thisavrou_log | Angel's first bender

Entry tags:

undertale: frisk

Angel's first bender

Who: Frisk and Kaworu
When: September 22nd
Where: On the ship, eventually medbay
What: Kaworu doesn't know how to deal with withdrawl, literal child forced to babysit cosmic toddler
Warnings: possible self-harm?

Once the ship had taken off again and the strange planet was left behind, life had mostly resumed it's normal routine--at least for Frisk. Their family was still reeling, and it was strange that many of their clothes didn't fit quite right anymore, but it was ripples in a pond compared to what had happened before. Nothing to leave them bailing out water, just a rocky moment that, outside of several concerned looks sent their way, went over without incident.

Life continues on. And on, and on, and on--

And now Frisk is going about making their rounds of the ship, a meeker but still happy and friendly mood about them as they check to be sure that everyone is feeling well. Of course, not many are, and Frisk is already trying to think of little ways they might be able to help. Not a party, definitely, but maybe if they can find a way to make something nice for everyone...

They spot Kaworu soon after they turn the corner down the hall towards the oft-unused music room, blinking when they see him disappear inside with such a sour look on his face. SOmething must be really wrong for him to be in such a foul mood!

And so, of course, with no mind for the stipulations Toriel still has over the pair of them interacting, Frisk trots over and peeks inside with a worried expression.

"Kaworu? What's wrong?"

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Kaworu doesn't hear them. His head is foggy, filled with haze and harm. It hurts. His muscles, his skin, every inch of his human body is starting to feel it. Kaworu has never experienced nausea before--never felt the burning sickness that comes before a need to vomit, never coughed up bile and retched, empty, producing only misery and a raw throat.

Angel he might be, but his body is no more meant to endure an abrupt separation from addictive substance than anyone else's. It was almost overnight. He'd had a slight headache, a dry and aching throat for a day, then he'd slept--an oddity for him, but the headache was annoying. Then he'd woken up in pain. And the pain had only intensified.

He didn't hear Frisk because he was only barely aware of his surroundings at all. It was agony and instinct driving him forward to the wall at the far end of the room, where he plants his hands hard against the metal and--

Begins to bash his head against it.

Hard.

Over and over and over.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Each blow is violent enough to leave a mark on the metal, and it doesn't stop.

Slam.

Slam.

He keeps going, as though perhaps violence alone will drive his suffering from his body.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Frisk jumps, startling back with a yelp and staring in vague horror at Kaworu's self-destructive fit. Somehow it doesn't seem like he should be able to slam his own head into the wall so hard, but they've only had violence enacted upon them, never done it to themself.

It's noticing the blood on the wall that gets Frisk moving again.

"No, no, no, no no no no!"

They run forward and grab Kaworu by the shirt to pull him away from the wall, their feet scrambling for purchase as they throw their whole weight into it.

"What are you doing, stop it! You're hurting yourself!"

Frisk's bodyweight is (sadly) a decent portion of Kaworu's, and their desperate intervention throws him off balance enough to make him stagger sideways, now clutching his head with both hands. Blood marks the wall where he's driven his skull against it, eerily precise--it's smeared across his brow and now his fingertips.

He still doesn't hear them--he barely even feels them, to be honest, his Angel's senses and human senses integrating with each other poorly at best. As a result, his awareness of another person is founded in part on the interference, and only then followed by other meanings to that weight.

Edited 2016-10-04 19:25 (UTC)

Frisk hauls Kaworu further away from the wall, then reaches up to catch his wrists in their hands and look him in the eyes. The vacant stare he...it isn't even turned on them, just their vague direction. It's unnerving and they shake him slightly to try and better catch his attention.

"Kaworu, what're you doing? What's wrong?! Talk t' me, please!"

Kaworu has no vocabulary for what he's experiencing--it's not just the physical pain of withdrawal that is driving him to this, it's the hunger, the insatiable ache for a feeling, a substance.

His skin is clammy to the touch, his fingers curled against the air--where they might originally have been pressing into his scalp, they now grasp futilely at nothing, in an unnatural, rigid position that may have meant something to a less human part of his brain. He locks eyes with Frisk shakily.

