Again
Title: Again
Fandom: The Social Network
Characters: Eduardo/Mark
Rating: ...T+.
Warnings: Angst. I'd exercise caution here. It could be pretty heavy.
Spoilers: The Movie.
Summary: Mark wakes up in a dark room, faced with a demon that looks a lot like he former best friend.
Notes: Another TSN-version of a Neil Gaiman short story.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Social Network. This is a work of fiction, and the characters described herein are based on the fictional representation of real people, to whom I have no affiliation or connection with. If you got here via searching your name by some means, I would advise you to go back and go to a different place. You should try YouTube! They have kittens there!
He doesn’t remember how he got here. One moment, he was fighting to stay awake, fighting Chris and Dustin, who seemed adamant that he go to sleep or go to the hospital, and the next moment, this one, he’s in a dark quiet room, alone. One single light flickers above, and goes out.
He frowns, confused, and when it comes back on, a man is standing in front of him. Not just any man… Eduardo. He looks at him with big, black, soulless eyes, and doesn’t say anything at first.
When he finally speaks, it sounds like thousands of screams from other people, nothing like Eduardo’s real voice, and it’s then he realizes that he must be in Hell. “Time is fluid here,” Eduardo-demon says.
He must have died in the night, fever too high, and Chris will be panicking and crying and Dustin will be shocked and soon they’ll be calling everyone to let them all know that he’s dead. Sean will come, and the investors. The Real Eduardo will show up, stoic, and maybe cry a little, and that’s as far as he knows.
He takes a moment to look around the room, observe the walls. They’re all covered in various objects, some looking like rust, others looking brand new. He suspects it would be unwise to really look that much closer.
Eduardo-demon speaks again, “Come closer.”
He does as he’s told, and looks at Eduardo-demon, really looks at him, and it’s unsettling to see what he does. He’s pale, scarred, and dangerously thin. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in years. He looks like he’s been in pain forever. He looks like all he wants to do is die, and it’s terrifying.
“What now?” He asks.
“Now… is torture.” Eduardo-demon says, screaming-voice ringing out.
“Okay.”
Eduardo-demon sighs and looks down, shaking his head, before crossing the room and taking a device from a wall. It’s a whip with metal ends, glowing hot. Eduardo-demon prepares to strike, and says, before he brings it down, “Soon, you’ll wish you were back here again.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“No. The next part… is much worse.” Eduardo-demon brings his arm down fast, striking him on the back.
He feels white-hot pain explode, and he cries out.
Eventually, they run through all two-hundred plus instruments on the walls, each one being cleaned after it had been used, and put away reverently. Eduardo-demon stares, unflinchingly, cold and unfeeling, as he uses each one.
Once the last is put away, he opens his mouth, dry, cracked, marred. “And now?”
“Now… is worse.”
And it is. He’s made to tell this demon that looks like his lost best friend everything, every lie, every hurt, every regret. Every single terrible word, every single thoughtless remark that made him feel superior, is pulled from him, like a magician’s scarves, never-ending and burning all the way down. He remembers every detail, and tells them all.
“Tell me what you felt as I walked out at the party,” Eduardo-demon says, flat.
“I felt relieved that you wouldn’t be there to drag us down.”
“No,” Eduardo-demon corrects quietly. “You didn’t.” He stares back, eyes burning with pain.
“I felt like I’d just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to me.”
He’s forced to take everything apart, each small moment, and relive it all, over what feels like years, decades, centuries, millennia. He’s almost done, when he realizes that, yes, he would rather take all of those painful devices now than have to tell it all again.
He stops, done with his life. It’s over.
Eduardo-demon keeps staring, and says only one thing. “Again.”
So he starts over at the beginning, and tells it all again, everything. He hates himself for all of it, and wishes desperately that he could stop, but he can’t. He keeps telling it. He cries and yells and clenches his fists as he tells it all to this demon that looks like someone he once loved, but is most definitely not him.
“Again.”
He tells the story, over and over, all the while wishing that he could go back to the beginning.
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
He recognizes all the wrong he’d done to those around him, all the consequences of his actions, and he opens himself up and pours it all out. He feels the damage in his soul and learns from it, and he feels like he deserves all this pain, these millions of years of pain.
He closes his eyes and sobs, wishing he could take it all back and make it better.
When he opens his eyes, Eduardo-demon is gone. He’s no longer in the dark, hot, quiet room. He’s lying on a hospital bed, lips chapped, staring at the ceiling. The walls are a warm taupe, and there’s a painting of a meadow across from him. The television is muted, and he can see Chris and Dustin sitting next to his bedside, tears in their eyes.
