[BACKDATED] we're all so sure we're not like all the rest

[unlostsoul]

Characters: Teddy/Throne (child_proteus) and Billy/Want (unlostsoul)
Date/Time: BACKDATED. August 5th, approximately 8:30PM.
Location: The access point and then back to Want and Drake's house
Rating: PG-13 for the usual boy/boy hijinx
Summary: Dinner. Cards. Earthquake. Hulk. You'd think they'd've gotten used to how nothing ever goes as planned around here.

Comments

[unlostsoul]

Want makes a point of kicking Throne as he slides off the couch, closing up his fan of cards as he goes. He puts them face down on the table with care, giving Throne an over-the-shoulder glance that says don't you dare peek, even though their game is sort of toppled and mixed up, thank you, Throne. He makes a noise at Diva while he's still semi-bent over and waves her towards the kitchen, in case she's ready for dinner, but she still seems content under the table, so he gives up and goes to get two Cokes from the fridge.

He's just got the door of the fridge open, ready to poke his head inside and find his beverage, when something starts to shake. He has a half-second when he thinks there's something wrong with the refrigerator, like a spigots blown or a valve or some other mechanical thing that Want doesn't actually know if refrigerators have or not. It's jiggling on the floor, the contents jostling against each other, mostly soundlessly except for the few bottles which make hard, sharp glass noises as they clank together. When that half-second passes though, Want realizes that it isn't the fridge that's moving, it's the floor, and not just the floor but the whole house and the whole foundation. Something falls out of the fridge and lands on the ground with splat, and then something else with a crash. There are lots of crashes happening all around, so Want doesn't pay attention to the specific. The whole fridges jerks forward, tipping up on its front edge, and he freezes for a second as his brain tells him to duck and cover and to run at the same time.

[child_proteus]

There are moments in life where thought isn’t necessary - things happen and the body understands. Or perhaps understands isn’t the right word, perhaps reacts would be better; and then, sometime after the fact, the body understands, and maybe the mind follows. If posed with a question to list some examples this, Throne thinks he’d be able to think of several good answers. Things like knowing to pull away from a hot stove, scrambling through water to keep from drowning, maybe something so simple as riding a bike, perhaps moaning, kissing Want.

So when the ground and the walls and the ceiling above them start to shudder like the world is about to end, Throne’s body flares into overdrive, true thought receding from him now so that all he can manage to think are single words and the occasional declarative sentence.

Want.

Is the first thing he thinks - a thought so bright it almost eclipses his senses. The details of the world grow soft in their focus, while some of them fall away all together and before Throne knows it, he’s closing the space between them, scrambling across ground that can’t seem to keep itself still. When he reaches him, he pulls Want away from the refrigerator as it teeters along side him before finally pushing Want down, low, into almost a crouch. The floor then tries to buck them both off and Want falls slightly forward onto his hands and his knees and Throne does what he can, the only thought occurring to him in that moment being

Cover him.

And so, that’s what Throne does. He covers Want as best as he can, turtle-shelling over him with his arms and his back, knowing full well that if the sky were to fall right now, his body would be much more prepared to take it than Want’s ever will be. “I got you,” he whispers, even though he’s pretty sure that there’s no way that Want has heard him over the din that envelops them both. Pressing down onto Want he shuts his eyes hard, concentrating on the tiny shifts of Want’s body - indicators that tell Throne if he’s hurt or uncomfortable or having difficulty breathing.

A deep shudder runs its way through his body, and for a minute Throne thinks it might be the roof about to come down on top of the both of them, but there’s something different about this sensation, about the way it comes from within, not without - a tremor that seems to touch every part of his body, shivering beneath every inch his skin. In response and without warning, Throne immediately thinks about his eyes, the image of staring at himself hard in the bathroom mirror flickers briefly across the surface of his mind, though the thought lacks any true meaning. Around and above him the cupboards clatter angrily, their doors rattling on their hinges, flapping about like cloth on a very strong breeze; whenever they swing open random things tumble out - dishes, cups, the occasional bowl shatter against the counter and floor, and all Throne can do in response is hunch himself over Want all the more fully. This time, however, it seems slightly easier, as if Want’s gotten smaller - like he’s cowering or something - or perhaps it’s as simple as Throne’s gotten bigger - puffed up but perhaps in a literal sense as his emotions rile up against the shuddering violence around them, making him think

Protect him protect him protect him.

