an anchor's just a coffin nail waiting for that hammer drop.

[nightmarist]

Who: Ronan Lynch & OPEN
When: Shortly after this
Where: The Medical Tent
What: Ronan is in recovery and under observation following a suicide attempt.
Warnings: References to self-harm, both in game and in canon. Descriptions of gore.

[Ronan isn't sure if it's been hours or days since Andyr found him and brought him to safety. He thinks he's been sedated, but then again, it might simply be the effects of blood loss or shock. Or both. Or all. Every now and then, his vision goes black and he drifts off. Then his eyes are open again, and if anything's changed about his surroundings, he hasn't noticed.

He doesn't dream. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is the body. Adam's mutilated face, his teeth gleaming white in the gaping hole that was his cheek, blood congealing on his lifeless skin.

Ronan hasn't cried yet, which is probably an unhealthy sign. He didn't cry when he found his father, either. And he didn't cry after Noah found him bleeding out, after he was brought to the hospital all those months ago and sat for hours detailing his trauma with the staff of the psychiatric unit. Ronan is emotional right up until it matters, and then it all collapses inward, and his face becomes stone. This means that he's broken, he knows. No one says it out loud, but he's very good at reading their eyes, and he knows that his reaction is the wrong one.

There are straps bound around his arms, over his bandages. They've restrained him more securely than they restrained Kavinsky a little over a week ago. That means they think he'll do it again. If he could explain, maybe he could make them understand there's no point in trying again. That, however, would require an explanation of dream thievery, and how it came to be that Kavinsky created Adam's corpse while Adam himself was and is still alive. Since Ronan can't say that, the staff can only assume he's insane.

They aren't necessarily wrong about that. But the only person he wants to kill now is Kavinsky.]

Comments

[unaffluent]

[Adam's frustrated that Ronan's restrained in Med. He knew just as well as Ronan that the danger had past. But the danger had been Adam's fault, in a way, and he still felt no small measure of guilt over what Ronan had tried to do. Maybe if he'd been paying attention? Could he have stopped Kavinsky from ever being able to drug him.

Probably not, in reality, but Adam doesn't hold himself to normal standards by any stretch of the imagination and Ronan almost dying is his fault. It doesn't help that his own mind is a wreck but he doesn't want to let that show in front of Ronan. When he comes in, his hand immediately reaches for and squeezes his, the other stroking down his cheek.]

Dumbass. [He mumbles but Ronan's his dumbass and at least he's still breathing. Adam feels a little less broken being close to him. All he really wants is to be wrapped up in him but the stupid restraints are going to make that relatively impossible. The only hit left from his trauma really is the way his eyes are red from crying -- embarrassing to admit. Kavinsky had left him relatively unharmed physically and Adam is glad that Ronan won't be able to see the damage. He probably never should.]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan doesn't understand why he feels so little when he should feel a lot, why the smallest things set him off on most days but then he can't find tears when he needs them. He's overwhelmed with regret every time he glances at Adam, and he should at least be crying in solidarity. He can't muster it up. He must seem heartless.]

I'm the worst.

[His fingers weave themselves between Adam's and he shuts his eyes again. There's very little he can do except to feel Adam there, in the hand stroking his cheek. He wishes he could hold Adam in return. He wishes he could see Adam clearly and stop seeing the corpse.]

[unaffluent]

Yeah. You kind of are. [Adam says, an attempt at a joke but it falls flat. He squeezes Ronan's hand again, fingers tracing his cheekbone and then down the line of his jaw. It's not really enough. He swallows hard to quell the storm inside him as much as he can. Adam had gotten just a little bit used to not being alone with his troubles that the fact he's isolating himself partially by force and partially by choice to protect Ronan is hard. Much harder than it used to be when it was all he knew.]

When are they gonna let you out of here... [Pretty sure he's already asked this a hundred times.]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan opens his eyes and stares straight at the ceiling of the tent.]

When they're pretty sure they've done all they can, enough to convince themselves it's not their fault if I walk outside and do it again.

[And in case it bears saying:]

I won't. But that's just how they are.

["They" meaning hospital staff and anyone else who kids themselves about taking responsibility for someone else's mental health. Ronan sighs and glances at his restraints.]

Don't bother asking them. If they think I'm too eager to leave, they'll keep me longer.

[unaffluent]

I know you won't. [Adam murmurs because Ronan wouldn't do that to him.]

It's stupid. [His hand dropped from his face but he's still holding Ronan's hand.]

[morethan084]

[When Daisy came to medical to get her arm looked at, the last thing she was expecting to see in here was Ronan strapped to a bed. He didn't seem to notice her, so she left him alone. At least until her check up was done and she was on her way back out.

It wasn't hard to assume what happened to him, which is why she doesn't tease him. Which she might've done otherwise.]

Hey.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan doesn't look at her until she speaks to him, and then he only affords her a glance. It's somewhat humiliating to be on display like this. Not that he blames the staff. There's only so much to be done with a tent.]

Morning. Lovely day, isn't it.

[When life gives you lemons, be sardonic. He has no idea if it's morning, even.]

