[He's sent out a few of these messages, and like all the others he's not sure if this is one he wants a response to. It's not as though he wants Ian--or anyone else--to be stuck in the world Lance just left, but considering the situation that lead to Lance awakening, he's not sure if he should be hoping for anyone else to be back in New Amsterdam.
But he can't control any of that, and so even if the message may go unanswered and he's not sure if that would be for the best, he still sends it anyway.]
( It's sent back after staring at the text backdropped by his ceiling for a while, sprawled out on his bed, a nice neat new scar living on his chest.
The fact that it isn't 'hey, man' would probably alarm anyone who knows him well enough. Maybe or maybe not Lance, but definitely Kyna.
Or. Nate.
He's processing, sort of. Coming to terms, sort of. Maybe sort of feeling a whole bunch of nothing just yet, but with the unquestionable knowledge that when he does it's going to hit like a mack truck. )
[Lance doesn't know Ian all that well, all things considered, but that isn't really necessary to know that's not an encouraging response. When combined with that aforementioned reason why people seem to be returning, it's difficult not to be immediately concerned.]
Did you just get back?
[He's trying to gauge where he might be, both physically and mentally.]
( He actually... can't hazard a guess when. He's been in the same spot for a while, it's dark in his apartment, he's been a little zoned out.
He still knows basic human decency, so he follows it up a second later. )
You?
( If he thought about it for more than a second he'd know the answer to that, he remembers watching Lance die on the screen days before he himself went. He's just... not really thinking all that hard right now. )
[He's not totally sure how long; probably a few days? But it doesn't matter, really, and it's certainly not that important right now.]
Where are you?
[He's getting the sense from these short replies--and just from the general situation, which really applies to a lot of people--that it might be best if Ian isn't alone at the moment.]
( It occurs to him afterward why Lance is asking, and he considers sending another message right after. Some politely phrased version of wanting to be alone.
But actually, he doesn't.
Not sure what the fuck to do with himself because it's contrary to an entire life of experience, but the most recent one he just left he was actually rarely ever alone, particularly when something was wrong.
There's... a lot wrong right now.
He's conflicted, split down the middle, so he compromises with a warning. )
If that's a preface to you visiting my dignity and your respect are going to bail really quickly, and I'm an ugly crier. You might want to reschedule.
[He's glad that Ian answers at all, instead of refusing or even just ignoring him, and he's already turned in the right direction--he'd been out in the city trying to help where he can--by the time the second message comes through.]
They keep it a secret so that the degree sounds more impressive than it is, but a good two years of a psychology doctorate is mastering the ability to politely ignore ugly crying.
[Obviously not true, but the sentiment is surely clear enough; he's not expecting any sort of front from Ian, Lance just wants to be there to help if he can.
He shows up as soon as he can, waylaid a little by needing to reassure someone he runs into in the city and help direct them somewhere they can get help. But he does get there eventually, and instead of knocking he sends a message.]
( It's funny. Lance's answer, it's funny, it dimly registers in his mind. Any other time he'd have laughed, really. He doesn't have the focus for it right now.
With the impending threat of another human as incentive, he hauls himself out of bed eventually. Pulls on a shirt. Runs his fingers through his hair. Does a shot of tequila. Considers tossing out the bottle except there's no threat of a five a.m. run, is there? The SunnyD in his fridge has gone bad, but the soda hasn't. He can work with that.
It's in his hand when he tugs the door open for Lance, nodding him in with a wordless gesture. Kind of forgot about the powers thing, about the habit he'd gotten into of opening the door by bending rather than walking. It's the furthest thing from his mind right now. )
[The door opens, and Lance does distantly note that Ian opened it physically instead of with his power, but it's something that gets filed away for later as more of a curiosity than a concern. There are a lot of very justifiable reasons for such a change, especially right after Ian's returned.
He gives a nod and manages a faint, probably not that convincing smile, though the sentiment is genuine. He just looks totally drained, physically and mentally, but he has a feeling that's something he isn't going to be judged too much on.]
Hey. It's nice to see you, despite the circumstances.
( Mentally and physically drained is welcome here, Lance. It is the language of his people.