Behind him, something topples down, crashing hard against the curve of Throne’s back. There’s a quick blossoming of pain along his spine, and he can’t tell if it’s blood or bruising or what, but everything about Throne seems to clench for a moment, though he tries very hard with every nerve of his body to keep from crushing Want. He feels taut, like thinly stretched skin, a membrane pulled way too tightly over a framework that has suddenly become too small. He adjusts his arms ever so slightly over Want and the muscles are hard and unforgiving beneath his skin, as if tensed and never fully released.

[child_proteus]

Times passes - though not very much - and the world continues to shiver and shake, but eventually that starts to recede before suddenly abruptly stopping. When the world stills, Throne exhales sharply, as if the entire time he’s been holding is breath, which may or may not be true. A tiny aftershock then ripples through the apartment, jingling broken glass in the sink and on the floor, and Throne hunches his shoulders - why suddenly so heavy - in anticipation of it starting again.

[unlostsoul]

Want isn't entirely sure what's happening until it's already been happening for a few seconds. He feels himself get pulled back and pushed down and then Throne's bunched over top of him. He knows that part clearly; Throne's a big arch around him, his stomach flat against Want's spine, shielding him from whatever's crashing down from above. Want's palms land flat on the ground, and he can feel the way it almost seems to convulse under his fingers. Throne grunts as something hits him, Want can hear it and feel it, even if some how he's shifted to cover Want more completely; Want didn't feel him shift at all, but there's suddenly a little more room between their bodies. He winces in a pang of sympathy and frustration, his fingers curling into the ground. Underneath the twisting, disoriented panic, he can feel that he's safe right now. It's a deep-down, unshakable feeling, and it keeps him breathing, keeps him focused as he wishes and wishes for Throne to be okay, for both of them to be okay. And everything seems to sort of run together, like his senses are overlapping and smudging into each other, and the shaking just seems to go on and on.

As the tremors start to die off, becoming shakes and then ripples, Want realizes that somewhere in there he shut his eyes. He cracks them open now, all the colours pooling in a mess of blue and green for a second, before he opens them very wide and finds that his hand is deep in a splatter of tomato sauce and broken glass. He feels Throne exhale above and around him and then tense again as an echo passes through the ground. Want tenses too, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, but the moment passes quickly, not even half the strength of the one before it. He opens his eyes again, his breathing fast and shallow and his heart thumping in strong, steady strokes. He feels sort of terrified but mostly just the reckless pump of adrenaline that comes afterward, so he does what comes most naturally without thinking about it: he presses back and up, trying to bring their bodies flush again, looking for the physical comfort that he's still almost to rattled to appreciate in any way beyond knowing that Throne is there and okay and breathing still. He succeeds, but it's wrong almost immediately. Parts of his brain disagree, insisting that this is fine and normal, just another definition of the words, but the shapes are weird. Throne's body seems broader, more expansive somehow, so Want turns his head slightly and catches something green in his peripheral vision, like sunlight bouncing off a rearview mirror. He turns his head slightly and sees that the green thing is actually Throne's shoulder. And then his arm. And then his hand. Want says, faintly but with no particular sound of shock to his voice oddly enough, "Uh, T?"

[child_proteus]

There is a moment when Throne opens his eyes when he thinks that there’s nothing wrong. Nothing wrong beyond the earthquake, of course, and it takes Want speaking for him to take notice that perhaps something isn’t quite right. Looking down at the side of Want’s face, his eyes quickly rack focus to his hand on the floor. His hand which looks not quite like a hand. Which looks like a claw in the shape of a hand. His hand. His claw.

