You don't want your stitches sewn / 'Cause then you'll have the big unknown [closed]

[johnny_truant]

[[ooc: heads up for impending claustrophobia]]


It's dark when Johnny gets back home, the streets choked with pedestrians coming from their various viewings of the fireworks, or heading to bars and parties. Johnny had forgotten it was even a holiday. Ordinarily the noise and press of so many people would set him off, but right now he can't manage any mood but utter contentment. He's worried for Gabe, still, sure—but things are all right now. He can go to see her, actually visit the TARDIS, whenever they want. He doesn't have the poison of the house in him anymore, weighing down his blood and bones. He's new. He's fixed.

There is the creeping doubt (there is always creeping doubt) that he's wrong—he'll never be fixed and in fact he doesn't deserve to be fixed—that everything is going to fuck itself back up somehow. He tries to ignore it, but even in this, his best mood in a long time, it never quite goes away completely. The suspicion that everything good is just a temporary veil over the true underlying wrongness of his life is one that will probably always be with him, no matter what.

Perhaps this is why, when he opens the door of Gabriel's building, he's not altogether surprised by what he sees inside.

Everything is wrong. This isn't like when he woke up that night a month ago with his apartment rearranged, the messy discovery of his rift-given power. This is that on a scale he never wanted to imagine. The staircase has split into multitudes of itself, warped and wrapping around at impossible angles like a sick homage to M.C. Escher. The walls have come over German Expressionist, looking like they've melted and frozen again, glacial, convex bubbles of wood and plaster, interlocked and woven together to create narrow passages almost impossible to move through. Doors and windows tangled around each other, everything stretched and compressed and completely unmoored.

It makes him want to be sick. He does get sick. Bent over, clutching at his stomach, choking in fear. Scout darts back and whimpers softly.

How fucking stupid. Like he could just pass this off to Seth without consequence. Like it was nothing. A fun little superpower. No one believed him, did they? Sure it seems convenient, it's come in handy plenty of times, been used casually without reproach. But that's not what it is. It's not a tool. It's a presence. It lived in his body like a parasite, and now, it's living in Seth.

"Stay here, Scout," he whispers. "Stay out here." He barely has the wherewithal to tie the leash to the rail—the dog looks spooked as hell anyway, no way he's going in there. Animals always know. He remembers The Navidson Record, how the house just rejected the pets, spat them out on the lawn. This is no place for the living, and the living would not go into it. Only humans are that stupid.

Fighting hard against every instinct in his body, he steps across the threshold, into the architectural hellscape, fitting himself precariously through the gaps, knowing that at any moment, it could all come to creaking life and crush him to nothing between shifting walls.

"Seth?" he calls, terrified of what he'll find, that Seth will already be gone, or lost, like Will, so deep that no one can find him. "Seth, are you in there?" It's a question with two meanings, one of which he doesn't take the time to consider.

Comments

[powerdealer]

After Johnny leaves in the morning, Seth goes back to bed, clothes still on, but he doesn't exactly sleep very well. His dreams are worse than usual, and much more varied and... if not more intense, then a lot more calmly unnerving. Rather than the conviction something will come for him, a known enemy with a familiar methology, there's the fear of the unknown and unexpected. The nervewracking feeling that every sound, every imagined movement in the corner of his eyes, is something terrible getting ready to strike, ready to claw at him or devour him whole. Something ruthless and cold, uncompromising, no agenda, no desire to keep their precious asset in working condition, just viciousness and hunger. He's not even sure if it's a literal beast he fears or just a metaphorical one.

When he finally wakes up, he feels even shittier than before. He thinks about going out to get lunch, but he doesn't want to be around people, and he doesn't really have an appetite anyway. He tries to watch TV, but he can't focus. He wonders if he should call someone for company, but it feels silly. Besides, Gabe's not back, and Johnny's off somewhere, and everyone else it feels remotely tempting to hang out with are across town.

It's not until his phone goes off around noon with a reminder to take his next dose of morphine that he realises why he must be feeling like crap. Withdrawal symptoms must be getting worse. Shit. He really doesn't want to up his dose, he's having to take more than enough already. And he didn't even remember it was about time - he's more scatterbrained than he thought.