"I... I need to die."

Edited 2016-10-04 20:38 (UTC)

"What?"

Really, it's lucky that it's Frisk he's telling this to. They know him, they know how the both of them are the same in some ways, ways that they know distantly would distress other people. But--

"Dying won't make it go back! You know that, or I woulda taken us all back t' my SAVE!"

They try to slowly slower his hands, not wanting to force anything right now.

"Why do you need t' die? Are you scared, or hurt?"

If they can figure out why he's acting like this, maybe they can find another way to help.

"Not that--" Kaworu yanks away, suddenly, a look of--determination? Anger?--on his face. And he buries his face in his hands again, a new wave of nausea choking off his words.

To which he rams the top of his head into the wall again. He does this three or four more times before just sliding down the wall to sit on his knees, his head still pressed against the cold metal. He hits his head against the wall twice more, but this time it's a lot less violent.

He feels confused. Miserable. But not angry, just--he has no idea how to handle this kind of agony, this combined feeling of physical deprivation and suffering. It's so unnatural to him that he can't entirely comprehend it, or its meaning. But he knows what will make it stop. How to find relief. Except it--like all he's ever wanted--is now unavailable, and he's losing himself to that.

"It was like a pill," he moans against the wall. "It was like a pill, and now there isn't any."

Frisk's distress rises in their throat, and they grab Kaworu around the middle as he slides down the wall, rubbing his back and trying to pull him back again. He's just going to make it worse hurting himself like this!

"A...a pill? Medicine?"

Where else would he have gotten a...

No. Wait, there were pills at that party, weren't there? Frisk had been with Toriel at the time, and they saw some of the other guests drinking them down. Their mother had steered them away, told Frisk very firmly to not accept any of those pills. They had obeyed, especially since they remembered old grainy videos shown to their class a long, long time ago about accepting medicine from strangers. (Namely, to NOT do that.)

"You feel sick again, 'cuz you don't have it? I...th' doctors can prob'ly make you feel better. We can go an' ask them, okay? We'll go together."

It's the best Frisk can think of. They just hope it's the right solution.

Kaworu had experienced the physical pain of being crushed to death, but that moment of excruciating agony was coupled not with the emotion not of suffering but of joy.

To experience physical deprivation and mental deprivation at the same time is not only unnatural to him, it is entirely new. Expecting him to cope with it gracefully is a little like putting a toddler behind the wheel of a Daytona vehicle and expecting it not to end in a fireball. Because he doesn't just want the doctors to take this pain away. He wants them to give him that feeling of wholeness and pleasure in life back.

He'd been excited at the time; he'd missed feeling that good. He missed feeling complete, and it had been months since he'd experienced such a purposeful, complete kind of happiness. Now to take it away--and to feel such intense physical pain on top of it--

He'd much rather be dead.

"No. No... no. I don't want to suffer."

Why can't Frisk understand that?!

"I know, but they can make it better! Or...or they should, I-I don't know, but we gotta try!"

They don't know what Kaworu really means, and even if they did they wouldn't know what to do about it. They don't know anything about drug addiction other than that it's bad, in that nebulous way that adults say things are bad and forbidden. They don't understand all the ways it can twist someone's brain, especially after being exposed for so long.

So all they can do is try to tug Kaworu back up to his feet, and start him moving back towards the door.

"Hurtin' yourself won't make anythin' better!"

Edited 2016-10-11 01:45 (UTC)

It wasn't until many hours later, when Kaworu had been significantly dosed with both painkillers and sedatives, that familiar words and thoughts came to him again.

He could sort of feel again... feel something besides pain, anyway. But he felt heavy. Slow. Like his body and his soul were weighted, bound so that he was imprisoned by this sensation. He lay on his back, his eyes closed only for the effort involved in opening them. Inside of him, though, thoughts and facts that he'd already been aware of were more interesting to think about. Or maybe just more relevant. One of those facts was occupying him right now, in a hazy drugged kind of way.

Trying to speak was an act of will. It took preparation. It was hard.

"....Frisk."

Not a word, but a name.