[morethan084]

[She doesn't like that he can be so easily seen either. There was no privacy given in here, which was understandable, but still.]

The loveliest.

[She can't help the expression that falls on her face. She's never been good at hiding her emotions, and it's pretty obvious that she feels bad for him.]

Want some company?

[It was either this, or go back to the tent. Or wander around some more. Which she's done so much of recently, especially when she started to try avoid Jesse.]

[nightmarist]

I guess you're slightly more interesting than the ceiling.

[Which is to say, "Yes, please." Ronan doesn't exactly relish her company, but when he's left to himself, all he can think about is Adam's corpse, and whether it was always dead or whether Kavinsky took his time in killing the dream, if that Adam was aware of his life before it was snuffed out.

Kavinsky calls them goldfish. Dreams are not goldfish to Ronan.]

Is talking to crazy people a hobby of yours?

a sinking ship is still a ship =)

[inconsequence]

[Children don't belong in places like these. Children should not be found amidst medical ephemera, hands creeping over the ridges of scalpels and along white rolls of bandages, pocketing what they can conceivably carry and shifting around that which they cannot, stacking things in just a way so that one might not, at first glance, detect that anything has gone missing. A Knife at their side is meant for enemies, for that which might seek to hurt them, but one alone is seldom sufficient. Others have gone where other sharp things may go; secreted up the sleeves of a sweater, the interior of a shoe, all those places within easy reach. One may never know when they'll need a useful tool.

Children don't belong in places like these. But children have ways of getting into things, worming their way into forbidden places.

Children aren't meant to recognize the signs when they are clearly presented to them. Children should not know what the padded straps mean, what the locked-down expression means, or the significance of four-point restraints.

(* It means failure.)

But it is debatable, at this point, as to whether Chara counts as a "child." Just ask anyone.

Their movements are curt and efficient - a fresh tool up behind their sleeve in the same moment they pause to evaluate the human strapped to the gurney, their stare scarlet and coolly appraising. There are no obvious marks upon him. Only the cruelest of poisons leave marks.

And so the words are dull and wry, the same tone one might take when admonishing a disobedient pet.]

Beginner's error.

[nightmarist]

[The child reminds him of Orphan Girl, his psychopomp, his monster of a dream-daughter. He watches the little beast scurry around the tent unsupervised, and he's well aware that a good deal of theft is going on, but Ronan is the last person to lecture anyone about delinquency.

Even that comment leaves him indifferent. Orphan Girl might have criticized him, too. Of course, that's her function.]

What makes you think I'm a beginner?

[inconsequence]

[As if it is not obvious, sir. Chara may no longer be sleeping off their death in the soil, but not for lack of trying. And trying. And trying.

You can hardly blame them for living in a world that refuses to let them go.]

You failed.

[Their tone is clipped, and for just a fraction of a moment - bordering on derisive. Of course, that could simply be their smile, twitching at the corners of their lips, that incredibly natural and practically instinctive impulse, framed by those oh-so-rosy cheeks.]

[nightmarist]

[It's a cute smile. He's slightly charmed.]

No. I stopped.

[deconstruct]

[ the first thing andyr does any time he visits, is pull at those restraints, tugging them free, and bitterly knocking them away from ronan's wrists. the idea picture of them makes his stomach turn, and if all it took from kavinsky was a suggestion of harm towards ronan to get choked out, he'd likely massacre the tent if someone came arguing with him about putting them back on. luckily, adrien knows him, and knows better.

he sits with him for long hours, when adam's either not around, or passed out one cot away, with one of his fish books in his lap, and his back to the edge of the cot, butt on the ground next to it. every shift or stir has him glancing up, peering over at ronan's face, and watching for a long moment, looking for signs of pain or discomfort, before he settles again. andyr's had a mixed bag of emotional upheaval surrounding this boy, and he still hasn't entirely worked out how to come to terms with it. the practical side of him thinks 'cut ties and run, before you go down with him' is the smart choice. the rest is utterly abhorrent of the thought. he cares for him more than he should, more than will do him any good, but isn't that just the story of andyr's life? and yet, unlike the instances in the houses, this isn't one he can either force him to give up, or wants to.

and so, he sits here, the stalwart guard dog, waiting and keeping watch, until ronan stirs again. a rustle of sheets and a shift in the cot signals ronan waking, and andyr closes his book, setting it aside and reaching for a canteen of water instead - something held out to his friend once his eyes blink open. ]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan notices the lack of restraints before he even opens his eyes. His fingers flex experimentally and he rolls his wrists, sending an ache through his arms that mostly just serves to remind him he's still alive. He finally blinks his eyes open and turns his head, looking at the canteen first and then following the arm that holds it all the way up to Andyr's face. Ronan's heart prickles with a twinge of guilt.]

You haven't been here long, have you?

[He remembers being in Andyr's position only a few days ago, when it was Kavinsky's suicidal ass in this bed. It's no easy thing, watching this. Ronan takes the canteen and sips, though he isn't very thirsty. One of these machines must be hydrating him.]

[deconstruct]

[ andyr's answer is one shoulder lifted in a shrug. yes, he has been here long. no, he isn't going to tell him how long. long enough that ronan wouldn't approve, but ronan can shut up and accept it. ]

Didn't have anywhere better to be.