And since he doesn't keep gear at his apartment, he has to go out. Probably a good thing, he was starting to feel claustrophobic, like the apartment had shrunk. Subway is not the most tempting thing at the moment, and he almost takes a cab, but then he decides he's being ridiculous. He probably would've thought better of it if he'd known he'd jump a guy for stealing his wallet, or so Seth thought he'd done at the time. God, he's so fucking jumpy, what the hell's the matter with him?

Still, he gets there, and he gets his dose, and everything's fine, everything's perfect. For about two minutes. Then it turns out it's one of his shittiest highs yet. It seems to only fuel his paranoia. The guy keeping him company almost calls an ambulance, thinking he's ODed, but it's more like the opposite - his heartrate's up and he's breathing hard, he feels twitchy and terrible, but it's not an OD. That would almost be preferable, the way this day is going.

After he's calmed down from the initial hit, he convinces himself he's gonna be fine, and he heads back home. He doesn't even realise that when he leaves the place, several doors are not where they used to be, all the windows are missing, everything's just a little bit crooked, and just where he'd been lying, underneath the carpet there's a giant burn.

This time he does catch a cab. Probably a good decision, since he almost freaks himself out on the ride over, gripping the door-handle tightly, like he's contemplating throwing himself out of the car. He's not even sure what's really bothering him. Just this lurking doubt, this itch in the back of his mind, breathing on the back of his neck, like his nightmares followed him into the waking world. Which by the way better not be someone's power, making nightmares real, because if it is and that person ever crosses Seth's path, he is likely to pull it right out of them, put it in a fucking cockroach and step on it right then and there. He's got enough with the paranoia, the drug use, and being trapped in this fucking city with the two gigantic conspiracies hunting him, without someone going around making his or anyone's nightmares real. At least that's how he feels right now.

It's fine. It's gonna be fine. He just needs to get through the remnants of this shitty high, have a cup of tea, maybe even a bath, some nice music, and he'll be fine. It'll get better.

It doesn't. In fact it's like something is filling his veins with ice, and someone's whispering in his ear, and he can't move, can't turn to look over his shoulder, certain something is there, but he can't see it, can't face it. He's not sure how long he stays like this. Time seems to lose meaning, when he can't fill it with anything meaningful, just the thrumming of his own head.

Until a gigantic explosion outside shakes him out of it, and he gets to his feet so violently he knocks the coffee table aside. Fuck, what, are they being invaded? Has the Rift finally flipped for good? He glances at the clock - 9 PM. Shit, when did it get so late? Right, the fireworks. That makes sense. It does nothing to calm his nerves, like he's vibrating, like every beat of his heart is a drumstick and he's the cymbal, the sound of his fear deafening, but at the same time he can't hear a thing. It's like someone wrapped his brain in cotton. And then doused it in alcohol and set it on fire, probably. Is he mixing metaphors? Only there's no air in here for a fire anymore, he can't breathe, and the room seems to have shrunk and twisted, everything's distorted, like looking through a kaleidoscope. How did he not notice before?

After that, as the sound of the fireworks helps drown out the last of his coherent thoughts, he seems to lose the ability to move. He just sinks to his hands and knees right in the middle of the living room. What the fuck is happening to him?!

Now when he sits there, when he's become aware of it, he can feel the house shifting, twisting and turning, melting, burning, breaking. He can feel himself doing it too, but he doesn't know how, and he doesn't know how to stop. Please, please let it stop.

And then... after what seems like an eternity, and might actually be one... There's someone. Someone there, in the house. So strongly tapped into it now, it's like he can feel them moving. Saying something. What? The words seem to have a hard time reaching his ears, never mind his brain. But they're here. Friend or foe? Should he crush them or protect them? Can he even do either? The entire building creaks and quivers at his indecision and confusion. But no. Anything would be better than this. Even the rebel dungeons. And what if it's Johnny? Gabe might survive a house falling him on, but Johnny definitely wouldn't. Whoever it is, if they can get him out of here... If they can help him, then he will try to make a path. If he can.

[johnny_truant]

It feels like the house is breathing. He can feel it undulating, pulsing and creaking around him. God, this is so bad. Get out, get out. Every nerve in his body is frayed, electrified, his brain screaming at him to get the fuck out now, what are you doing, what the hell do you think you're doing, but he has to find Seth, and going back is just as dangerous as going forward, as staying still. The front door isn't where it used to be. He doubts he could get out even if he tried.

What Will had experienced was unending expansion until he was drowned in oppressive darkness, no solidity, no structure; Seth's making everything smaller, shrinking around him, pressing in like a cage. It makes sense that he'd react like that. It makes sense that he wouldn't be able to control it. It was never just a power. It was madness, madness Johnny already knew.

"Seth!" he calls again, desperate now. "Seth, where are you?" He presses his hand against a nightmarish whorl of wood and iron and stonework, wishing he could move it aside, put it back where it was meant to be. Nothing is familiar. He doesn't even know where in the building he is, much less where he's headed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Seth!"

[powerdealer]

There! His name. That's definitely his name. Johnny? That must be Johnny. Shit, he shouldn't be here though. He's going to get crushed, just like Seth will. Curled up on the floor, the roof low, the walls leaning over him so there's no room to stand up. How's Johnny even going to find him in here? Oh god, what if Seth traps him and then gets crushed first, Johnny will probably die of thirst and starvation stuck in here, oh god.

He has to get him out. Them out. Something. He manages to unfurl his arms from where they've been clutched around his head, lift his face a bit. "I'm here!" he tries to shout, but his voice dies halfway, and he can only mouth uselessly. He shuts his eyes tightly, pushing fresh tears down his cheeks, and clenches his jaw.

A door. He has to make a door, or clear a path, or something. Moving slowly, afraid his muscles are going to freeze up again, feeling his strength ebb from him with every breath, he pushes his palms against the floor. Johnny could control it, why can't he? Come on, damnit. Give Johnny a way in.

TW for major claustrophobia

[johnny_truant]

There's another shift, oh god, he feels it narrowing around him, he can't move, can't even breathe, no, no - he squirms desperately, trying to force his way out; he comes free and staggers forward just as the walls snap together behind him, leaving him gasping, braced against another architectural morass. Too close. Too fucking close.

Something shifts behind him, and he jerks away in preemptive fear, but it's different - the wood is stretching now, horrible sounds like the creaking of bones, stretching to open up a tunnel.

"Seth?" He leans forward, peering uneasily through the gap. It's like a tunnel, barely big enough for his body to fit through. But he sees someone on the other side, hunched and shadowy in the darkness. The lights are all gone, the only illumination coming through what remains of the windows.

"Seth - don't move. I'm coming." God, oh god, he doesn't want to go in there. But he has to. He feels nauseated even thinking about it, but he has to. He hoists himself up and into the little space and tries to crawl through by wriggling awkwardly along. Oh god, everything's so close. He can almost feel the full weight of the house pressing down on his back. Please, please, please, let it stay open. Let Seth have enough control that he keeps it open.

He's almost to the end of it when he can't move any further; it's gotten to tight, and he can't go forward, his fingers barely able to reach the edge. God, no, no, no, no. He tries to scoot backward, but he can't do that either; he's trapped in his little coffin. It's everything he can do not to scream or faint.

"Seth," he begs, reaching uselessly. "I can't get out. You have to open it a little wider, Seth, please. Help me." His voice cracks; he feels the sting of tears, blurring his already inadequate vision. "Please, Seth, please don't let me die."

[powerdealer]

Seth breaths a sigh of relief when he hears Johnny's voice, much clearer now, even if he can't garner the strength to look up. Not moving. That's easy. Stopping the house from moving? Bit harder. Just breathe. Breathe and keep it open.

Fuck. At Johnny saying his name, he lifts his head just an inch, just enough to see him. Fuck. No, no, no no no. He will not be responsible for the death of another person he cares about, he absolutely refuses. If he can't save himself, then at least he can save Johnny. Hell, even if Seth dies here, at least the power will be gone then. Sure, he'll have ruined Gabe's apartment building, but as long as Johnny's out and Gabe's out and Scout's out, it's fine. He can live with that. He can die with that.

His head drops again, and he puts all his weight forward on his hands. As if he can push it open. His body aches with the effort. Everything hurts, but that's not new. A string of curses pass through his head. Come on. Fucking do it. This one thing. For once, don't act like a selfish cold prick and just... Open.

[johnny_truant]

It seems like Seth is on the verge of giving up, and for a horrible moment Johnny's certain Gabe's going to find them both dead in here, but then the pressure lets up and he jerks forward and hauls himself out, tumbling down onto the floor beside his friend. It's not much better in here - Seth's closed himself off in the most literal way possible - but it's okay. Johnny got to him. They're gonna be okay.

"Seth." He pulls himself up and grabs Seth's shoulders. "Seth, it's gonna be okay. You can fix this. Try to remember everything the way it was. Try to make it better again. You can do it."

His fingers dig in a little, as though he's trying to impart the force of his will, or maybe his particular brand of instability - whatever it is that he has and Seth doesn't that enables him to use the power as opposed to being overtaken by it.

"Come on, buddy," he murmurs, pleading. "Come on."

[powerdealer]

No... No, don't come in here, get out, save yourself, damnit. Seth can't manage to voice any of these things. As it is, he can barely stay conscious anymore, and he already sags a little when Johnny pulls himself free. But if he does, Johnny will still be trapped.

The words barely reach him. How it was? He doesn't remember. Bigger, certainly. With straight walls and floors and ceilings. Doors. Hallways. Yes, that seems right. He tries to conjure up an image, but he doesn't quite manage. The details elude him. He doesn't even remember the colour of his wall.

Still. Bigger. Perhaps that's enough? More room. He can do this. Can he do this? Johnny says he can, but he doesn't believe it.

The building quivers. But it doesn't actually do much. If anything, it gets tighter, pushing them together. He shakes his head, barely noticable at all, no strength to move his head properly. He can't do it. They're both going to die here, and it's his fault.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny gasps softly as the walls close in more. It's like they're drowning. He clings to Seth, struggling not to fall apart. "Come on," he whispers, helpless, already knowing that this isn't going to work. "Please, Seth. Please."

It's not going to happen. Seth's too far gone, too afraid and damaged, lost and confused and destroyed just like Johnny almost was, god, how could he have given this away like it was a toy, how could he have brought this on his friend? Johnny pulls one hand away from Seth's arm, dropping it to the floor, where it curls into a fist. His nails bite harshly into his palm. No way out. No other way.

He knows what has to happen, but he doesn't want to admit it. He wants to be back with the TARDIS, lying comfortably in her beautiful open spaces, rolling grassy fields, surrounded by butterflies. He wants to stay there forever, where none of this can ever hurt him again.

He accepts it with a shudder and a defeated, devastated sigh. This is it. This is all there is to do. He has to take what's his. He has to own it, let it be a part of him. It has to be his.

No space to move elsewhere, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Seth, practically holding him up. His hands are trembling, he notices with dull and distant observation, as he takes Seth's in his.

"Give it back," he whispers. "Let it go. Give it back to me."

[powerdealer]

Compared to the struggle of trying to control Johnny's power, giving it back to him comes entirely naturally. This he knows. And giving it away is eaasier than taking. For fuck's sake, an alternate universe version of him managed it while dying. If he can't do this, then he deserves to die.

After a few long seconds, his hand tightening in Johnny's, the power starts to flow out of him. He hardly even notices the light this time. Every bit of it leaving him, freeing him, letting him breathe again, just a little.

As soon as the light stops, Seth slumps. That's all he had left in him.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny feels it coming back, feels the itch under his skin, the miserable prickling of dread, the weight on his chest. He lets it come. He lets the poison flow back through his veins. He breathes out and tastes iron and smoke. The moment Seth slumps down, Johnny lets him go and slams his palms down against the floor.

Oh god, it's so much. He starts small, with this room, reshaping, letting it all shift back into place, and from there he works outward, pushing, forcing the house back to the way it was. It's exhausting, almost more than he can handle right now, but worse would be letting it exist like this, and he drives himself forward, feeling his hands buzz as he works over every inch of it. After a moment he realizes that he doesn't even need to touch; he can do it in his head, has always been able to, his thoughts are more dangerous than they've ever been. He sees the messy labyrinth Seth has made and lets it unfurl, not gently, nothing about it is gentle, unwieldy and reluctant, nerve-shattering and blindingly loud, hellish crunches and tectonic roars. He might be bleeding. Has he bit his own tongue? It doesn't matter. He folds everything back into place, and when it's done, when it's finally fucking done, he collapses forward, catching himself on his hands, shuddering and gasping.

This is what he does now. This is who he is. He is the monster in the dark, the specter that knows every angle of the structure it inhabits. He is the blind man who sees what he shouldn't; he is the minotaur.

"Okay," he breathes, unable to look up, to face the friend he almost murdered through selfishness and cowardice. "Okay."

[powerdealer]

After the power is out of him, as his mind seems to slowly return him through the terror and the guilt and the exhaustion, he can hear the house changing. He can't feel it anymore - that is, apart from the trembling of the floor holding them up - which is quite a relief.

But the sound still becomes almost unbearable after a while, and Seth doesn't want to open his eyes until it's all over. Johnny's fixing what Seth fucked up, and he just wants it to be over so he can sleep forever.

Even when the noises stop, it's not till Johnny speaks that he finally opens his eyes. Christ, Johnny looks almost as bad as Seth feels. Maybe not quite, because Seth feels really fucking bad.

"Hey..." he breathes, voice heavy with exhaustion.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny can't say anything more for a moment, partly because he feels like he might just start crying. How pathetic. He'd been so happy to be rid of this burden, so fucking... elated to see the TARDIS in person. Now that's all gone. And he doesn't even feel particularly cheated. This is just his lot. He has to fucking deal with it. Like always.

He reaches out and rests a hand on Seth's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I had no idea it would..." He shakes his head. "I'm so fucking sorry."

[powerdealer]

Seth swallows thickly and shakes his head, as if disagreeing. Of course he had no idea, so why is he apologising? Seth is the one who couldn't keep it under control and endangered himself and Johnny. And now Johnny has to take back a power he hates, just because Seth was too fucking weak to keep a grip on it.

But he's too tired to argue about it, to beat himself up, to get into a guilt-contest with Johnny. "Not your fault," he croaks out after a few moments, and tries to push himself up into a proper seating arrangement, groaning at the movement.

They're on the floor in front of the couch, in the middle of his now properly sized apartment. It's amazing how roomy and airy it suddenly feels, like a goddamn mansion. The table is overturned from when he knocked it over, but besides that, everything seems to be where it should be. It looks like absolutely nothing's happened, but the protestations of Seth's body tells a different story. His joints hurt, he's bruised everywhere - either from fighting the house or from being pushed and bent by it - and now he's more of aware of himself, he can taste blood. Must've bit his lip. Fucking hell.

[johnny_truant]

"I should have..." Johnny knows this isn't the time to get into it, but it's so hard not to try to explain, help Seth understand why this happened. "It's not just a power, it's a state of..."

He drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples. "You should sleep," he says. He hates saying that. He knows the dreams are the worst part. But maybe Seth won't have those. Maybe this was in him too briefly. Maybe the Rift will spare him that, at least.

"I have to go let Scout in," he murmurs. "And... you should sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'll come check on you. You gonna be okay?"

[powerdealer]

Seth takes a long time to answer that. He doesn't want Johnny to leave, but he feels weird and selfish asking. He just... hasn't quite gotten rid of the feeling there's something breathing over his shoulder. And if Johnny doesn't mind checking on him, he might now mind sticking around a little bit? Unless he really wants to be alone, with what's happened.

"Yeah, just..." he starts, not looking at Johnny, and selfishness seems to win out, again. "Could you-- could you and Scout just stay for a little? Only till I fall asleep? I just..." He's just really freaked out and doesn't want to be alone.

[johnny_truant]

"Yeah, man. Absolutely." Johnny feels like a fucking asshole trying to leave, and he doesn't mind staying, not really. It's just he's exhausted from the effort or making everything right again, and the weight of what he's done is hitting him fast and hard, the knowledge that after the time he spent there today he is not going to be able to go back to the TARDIS, and even though it's not his fault and it had to happen, it feels like he's betrayed her, lied to her. He feels like he's going to break down any minute, and he doesn't want to do that in front of Seth, especially not right now.

But Seth doesn't deserve to be left alone right now.

Johnny gets up, standing shakily, and offers a hand to Seth. "Can you walk?" he asks. "Come outside for a minute. Get some air. It'll help." He ought to know.

[powerdealer]

Basically, they're a pair of wrecks. What else is new?

Seth takes Johnny's hand and lets him help him up. He feels pretty shaky too, like he just ran a marathon, but he can walk. Though je already dreads trying to make it back up the stairs, but Johnny's right, the temptation of fresh air and just.. not being confined in this space for a moment, that's far too tempting.

"Thanks..." he answers awkwardly. "For.. You know, everything..." Saving his life just then, and all that.

[johnny_truant]

"Don't thank me, man." Johnny steers him along gently with a hand on his arm, poised in case Seth's knees buckle or something. They make it to the front door and he breathes deep as he steps outside, wishing he could just stay awake out here all night. Scout jumps up to see them, tail wagging desperately.

"Hey, buddy," says Johnny softly, letting go of Seth and crouching down to pet the dog. Scout whimpers and licks his hands, full of nervous tension even as Johnny murmurs soothingly. "It's okay. I know, I know. Shhh, it's okay."

He shifts aside so Scout can move his attention to Seth. He stays crouched down for a moment, staring vacantly at the door.

[powerdealer]

Seth takes several moments once they're outside just to close his eyes and breathe deep. After that intense bout of claustrophobia, it's so nice to be in an open space, being able to stretch out his limbs.

He doesn't even have the energy to crouch anymore, so he just carefully sinks to his knees to greet Scout, dirty New York pavements be damned. "Hey there, Scout," he says, petting him gently and letting the dog pretty much climb on top of him, licking his face. He probably has salty cheeks from all the crying he's been doing the last couple hours, or however long it's been. Don't dogs like that? It's nice anyhow, the open affection of a puppy.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny says nothing for a while, letting Seth steady himself. He feels like such shit, and he still wants to explain what just happened, but they both need to talk about something else right now.

"I saw Gabe today," he says vaguely. He doesn't really have the energy to talk about that, either, but it's something. "He's doing better. He thinks he'll be home soon."

[powerdealer]

Seth looks up (and Scout ends up licking his neck instead) and actually smiles at that. "Good," he answers, but he doesn't have the energy to ask either. He hasn't wanted to intrude while Gabe's getting better. Now that he knows he's actually alright, he can be patient and wait for him to come home in his own time.

He gives Scout one last ruffle, then gingerly pushes himself to his feet. He looks at the building, not eager to go inside, but he's close to simply falling over from exhaustion, so there's not much to be done. He takes a deep breath and then heads in the door, not waiting for Johnny only because he knows it's gonna take him a while to struggle himself up to their apartments anyway.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny unties Scout's leash and follows Seth in, taking his arm again to help him up the stairs. It's not too easy for him either - he's exhausted from the day, too much happened in it, and at the back of his mind he knows he could move these stairs if he wanted, take them right on up, but he doesn't do that. That would be the fucking worst idea ever right now.

They finally get to their floor and back into Seth's apartment, where he lets Scout off the leash. "All right, man," he says gently. "You mind if I get something to drink while you get settled?"

[powerdealer]

Now Seth also knows that Johnny could move them right up, or just give them a handy door to go through, but he also knows why he definitely wouldn't, and he'll be a lot more hesitant to ask for that in the future.

"Make yourself at home," he answers, and before he goes and crashes on the bed, he opens a drawer of the desk next to the door and pulls out a key, handing it to Johnny. "Here. Spare." Because again, there's just no way he's gonna ask Johnny to use his power in the near future.

He heads over to the bed and drops down on it, slowly peeling off layer after layer, resisting the temptation to just sleep with clothes on. The less claustrophobia the better, and clothing doesn't help with that. Once he's just got the t-shirt and the underwear left, he flops back. Scout seems undecided about which man to give his attentions to, who needs it more, but after paying Johnny some attention, he follows Seth up on the bed and lays almost protectively next to him. Seth knows they'll both be gone by the time he wakes up, but it makes him smile anyway.

[johnny_truant]

"Oh." Johnny takes the key and slips it into his pocket. "Thanks."

He opens the fridge and pulls out a beer, pops it open with a can opener and takes a long swig before turning back toward Seth. Scout's curled up next to him on the bed now, and Johnny smiles faintly.

He comes over and sits down on the floor, drinking his beer in silence for a few moments.

"Hope you dream okay," he says softly, though he knows it would be better not to dream at all, just slip away somewhere quiet for a while. Would that he were so lucky.

[powerdealer]

"Mmyeahh..." Seth answers, already drifting off, calmed by the steady breathing of Scout and the sounds of Johnny moving around. He's pretty certain this whole experience will work its way into his nightmares soon enough. But perhaps he's too exhausted tonight. One can hope.

"Thanks, Johnny..." he adds, though it's so quiet and muffled it's barely audible. Soon after that, he's fast asleep.

TW: HEAVY REFRENCES TO SELF-HARM

[johnny_truant]

Johnny smiles faintly at the sleepy mumbling. He watches Seth for a few moments until he's certain he's out, then sighs heavily, exhausted, beaten. Devastated. He needs to get out of here before he breaks down completely.

He picks himself up and looks down at Scout. "Time to go," he says quietly.

Scout rolls his eyes up at him, acknowledging but not moving. He's thoroughly settled in beside Seth, head resting on his paws.

Johnny gazes back at the dog for a few moments. "You wanna stay here?" he guesses. "Wanna stay with him?"

That would be fine, he decides. Might be nice for Seth to wake up with that. Johnny plans to check on Seth anyway, he can do that when he comes to get Scout for his morning mealtime.

He crouches back down and pets Scout briefly, rubbing behind his ears. "Okay," he says. "You take care of him."

Scout yawns and settles in further, and Johnny stands back up. He takes his beer and leaves quietly, locking the door with the spare key, then crosses into his apartment. It's all as he left it - everything where it was, even after the destructive mayhem of his godforsaken power. It feels stuffy, smells too much like him, laundry and sweat and dog.

He sets the beer on the bedside table and goes around opening every window he can. By the last one he realizes his hands are shaking. He stops abruptly, staring at them, trying to will them to stop, but it only gets worse, a sick trembling he can feel throughout his body, unsteady, the fatal twitching and jittering of a poisoned man. He sinks, suddenly, hardly even aware that his knees were about to give out, dropping hard to the floor and catching his head in his hands, fingers tearing at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut even as the tears finally come, leaving hot streaks down his face. He sobs brokenly, once, then in earnest, heavy, painful sobs, his entire body wracked with sorrow. The strain of what he's just done, resetting the entire house, is finally hitting him full in the chest. It was too much for him; and what he's left behind, given up one friend to save another, is too awful besides. He wants to tell her but he doesn't know how, can't bring himself to really say I can't go back. It was all like a dream, the momentary freedom from himself, and from the binding ligaments of this thing that will always be inside him. Because it was made for him. The Rift made it for him.

He's too exhausted even to undress. If he tries to stay up, to shower, eat, smoke, whatever, he's afraid he'll hurt himself instead, old habits die so hard sometimes, needing the pain externalized so it stops pressing in on him like a smothering weight. He drags himself to the bed and drops himself down, curling up pathetically, his tears spilling down onto the sheets. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Whatever dreams lie before him tonight, let them come. Let them swallow him up and take him over, just for now, just so he doesn't have to be here, feeling like this.