bigapplesauce | [closed] After painting the ceiling red

Current Location: Hell's kitchen
Current Music: August 5th, noon

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[closed] After painting the ceiling red

[Warning: Lots of focus on suicide, with a side of drug and alcohol use, plenty of traumatic subjects.]

Seth should start keeping a tally of number of times Daniel gets to watch him die in a dream. Only two so far, but that's in less than three weeks of knowing him, so who knows what it will be over time? He's long since given up on keeping track of when he dies in a dream in general, since that's not a terribly unusual occurrence, but it's rarer for it to happen in shared ones.

He had given up on sleep more or less immediately after waking up. The fear he had felt, the hopelessness, it was all a bit too real, too familiar, and easily stuck with him. So he had gone out to cope with it in the only way he felt capable of - getting blissfully high.

A few hours later, once morning had properly arrived, and the buzz was wearing off, he returned home. Not ready to deal with being sober however, he had replaced the morphine with alcohol, namely whiskey. The rest of the morning had passed in only somewhat comforting intoxication and anxiety, and then Daniel had texted him, and Seth didn't feel able to answer. It took two hours before he could actually face the idea of seeing him after that ordeal. Not just because of the things he had seen Daniel do, but the things Daniel had seen him do. There's no small amount of shame and self-loathing involved.

But at last he had answered, and now he's waiting for Daniel to get there, anxiously picking at his sleeves and staring at the wall. He's not as drunk as he would like, but he's definitely not sober. It's not going to be a fun conversation.

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Seth has to smile a little at the vicious defensiveness and the conviction with which he says that. Daniel has already shown in a dream how much he'd go through to get Daniel out, and they didn't even know each other that well at that point. They don't know each other that well now. Though perhaps it depends on the point of view - they may not have known each other long, but they've still delved pretty deep into the traumas and insecurities. Or at least Seth's.

"I suppose with an archangel and a guy who can't seem to stay dead both in my corner, the likelihood is significantly lower than last time," he answers, in something almost resembling lightheartedness. The fact he can walk through walls also helps, of course. But Romac managed to lock up Gabe for a time, so you can never be too careful.

That gets a short, amused exhalation which considering the context of this conversation, counts well enough as laugh.

"I'd say it is, yeah." He tries his best to smile, but the little strained pull of one corner of his mouth gets wasted on the opposite wall. At least he knows that should it come to it, the years of learning to handle firearms and becoming at least reasonably adept at hand-to-hand can have a use. Not that he needs the reminder due to already helpfully getting a rather hefty reminder the night previously, and in high-definition surround-sound no less.

He takes in again the clothes strewn half-on and half-off the bed, recalls their damaged and torn state in the dream, and shuts his eyes to the memory of the gunshot. Again.

Seth runs down the corridor and shoots through his head and howls his frustration, and the second time he shoots he makes sure he doesn't have the power to avoid it.

Daniel wonders how many better ways that scenario could have played out.

The loop resets and Seth doesn't even flinch when security fires on him, just forces away his power and puts the barrel to his chin.

There were probably plenty of worse ways it could have played out too.

He opens his eyes and closes his eyes and the gunshot goes off.

"You gonna be all right?" he asks, knowing full well the long-term answer to that likely lands between I have no idea and no, probably not, but he doesn't know what else to ask.

"Yeah," he answers softly, giving a little nod. Admittedly, he's going by a pretty broken standard of 'all right'. He's going to survive, and he's going to cope, and maybe one day he's going to properly recover. Because the alternative option isn't acceptable. He's too defiant and stubborn for that. When he was in there, it was 'I won't let them use me,' but out here it's 'I won't let them break me.' Very different results. Although it is of course sometimes harder to remember that than other times.

Daniel is not looking so great either, though. Seth's not sure how much talking through what happened would help at this point. So he reaches forward and picks up the whiskey bottle, offering it out to Daniel.

"Sure you won't have some? I can mix it in your coffee, if you want." Seth either needs to sober up, or Daniel needs to get drunk, because them staying like this probably isn't going to help.

