Angel's first bender

[gainedlove]

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?"

Comments

[braceforimpact]

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.

[braceforimpact]

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.