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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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.

He hums his amusement at that but even with the caffeinated assist, he can't quite unearth the energy required to go off on that particular tangent. Thankfully he's spared the effort of conceptualizing a new topic when he notices a flicker of movement in the glass tank.

"Oh, hey." Daniel stands and moves closer to peer at it and identifies what is most definitely the head of a snake poking its way out from within. He flashes a curious look back at Seth. "Thought you said you didn't have a pet."

Seth looks up, realising suddenly he's forgotten to introduce Daniel to his new reptile roommate. There's been so much other stuff going on, and she's still getting used to her new home, so she's still pretty shy.

"Well, I didn't, but now I do," he answers with a smile, setting down his mug to join Daniel. "Got her on Wednesday," he adds, looking down at the piebald ball python slowly making her way out of her hiding spot.

"Did you?" He grins a little and leans closer to watch. A forked tongue peeks out inquisitively at him in response. "Wait - wasn't that when you were, you know?" He rights himself to wave a hand up and down quizzically, eyebrow arched.

"Yeeahh, I... kind of stole her," he admits, reaching up to awkwardly rub at his neck. "Liberated her, more like," he adds. It's not really a secret nor anything he's particularly ashamed of, but he feels a little iffier admitting law-breaking to Daniel than to other people.

The eyebrow goes higher. Finally Daniel shrugs.

"Well, perception shifting. S'pose it is a bit of an opportunity." He goes back to watching the snake with his head to one side. Having done his fair share of phase-shifted snooping in his own universe, he doesn't exactly have the moral high ground to judge. "Had an interesting time, I take it?"

"Well, no, it wasn't like that," he answers, stepping around Daniel to sit on the unmade bed. "She was at this pet store that clearly didn't know a thing about keeping reptiles. And I didn't want to give them money for mistreating her, but I also didn't want to leave her there, so..."

It's not like he went around grabbing whatever he felt like. Hell, even when he grabbed himself a coffee, he put money in the tip jar. He may not give much thought to breaking the law, but he doesn't want to rip undeserving people off. He just... very selectively opportunistic.

He continues to watch the snake make her tentative foray out, one side of his mouth lifting in another grin. Seth has a soft spot for reptiles. Well, that would make sense considering the tattoo and his previous ownership of a possibly time-traveling iguana.

"That was nice of you," he says, completely earnest. "Got a name yet?"

"Monty," he says, then with a shrug adds, "I didn't know she was female when I got her, and she doesn't care, so." He can even say with a fair bit of certainty that she does in fact not care. He wonders vaguely whether Iggy ever minded his name.

"Do you want to say hello to her?" he adds after a moment since Daniel seems pretty interested, and she doesn't seem too shy right now, being out and about even as they're watching her.

"Sure," he says, smile widening into something a little more complete. Then, hesitant, "I mean, will she, will she mind?"

Which is mildly ridiculous because she is a python, and probably won't mind. It's not like she'll mind the name. Monty. He laughs a little when he understands the reference.

"Monty. And she's a python." Daniel shakes his head, amused. "That's great."

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