anomaly 009 . excuses, excuses

[dinosize]

[ private to Bucky, thursday morning ]

[ He lies blithely and calmly. His truths are generally understatements, so the worst tell he could possibly give is putting too much emotion and too many words out there. ]

Sorry, can't make it in today. Wrenched my knee a bit on the stairs yesterday, and it'll need a couple of days before I'm sure it's fine. Won't be any good to anyone if it gets worse.

[ spam : CW for injuries, blood, vampire things, very very unhealthy post-death mental thought processes. ]

[ He stays in.

The adrenaline crashes fast and hard, and he takes a short and fitful nap, waking up with his heart pounding and anxiety receding into his subconscious. The restlessness doesn't stop. He paces, he rearranges books and drinks enough water to restore blood volume.

He doesn't understand what's happening to him. He feels insane, and then he feels saner than he's ever been. He remembers the rush of darting so close to death and not being the one to decide if he comes back or not, and thinks, What's wrong with me? and I want to do it again. It's the first time he's felt really alive since - since dying.

Stephen has jumped off cliffs and out of planes before. He's dived down sharp slopes with the wind blistering cold on his skin. Half the fun of the anomalies was surviving, just his wits and his weapons. This felt a little bit like that. Only, more. It taps into a darkness that's been shifting and surging for weeks now.

Speaking as a mammal, I'm all in favor of cheating. So he's run into a predator that he can't beat, or didn't beat, one who all but promised he would come back.

One thing is sure: he can't tell them. They wouldn't understand.

Helen, he thinks. Only Helen would understand how this feels. ]

Comments

[dinosize]

It's none of your business.

[ He pulls back, crossing his arms as he leans back against the counter. ]

Now tell me you're not going to go and make this all useless.

[americasdirtiest]

[He doesn't have a reasonable response to that -- it's true, it's not his business -- so he ignores that as well, bulling on.]

Make what useless? What the fuck are you talking about?

[dinosize]

Are you going to walk out of here, get a gun, and do something stupid?

Because don't.

[americasdirtiest]

Against a vampire? Fuck no, because I've seen a fucking movie ever. I'm gonna walk out of here, get a fucking posse, and go deal with this asshole.

[dinosize]

You do that, and we're done.

I mean it. Not like a row about secrets.

[americasdirtiest]

This ain't just about you, dumbfuck! Don't flatter yourself. People need to know what this creep's been up to. You make, what? At least four since he showed up? How fucking long ago was that?

[dinosize]

Two of which he's already been punished for, one of which he's probably about to be punished for.

[americasdirtiest]

What-- [He shakes his head, bewildered.] What the fuck is wrong with you, man? This asshole needs to get got. Now. What, were you into it or something? 'Cause there's porn for that.

[He's-- well, not joking, because he's pissed off, but he doesn't mean it seriously.]

[dinosize]

[ It wasn't sexual. It wasn't, not any more than cliff jumping is sexual, or sky diving - but there's a sharp, hard jolt of anger and humiliation in Stephen anyhow. ]

If you kill him, in a week he'll be doing it again.

Besides - sorry to ruin your image of me - but I provoked it.

[americasdirtiest]

...Why?

[dinosize]

I don't mind danger, or didn't you notice?

[americasdirtiest]

It's a vampire, Stephen! It ain't like going fucking rock climbing! Jesus.

[He abandons the table and breaks away, too wound up to stay standing still any longer. He paces, rubbing a hand over his mouth.]

Christ. And you're the one always on my ass about safety?

[dinosize]

Nick can never find out.

[ He's setting down conditions, now. Not even responding to Mickey's words. ]

cw: abuse

[americasdirtiest]

Oh, yeah, not Nick. [He snorts derisively, a surge of jealous hate rising in his throat.] Can't let that happen.

[This is starting to remind him of something equally infuriating, but he can't place it until he turns and spots Stephen's oven out of the corner of his eye. Then it comes back to him: his sister at the stove, the bruises on her face still practically fresh from the day before, stirring a pot of fucking spaghetti for the son of a bitch sitting at his table. Don't be dramatic, she sniffs at Mickey when he opens his mouth.

Back in the present, he shakes his head, biting his thumbnail.]

God. What the fuck is wrong with you people?

[dinosize]

Him? Or me?

[ Because either way, Stephen's about to get defensive. ]

cw: more of the same

[americasdirtiest]

You. What the fuck is wrong with you?

[He rounds on him again, throwing his hands up, touching one to the side of his head like a lightbulb's just switched on.]

What, it's not enough living in this fucking place? That's not enough crazy-ass bullshit for you? You gotta go looking for more?

[The hypocrisy of what he's saying hasn't occurred to him yet: that he's the one with firecrackers in his bag, he's the one that showed up with a cracked tooth and got into two fistfights in his first week. He's the one that laughed desperately through concussions and contusions for nineteen years straight.]

[dinosize]

No, I can't imagine how you would understand that attitude.

[ He remembers those fistfights. Or at least the injuries from them. ]

You've been so peaceable.

[americasdirtiest]

[That, finally, catches him off-guard.]

That's different, and you know it.

[dinosize]

Do I?

[americasdirtiest]

I'm not--

[Not getting into fights with vampires like Mal? Not blowing it off afterwards?]

It's fucking different, okay? You know it is.

[dinosize]

[ His eyebrows go up, and he leans forward onto the table. ]

Enlighten me.

[americasdirtiest]

[He stares back at him for a long second, heart pounding. It is different. He knows it is, even if Stephen doesn't, even if he can't put into words why.

It doesn't occur to him that the real answer is that it's different because Stephen is supposed to know better. To be better. Stephen is older, and unlike his brothers, smarter. Stephen took him in whether he meant to or not. Fed him. Gave a shit, at least for a little while.

He doesn't know what to do with a Stephen that's just as fucked up as he is.

He swallows back the sudden burn of acid in his throat, and suddenly he's all panic and movement: grabbing his backpack from the floor, wavering over the cans before deciding to leave them behind.]

Look, fuck you, okay? I don't need to explain shit to you. You wanna get yourself killed? Great. Have fun with that.

[Tell me to stop, some part of him thinks. He turns to him with the pack in hand, hovering, waiting.]

[dinosize]

I don't.

[ He's curled tight on himself again by the time Mickey looks back. Jaw clenched. ]

I don't want to die.

[ But he did. ]

[americasdirtiest]

[It's not nothing. It's still something Mickey doesn't know how to handle, but it's not nothing. His heart is pounding in his chest like a drum, but when he speaks up again his voice is different from before. Hoarse, cracked, like he's dried out; tired, but more than that. It's... softer.]

So don't.

[He swallows, licks his lips nervously.]

Just... don't, okay.

[Three words that hadn't been enough for Ian; he doubts they'll be enough for Stephen. He sighs, struggling for more.]

You don't have to. Here.

[dinosize]

Can't exactly be alive.

[ And that's the whole root of the problem, for Stephen. This doesn't feel like living. Not any of it. It's - a life on pause, maybe. Or just the echo of a life that's already over. ]