The door swings shut behind them, the lock clicks into place, and Ian heads absently toward the couch. He'd be foisting a drink off on Lance any other time, but his head's not in the game.
Make yourself at home, man. He's just gonna flop down. )
Hey, you too. Sorry about the dying again. That looked like it sucked.
[Lance wanders a few steps in after Ian, glancing around and taking in the apartment more on autopilot than actively, just sort of going through the motions without being totally engaged. Neither of them are exactly at their best right now, but that's the point, isn't it?
Ian's remark earns a short breath that might've been a laugh in another time and place, even if Lance can't quite manage it at the moment.]
It wasn't the best experience.
[He leaves unsaid that it wasn't the worst either, not wanting a repeat of that line of questioning, and redirects.]
Did you... What happened?
[He has a guess, of course, at least in general, but he'll let Ian fill in the answer on his own without saying it.]
( His voice a little higher than usual, dragging out thoughtfully as a gentle divot takes root in his brow. He nods nonchalantly, an absent bobbing beat, too casual. )
Yeah, I just like fuckin' died man.
( But it's cool he's got it together it's totally fine and all even if he's talking at a slightly more nasally pitch. Sounds like Weaverville.
His fingers curl around the neck of his t-shirt, and he tugs it down low enough to display a roundish, bullet wound scar on his pec. Probably roughly in the lung region. )
[Okay, so exactly what he was thinking, unfortunately. He hadn't really been expecting a different answer, but one would've been welcome to hear.
But instead Ian says that, and the wording and tone are both more than enough reason to be very concerned even without the sudden display of the scar. That's not a great place to be shot--not that anywhere's great to be shot--and he hopes that it was at least quick.
He does wonder how and why Ian could've been shot in the Aerie--what did he get involved in?--but he won't ask, at least not right now.]
I'm sorry.
[He hesitates, trying to decide how to broach the subject, but then just decides to ask outright--]
( Really just an echo chamber of umm right now apparently, but he's normally got a really great leash on himself. Usually has an unshakable calm, an easy and steady countenance even in times of stress. That feels shot all to hell - no pun intended - so words don't come as easily or as well thought out as they should. )
Well.
( He was doing a solid job feeling nothing while laying in bed staring at the ceiling and generally not moving.
Now that the door's cracking open he's kind of ramping up a bit. )
I'm pretty sure I just got out of a ten year relationship by drowning in my own blood in front of Nate while the building we were in started coming down, and also I think I murdered Kyna. And also—
( Kind of a loose you seeing this shit squint at Lance. )
I think we just had, like, an entire second life? Just now? So that's, you know, that's. That's something I'm trying to puzzle out. So it's just been, like, a really... weird day?
( This may actually be the most tightly wound Ian's ever been, probably on par with that one time he watched an unfathomably large alien space ship decimate half a city when it landed. )
[He wanders further into the apartment as Ian talks, keeping a little distance, though it's more subconscious than purposeful at the moment. He's focused on listening, and watching Ian's face and body language for subtle cues, though they really don't turn out to be that necessary since Ian actually just starts talking. And it's... A lot, at once.
But even though it's a lot, that's a good thing in a sense; not that it happened, or that Ian has to deal with it, but that he's willing to talk about it even if it's just this much. That's something.
There's a lot there to ask about--Ten year relationship? Murdering Kyna?--but it can't all be covered at once, so they'll have to handle each separately. The death is the obvious starting point, as the beginning of the conversation, although Lance's eyes flicker briefly at the description of how it happened; he's more mentally prepared for this conversation than he was last time though, even if he couldn't expect those details, and so it's easier to pull up the divider in his mind that'll let him focus on Ian's experience without considering his own.
Still, he's quiet a few moments, organizing things mentally and finally taking a seat on a chair facing Ian.]
It's definitely been a weird day.
[Of course, Lance's 'weird day' happened a few days ago, but he gets the sentiment.]
And that's... A lot. Do you want to focus on things one at a time? It might help to just be able to kind of get out whatever it is you're feeling, instead of trying to sort through it all in your head.
( The stuttered laugh that escapes him is breathy and incredulous; the sheer absurdity of how much there is to sort through... )
I...