Pushing himself up onto his feet and off of Want, Throne reels backwards, stumbling slightly, his foot slipping on a puddle of what was once upon a time probably food. Before he can catch himself, his back connects sharply with the refrigerator, the contact made way too soon to be expected, and Throne thinks it’s probably just jittered its way across the floor when in fact at least part of the answer is staring him right in the face. Because at full height, the world seems suddenly smaller, his point of view strangely skewed; it’s as if he’s standing on the lowest rung of a ladder and he’s able to see things from a slightly different angle - seeing sides when he should be seeing bottoms, and seeing tops when he should be seeing sides.

Don’t look. Don’t you dare fucking look, he thinks, keeping his eyes trained on Want. Deep inside, he’s not exactly sure which is worse, having to look at Want look at him, or having to look at himself. Because suddenly his dream is very clear in his mind and that moment of panic when he looked down at his hands and saw snakes and eels and something not quite human writhing beneath his skin. When he’s like this - whatever this is - his body feels awkward and strange but still very much his. His limbs and his torso seem to fit together at very odd angles, like he needs to learn how to stand all over again in order to account for bits and pieces that are otherwise nonexistent.

A moment passes. And another one, and eventually Throne has to look away, shutting his eyes and keeping perfectly still, afraid that any movement or misstep accidentally force him to see something, some part of himself, which is the last thing he wants to see. But that line of thinking can only get Throne so far, so when he just can’t take it anymore, he tilts his eyes and his face down to look at his body, raising his hands so that he can see quite clearly again that they’re not really hands anymore. They’re something else.

What follows is a moment of recognition. Realization. Repulsion. Perhaps, all of the above. Dropping his hands down to where he can’t see them again, Throne turns his face sharply to one side, shutting his eyes again, concentrating very hard on the thought: This isn’t me this isn’t me this isn’t me.

He opens his mouth, not entirely sure what will come out; he might scream or curse or say something he’ll probably regret later, Throne can’t tell, but he knows he has to say something.

And what he says is, “Don’t look at me.”

[unlostsoul]

When Throne starts up and back, Want can't help but follow him with his eyes. He doesn't quite know why, but he knows he wants to see this. It's not really curiosity or shock or some sort of horror, twisted inside out to become more like fascination. He just wants to know. Almost immediately, he gets a good look as Throne stumbles back into the fridge, looking dazed and frightened. He's green. That's an easy difference to account for. And he's bigger, which is again easy, and there are some other clear changes: his shoulders layered and hard-looking, his face still basically the same but with more angles and fewer, his hands bigger and longer. Like in my memory, Want thinks and inhales very sharply because yes, that there, is the feeling he hasn't quite been able to put a finger on so far. What he's feeling is a complete lack of surprise. He knows this Throne just as well as he knows the other Throne, every detail still familiar. And the more Want looks, especially as he shifts his gaze up to meet Throne's almost visibly queasy gaze, the more he can tell that this isn't really a question of two Throne's that he knows but of one who he just, perhaps, knows even better than he expected. Same hair, Want's mind notes, same piercings, same Throne.

And then Throne looks away and down, and Want feels his body move, fingers gripping the ground, toes ready to push off, like he's a runner about to start a sprint. Which is good because when Throne speaks a few moments later, he needs the extra boost of speed to get over to him as fast as he wants. He isn't certain about what to do except that Throne's voice was thick with repulsion when he spoke, and Want finds that so fundamentally wrong that he knows he has to do something. Action without understanding, hoping his brain will catch up later. His first instinct is to spread both hands over Throne's chest -- largely bare, his shirt ripped so much that it looks more like a collection of rags loosely sewn together. He wants to run his hands all the way down Throne's front, as far down as they can go, and feel out all the difference between this version of Throne's body and the one he's seen up until now, even if, realistically speaking, he can't remember the topology of that variation much either. Is Want surprised by the hot flash of longing in the pit of his stomach right then? Sort of. But in pleased way, like he's found something he was looking for at the bottom of a messy desk drawer, like ah-ha, gotcha, I knew it was there all along.

