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

[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. ]

[americasdirtiest]

Yeah, you can. It's not-- this, here, this is life, too.

[dinosize]

Or close enough, right?

[americasdirtiest]

Christ, then why did you even-- [He breaks off, eyes flickering in that particular way that Stephen is probably starting to learn, the one that means Mickey won't -- can't -- say what he really wants to.

Why did Stephen even bother with him? is what he would ask if he could. Why make him bouilla-fucking-baisse? Why try to get him better at shooting? Why worry about his safety? Why care?]

I mean, what's even the fucking point, then? Why even be here?

[dinosize]

For a second chance.

[ One he doesn't fuck up this time. ]

[americasdirtiest]

So fucking take it, dude! Don't be such a fucking pussy.

[dinosize]

I am.

[americasdirtiest]

By getting-- getting yourself attacked by vampires and bitching about how none of this is real?

[dinosize]

By being here.

[americasdirtiest]

I meant here! Now! You wanna live so bad, just-- okay, you're living.

[He presses his lips tight together, looking a little exasperated. This is all a little beyond him to begin with, and now he feels like they're talking in circles. He rubs his forehead, looking around.]

I mean, you-- you got a roof over your head, you got food on the table, you got your fucking bestie down the hall from me, and I know your ass could get laid here any time you wanted it to, so... what? What's missing?