Frisk has sat themself on the edge of the cot, one hand placed over Kaworu's as they stare down at the floor with worry and idly kick their feet. It's still busy here, with checkups and others recovering in the same way Kaworu is, and Angela has been thankful to have a tiny helper with this particular problem patient.

Frisk still isn't sure why Kaworu lends so much weight to their presence, but right now they won't question it. If he finds some form of comfort or safety in them, they're more than willing to give it.

When he speaks they turn to look at him, and curl their small fingers around his longer, more delicate ones.

"I'm here. D'you need somethin'?"

Frisk should know by now that the meanings behind what Kaworu feels and thinks are never that simple. Except when they are.

Kaworu keeps his eyes closed. It's difficult, somehow--getting words from his brain through whatever mysterious process makes them speakable, and then to speak aloud... it's so hard, he almost doesn't. But speaking once makes it just that little bit easier.

"....you know, I was thinking." There. Words. He can speak. "You're the only person here who knows both names." Tabris and Kaworu. Two meanings, two forms of life. One being. He's been so consistently 'Kaworu' for so long, but he's never truly been that one thing.

The truth behind Kaworu's thoughts and emotions is a difficult thing to decipher, even for someone as perceptive as them. It's a mire of battling against assumptions, projections, and things they literally cannot comprehend outside of theory. They're much more careful about how far they take anything he hasn't confirmed to them directly, but certainly mistakes are still made.

But that's not what we're here for.

Right now Frisk shifts a little, turning themself on the bed to face the angel. It's not a necessary movement, but it's still natural to them.

"...uh-huh. I didn't tell anybody else 'bout that name." They're reluctant to even say it, given the place that they had heard it uttered before. Kaworu might not mind it, but... "Is...is that botherin' you? That it's just me?"

Kaworu has a hard time making words to respond to that. It's a complicated question, and it's hard to think about right now. It's hard to think right now, truly. But silence isn't what he wants to give as a response.

"Should it?" He manages to ask, but then wonders why he asked it.

It's a question he has no answer to. He didn't realise it could even be a question, or have an answer. Or... no, why would that matter? Maybe he's just confused right now.

"It doesn't have to. It just matters what you feel. I...I kind of have a different name too, when I'm in th' Underground. 'M just th' Human, there."

No name, no real identity. Not until the very end, when everyone is freed and Asriel's illusions are finally shattered.

"I don't...mind so much, bein' called that. But I do like bein' called Frisk better."

"I don't feel anything." Kaworu isn't being fatalistic, despite his choice of words. In fact, he sounds... not just dismissive. Bereft. Lost. His eyes crack open, just briefly, then close again. Tired.

Frisk always says that. Everyone does. What he feels. His feelings. What does it matter what he feels? What if he doesn't feel anything? How is he supposed to know anything if he has no feelings about something? Is that wrong, to be amongst Lilim and feel nothing? It doesn't matter what he does or does not feel. It's all a lie anyway.

Edited 2016-10-11 01:18 (UTC)

From anyone else, those words would sound like a fit of pique, or an over-dramatic declaration of hardship. It's easy to read emotion and implication into the words, but Frisk doesn't. When Kaworu says things like this, more often than not he means it plainly, exactly as it's stated.

He doesn't have any strong emotions about the subject. Much like he feels about most anything on the ship.

"It's okay if you don't. It's not a bad thing. I think if you told someone, they'd think it was like a codename or somethin'."

It was sort of what Frisk thought, at first.

"But, um...why were you thinkin' about it?"

"It's just.... strange." To be Kaworu Nagisa. Not even the Fifth Child. Just a human being. As far as they know. A fellow person. A friend, even. What he really is... is simply never acknowledged. Even Frisk wants him to become more 'human.' And he has, to some extent, in accordance to this law of human rule. Why should that trouble him, though? He is himself, regardless of others' perceptions.

Maybe that is the problem. In a human world... the way people perceive you becomes a part of you. The 'Kaworu Nagisa' that exists in other people's minds is alive as well, and how they feel about him and how they feel about the 'real' Kaworu Nagisa--about Tabris--is...

"....I don't like it." He says. It's like admitting defeat. That something is wrong, that he doesn't understand. But it is wrong. He knows that much.