"Tempting, but no," he answers a little regretfully. It's only noon, which today is far too early for Daniel to start drinking anything alcoholic. "I'll take the coffee offer solo if that's on the table."

The exhausting nature of the conversation has already begun to bleed into the downward slope of his shoulders and the rub of a hand over eyes for the umpteenth time. He'll take the flimsy excuse for a subject change since Seth seems to have reached his limit on how much of that he's willing to discuss. Daniel can't blame him.

Seth nods and heavily gets to his feet, bringing the whiskey bottle back to the kitchen and leaving it there, in an attempt to stop himself from drinking further. He hasn't even made coffee yet this time, despite knowing Daniel was coming, so he starts a fresh pot. Maybe it will have a sobering effect on him as well.

"Sorry you had to watch that," he says a bit quietly, focusing on the coffee rather than looking at Daniel. Knowing Seth's own tendency to get stuck on dreams or events and have them playing through his head, he has a feeling Daniel might be doing the same. And well, the sheer brutality of it, coupled with what Jack had called his saviour complex, probably made it very upsetting for Daniel that he couldn't help Seth. Again. Even if it was just a dream. Again.

Daniel had already braced himself to rise and make the stuff himself but Seth goes and gets up before he can. And based on the way he devotes far too much careful attention to the mechanical process, Daniel thinks he needs it, the stabilizing form and function of repetition.

"If it means anything," he answers dully, "sorry my brain put you through it. That's not, not exactly, what I, uh." He huffs bitterly. Like anything he's about to say is any consolation. "That wouldn't have happened. That wouldn't - that's not how people in our care are typically treated. And I'm sorry."

Seth nods, focusing on the pot for a while, even though it no longer needs his attention.

"Good to hear," he answers. He had suspected after he woke up, but it's just nice to have it confirmed. He's sure there's a hint of truth to it, just amplified strongly. But it reassures him that if someone had been in situation, it would've gone better.

"Dreams here, uh, have a tendency to take bad things and make them worse," he adds. "Though I suppose that's ususally true of dreams, just, here you get to share the experience." Which... could be a good thing, having someone to help you through it, but usually it's just as bad, or even worse, because it means someone else gets to see you in these terrible situations.

"Yeah, no, I noticed." Repeatedly. And in detail. There's no need for the nighttime reminders; Daniel doesn't let himself forget these things in the waking world. "But I don't want to make excuses."

It takes a minute's hesitation for him to solidify what he means to say next.

"Particularly for the things you saw me do." He needs to be clear about this. Seth has that right to know. "That - may not have been exactly how that mission file played out but it, it wasn't a deviation from the norm."

Seth nods in acknowledgement, not looking up. He had figured as much from how Daniel's talked about it so far in this conversation, but he's not sure how to respond. It's still very jarring and upsetting, the gentle and caring and understanding man sitting on his couch, having to do all those horrible things. Daniel doesn't deserve being put through that.

"It's war," he says after a few moments, standing back and crossing his arms, glancing at Daniel with a shrug. "You do terrible things cos you have to."

He bites his lip, pausing. "I think you're right to forgive yourself for them." And, by extension, he means Seth forgives him for them. It's not easy to deal with, for either of them, but since when has anything ever been easy.

Daniel wishes he could excuse said terrible things under the banner of necessity, but he's spent so much of his unofficial military career convincing those in power that there's always another way that now he'll never believe otherwise for himself. There may not be an alternative in the heat of a particular decision, whether to fire upon one's enemy or get killed, but the chain of options leading to that fatal choice rests on Daniel's shoulders. At least, in that particular instance and in countless others like it, it did.

"I forgive myself for the things that were necessary," Daniel says carefully. "Or I try to. I'm less forgiving of the innumerable lives I've doomed through my own arrogance, or misunderstanding, or rash decisions."

He told himself he'd never lose count of the souls on his conscience, only to find to his shame that he can no longer delineate when that number climbed into the millions.