( A slow shake of his head, wide eyed and more than a little tense. )
Don't even... have any fucking idea... where to start. I... don't even usually talk about this shit, except that apparently I do in Life Number Two and I genuinely... don't know... If that was real. That was real, right? I mean-- you remember all that shit, right? That wasn't just-- I'm not just out of my fucking mind? Like-- that shit fucking happened.
It was real. At the very least, it was real to us.
[And that's what matters, when it comes down to it. They were real experiences for the people who went through them, which in this case seems to have been everyone; not just a few people, not just Displaced, everyone. For all that one could question how to define reality, at this point, in practicality it doesn't really matter. What matters is that they all have to live with it.]
( With great enthusiasm, as though Lance might know the answer to this very specific question.
Which he doesn't, of course, and Ian doesn't actually expect him to supply anything. One of his legs starts bouncing without him realizing it, an outlet for nervous energy that he can't shake. )
That's fucking insane. That's, like, an incomprehensible amount of philosophical questions packaged up into a fucking soda can that somebody shook up. That's like-- so okay, which one counts? Was it the first one just because it came first? Or is it the second one because it was the most recent? Or does it even matter? How do you, like, reconcile the two, because I was a completely different person there than in the other... first... fuck. I did so many psychedelics in college I practically saw the fucking time knife and it did not prepare me for this at all.
[He's quiet while Ian rambles, letting him just work through things in the form of those unanswerable questions; this is one way of processing, and it's a good start. Still, Lance wishes he could actually give Ian some sort of answer that would help.
Instead, he offers genuinely but probably somewhat uselessly--]
I think those are questions that each of us will have to answer for ourselves.
[Because it's going to really just come down to the person, who they feel they 'really' are and who the 'alternate' is. In some ways, Lance has it easier than others; his situation and history changed, and he knows there were differences in personality and traits and how he handled things, but in many ways he was still a very similar person. The two lives are easier to reconcile because of that.
It also helps him that he'd had to very carefully and purposefully figure out who he is, and define a sense of self, from a much earlier age than most people. That gives one version of himself--this one--an advantage over the other in terms of feeling 'real', but even then the whole thing is still so strange.
He can't imagine what it must be like for Ian, in the way he's describing it.]
( He huffs — not so much at Lance's expense, but over the whole thing entirely. A scoff at the fucking multiverse for this insane bullshit that not even Einstein could answer. It does seem to bring him momentary pause, his knee stops bouncing, and he takes instead to passing his fingers back and forth across his lips.
Stow the philosophy momentarily — would you look at that, Lance was right. Venting about it did help, and now it feels like he can put it on a shelf to deal with later.
A whole fifteen seconds of peace passes, if that. )
This is gonna be... so, so much to deal with.
( Knowingly, and a little more measured than his full-steam question onslaught. )
And I'm possibly the worst person to have to unpack it with.
( Sorry to: Lance, for right now. Kyna, for immediately after this. Nate, for... eventually.
[He isn't saying it just to be reassuring, but because he can think of several people he knows personally who are far more difficult to deal with than Ian when it comes to talking about this sort of thing. Ian's already making strides in this very conversation, which is well beyond what he would typically expect from someone.
But as for the rest of what he said--]
But... Yeah. It's going to be a lot, and it's going to be a lot of people going through it. The scale is just...
[It's going to be massive. This is a world-wide event that's completely upended what people know of themselves and their reality, even without the traumatic experiences each individual might've experienced. There's already some chaos forming outside, as more people return, and who knows what it'll be like as time goes on when and if everyone from the Aerie is back?]
( He murmurs, articulating what Lance doesn't finish. He's seen social media, he's seen the small percentage of the population that has trickled back in and their collective panic. He's been saying for months that the state of the world is already precarious, and he can't shake the fear in the back of his mind that things will devolve into Apocalypse 2.0 here. This has been his second chance, his weird miracle opportunity to live a stable life again, and the prospect of it all collapsing...
Not one he needs to concentrate on right now. There's enough to panic over.
For example, you know, that very vivid replaying memory of those final five minutes. Being intimately familiar with the feeling of dying is not...
It's not fun. It's not a good one. It's not cathartic, it doesn't ease his fear of death now that he knows what it feels like. It's still absolutely terrifying. )
I think I'm officially in the club now.