"You don't like...th' name? Or...people not knowin' th' name?"

He's so hard to puzzle out sometimes.

"Or...do you not like people not knowin' th' reason for your name? What you are?"

They remember him trying to reach out to people about that, before. Trying to get the Lilim around him to understand how different he was. Somehow, it was only Frisk that managed to catch on completely, and even that was more by way of their already established...friendship? Bond? How does Kaworu consider them?

It's not that he wants to hurt himself. It's that he wants to stop hurting, and in the interim, his instincts--never the best at such socially derived situations--have gone completely haywire.

Trying to communicate like this is a struggle, and Frisk isn't getting it.

That is where things went bad. Angelic instincts are a little more streamlined than human ones. If there's an obstacle or a threat, destroy it or remove it. There is no 'problem solving' inclination: eliminating the problem is the same as solving it.

The corner of Kaworu's mouth quirks up, reflexively, and he lunges--not at the wall but at Frisk. There's no malice in his features, no rage as his hands aim for Frisk's fragile human neck. Just too-bright red eyes, glittering as if with sudden clarity, and an open mouth and inhuman smile.

Edited 2016-10-12 00:02 (UTC)

Let one thing be said for Frisk's life experiences: they aren't nearly surprised as anyone else is when their loved ones turn around and try to kill them.

They stumble backwards and leap to the side, getting distance between themself and Kaworu. Enough time to react, to try and predict--they've never seen his bullets, they need to be ready. They pull out the Dagger and reach for--

Wait. There's no menu, and their SOUL isn't out.

The shuttered, blank expression on their face turns vaguely confused, but their sharp gaze doesn't leave the angel. What kind of FIGHT is this?

Kaworu doesn't answer.

"I think," he says, his usually clear enunciation slurred by sedatives and pain, "that I want to hear it used." He blinks, red eyes unfocusing for a moment to stare at the ceiling before he closes them.

He did try, once, to reach out to the Moira as an Angel, to speak on his terms, to share what he knew. To offer himself to them. But he had been rejected--and finding his knowledge unwelcome, given up without much complaint. The Moirans clung to their illusion, and Kaworu had no reason to persevere.

But Frisk listened to him. And somehow was still listening. The measure of time involved seemed so long...

Seven months. Eons. Nine days.

The shape of time like an ocean enveloping his self.

He wonders if anything will change.

It has been a long time. At least four runs, if not more--Frisk is still surprised sometimes that they wake up and their friends still remember them. Longer than they've ever had with their family before in one go. It's...

...they don't know how they feel about that.

The change of subject isn't...an exact answer, but it's close enough. Tells Frisk the important thing to wake away here.

"You wanna be Tabris?" Frisk kicks their leg anxiously, but doesn't let any of it into their voice. "I can call you that. D'you want everybody to, or just me?"

They remember that, from the site they'd found that one day. How careful some people want to be about who knows and who doesn't.

......

"Everyone."

Kaworu opens his eyes again to meet Frisk's in the too-bright halo of infirmary light.

Yes. Everyone.

Kaworu Nagisa. The Fifth Child. The human.

Tabris. The last angel. The final messenger.

He is both of those things.

But he cannot be both in the eyes of men.

Only in himself can he be both.

To humans, he must become one or the other. SEELE knew this. He didn't understand before. That the difference went so deep. That in the hearts of those he met as Kaworu, he would never be Tabris.

It never struck him as odd that SEELE knew him to be Tabris, and cared nothing for Kaworu--even though they had created him.

Now he feels.... like he might understand.

Names are how humans ascribe meaning, and so control the world around them.

He isn't human. He cannot create or control meaning with something like a word.

But he can use their words to control them.

"Okay!"

Frisk smiles gently, squeezing Kaworu--Tabris's hand again in a sort of reassurance. Taking charge of his identity like this is...good, right? Maybe it means he feels more like a 'person', though they still don't fully understand why he said he wasn't all that time ago.

"Um, when you're feelin' better, maybe you can make a post on th' MID about it? Or do y' jus' wanna tell people on your own?"

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Angel's first bender

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