Seth frowns up at the ceiling, trying to remember the right exact words. "'You made a mistake and it happens. That doesn't mean you don't forgive yourself,'" he quotes, then gives Daniel a look. A look which clearly says he doesn't get to get away with his hypocrisy when it comes to judging himself as long as Seth is here. He deserves the same kind of understanding and forgiveness he gives others.

He shakes his head and goes to get out the mugs, the coffee nearing completion. "If I get to forgive myself for Shannon, you get to forgive yourself for that," he adds more quietly.

Don't think he isn't well aware of the hypocrisy of the situation. But Daniel can't bring himself to laugh or even smile at that one. He looks again at his hands, throat taut.

"How big is your body count?" he asks mildly. "Small enough that you can keep track, right? You can count it on both hands, you can remember the details of every person you had to -" He gestures vaguely toward his own throat, then shakes his head.

"I've lost count." The last two words sharpen Daniel's tone into something furious, laden with disgust. "I lost count years ago. I don't even remember all of them, or my justifications, or any of it. Tell me why I should forgive myself for that, for forgetting in the first place."

Seth looks over at Daniel with a slightly pained look. As he suddenly directs his anger and disgust inwards, Seth abandons the coffee and goes over to the couch, sitting down and putting his arm around Daniel's shoulders. He doesn't know how well words will sink in, and he's even less eloquent when drunk than when sober, so he needs to show Daniel in some way that it's okay. And even if it's not okay, Seth is still here. Thankfully, being still a bit drunk makes it easier to initiate physical contact without feeling overly nervous about it.

"'Cos I said so," he says stubbornly, giving him one of those intensely sympathetic looks Daniel has pinned him with so many times already.

The unexpected weight of an arm dropping over his shoulders almost succeeds in startling him out of that spiraling self-judgmental trajectory. Seth doesn't usually come across as the most tactile person but apparently he's inebriated enough for that boundary to have become a little more blurred.

He says it so earnestly that Daniel's frustration breaks into a tiny, disbelieving smile.

"You're absolutely right," he answers, tinged with enough sincerity to communicate how grateful he is for that affirmation. "I'm absolved of all crimes."

Seth returns the smile, glad he helped a little. If only it was that easy.

"I mean... If I hadn't had the friends I have, there's a good chance I really would've caused the zombie apocalypse," he continues, and gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I got lucky. You didn't. And most people aren't put in situations of that kind of responsibility. It, uh.."

He casts about, trying to find the words that will absolve Daniel. "You wouldn't have done what, what you did if you knew what would 'appen, if you knew of a way to avoid it. You didn't set out to do it, and, nor, nor are you the only person who helped bring it about."

Seth sighs, looking down at the table. He's not sure if this is actually helping, but he's willing to keep telling Daniel to forgive himself if it has a chance of helping. "And you shouldn't have to carry that guilt on your own," he finishes, looking up at Daniel again.

"If I don't, then who does?" he asks evenly. "What you saw was one planet of many, of I don't even know how many. And that's not even, god, that's not even going into when I was on a higher plane, well within my limits to put a stop to what I'd caused, and I didn't."

He spreads his hands wide, a gesture of helpless acceptance.

"There are galaxies of context here, and I honestly don't think there's a way to neatly summarize it. I don't compartmentalize it and I've tried not to forget, but there's," he stops to swallow, hard, "there's just so much of it." There's no room to compound thousands of suffering lifetimes into a head that's only intended for one.

Seth can't really speak of Daniel's time as an Ascended, mainly because it seems Daniel can't either. But he's sure there must've been a reason for why he didn't interfere. He can't imagine Daniel wouldn't without a very good reason.

He nods sadly, not sure what else he can do at this point but symphatise. He glances towards the kitchen, noticing the coffee-maker has finished. "Coffee?" he suggests, tilting his head a little at Daniel.

"Please," says Daniel, relieved at the subject change, however clumsy. "Here, I'll, I can get it."