( He comments eventually, a joke despite there being no real humor in his tone. )
[He nods at the choice of word, gaze flicking off toward the window and the vines climbing past it. Everything looks quiet, but of course it does from here, and even that illusion probably won't last long.
He'll help with that how he can, but right now he's focused on Ian, and being able to make the joke that he does--even in just words without the tone--is a good sign. Denial, or at least a refusal to acknowledge what happened, is always a danger and it seems like that isn't the case here, between mentioning the way he died earlier and this comment.]
I'd say congratulations and welcome, but it's a really terrible club and I would've preferred if you'd stayed just an honorary member.
[But there's nothing Lance can do about that except try to help him with everything that comes next. He hesitates, trying to decide if should specifically return to that topic, but since Ian's opened the door he thinks it's worth a try--]
Is it something you want to talk about? So it isn't just in your head?
( Denial is definitely not the right word for his state of mind. More likely, he's still in shock about it. It's vivid, it's real, it's easily summoned up to the forefront of his mind, but all the same he can't... really process it. Can't really believe that it happened.
That might be why it's easy to talk about right now — it hasn't set in yet. Aside from the rampant anxiety about everything altogether, he feels almost detached from the event itself.
Honestly, it could probably be anybody in that chair besides Lance and he'd still wind up dimly, distantly talking about it. Lance could probably stand up and walk out of the damn room, and Ian wouldn't immediately notice. He's too busy staring at basically nothing, running his fingers over his lips, trying to wrap his head around it. )
It was just this kid...
( Another marker that it was real — Ian can clearly see his face. Faces are always blurry in his dreams. )
This dumb, scared kid. Something startled him, I mean... the building was coming down, so it was like... total chaos. And he-- I think he recognized Nate. He was gonna- he had a gun, and he was gonna pull the trigger, and I didn't really... think about it. I just...
( Jumped in like he had any fucking clue what he was doing. )
Anyway, he got me in the lung, I'm pretty sure. I think- no, yeah, I know he did. But it-- I don't feel it now. Aside from the scar it's like it didn't even happen.
[It's honestly still surprising, sometimes, when people do talk. Good surprising, but surprising all the same.
He's quiet while Ian talks, attention back on him but trying not to make him feel too watched at the same time, listening to the way he talks as much as the actual words. Some level of detachment is to be expected, whether because it hasn't processed or because Ian is putting some mental distance between himself and the topic; both are natural responses, and not a problem for now. That he's willing to acknowledge what happened outloud is something important.
There are things in the story that stand out--the seemingly random, pointlessness of it, the sense of understanding, instead of anger, that Ian seems to have for the person who shot him, that it happened to protect Nate--and Lance knows what he would ask if this were a therapy session and not just friends talking. But it's the latter, and he's less sure of himself, and he has to just go with his intuition here.]
It did happen, though.
[He knows Ian knows that, but he wants to reaffirm it; it's easy to think that maybe, since there's no evidence left, no physical aftermath besides a scar, that it doesn't really count. That it shouldn't hurt mentally and emotionally.]
Whatever you feel about it, whatever the experience has left you with, it's real and I'm sorry you had to go through it.
[And he means that, genuinely; it isn't pity, just understanding. This is something that's hard to deal with, and it's something that stays with a person. Everyone processes differently, and they often do so differently than how they expect themselves to, so it's important to know that it's all valid.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@lance.sweets
But he can't control any of that, and so even if the message may go unanswered and he's not sure if that would be for the best, he still sends it anyway.]
Hey, Ian. Are you awake?
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( It's sent back after staring at the text backdropped by his ceiling for a while, sprawled out on his bed, a nice neat new scar living on his chest.
The fact that it isn't 'hey, man' would probably alarm anyone who knows him well enough. Maybe or maybe not Lance, but definitely Kyna.
Or.
Nate.
He's processing, sort of. Coming to terms, sort of. Maybe sort of feeling a whole bunch of nothing just yet, but with the unquestionable knowledge that when he does it's going to hit like a mack truck. )
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Did you just get back?
[He's trying to gauge where he might be, both physically and mentally.]
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( He actually... can't hazard a guess when. He's been in the same spot for a while, it's dark in his apartment, he's been a little zoned out.