Chris has a hand over his mouth, and he’s breathing heavily. Dustin opens his mouth, but he’s cut off.
“I’d-I’d like to talk to him alone, guys.” A voice sounds on his other side, and it’s Eduardo. The real Eduardo. His eyes are wet, and brown, and warm. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in a couple of days, but he’s not dangerously thin, or deathly pale, and his skin is smooth. He’s real, and untouched.
Dustin and Chris stand and leave the room, quickly, Dustin’s arm pulling Chris into his side. He can hear Chris start to cry once he’s out the door, and it hurts in his gut.
He keeps staring at Eduardo, who is sitting in a chair, biting his lip and swallowing every so often.
“I’m still angry with you.” He says, barely contained emotions leaking out. It’s so different from before, it’s a relief to hear it.
“Okay.” He says.
“It’s going to take me a while to process... and-and to forgive… but I- I think-”
“What are you doing here?” He asks quietly. It doesn’t make sense. It’s been months since the settlement, and they hadn’t spoken since then.
“Chris called me in a panic. You got sick and your temperature got really high. He brought you to the hospital, and he said you’d been screaming, but… you’ve been talking in your sleep. You’ve been saying things, and he didn’t know what to do.” Eduardo folds in on himself and buries his head in his hands. “You scared him. You scared both of them, a lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, no… it’s okay now, you’re awake now, you’re better now.” Eduardo stands up and walks to the door, shutting it quietly. He leans against it, his forehead resting gently on his arm. “Chris says you… you said a lot of things. You confessed a lot of things. You-you said everything, and Chris says you just kept repeating it all, over and over again.”
“I had to. I was… I was in Hell. And I had to tell everything. I had to tell it all.”
“Chris says you went over it maybe… maybe over a hundred times. You just kept talking.” Eduardo shakes his head in disbelief, near tears. “You just kept talking, and you wouldn’t stop, and then… this last time, you kept apologizing, over and over.”
“I meant it. I am sorry.”
“No, I know. I know you’re sorry. I know everything. You said everything.”
“I know.”
“I- it’ll take a while. I can’t just turn around and act like none of it happened.”
“I’m not asking you to, Wardo.” It slips out. He can’t take it back, but he doesn’t really want to.
Eduardo turns and smiles, slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I’m so sorry, Mark.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I-”
“No, really. It’s okay. It’s done now.”
“Okay.”
Fandom: The Social Network
Characters: Eduardo/Mark
Rating: ...T+.
Warnings: Angst. I'd exercise caution here. It could be pretty heavy.
Spoilers: The Movie.
Summary: Mark wakes up in a dark room, faced with a demon that looks a lot like he former best friend.
Notes: Another TSN-version of a Neil Gaiman short story.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Social Network. This is a work of fiction, and the characters described herein are based on the fictional representation of real people, to whom I have no affiliation or connection with. If you got here via searching your name by some means, I would advise you to go back and go to a different place. You should try YouTube! They have kittens there!
He doesn’t remember how he got here. One moment, he was fighting to stay awake, fighting Chris and Dustin, who seemed adamant that he go to sleep or go to the hospital, and the next moment, this one, he’s in a dark quiet room, alone. One single light flickers above, and goes out.
He frowns, confused, and when it comes back on, a man is standing in front of him. Not just any man… Eduardo. He looks at him with big, black, soulless eyes, and doesn’t say anything at first.
When he finally speaks, it sounds like thousands of screams from other people, nothing like Eduardo’s real voice, and it’s then he realizes that he must be in Hell. “Time is fluid here,” Eduardo-demon says.
He must have died in the night, fever too high, and Chris will be panicking and crying and Dustin will be shocked and soon they’ll be calling everyone to let them all know that he’s dead. Sean will come, and the investors. The Real Eduardo will show up, stoic, and maybe cry a little, and that’s as far as he knows.
He takes a moment to look around the room, observe the walls. They’re all covered in various objects, some looking like rust, others looking brand new. He suspects it would be unwise to really look that much closer.
Eduardo-demon speaks again, “Come closer.”
He does as he’s told, and looks at Eduardo-demon, really looks at him, and it’s unsettling to see what he does. He’s pale, scarred, and dangerously thin. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in years. He looks like he’s been in pain forever. He looks like all he wants to do is die, and it’s terrifying.
“What now?” He asks.
“Now… is torture.” Eduardo-demon says, screaming-voice ringing out.
“Okay.”
Eduardo-demon sighs and looks down, shaking his head, before crossing the room and taking a device from a wall. It’s a whip with metal ends, glowing hot. Eduardo-demon prepares to strike, and says, before he brings it down, “Soon, you’ll wish you were back here again.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“No. The next part… is much worse.” Eduardo-demon brings his arm down fast, striking him on the back.