Throne looks skittish, though, as if he might bolt from loud noises or fast movements, so Want doesn't follow his first instinct and opts instead for his second: finding one of Throne's hands and wrapping his fingers in between Throne's. They've done this hundreds of times now, so Want figures if anything is safe right now, this is. He moves his face, searching for Throne's eyes under his bangs, helped along a bit by the bigger difference in their heights now. "Hey," he says softly, "T? You okay?" and then in a stronger voice, "Look at me."

[child_proteus]

“You’re hand…” Throne says, very quietly as soon as Want’s fingers begin to slip between his. Is what? he asks himself as soon as he says it. …is hurt? …is now holding mine? …is so much smaller when I’m like this? He’s no longer aware of what his original intention had been when he first started speaking, so instead of trying to finish off the sentence, Throne allows those two words to hang in the silence between them - ambiguous in their meaning but strangely obvious in their importance. Because Want is close to him, and touching him, and leaning forward to find his eyes - gestures that tell Throne without being explicit, that on one level - perhaps the only one that really matters - things haven’t changed. And they won’t.

“Look at me,” Want says, and the way he says it makes Throne think that Want’s never wanted anything more before in his life. There are words, Throne thinks, words between words, hidden meanings like so many unspoken reassurances. Right now, Want is speaking them in volumes, so much crammed tight between three tiny syllables. Yes, is what he seems to say, this is still you. And this is still me being with still you. So we’ll deal with it. Now, look at me.

Warily, Throne opens his eyes and is surprised to see that most of his vision is take up by the crown of Want’s head - something, which, he’s never looked at before, especially not at this angle. Beneath the tousled mess of dark hair, there are Want’s eyes and his face - both of them lifted upwards, towards Throne, so careful and concerned, but layered with something completely different across the top - something perhaps a little warm. Maybe, even generous.

Throne’s brow pinches in response to this and then quickly stops, as he’s not still entirely sure how to react. Because Want is looking at him the way that Want always looks at him, a way that makes the broiling, disgusted parts of Throne suddenly calm, and the parts inside that refuse to be calm at least quiet down a bit, as if paying a silent respect to whatever it is that Want is offering him right now. “Want,” he says, and his voice almost breaks, the word rising like a bubble of emotion from deep inside him, one that pops without warning once it’s found the surface. “I don’t know…” and he shakes his head. “I didn’t…do it on purpose…”

[unlostsoul]

Want lifts the corner of his mouth up into a little half-smile. For all that it is not a very big smile, it's genuine and steady. Want himself does not feel so steady. If he was really focused on his body, he would notice that he is still shaking, as the aftershocks of the emotional earthquake clear out just like the real one did: in ripples. "Hey," he says softly, "yeah, Throne, I know that." He makes a gentle laughing noise, and his smile grows. "You were trying to keep us safe, right? I get it. Don't worry."

He's trying to make every single movement and every part of himself say the same thing, spell out the letters in his message that this is okay, Throne, this is you too, and that's okay. He could say that out-loud, and he partly doesn't understand why he hasn't, but that would mean calling attention to it, and Throne can see the creeping self-consciousness in Throne's face that says he doesn't want to even think about it. So Want decides non-verbal is the best road for now, touching and closeness as proxy for how not-weird this all is for him.

He takes a step closer and has to tilt his neck back more to keep eye contact. The height increase really is something; most of the time, Throne is still taller than him by an inch or too. Now, it's by a head and then some. If Want chose to, he could turn his head and press his ear to Throne's chest, right at eye level, and listen to his heartbeat. This thought makes him smile properly for a second, and he reaches up to push Throne's hair off his face, carding it back with his fingers even though most of it just flops back immediately. Then, he pushes his thumb between Throne's eyebrows, like he's hoping to do away with the pucker there through pressure, and finally drops his hand back to his side. "You aren't hurt, are you?" he asks, voice rumbling with a bit of urgency.