[ as far as andyr's concerned, being here is more important than any of the scouting and gathering and crap the others are at. there's plenty of people better at those tasks than he is, anyway, especially with his abilities dampened so extremely. shuffling around on the floor, andyr moves to face the cot, arms folding at the edge of it and chin resting on top of his forearms, as he watches ronan drink. ]

How're you feeling?

[nightmarist]

Stupid.

[Primarily. Though he realizes Andyr meant physically. Ronan glances at his bandaged arms and sighs, setting the canteen aside.]

I'm fine. It hurts less than most of my dreams. I probably don't even need to be here, but I'm trying not to look even more fucking insane than I already do. Also, I feel like shit for doing this to you.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse had heard that Ronan was in medbay accidentally. He'd overheard it in passing while heading past the medbay to his tent, a couple of the medbay technicians saying Ronan's name coupled with words like "...in a bad way" and "...keep him under observation". He'd slowed in his step, dread trickling in. Turning on the spot, he'd inconspicuously loitered on the spot, and when the technicians moved off to tend to another matter, Jesse headed for the medbay tent door.

He's slipping quietly through the door now. He's been avoiding Ronan, again. Keeping out of his way, for Ronan's benefit. More than that, he's been so... tangled up inside about their last encounter. Feeling sick with himself more than anything. He slowly ventures further into the tent and as he approaches Ronan's bed, Jesse's face pales.

Ronan looks just like how Kavinsky had looked: strapped to a bed, hooked up to machines, weak. He comes to a stop at the end of the bed, and he takes in the sight of Ronan lying there. He swallows, then, quietly: ]

Jesus, Ronan...

[nightmarist]

[Oh, Ronan hates that look. He hates it. It reminds him so much of Gansey, that night in the hospital after Noah found him near-dead. Gansey, ever the hero, somehow blaming himself for something entirely out of his control. As if it should have been within his power to prevent this. Strange to get the same feeling from someone like Jesse, who should be so un-Gansey-like.

Ronan lifts his chin and recites with great affection:]

Hic, ne deficeret metuens avidusque videndi,
flexit amans oculos. Et protinus illa relapsa est,
bracchiaque intendens, prendique et prendere certans,
nil nisi cedentes infelix arripit auras;
iamque iterum moriens, non est de coniuge quicquam 
questa suo (quid enim nisi se quereretur amatam?)

i wouldn't have known any different hahaha

[heisenbitch]

[ What is any of that supposed to mean? Jesse remains staring at Ronan, none of that making any sense to him, but the emotion behind those words that are meaningless to Jesse digs into him. Whatever Ronan is telling him... Jesse feels like he supposed to understand, like he should understand. An expression of helplessness settles over the top of the pale, stricken look on his face. ]

I don't... [ He trails off. Of course Ronan knows he doesn't understand, unless he's delirious. Slowly, Jesse continues around the end of the bed and moves up to Ronan's side.

He doesn't know what to say. Words are stuck in his throat, anyway. So, after a stifling pause, he tentatively reaches out his hand and very lightly touches the back of Ronan's hand. It's so subtle, the way he does it, caring and gentle and guilty, not making a show of it at all. Quietly: ]

Talk to me, man. In English. You know I don't understand any of that Latin stuff.

[nightmarist]

Orpheus went to Hades in order to bring his wife back from the dead. He charmed the gods with his music, so they agreed to let him take her. The only caveat was that he had to keep his eyes forward and not look back until they reached the surface. He had to have faith, you see, that the gods would keep their word in allowing her to follow him to safety.

But as they reached the surface, Orpheus couldn't help himself. He looked back and she instantly fell away and was dragged back into death.

[Ronan's gaze drops to Jesse's hand, lying over his own. Then it flits back to Jesse's eyes. His guilty eyes. (Why?)]

It was a stupid mistake, that's all.

[deadthing]

[Noah resolves into being at the end of Ronan's bed, standing over him with fluttering hands and worried eyes. After a moment, he blurts out:]

You said it wouldn't happen again.

[Not the way Gansey would say it, like a disappointed parent. It's misery and fear and a desperate question rolled into one, the words themselves almost secondary to the emotion behind them.]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan feels Noah's appearance before his eyes register it, yet he looks away from Noah like it makes any difference. He's not proud of what he's done, or how it's affecting any of the people he cares about. But Noah, especially... In this moment, Ronan feels like he's betrayed Noah, wasting his life when Noah doesn't even have one.]

I wasn't thinking.

[deadthing]

That's not- [Good enough? An answer? Anything resembling reassurance that there won't be a repeat some other time when he's not thinking—a state of being not exactly uncommon to one Ronan Lynch?

All of that is true and none of it is quite what he wants to say. He's never any good at this part.]

Ronan.

But you don't- still want to? Right? [He has to ask.]

[nightmarist]

[That's a perfectly fair question and Ronan doesn't have a right to feel hurt by it, but he does anyway. He wishes people would trust him. Or maybe that he could be the sort of person who's trustworthy. Instead he's a timebomb.]

Of course I don't.