He feels white-hot pain explode, and he cries out.
Eventually, they run through all two-hundred plus instruments on the walls, each one being cleaned after it had been used, and put away reverently. Eduardo-demon stares, unflinchingly, cold and unfeeling, as he uses each one.
Once the last is put away, he opens his mouth, dry, cracked, marred. “And now?”
“Now… is worse.”
And it is. He’s made to tell this demon that looks like his lost best friend everything, every lie, every hurt, every regret. Every single terrible word, every single thoughtless remark that made him feel superior, is pulled from him, like a magician’s scarves, never-ending and burning all the way down. He remembers every detail, and tells them all.
“Tell me what you felt as I walked out at the party,” Eduardo-demon says, flat.
“I felt relieved that you wouldn’t be there to drag us down.”
“No,” Eduardo-demon corrects quietly. “You didn’t.” He stares back, eyes burning with pain.
“I felt like I’d just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to me.”
He’s forced to take everything apart, each small moment, and relive it all, over what feels like years, decades, centuries, millennia. He’s almost done, when he realizes that, yes, he would rather take all of those painful devices now than have to tell it all again.
He stops, done with his life. It’s over.
Eduardo-demon keeps staring, and says only one thing. “Again.”
So he starts over at the beginning, and tells it all again, everything. He hates himself for all of it, and wishes desperately that he could stop, but he can’t. He keeps telling it. He cries and yells and clenches his fists as he tells it all to this demon that looks like someone he once loved, but is most definitely not him.
“Again.”
He tells the story, over and over, all the while wishing that he could go back to the beginning.
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
He recognizes all the wrong he’d done to those around him, all the consequences of his actions, and he opens himself up and pours it all out. He feels the damage in his soul and learns from it, and he feels like he deserves all this pain, these millions of years of pain.
He closes his eyes and sobs, wishing he could take it all back and make it better.
When he opens his eyes, Eduardo-demon is gone. He’s no longer in the dark, hot, quiet room. He’s lying on a hospital bed, lips chapped, staring at the ceiling. The walls are a warm taupe, and there’s a painting of a meadow across from him. The television is muted, and he can see Chris and Dustin sitting next to his bedside, tears in their eyes.
Chris has a hand over his mouth, and he’s breathing heavily. Dustin opens his mouth, but he’s cut off.
“I’d-I’d like to talk to him alone, guys.” A voice sounds on his other side, and it’s Eduardo. The real Eduardo. His eyes are wet, and brown, and warm. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in a couple of days, but he’s not dangerously thin, or deathly pale, and his skin is smooth. He’s real, and untouched.
Dustin and Chris stand and leave the room, quickly, Dustin’s arm pulling Chris into his side. He can hear Chris start to cry once he’s out the door, and it hurts in his gut.
He keeps staring at Eduardo, who is sitting in a chair, biting his lip and swallowing every so often.
“I’m still angry with you.” He says, barely contained emotions leaking out. It’s so different from before, it’s a relief to hear it.
“Okay.” He says.
“It’s going to take me a while to process... and-and to forgive… but I- I think-”
“What are you doing here?” He asks quietly. It doesn’t make sense. It’s been months since the settlement, and they hadn’t spoken since then.
“Chris called me in a panic. You got sick and your temperature got really high. He brought you to the hospital, and he said you’d been screaming, but… you’ve been talking in your sleep. You’ve been saying things, and he didn’t know what to do.” Eduardo folds in on himself and buries his head in his hands. “You scared him. You scared both of them, a lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, no… it’s okay now, you’re awake now, you’re better now.” Eduardo stands up and walks to the door, shutting it quietly. He leans against it, his forehead resting gently on his arm. “Chris says you… you said a lot of things. You confessed a lot of things. You-you said everything, and Chris says you just kept repeating it all, over and over again.”
“I had to. I was… I was in Hell. And I had to tell everything. I had to tell it all.”
“Chris says you went over it maybe… maybe over a hundred times. You just kept talking.” Eduardo shakes his head in disbelief, near tears. “You just kept talking, and you wouldn’t stop, and then… this last time, you kept apologizing, over and over.”
“I meant it. I am sorry.”
“No, I know. I know you’re sorry. I know everything. You said everything.”
“I know.”
“I- it’ll take a while. I can’t just turn around and act like none of it happened.”
“I’m not asking you to, Wardo.” It slips out. He can’t take it back, but he doesn’t really want to.
Eduardo turns and smiles, slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I’m so sorry, Mark.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I-”
“No, really. It’s okay. It’s done now.”
“Okay.”