[child_proteus]

Want’s hand seems to settle against Throne’s face the exact same way it’s done in the past, and that - somehow - is a small comfort for Throne. To know that - even when his body is so big and so strange, casting its long unfamiliar shadow over Want - there are ways for the two of them to still fit together, ways that he can be held, and ways -perhaps - in which Want still wants to hold him, touch him, to have him near. This realization resonates in him deeply, in the parts of him that had cowered at first but now slowly seemed to be unfurling - his fear and his shame unraveling slowly, pooling now at Want’s feet.

“No,” Throne whispers, as surely as he can, and shakes his head, “No, Want, I’m fine.” This statement is true at least on one level, and very not-true on another, and Throne can tell that Want knows this. Because it’s there - clear as day, safe as houses - in the look on Want’s face, the way he laces every word and touch and shift in his gaze with something that says, I see you. All of you. And that’s okay.

Hesitantly, Throne reaches up with his free hand and brings it to Want’s cheek. Doing this means he’ll have to look at it again, maybe accept it, but something in Want’s body language tells him that he’s accepted it already, and that steadies Throne, encourages him. Like this, he can cup the whole of Want’s face in the small of his palm, skin - rough and oh god why green - barely touching him, still reluctant. He wants nothing more to run his thumb over Want’s cheek, the round point of his chin, his mouth. But Throne’s not exactly sure how to do that anymore, his fingers thick and pointed with joints that are sharp - awkward and menacing. It’s probably the most frustrating thing about this new body - beyond the fact that he wants to believe that, somehow, it’s not really his - the not knowing exactly how to use it, how things work. Leaning forward, trying really hard not to loom over Want, Throne studies his face and his eyes before asking quietly, “Are you okay?” And maybe Throne means, Are you hurt, or maybe he means, With all this.

[unlostsoul]

Want's heart does a little upset double-beat when Throne hesitates to touch him. All this hesitancy is creepy and wrong, especially on Throne, and it makes him achy and upset all over. He catches Throne's hand with his and wraps his hand around Throne's thumb because there's no way he can manage the whole hand, pushing it in close to touch his face properly. Then he leans into it, so that Throne's hand is sandwiched safely between his own hand and his head. "Yeah," he says quietly, "m'okay, T. Totally one hundred percent." He shifts again, half-turning his face into Throne's palm so that he can press his nose rounded cushion of muscle at the base of his thumb. He keeps his eyes on Throne and gives an extra nod of his head, breathing on his wrist, answering Throne's silent questions too.

Then he pauses suddenly as some new sensations finally work their way in past worry and adrenaline. He flexes his right hand, stretching his fingers and their connected bits as tight and long as they can go before releasing. "Well," he admits a little sheepishly, "my hand stings a bit." And then he realizes that they're both standing on top of a mess of fallen food -- he's tracked red tomato sauce footprints across the kitchen floor -- and that the house in general is probably a wreck and he sighs a little. "And it looks like we have a long night ahead of us. That was... something." He shoots Throne a worried little look and adds, "I hope everyone else is okay." Like we are goes unsaid.

[child_proteus]

Sometimes there are things that Throne can’t do himself, things that seem too difficult or too meaningful, things that threaten to break Throne’s back and his heart, things that usually involve Want. Most of the time, when Throne can’t follow through, they remain undone, falling along to the wayside, discarded but never quite forgotten. Occasionally, however, a time will come along when Want finds it in himself to up and do the thing for him. Like right now, the way he’s practically buried himself in the palm of Throne’s hand, forcing him to cradle his face, holding him there - fast against him, almost defiant in its reassurance. “Oh,” Throne says, like he’s just learned a secret - one he thinks he should have known from the start.

When Want mentions everybody else, Throne realizes - as if it had never occurred to him - that there is a world outside of the tiny bubble of a moment that now contains him and Want. “We should go,” Throne says suddenly, his voice more resolute, a distant urgency now rising in his chest, pushing past the gross, sticky feelings inside of him - squishing them a bit, quieting them down. “Find the others. See if they’re okay. They might want help or be hurt or need something heavy lifted, though something tells me, if that’s the case I should maybe charge something extra.” Throne’s eyebrows lift at the middle, though the ends still stay downturned, a sort of half-hopeful, half-sad look on this face that says, Ta-da, I tried to make a joke. To bring the point home he laughs once, very awkwardly, pulling his hand from Want’s face and taking a reluctant side-step into deeper shadow.

