[The video flicks on to panicked blue eyes as the man snatches up his medical pack and his zanpakuto from his room, already rushing out of the ryokan before he even knows where the other man is. He doesn't bother with questions like 'what happened?' or 'were you attacked?' his training from fourth division kicking in immediately and all he needs to know is where the other man is. He can assume there would be hostile parties in the area judging from the wounds.]
[Jason stares and blinks, and suddenly, he's just laughing, his entire body's shaking with the force of the laughter. Oh he's worried, oh this man thinks he was attacked.]
[The laughter trails off, and he gasps out a response.]
I'm fine. [A lie, even he knows he's not okay, he's not fine that he's fucked, utterly utterly fucked, and he doesn't know what can fix it. Not this time. This all the usual methods just aren't working now.]
[His fingers creep up again, and searching out the wound, finding the slick edge of it, pushing in deep, so deep he can fantasize that he can feel his heart beating.]
[Despite the stern tone it's obvious in his face that he is more than a little uncertain. He's had to deal with all manner of difficult patients before, though it's been quite some time since he worked in the fourth. None of the men from eleventh ever wanted to admit they were injured even when they were near death, quite a number of other lower ranked officers were stubborn about such things as well. But this, especially what follows after that gasped response, this is far beyond something as simple as pride. This was something so much darker than that and, after the dream this same man had the other night, he isn't sure he wants to understand.]
You're liable to kill yourself if you keep that up. Please, allow me to help you.
Well, obviously. But I just said my little line that everyone is supposed to say.
[God that's so fucking funny again, and Jason finds himself laughing again gasping with it, shaking his head.]
Kill myself? God, no. I bet this fucking place wouldn't let me just die even if I tried. If dying once and coming back fucked me up this back, can you imagine what I'd be like if it happened twice? Shit, the gods would love that, since their fucking occupation seems to be fucking everyone in the head.
[Elfangor has seen this man's dreams before. Always turned away from them, never replied, because they reminded him too much of memories best left dampened--being torn apart with his own tail blade by a vengeful bastard, only to die and be sent to die in the world he'd come from as well, eaten alive, ripped flesh and bone and blood, too much blood--
No. He will not think on that.
Instead, his thoughts churn, turning their sharp edge resentfully against this man. Who is he, to shove this in their (his) face with such frequency? Does he think he is the only one to have suffered terrible pain? And yet, he seems to wallow in it, when the only conscionable thing to do is to push it away, no, no, don't think about it, don't ever think about it, it only makes it worse, makes you a coward and a failure--
He knows it isn't fair. But for once, he does not care, and he speaks in clipped tones.]
Whether you bleed or not has no bearing on your existence here, or anyone else's. The only thing that matters is healing, and not making the scars
( ... )
It has to do with everything. [He's not angry, not quite. His voice vibrates with a sheer intensity, as if he's poured his entire being into those words, his voice coming out cracked and harsh.]
It's proof, don't you see? Blood, scars, all of it. I look at them and I see a man, a real living man. The scars, they're just my story, my history written out across my skin. I know then, that it's not in my mind, that all those memories are real, and not just some construct.
[But that's it, isn't it? Grayson remembers him, and Jason doesn't remember any of it, and if that's wrong, then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down, and then maybe he really is nothing but a fake, a fake with a dead boy's memories stuffed into his head. ]
What proof are scars? Scars heal, more thoroughly for some. [He considers for a moment, then speaks aloud his thoughts,] Particularly if you possess a certain type of technology that restructures your body, removing any trace of injury.
Does that make the past, your memories, any less real? I do not think so. [He taps a finger to the side of his head.] A body may help to shape your remembered experiences, but that does not determine who you are.
[If that were so, what would that make him? Andalite, human; he was both, yet neither truly, if this man's existential crisis carried any merit. Which is all the more reason for Elfangor to give little weight to his skewed perspective.]
[Twitching slightly at the sight with what counts as irritation, Kanda stares at the screen with an otherwise emotionless expression. Why the fuck do people do that to themselves. Just kill yourself if you hate yourself that much, and spare the others more air. Don't humans injure each other more than enough?]
It is proof. That there are too many things wrong with you.
[Oh. It's that asshole from before. Jason bares his teeth at him, in a semblance of a smile.]
Now, I didn't need you to tell me that.
[The bared grimace widens, and he purrs.]
Waste of space? Oh, I get things done. That's what I'm good at. It's because I don't mind getting my hands dirty. [He peers down at his bloodstained fingertips, and then he just laughs.]
[Ginko. It was just yesterday that he was talking to Ginko, that he wanted him, and it was denied. But he had told Ginko, and Ginko knows. His green eyes sharpen and he stares at the screen, stares at this man as if he's his only lifeline.]
Ginko. Ginko, you know why I'm doing it. I told you all about it. Remember? I was dead. Or at least Jason Todd was dead, and I came back. Their little boy was martyred, and they got me instead. Because how do I know? Really, how do I know I'm him? Who says that I'm not a clone, with fake memories stuffed inside me? I thought...I thought it was okay, the scars are memories and you can't lie with flesh, but Dick came here, and he has memories of me that I don't have. And...[His eyes squeeze tight, then flutter open again, still honed in on Ginko] And the pain helps, calms me down and it reminds me, but this time it's not helping, nothing's helping...
[He's babbling, but he always seems to babble with Ginko, and it just doesn't matter any more.]
[Well, at least he's willing to talk about it. Maybe a little too much...
Ginko makes himself comfortable. Looks like he's going to be the one who talks Jason down from... whatever this is. He won't worry about finding out where Jason is, for now. Maybe once the other man is calmer...
A slight pause, to gather his thoughts.]
