bigapplesauce | So Who's Going to Watch You Die? [closed]

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So Who's Going to Watch You Die? [closed]

Daniel scans the intersection for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, hands crammed in his pockets. He's not anxious and he's certainly not fidgeting. Well. Not overly.

And if he were, hypothetically, fidgeting and shuffling and shifting in one place restlessly, it'd be completely justified given present circumstances. He's just a little on edge, mostly thanks to shared group dreams which are, apparently, possible - something he's recently discovered in the worst way imaginable. He'd been hoping all morning that leaving the apartment and interacting with the real world for a bit would brush away the last few echoes of the nightmare, but there's still a chill in his spine regardless. Expected, but no less unwelcome.

So, yes, he's a little concerned, primarily about Seth. It's true that Seth has lived here for longer - much longer - and he'd acted like he was used to the shared nightmarish experiences by now. Daniel has more than a few issues with that sentiment (the foremost being that horrible nightmares in which people get impaled and imprisoned and die should not be something one gets used to, personal history with nightmares aside) but he's also hoping Seth can clear up a few questions about the Dreaming. It might not have been real in the strictest sense of the word, but it had certainly felt like it.

Also he is worried.

That line of thought just keeps looping on back.

Daniel's phone buzzes, a text from Seth. Soon the phone returns to his pocket as he crosses his arms, takes stock of the intersection again, and waits.

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He nods his understanding and continues to sit, studying his hand with more intensity than fully warranted. Seth seems fine, much to Daniel's relief, especially in contrast to the night before.

And he is going to try for the umpteenth time to stop thinking about that.

"Well, thank you," he says after relocating his voice. "It already feels a lot more manageable."

"It'll probably still take a while to get a proper handle on it. I mean, it's not like my experience with it magically transfers to you. But hopefully it'll be easier now," he answers and sighs. "And thankfully I had a lot more luck with this one than the last one."

"What happened with the last one?" Daniel asks slowly, with all the trepidation of someone who's not sure if they want to know. And he's not sure if Seth really wants to talk about it and thus preemptively regrets asking.

Seth makes a face and reaches up to rub his neck. "Lost control of it and nearly killed both myself and my friend," he answers. He's still pretty freaked out about it, even if he pretends not to be, so he feels weirdly like... he should warn Daniel about it. Like 'hey, on the days I'm not getting myself killed while trying to help you, I might just accidentally kill you instead.' Just a disclaimer, before the whole cooking dinner thing happens.

"Wow," Daniel mutters, looking back down at his hands. "Um, I'm sorry." He has no idea if he's apologizing out of regular sympathy or if it's for bringing it up or even just for the sake of social convention. He leans back against the couch, breathes a small sigh, and glances up at Seth, trying to tactfully work a comforting remark into the conversation.

"You know, uh, you know those dinners I owe you?" Woah, no, that's not the direction he wanted to take this. "Well, it's...yeah, it's kind of noon right now, not, not particularly your typical dinnertime but I can, uh, I can make you lunch." So not the direction he'd been planning for. Did Daniel really just offer to make a man lunch in his own apartment?

Seth doesn't answer immediately, his frown deepening a little. There's that 'owing' thing again, and it happens to come right after the mention of accidentally causing a friend's death, and accompanied by Daniel apologising.

"Listen, Daniel..." he begins slowly, feeling like this is gonna sound a little out of the blue. "I, uh... I happen to know a thing or two about blaming yourself for someone's death." Seth pauses to swallow. "I don't want you to feel guilty or like you actually owe me something after what happened to me last night. I mean for one thing, it was just a dream, so it doesn't matter. But more importantly, it wasn't your fault."

"Who said anything about guilt?" he counters, shrugging. "Sometimes friends make each other dinner. Or lunch. It's a thing. It is a thing, right?" And then he immediately gives himself a shake, reminding himself that that's hardly Seth's most important point.

"I mean, okay, so I do feel like I, ah. I messed up. And I get that it was a dream and all, but that doesn't change that I still feel...well, not guilty, per sé, but I do feel responsible. To an extent." He quickly takes off his glasses and starts cleaning them, if only to give his hands something new to do. And, possibly, to avoid eye contact as he tries to gather what he's trying to say into something word-shaped. "I do know about regret. And I also know how it feels to lose someone you care about. A little too closely acquainted with that feeling, really. So after the whole dream thing, I'm more relieved than anything, because now I know it wasn't real."