“I just need a minute I think,” and he runs his hands down both arms, almost flinching at how unfamiliar it feels while at the same time registering in the back of his mind, the thought that damn I’m fucking huge. He steps back again, so he’s partially obscured by the edge of the counter, trying to put as much as he can between himself and Want’s eye line without actually having to pull too far away. He’s not exactly sure what this will look like and double unsure if he wants to see Want’s reaction. “I don’t know if this is going to work,” he says and turns his head to shut his eyes. It’s an exercise, is what he tells himself. Like staring at his eyes in the bathroom mirror. Just a matter of thinking very very hard, picturing what it is that he wants and then suddenly, watching his eyes do it. But this time Throne needs a much larger picture, one that encompasses his whole body - something, admittedly, that he doesn’t know very well, because he’s tried very hard not to understand it.

[unlostsoul]

Want feels like maybe he should avert his eyes when Throne backs off and so clearly tries to hide himself, or at least make it harder for Want to see. But even that doesn't change Want's steady certainty that he shouldn't look away, possibly not ever, certainly not know. He does dip his head down, turning it so that it isn't facing Throne, like a tiny nod towards privacy, but he swivels his eyes back up and whispers, "Take your time. Relax." and then waits and watches in silence.

It isn't gross at all. There was a second there when he'd worried it would be, but it isn't. More importantly, it doesn't look painful. Want had worried that maybe it would hurt: growing new bones or breaking skin in order to reform it again. But it looks almost more like pushing bits of clay around, molding and shaping something soft rather than actually changing the structure of what's there. And it happens so fast that Want can almost not keep track of everything, as much as his eyes dart about. The details blur together and eventually he gives up and just looks at Throne's face. There's the least to change there, but it's also makes him feel the happiest, seeing the green wash out and the pink wash in. Throne blinks, and his eyes are blue again, and Want grins.

"Okay? T?" he asks after a few seconds of hesitating. He takes a few steps forward until he can brace a hand on the counter and look at Throne's face closely, reassuring himself that Throne really is not in pain or anything. Then he makes a humming noise. "You wanna go get a shirt and your journal and make sure things are okay at home? Like Argent and your cat and stuff? And then we can meet back here and try to find everyone?" He has this fragile certainty in his chest that they all will be, but it's sharp too, and it hurts to think about right now. Want finds that, for the hundredth time since he met Throne, he would much prefer action to thinking right now.

[child_proteus]

It feels like, well it feels like humming, only not with his mouth. It’s humming, but with every part of his body - every nerve, every cell of his being vibrating for a moment. It almost tickles. But tickles in a way that almost doesn’t feel good, like it’s way too much of a single thing to handle and Throne feels like his body might just burst.

But then he doesn’t burst, he just opens his eyes, blinking at Want. Everything seems oddly smaller now, and it’s disorienting even though it’s the way he usually sees the world. “Yeah,” he says and takes a small breath before looking back down at his hands. They’re normal - painfully so - and Throne rubs them back and forth over one another to feel flesh and callus beneath his fingers, the way he thinks hands should feel. Looking back up at Want, he nods, and focuses very hard on what he says. “Yes,” he says, and it’s an answer to everything - yes to the shirt and the journal and home, yes to Argent and KC, and most importantly yes to everybody else, everybody that is decidedly not him - who’s the last person he wants to think about right now. Reaching out, Throne touches the top of Want’s hand where it’s resting on the counter; it’s not hard anymore to meet his eyes, no hunching or looming or weird cranes of his neck. He just looks and just touches and in that small moment, Throne allows himself to believe that he’s just a boy again.

“I’ll be back,” Throne says, and his voice is firm. It covers him, the way he covered Want, a hard shell placed over all of the soft things inside that need to be pushed down. You’re not okay, but that’s alright, Throne thinks, and he nods again, pulling back and away, before trying to pick his way through broken glass and splintered wood. Focus, the others need you.