forthedog | (no subject)

As it turns out, he still likes doing the dishes.

They have a dishwasher, of course. And of course it works just fine. But there's something about doing them by hand, standing there in the kitchen with his hands in the warm water, looking out at the night. Something quiet on the radio. He remembers doing this as a kid, doing them as a favor to a mother who was always tired after her drunk husband finally up and left her, doing them and finding a little peace at the end of a day.

Strange that he remembers things like that now.

Neil's late, but he has a little time before he actually starts getting worried. No call or text, it might just be traffic. He sets the last dish in the drainer, pulls the plug, dries his hands. A small glass of blood on the counter fresher than a lot of what he's been drinking. Better vintage.

He leans back against the counter, lifts it to his lips, inhales before he sips.

He's lost the ability to do a lot. But appreciating Neil in this whole new way... That's something he's not sorry he has now. Not sorry at all.

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"Do that." He's quiet for a moment, eyes half closed. Facing the window over the sink, looking out into the darkness. Thinking about torn meat and screaming trees and blood falling from an ashen sky.

"Do you know what really happened down there? In the ash? 'Cause I'm starting to figure it out."

"You facin' up to the part of yourself that wants to tear out my throat?" I ask, arching a brow, "Yeah, I kinda get it."

"I didn't face up to it, I gave it exactly what it fucking wanted. And the kicker is it probably wasn't even real before we got down there." He closes his eyes and the world bleeds away into rust. "It was the shit I was afraid might be in me, but that's all it was. I was never that bad. I was bad, but..."

He makes a fist, his nails digging into his palm. "I gave it what it wanted, I became it, and that saved us. I don't regret it. It's part of me now. But I can only say yes to it so many times. And this thing... it's feeding it. I can feel it. It's getting stronger. And sooner or later..."

He opens his eyes, turns. "This is too much. I like it too much. Neil, I can do the worst fucking shit now and sleep just fine, but I know it now - I could never sleep easy with what I could become. So we find out what's involved, what gets this shit outta my blood, and we do it."

Edited 2014-03-17 03:20 (UTC)

"That thing down there? That's not what you are, so you can just shut the fuck up about that," I say, shaking my head. "You let it in, and I get that, but there's a balance. We just gotta find the balance again. If we can't do it by findin' a cure, we'll just have to find it another way."

He cocks his head. "You think so? Okay." More and more he's not sure. More and more he thinks the lines are blurrier than he even knew to begin with. But that's not an argument for now. That's not really even an argument at all.

It might simply be a matter of perspective.

He pauses, thinking again. "If it's... not safe. If it's the sun. If it's not as easy as he made it seem. Do you still want me to?"

"I think that you've always been fucked up. I think I remember what it was like, when you first got here. The things you did," I say, leaving it hanging, knowing that he knows exactly what I mean. What he did to me, to Sam, things that I've had to come to terms with, but it's not like that part of him was ever gone.

"You didn't become a monster down there. You just woke somethin' up, it was always there," I say, arms folded across my chest. "But I need this under control, and if we can't find some other way, than the not-so-fuckin'-safe way might be our only option."

"Or I just leave." He looks away - he can't think about this as a real possibility, because all of his imagination fails him and he's left staring at a black wall of nothing. There is no existence beyond that point that he would recognize.

So many different universes, and that's the one he simply can't conceive of.

"Which. Yeah. No."

"And go where?" I say, choking out a laugh. There aren't a hell of a lot of options.

"We're gonna figure this out. We don't got any other choice."