He feels like he's done little else besides sit on Seth's couch and lament about his problems which is, well, not exactly what his intent had been when he first arrived. He's not sure what his original intent had been, he just knows he doesn't feel like he's actually patched anything between them.

Between them. Whatever...between them means. Friendship, yes, but poorly defined, cast in an odd shade of coffee, and alcohol, and shared misfortunes, and subconsciouses that simply won't leave each other alone.

Daniel doesn't want to search for a word for any of that right now. Instead he gets up and starts pouring their coffee.

Seth let's Daniel do it, leaning back on the couch as Daniel shoulder's disappears from under his arm. He wishes there was more that could be done for either of them, things that could be said that would help more than putting a band-aid on a stab wound.

"I'm glad you came," he says, glancing up with a small smile, trying to sound light rather than, well, sappy perhaps. He wants to say more, about how he gets lots in his own head in a way that's not good for him, and that Daniel can bring him out a little bit. But he's not sure how to without sounding horrifically sentimental.

"Uh." He returns, mugs of caffeination in hand, and duly delivers Seth his. Then he sinks into the couch beside him again, hands cupping the mug bracingly, shoulders creeping upwards in indecision.

"I mean, I, I guess I'm glad too," he offers, sips, then winces. Wow. So that is the worst way he could have phrased it. "I just mean, well, I wish it didn't have to be for, for the particular reason when I first, um. I just - kinda dumped a lot of it on you, which, uh. Sorry."

And he closes that lovely eloquent speech with another embarrassed sip, and looks away.

Seth takes the mug gratefully, taking a tentative sip to see how hot it is. Too hot. He wraps his hands around it instead, watching Daniel out of the corner of his eye.

"What, you missed the bit where I was complaining about the zombie apocalypse?" he asks lightly. They've both done some emotional dumping today, probably only fair. Besides, it's... oddly reassuring, to hear about how Daniel doesn't take what he's done lightly. Even if the best thing would be that he hadn't ever had to do those things at all, so that he wouldn't have to feel this way.

"One of these days we'll get together just to 'ang out, rather than, yanno... Recuperating from some traumatic experience or other," he finishes. It seems to have become a pattern. Or just even if they do plan to just hang out, some horrible subject or other which needs to be tackled comes up.

Daniel smirks, leans back, sips again.

"Mm, that's the dream," he remarks, and immediately regrets it. God, he does not want to think about dreams right now. Of any kind, really. "We can shoot for that, normalcy. As, well, as normal as things get around here, anyway." Which is, comparatively, not very.

"I think my scale for judging normalcy is broken anyhow," Seth answers with a half-shrug, shoulder to shoulder with Daniel. "Angelic landlord and all." There's plenty other things Seth could use as example, but that's a notable one that Daniel's actually familiar with.

Even when you try to stay out of trouble, there's the Rift dreams that drag you back in to some extent or another. Of course, it varies from person to person, how many of those you seem to end up in, so if you're very lucky you could stay mostly clear of them. Seth is not that lucky, and it seems to have just gotten worse over time. And back when he would've liked to have contact with the outside world, all he got was regular nightmares.

"How about, ahh." Daniel considers for a moment, chewing on his lip. "Just - pleasant. That can be our goal, just, you know. Pleasant. 'Normal' is subjective anyway. And a deeply flawed concept, based on entirely, well, I don't think you wanna hear the rant I've got prepped."

He takes a much longer draw from his mug, savoring the shot of energy to his central nervous system. After the hellish night before, he thinks he needs it.

Seth smiles a little and nods in agreement with the goal. Pleasant would be nice. Not that they don't have their moments, but it usually gets interrupted. Generally by their own insecurities and anxieties and guilt. But so far they've been decent about offering support to each other for that, at least, rather than just pushing it all down or judging each other.

"Wouldn't mind, really, if you want to," he answers, finally taking a proper drink of his own coffee, now it's a bit more bearable temperature. Any subject they can discuss without getting painfully personal would be welcome at this point, and Daniel keeps mentioning his ability to go on and on.

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tw: repeated suicide mentions

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