psychoshenanigans | Drift Fleet // Canon

[he brings Tek to the cargo hold of their little ship. he's quick to go fetch blankets, pillows, extra things that he'd been sure to stock up on several stations ago. he does his best to make the poor thing comfortable, and wraps the new, half-formed body in blankets. he does so with an intense calm, a sort of emergency speed and precision that only comes with constant, low-level panic.

but it's okay now, isn't it? he crawls into the dark corner like a wounded animal, presses himself into the corner. he forgets to take his shoes off, but it doesn't matter, because he scoops the pathetic bundle of new flesh and blood into his arms and holds him close to his ribs, his heart, his breath.

listens to him. feels his uncomfortable movements. guards him without realizing how possessive and desperate he must look, his own eyes just a little too wide with the lingering fear.

it's okay now. it's going to be... okay.

he did it. it's okay.

okay.

isn't it?

the silence doesn't answer him. but the dark stays curled around the both of them and, very slowly, Robin eases his grip and starts to believe that maybe this one won't slip between his fingers this time.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[the crisis has supposedly passed, but there isn't much there to help any real sense of reassurance beyond that. if Robin hadn't been so terribly familiar with the way he feels, it would be hard to recognize Tek in the wreckage at all--and even that familiar aura is weak, and missing some pieces.

he's wearing the wrong face, his body is wrong. he doesn't even smell the way he should. he's barely there--in mind, body, and spirit.

even in the dark, clinging to a makeshift safe place with everything else shut away outside, Robin is really going to have to grasp for the tiny, elusive, recognizable details to hold onto.

--such as the soft growl breathed out in the quiet, as soon as there's room for it. it's weak and pained, but the sound is unmistakeably Tek.]

Sorry...

[his apology is hushed and gets eaten by the dark in a second. his breath sticks in his throat. there is no one around to see him or ask questions. nothing to guard against. no more reason to be this upset. it's fine. calm down.

but he can't calm down. he's trying, but he just keeps winding up--thinking in circles. looping over how much danger he put himself in, but no one else knows. treading water, worrying about how far away he is. thinking about the future, the ghost that still walks the halls of his worst dreams--what Tek is destined to become, that he can never tell anyone else about. Tek will die, someday. there's another hole in his soul. Tek is finite. Tek is going to leave him someday.

all this work, and Tek is going to leave him. like everyone else always leaves him. he'd finally found someone else, someone who knows, someone who doesn't hate him even though he's broken and sick and cruel and miserable and pathetic and desperate and he's going to leave and no matter how many times he tries, even dragging his soul back from the abyss won't keep him there forever.

it's terrifying. it's not fair. why can't he keep one, just one?

in the silence, the uneven pat-- pat-- pit-pat-- of drops against the blanket is almost impossible to hear. he's... surprised at himself when he finally notices, wiping in confusion away at his own face. he's-- crying?]

[and it's not Robin's tears themselves that Tek ultimately notices. he's too detached from the world around him--everything coming into his eyes and ears and skin either too raw or not at all--so the little things get overlooked.

the intangible things seep in and stick easily, however. his walls are barely there. so, he feels that rising tide of anguish in Robin long before it actually overflows.

and when it finally does, Tek manages to shift around in the confines of the blankets enough to turn, and tilt a weary gaze up in the direction of Robin's face.]

[it doesn't really go away, but his despair shifts around a little. it's easier to focus in on Tek than it is to grasp at any one of his hundreds of ruining thoughts. still wiping tears away from his face, he laughs a little.]

Sorry, I'm... Just... [he's not sniffling. he's not tense, he's just... wide-eyed and his fear is leaving him the only way it knows how. he manages a smile.] ...I guess I got kind of scared, for a little bit. It's all catching up with me... I'll be better in a minute, I promise.

[maybe he's too tired to drum up the strength needed to answer, or maybe the silence is intentional.

either way, he just keeps on watching Robin with weary, half-lidded eyes. maybe he just wants to really see the evidence for himself, right there on Robin's face.

whatever the reason behind it, Robin's got Tek right there--face all wrong and unmasked--just looking at him.]

[he does get better. maybe it's the scrutiny. maybe it's... something else. but he manages to clear his face and quiet down his thoughts, thinking about how Tek is probably still judging him even if he can't move very well. this is preferable to before, he tells himself. at least Tek can look at him like this.

he hopes he'll be okay.

a even breathing. very intentional, while he wipes the last tears away until his eyes stop watering. it's embarrassing. and Tek's never going to get (or maybe he'll get it, but not acknowledge) why he's so upset about it. still.]

You'll be okay here.

[whatever is going on in Tek's head, whatever capacity he has right now for feelings and opinions at all, it gets distracted easily.

at the mention of 'here,' Tek turns his head. it's not an easy motion, but he wants to see--turning as much as he can to look back at the rest of the cargo hold like he can't tell what he's looking at.

he is somewhere, he knows that much. but the details of it maybe aren't sticking. and he murmurs something under his breath, which is almost too quiet to catch, and definitely too quiet to understand. though, to be fair, the words probably aren't in the language he usually speaks in anyway.]

What...?

[it takes him a moment. he can't make his murmuring make sense, he just didn't hear enough of it. he leans down, getting closer. maybe he can read his lips.]

Say that again?

[it's a question, and going through the trouble of repeating it seems to use up the last of his inquisitive strength. after repeating it, he stops trying to look around and just slumps against Robin's shoulder again.

two words, stuck together-- meaning "way" and "rock." ...or maybe "path" and "stone" if some thought is applied to it.]

[he says the words over again. repeating them quietly to himself, piecing it together. it's been a little while, but it all clicks back into place.]

No, no. This is... [he pauses, thinking of how to say it.] Blood... [no. wait.] Mine. Home.

[home, or the place that he stays... ]

[just as much as he hasn't noticed his own use of the language in this state, he also sees nothing out of place when Robin uses it.

it's only the words themselves that he gets stuck on, trying to piece their meaning together against a backdrop of memories that have yet to really make sense to him.

so, he looks distant and confused for a minute or two, before he finally gives up and just closes his eyes.

whatever. compared to everything else, he doesn't care where he is.]

[...that'll do, he thinks. as long as he's not actively panicked, or trying to claw the essence out of someone. as long as he's living and... present. he brushes his fingers against the dragon's cheek, lightly, no matter how wrong his skin feels.]

I won't leave you.

Drift Fleet // Canon

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject