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

[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.