's step back.]

What happened.

[mortalcoil]

[it's important to keep him centered. it's the only thing that keeps him from taking another step back. as it is, his weight still shifts away.

his throat is closing up, until he wants to gag.

he's been drowning for weeks.

nothing has been working right because-- 'Different,' he signs with too much emphasis, and points to himself.]

[theboogieman]

[he takes another step. just a couple more and he could reach him, but he's got other other ideas. still stern, he gives him another order.]

Come here.

[mortalcoil]

[...he can't. he can barely breathe--pulling in air to keep his lungs tight in an effort to keep more tears from happening--let alone get himself to move toward Zhas.

he feels too different, too wrong. still too afraid. he doesn't take a step.]

[theboogieman]

[he has an odd thought, 'they are strangers again'. it is not necessarily a bad thought, just a strange one. they are not what they were when he bandaged the other's hands, they are not where they were when he was dragged by the other to safety, they are not where they were when they would spend countless hours working together and they are not going to get anywhere if they keep pretending that they are.

so, they are strangers. the room is dark, lit only by moonlight in the windows. Coil is all alone in that big house, in pieces. everything he used to know is gone, right in front of him. he can never go back, no matter how badly he wants to.

Zhas steps forward, steady, and puts a hand on his shoulder. his grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt. it's just an anchor.]

Tell me.

[mortalcoil]

[it nauseates him to think about how often he has cried lately. it was once such a taboo, a forbidden and disgraceful thing, and now... here he is doing is again. a breath catches on the way in, and the tears start welling and spilling over right after.

and he struggles through two more of those hitching breaths before he scrapes together tenough willpower to answer.

'I died,' he signs, with red and shaking hands.]

[theboogieman]

[he... can't have read that right. that doesn't make any sense. but what else could he have meant? they've passed that gesture back and forth enough that even with shaking hands, it's hard to believe he must have meant something else. he wouldn't get this upset about something else.

but how? he's right here. he's not dead.

What do you mean...

[mortalcoil]

[all he can do to answer is reach up to tug at his own collar, pulling the edge of his shirt down until the scar from some puncture wound is visible. the size of a coin, it forms a little pit right under his collarbone.

he means it very literally. physically. he died while they were apart.]

[theboogieman]

[his fingers are there in a second, pressing lightly into his skin, moving against the scar as if simply seeing it is not enough to believe that it's real...

...his hand drifts up, moves along the edge of his collar, pushes it aside where there are more scars. his gaze takes inventory of the bite mark, the scratch marks, the subtle little things that weren't there before.]

[mortalcoil]

[he's still crying, but he isn't animated about it. the tears are just continuing to slide down his face in silence. retching up this confession, letting all of this fall out of him, has him feeling emptier already.

not better by a long shot, but there is less of an ugly monster punching his ribs from the inside, trying to be released. it's already out there.

so, he just lets him look. he wonders if he can feel that piece of dark magic that he'd swallowed, while he's at it. he's just glad that Zhas doesn't have the same knack for peeking into his head and paging through memories that Saoirse had. for over a year, he's been tallying up things that he hopes Zhas will never see.]

[theboogieman]

[someone... has broken his favorite possession. someone's put their hands all over him, pierced his flesh, touched him with something dark and disgusting. maybe not even someone but some thing, that place he went to. his rage is quiet, buried deep. it'll come up later, howling and screaming--but for now it's more of a deep, silent ocean.

Coil has died, but somehow he is very much alive here--he presses his palm to Coil's neck, feels his pulse, his warm skin. he almost thinks to check for teeth but that's stupid (and the only kind of living death that he knows).

what would she say? her dear child...

he brings his fingers up to his own face, running them over the white on his cheek... just to reach towards Coil again and smear the paint against his jawline. he does the same for the black under his eye, reaching for Coil again.]

This is your only funeral. [he holds his friend's face and smears a thin streak of black under his eye. he swipes through the tears like they were never there.] After this, you start again.