He still knows basic human decency, so he follows it up a second later. )
You?
( If he thought about it for more than a second he'd know the answer to that, he remembers watching Lance die on the screen days before he himself went. He's just... not really thinking all that hard right now. )
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[He's not totally sure how long; probably a few days? But it doesn't matter, really, and it's certainly not that important right now.]
Where are you?
[He's getting the sense from these short replies--and just from the general situation, which really applies to a lot of people--that it might be best if Ian isn't alone at the moment.]
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( It occurs to him afterward why Lance is asking, and he considers sending another message right after. Some politely phrased version of wanting to be alone.
But actually, he doesn't.
Not sure what the fuck to do with himself because it's contrary to an entire life of experience, but the most recent one he just left he was actually rarely ever alone, particularly when something was wrong.
There's... a lot wrong right now.
He's conflicted, split down the middle, so he compromises with a warning. )
If that's a preface to you visiting my dignity and your respect are going to bail really quickly, and I'm an ugly crier. You might want to reschedule.
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They keep it a secret so that the degree sounds more impressive than it is, but a good two years of a psychology doctorate is mastering the ability to politely ignore ugly crying.
[Obviously not true, but the sentiment is surely clear enough; he's not expecting any sort of front from Ian, Lance just wants to be there to help if he can.
He shows up as soon as he can, waylaid a little by needing to reassure someone he runs into in the city and help direct them somewhere they can get help. But he does get there eventually, and instead of knocking he sends a message.]
Hey, I'm here.
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With the impending threat of another human as incentive, he hauls himself out of bed eventually. Pulls on a shirt. Runs his fingers through his hair. Does a shot of tequila. Considers tossing out the bottle except there's no threat of a five a.m. run, is there? The SunnyD in his fridge has gone bad, but the soda hasn't. He can work with that.
It's in his hand when he tugs the door open for Lance, nodding him in with a wordless gesture. Kind of forgot about the powers thing, about the habit he'd gotten into of opening the door by bending rather than walking. It's the furthest thing from his mind right now. )
Hey, man.
( More automatic to do in person, apparently. )
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He gives a nod and manages a faint, probably not that convincing smile, though the sentiment is genuine. He just looks totally drained, physically and mentally, but he has a feeling that's something he isn't going to be judged too much on.]
Hey. It's nice to see you, despite the circumstances.
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The door swings shut behind them, the lock clicks into place, and Ian heads absently toward the couch. He'd be foisting a drink off on Lance any other time, but his head's not in the game.
Make yourself at home, man. He's just gonna flop down. )
Hey, you too. Sorry about the dying again. That looked like it sucked.
( Tact? Never heard of her. )
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Ian's remark earns a short breath that might've been a laugh in another time and place, even if Lance can't quite manage it at the moment.]
It wasn't the best experience.
[He leaves unsaid that it wasn't the worst either, not wanting a repeat of that line of questioning, and redirects.]
Did you... What happened?
[He has a guess, of course, at least in general, but he'll let Ian fill in the answer on his own without saying it.]
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( His voice a little higher than usual, dragging out thoughtfully as a gentle divot takes root in his brow. He nods nonchalantly, an absent bobbing beat, too casual. )
Yeah, I just like fuckin' died man.
( But it's cool he's got it together it's totally fine and all even if he's talking at a slightly more nasally pitch. Sounds like Weaverville.
His fingers curl around the neck of his t-shirt, and he tugs it down low enough to display a roundish, bullet wound scar on his pec. Probably roughly in the lung region. )
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But instead Ian says that, and the wording and tone are both more than enough reason to be very concerned even without the sudden display of the scar. That's not a great place to be shot--not that anywhere's great to be shot--and he hopes that it was at least quick.
He does wonder how and why Ian could've been shot in the Aerie--what did he get involved in?--but he won't ask, at least not right now.]
I'm sorry.
[He hesitates, trying to decide how to broach the subject, but then just decides to ask outright--]
Do you want to talk about it?
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( Really just an echo chamber of umm right now apparently, but he's normally got a really great leash on himself. Usually has an unshakable calm, an easy and steady countenance even in times of stress. That feels shot all to hell - no pun intended - so words don't come as easily or as well thought out as they should. )
Well.