The glasses go back on and he can finally look back over to Seth. "Friends make each other lunch and, and whatnot. It doesn't have to be a guilt thing. It, it can be, uh, yeah. Just a...a thing."

Well, that was an eloquent conclusion.

Seth wants to argue that Daniel is not responsible, not at all, considering how hard Daniel tried despite the fact he still had a hole in his abdomen. It would be much easier to blame Seth who just didn't hold on well enough. But Seth stays quiet and lets Daniel finish. He's probably made his point as well as he's able to anyway.

"Alright," he answers after a moment and nods. "Just a thing, then." He's not going to apply too much meaning into the 'someone you care about' bit.

He gets to his feet and steps over to the fridge, looking inside. "Well, I have... egg and bacon. And bread for toasting. So I think we're kind of limited to that." Seth is not the kind of person who has a lot of variation in his kitchen, or ingredients ready to make complicated things.

Daniel stands and joins him, head tilted sharply to one side as he inspects the fridge's contents, like trying to view the whole thing at a ninety-degree angle.

"I can work with that," he decides with a nod. "If you're up for letting me commandeer your kitchen."

He pulls out the aforementioned carton of eggs, flips it open, sets it on the counter by the stove, then goes back in to retrieve a carton of milk. He sniffs the contents briefly before depositing it beside the eggs, having apparently deemed it passable.

"You got onions?" he asks, moving with more confidence than he feels as he sets about looking for a pan.

Seth gestures in a 'be my guest' way, and goes to sit at the kitchen table where he can more easily watch and talk to Daniel.

He snorts a little at the first question. "You are already greatly over-estimating the contents of my kitchen," he answers, pushing himself to be cheerful rather than dwell on what they'd just been discussing.

"I mostly live on take-out and stuff you just need to heat up." Half the reason he even has bacon and eggs is in case Gabe decides to cook for him again. Well, and that it's something Seth can actually manage to cook himself. Expecting there to be fruits or vegetables is just a little too far.

"Well, it's not like I'm any great chef myself." Daniel has located a bowl, the bacon, and a pan. He starts heating it up as he goes through the silverware in search for a whisk and, finding none, settles for a fork. "Pretty much lived on a military base for eight years. There were whole weeks where I'd completely forget to go home, just eat and sleep there because it was easier."

He sets to work mixing some of the eggs and milk with his improvised fork-whisk. Seth was promised dinner and Daniel is determined to follow that through, even if it happens to be dinner at noon. Or lunch, then. Whichever.

"I will tell you, one thing that's been helpful now and again," he continues, now tipping some of the bacon into the pan, "is living on another planet for a year. You wouldn't think it, but it actually did wonders for my cooking. Even learned to grind my own flour. Well, kind of. Ha!" The last bit, directed primarily at the spatula Daniel just unearthed, is accompanied by a triumphant grin.

Seth smiles as he watches Daniel bustle about. And he can't help but think it sounds horrible living on a military base. Sounds far too restrictive and would probably just make him feel trapped. Well - he has sort of lived in a not-exactly-military but-definitely-base for four months, but the difference there is that he was actually trapped and could hardly pop over to use the kitchens or whatever. Living on another planet actually seems more tempting. Though probably very depending on the planet.

"Well, I'm just not as self-sustaining. I buy my flour," he answers, grinning a little at his enthusiasm. "Well... I'm pretty sure I have flour, anyway. Not that I'm sure what to use it for."

"Well, we'll burn that bridge if we come to it," he replies, now poking at the bacon with his newly acquired spatula. "Don't think I'll need flour unless I've really messed this up. Though I probably haven't," he adds hastily.

Having judged the bacon as cooked through enough, Daniel dumps about half of the egg mixture into the pan along with it.

"Wouldn't exactly place myself in the realm of being a culinary exceptionalist." He works the spatula beneath the rapidly solidifying egg-and-bacon mix and jerks it in what was planned to be a spectacularly deft airborne flip. Contrary to expectation, it chooses instead to flop halfway over and fold in on itself, forming a mournful half-moon. "Ah, crap."

He prods at it hopefully with the spatula in hopes of rectifying his mistake, but the damage is done.

"This might turn out a little less, erm, circular than originally planned," Daniel mutters, flipping it again with thankfully more success.

"Oh, Daniel, really? I'm so disappointed," Seth teases, trying really hard to keep a straight face and mostly failing. It's already more impressive than he expects of anyone. He's not even sure he would risk frying the bacon and eggs together, he would just assume that would create some sort of disaster.