I met a man who had come back from the dead, once. Not you. Someone in my own world.
[A tiny pause. Should he tell Jason? He looks at the younger man, considering his options... no, he won't tell him the whole thing. Later, after he's sober and more likely to remember it all, and preferably in person... yes. But he'll tell the abbreviated version for now.]
Actually, I knew him before he died, and after. I'd say he was the same person, without question.
[...he'll leave off the fact that that man became immortal, and, in Ginko's mind, no longer really a human. In fact, he never plans to bring that little fact into this at all.]
Comments 33
(The comment has been removed)
[He doesn't even recognize this woman, and his mouth twists. He sighs.]
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What is your location? I can help you.
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[The laughter trails off, and he gasps out a response.]
I'm fine. [A lie, even he knows he's not okay, he's not fine that he's fucked, utterly utterly fucked, and he doesn't know what can fix it. Not this time. This all the usual methods just aren't working now.]
[His fingers creep up again, and searching out the wound, finding the slick edge of it, pushing in deep, so deep he can fantasize that he can feel his heart beating.]
Reply
[Despite the stern tone it's obvious in his face that he is more than a little uncertain. He's had to deal with all manner of difficult patients before, though it's been quite some time since he worked in the fourth. None of the men from eleventh ever wanted to admit they were injured even when they were near death, quite a number of other lower ranked officers were stubborn about such things as well. But this, especially what follows after that gasped response, this is far beyond something as simple as pride. This was something so much darker than that and, after the dream this same man had the other night, he isn't sure he wants to understand.]
You're liable to kill yourself if you keep that up. Please, allow me to help you.
Reply
[God that's so fucking funny again, and Jason finds himself laughing again gasping with it, shaking his head.]
Kill myself? God, no. I bet this fucking place wouldn't let me just die even if I tried. If dying once and coming back fucked me up this back, can you imagine what I'd be like if it happened twice? Shit, the gods would love that, since their fucking occupation seems to be fucking everyone in the head.
Reply
No. He will not think on that.
Instead, his thoughts churn, turning their sharp edge resentfully against this man. Who is he, to shove this in their (his) face with such frequency? Does he think he is the only one to have suffered terrible pain? And yet, he seems to wallow in it, when the only conscionable thing to do is to push it away, no, no, don't think about it, don't ever think about it, it only makes it worse, makes you a coward and a failure--
He knows it isn't fair. But for once, he does not care, and he speaks in clipped tones.]
Whether you bleed or not has no bearing on your existence here, or anyone else's. The only thing that matters is healing, and not making the scars ( ... )
Reply
It's proof, don't you see? Blood, scars, all of it. I look at them and I see a man, a real living man. The scars, they're just my story, my history written out across my skin. I know then, that it's not in my mind, that all those memories are real, and not just some construct.
[But that's it, isn't it? Grayson remembers him, and Jason doesn't remember any of it, and if that's wrong, then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down, and then maybe he really is nothing but a fake, a fake with a dead boy's memories stuffed into his head. ]
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Does that make the past, your memories, any less real? I do not think so. [He taps a finger to the side of his head.] A body may help to shape your remembered experiences, but that does not determine who you are.
[If that were so, what would that make him? Andalite, human; he was both, yet neither truly, if this man's existential crisis carried any merit. Which is all the more reason for Elfangor to give little weight to his skewed perspective.]
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It is proof. That there are too many things wrong with you.
[Pause, then deadpan;]
Fucking waste of space.
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Now, I didn't need you to tell me that.
[The bared grimace widens, and he purrs.]
Waste of space? Oh, I get things done. That's what I'm good at. It's because I don't mind getting my hands dirty. [He peers down at his bloodstained fingertips, and then he just laughs.]
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[Completely not intimidated. Heck, his own smiles make crocodiles retreat.]
[Impression not made, emo kid.]
And you expect me to believe you're capable of slaying anyone but yourself.
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Believe whatever the fuck you want. Don't need to prove shit to you.
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...followed almost immediately by a sick sort of worry that he isn't going to bother analyzing right now. That was a lot of blood.]
Jason. [His voice is quiet, with only the barest thread of alarm running through it.] What do you think you're doing?
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Ginko. Ginko, you know why I'm doing it. I told you all about it. Remember? I was dead. Or at least Jason Todd was dead, and I came back. Their little boy was martyred, and they got me instead. Because how do I know? Really, how do I know I'm him? Who says that I'm not a clone, with fake memories stuffed inside me? I thought...I thought it was okay, the scars are memories and you can't lie with flesh, but Dick came here, and he has memories of me that I don't have. And...[His eyes squeeze tight, then flutter open again, still honed in on Ginko] And the pain helps, calms me down and it reminds me, but this time it's not helping, nothing's helping...
[He's babbling, but he always seems to babble with Ginko, and it just doesn't matter any more.]
Reply
Ginko makes himself comfortable. Looks like he's going to be the one who talks Jason down from... whatever this is. He won't worry about finding out where Jason is, for now. Maybe once the other man is calmer...
A slight pause, to gather his thoughts.]
I met a man who had come back from the dead, once. Not you. Someone in my own world.
[A tiny pause. Should he tell Jason? He looks at the younger man, considering his options... no, he won't tell him the whole thing. Later, after he's sober and more likely to remember it all, and preferably in person... yes. But he'll tell the abbreviated version for now.]
Actually, I knew him before he died, and after. I'd say he was the same person, without question.
[...he'll leave off the fact that that man became immortal, and, in Ginko's mind, no longer really a human. In fact, he never plans to bring that little fact into this at all.]
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Someone who died...and came back? And you knew? How? How were you so sure?
[Jason clings to Ginko's words, his gaze feverish and intense.]
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