( He was doing a solid job feeling nothing while laying in bed staring at the ceiling and generally not moving.
Now that the door's cracking open he's kind of ramping up a bit. )
I'm pretty sure I just got out of a ten year relationship by drowning in my own blood in front of Nate while the building we were in started coming down, and also I think I murdered Kyna. And also—
( Kind of a loose you seeing this shit squint at Lance. )
I think we just had, like, an entire second life? Just now? So that's, you know, that's. That's something I'm trying to puzzle out. So it's just been, like, a really... weird day?
( This may actually be the most tightly wound Ian's ever been, probably on par with that one time he watched an unfathomably large alien space ship decimate half a city when it landed. )
no subject
But even though it's a lot, that's a good thing in a sense; not that it happened, or that Ian has to deal with it, but that he's willing to talk about it even if it's just this much. That's something.
There's a lot there to ask about--Ten year relationship? Murdering Kyna?--but it can't all be covered at once, so they'll have to handle each separately. The death is the obvious starting point, as the beginning of the conversation, although Lance's eyes flicker briefly at the description of how it happened; he's more mentally prepared for this conversation than he was last time though, even if he couldn't expect those details, and so it's easier to pull up the divider in his mind that'll let him focus on Ian's experience without considering his own.
Still, he's quiet a few moments, organizing things mentally and finally taking a seat on a chair facing Ian.]
It's definitely been a weird day.
[Of course, Lance's 'weird day' happened a few days ago, but he gets the sentiment.]
And that's... A lot. Do you want to focus on things one at a time? It might help to just be able to kind of get out whatever it is you're feeling, instead of trying to sort through it all in your head.
no subject
I...
( A slow shake of his head, wide eyed and more than a little tense. )
Don't even... have any fucking idea... where to start. I... don't even usually talk about this shit, except that apparently I do in Life Number Two and I genuinely... don't know... If that was real. That was real, right? I mean-- you remember all that shit, right? That wasn't just-- I'm not just out of my fucking mind? Like-- that shit fucking happened.
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[And that's what matters, when it comes down to it. They were real experiences for the people who went through them, which in this case seems to have been everyone; not just a few people, not just Displaced, everyone. For all that one could question how to define reality, at this point, in practicality it doesn't really matter. What matters is that they all have to live with it.]
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( With great enthusiasm, as though Lance might know the answer to this very specific question.
Which he doesn't, of course, and Ian doesn't actually expect him to supply anything. One of his legs starts bouncing without him realizing it, an outlet for nervous energy that he can't shake. )
That's fucking insane. That's, like, an incomprehensible amount of philosophical questions packaged up into a fucking soda can that somebody shook up. That's like-- so okay, which one counts? Was it the first one just because it came first? Or is it the second one because it was the most recent? Or does it even matter? How do you, like, reconcile the two, because I was a completely different person there than in the other... first... fuck. I did so many psychedelics in college I practically saw the fucking time knife and it did not prepare me for this at all.
no subject
Instead, he offers genuinely but probably somewhat uselessly--]
I think those are questions that each of us will have to answer for ourselves.
[Because it's going to really just come down to the person, who they feel they 'really' are and who the 'alternate' is. In some ways, Lance has it easier than others; his situation and history changed, and he knows there were differences in personality and traits and how he handled things, but in many ways he was still a very similar person. The two lives are easier to reconcile because of that.
It also helps him that he'd had to very carefully and purposefully figure out who he is, and define a sense of self, from a much earlier age than most people. That gives one version of himself--this one--an advantage over the other in terms of feeling 'real', but even then the whole thing is still so strange.
He can't imagine what it must be like for Ian, in the way he's describing it.]
no subject
Stow the philosophy momentarily — would you look at that, Lance was right. Venting about it did help, and now it feels like he can put it on a shelf to deal with later.
A whole fifteen seconds of peace passes, if that. )
This is gonna be... so, so much to deal with.
( Knowingly, and a little more measured than his full-steam question onslaught. )
And I'm possibly the worst person to have to unpack it with.
( Sorry to: Lance, for right now. Kyna, for immediately after this. Nate, for... eventually.