"Whatever, mate, as long as it tastes at least halfway decent, I'm good," he adds. The smell is really making him hungry now, too.

Daniel has to scramble to find a plate (who forgets to get out plates?) in time to transfer his semi-successful achievement in cooking from the pan.

"Uh." He frowns at it for a long minute before carrying it to the table. "It was supposed to be an omelet," he explains ruefully, sliding his slightly lopsided creation over to Seth. "Hopefully it, uh, tastes better than it looks?"

He returns to the stove to shuffle more bacon into the pan and re-stir the remaining egg mixture. And then give Seth a fork because he realizes a little late he forgot to include that rather necessary step in the serving process.

Seth doesn't even comment on the lack of a fork. He just sits there smiling, waiting for Daniel to realise, and grins once he finally brings it over.

It doesn't look that terrible, so Daniel is really just judging himself too harshly here. It's not the sort of fancy stuff you see in cookbooks, but it still looks like an omelet and it smells amazing.

Seth shovels up a forkful of it, blowing gently at it for a couple moments to cool it down, before finally popping it in his mouth. It's still too hot, really, but it is also good, and he makes an appreciative mmm sound.

The pan's still hot so the second omelet comes along much quicker even if it emerges no less deformed. Daniel joins Seth with his own plate and sits down opposite, watching him with cautious optimism.

"I do okay?" he asks a little too quickly. It really has been a while since he's cooked for anyone, himself included, and even with limited supplies on hand he'd been worried about the end result.

Seth is doing a bad job waiting for his food to cool properly, as it turns out he was more hungry than he thought. But then breakfast didn't happen because he was, well, high, and then he hadn't gotten around to lunch yet.

And since his mouth is currently full of food, he just nods appreciatively and enthusiastically. He swallows and gets to his feet, fetching their coffee mugs. "It's really good, thanks, mate," he says, getting the coffee pot as well to refill their cups, before sitting back down and continuing to stuff himself.

Daniel accepts the fresh coffee gratefully, then spears a bite of dubiously constructed omelet and finds that, to his surprise, he didn't do too terribly.

"Well I'm glad it turned out all right," he answers cheerfully, "though you may need to, uh, replenish your fridge." He ducks his head, apologetic, and takes the opportunity to take a much-needed swallow of coffee.

"Well, that's kind of what a refrigerator is for," Seth answers in between bites. "You know, putting in food, cooking it, eating it, and then putting in new food. Or at least so I'm told. I often skip the 'cooking' portion." And if Daniel wants to cook, Seth doesn't mind getting the paying and the restocking.

"Well, I don't mind doing step two if you don't mind steps one, three, and four," says Daniel, now eating in earnest. "Though that, um, does seem a bit disproportionate." And also weird. He's talking like this is a regular thing, which it isn't. It's Daniel making dinner for a friend out of some ridiculous sense of guilt or responsibility or however he chooses to define it, except that it's technically lunch if one takes the whole "noon" factor into account.

Yep, more coffee. That's good. Definitely more coffee.

Seth narrows his eyes a bit, considering. "Well, really it's just three steps. Getting food, cooking food, and eating food. And we're sharing responsibility on the third one, so."

And it's definitely not weird, because this is clearly just hypothetical joking.

Just like it was when they just hypothetically joking last night, fun comments that clearly nothing would come of. Yep.

"True. Very true." Impeccable reasoning, and not weird at all. Not even a little. "So that makes it much more of an even process, you know, really...really very even."

And why is he still talking even?

"Thanks for the coffee," he mumbles over a mouthful of omelet, because he doesn't trust himself to handle the current subject matter as adroitly as he'd like.

"Well, you mentioned something about being a raging caffeine addict, so," Seth answers, glancing up from his food. He's going to give himself a stomach ache, the way he's putting this away.

"And there's no alcohol in it, I promise," he adds with a smile. Probably because noon feels a little early to start in on the alcohol. As fun as it was to see Daniel kinda drunk.

"Good to know." He has missed this - actual food, actual coffee, nothing out of the Air Force's less-than-stellar commissary. It's good. He feels relaxed, even. Normalcy. He likes it. "People have tried to break me from the habit before with, uh, limited success. I did manage to break the habit once but, um. Well, it was because I was living on another planet at the time. For a year. So." He shrugs and takes another bite. "Withdrawal was my least favorite part of that whole experience."

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