At least he's self-aware. )
no subject
[He isn't saying it just to be reassuring, but because he can think of several people he knows personally who are far more difficult to deal with than Ian when it comes to talking about this sort of thing. Ian's already making strides in this very conversation, which is well beyond what he would typically expect from someone.
But as for the rest of what he said--]
But... Yeah. It's going to be a lot, and it's going to be a lot of people going through it. The scale is just...
[It's going to be massive. This is a world-wide event that's completely upended what people know of themselves and their reality, even without the traumatic experiences each individual might've experienced. There's already some chaos forming outside, as more people return, and who knows what it'll be like as time goes on when and if everyone from the Aerie is back?]
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( He murmurs, articulating what Lance doesn't finish. He's seen social media, he's seen the small percentage of the population that has trickled back in and their collective panic. He's been saying for months that the state of the world is already precarious, and he can't shake the fear in the back of his mind that things will devolve into Apocalypse 2.0 here. This has been his second chance, his weird miracle opportunity to live a stable life again, and the prospect of it all collapsing...
Not one he needs to concentrate on right now. There's enough to panic over.
For example, you know, that very vivid replaying memory of those final five minutes. Being intimately familiar with the feeling of dying is not...
It's not fun. It's not a good one. It's not cathartic, it doesn't ease his fear of death now that he knows what it feels like. It's still absolutely terrifying. )
I think I'm officially in the club now.
( He comments eventually, a joke despite there being no real humor in his tone. )
no subject
He'll help with that how he can, but right now he's focused on Ian, and being able to make the joke that he does--even in just words without the tone--is a good sign. Denial, or at least a refusal to acknowledge what happened, is always a danger and it seems like that isn't the case here, between mentioning the way he died earlier and this comment.]
I'd say congratulations and welcome, but it's a really terrible club and I would've preferred if you'd stayed just an honorary member.
[But there's nothing Lance can do about that except try to help him with everything that comes next. He hesitates, trying to decide if should specifically return to that topic, but since Ian's opened the door he thinks it's worth a try--]
Is it something you want to talk about? So it isn't just in your head?
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That might be why it's easy to talk about right now — it hasn't set in yet. Aside from the rampant anxiety about everything altogether, he feels almost detached from the event itself.
Honestly, it could probably be anybody in that chair besides Lance and he'd still wind up dimly, distantly talking about it. Lance could probably stand up and walk out of the damn room, and Ian wouldn't immediately notice. He's too busy staring at basically nothing, running his fingers over his lips, trying to wrap his head around it. )
It was just this kid...
( Another marker that it was real — Ian can clearly see his face. Faces are always blurry in his dreams. )
This dumb, scared kid. Something startled him, I mean... the building was coming down, so it was like... total chaos. And he-- I think he recognized Nate. He was gonna- he had a gun, and he was gonna pull the trigger, and I didn't really... think about it. I just...
( Jumped in like he had any fucking clue what he was doing. )
Anyway, he got me in the lung, I'm pretty sure. I think- no, yeah, I know he did. But it-- I don't feel it now. Aside from the scar it's like it didn't even happen.
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He's quiet while Ian talks, attention back on him but trying not to make him feel too watched at the same time, listening to the way he talks as much as the actual words. Some level of detachment is to be expected, whether because it hasn't processed or because Ian is putting some mental distance between himself and the topic; both are natural responses, and not a problem for now. That he's willing to acknowledge what happened outloud is something important.
There are things in the story that stand out--the seemingly random, pointlessness of it, the sense of understanding, instead of anger, that Ian seems to have for the person who shot him, that it happened to protect Nate--and Lance knows what he would ask if this were a therapy session and not just friends talking. But it's the latter, and he's less sure of himself, and he has to just go with his intuition here.]
It did happen, though.
[He knows Ian knows that, but he wants to reaffirm it; it's easy to think that maybe, since there's no evidence left, no physical aftermath besides a scar, that it doesn't really count. That it shouldn't hurt mentally and emotionally.]
Whatever you feel about it, whatever the experience has left you with, it's real and I'm sorry you had to go through it.
[And he means that, genuinely; it isn't pity, just understanding. This is something that's hard to deal with, and it's something that stays with a person. Everyone processes differently, and they often do so differently than how they expect themselves to, so it's important to know that it's all valid.]
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