thisavrou_log | [ miles catch-all: one-way train to crazy town ]

Frisk yelps from the sudden tug, stumbling right into Miles and wrapping their arms around him automatically. They can feel him shaking and look up, confused. He said he's okay, but...he really doesn't look it.

Hesitating for half a moment, Frisk reaches up to pat Miles's shoulder. "Mister? What's wrong?" They recognize him now, sort of--he looks like the man Chara described, that Sans had told about determination. Maybe they should be more wary right now, but they can't just let him stay upset like this.

Frisk's arms around his middle jolt Miles back to the present with a sharp intake of breath, and he realizes he's probably just scared the shit out of this kid. Good God, what is wrong with him? Whatever it is, it evidently isn't over, because he's still shaking, trying to fend off the tendrils of memory that threaten to overwhelm him.

"It's fine. I'm fine," Miles breathes, looking down and patting Frisk's hand over his shoulder. "It's alright. Sorry -- " He lets go of Frisk, pulling away as gently as he can while practically staggering on his feet. "I think I just need to -- sit down."

And sit he does -- more like falling against the wall and sinking down to the floor, but it's close enough. Still breathing hard, Miles presses his hands to the sides of his head and tries to steady his breathing, get his shit together, at least enough to send this kid on their way so they don't have to witness a grown man totally breaking down any more than they have to. Ha. Breaking down? Get a hold of yourself, boy... He tries desperately to stop himself from getting overwhelmed by what promises to be a terrific flashback, but his breathing quickens into hyperventilation. It's fine, I'm fine, it's fine... Except he keeps hearing the tinkling chime of breaking glass all around him.

Ohhhh no, oh no, this is bad. Frisk tries to catch Miles and help him sit down more gently, but it doesn't help a whole lot. Even short as he is, they're still much smaller in both height and mass.

Sitting now on their knees next to him, Frisk reaches around to rub Miles's back in circles, just like how Mom and Sans did when they got scared of things too strange to explain. It's weird being on this side of things--no wonder their family was always so fretful afterward. "Deep...deeps breaths, okay? Really long, you're gonna be okay."

In some distant, shut-away corner in his mind, Miles recognizes that there is something truly backwards about a ten-year-old comforting a grown man on the verge of tears in semi-public, but fortunately -- depending on how you look at it -- he's too far gone to dwell on it.

Frisk's hand on his back is a grounding factor, but their voice fades into Clark's, the words getting lost in the rush and tumble of memory. Just breathe, Clark had said, his voice strong and sharp in Miles's ears while everything had started to fade away. I've got you, I promise. Miles lets out a shuddering gasp and covers his mouth with his hands and tries desperately to blink back tears he already remembers crying, tasting phantom blood in his mouth.

(Well, if you want to be technical they're nine, actually.)

Frisk's hand curls into the fabric of Miles's sleeve and they keep up those quiet reassurances, telling him he's safe, nothing will hurt him now, he's okay. It's all they can think to do, because they're too small to scoop him up into the cradle of an enveloping hug, or clever enough to catch his attention with just the right sort of silly jokes to make him forget the hurts again. This is all they can offer, a small port of sympathy in the middle of whatever storm has it's hold on him.

Miles can feel Frisk's touch, but it seems distant, worlds away. He bites down hard on his lip as his mind plays back his death in surround sound sense memory, the tinkling chime of breaking glass deafening in his ears. The searing pain in his arm as his hand was crushed under the weight of glass and steel, the peculiar numbness that had come with the pierce of glass in his stomach before the pain had set in, and his legs -- he couldn't feel his legs, after that. He can't feel his legs anymore.

He squeezes his eyes shut and covers his face with hands that should be lying limp and useless at his sides, hearing echoes of Clark's voice, but it's the panic that drowns it out, rising hot in his chest, burning at his throat. That's how he'd gone out -- how he's going to go out -- panicked and desperate and terrified, right up until his last breath. He thinks he almost remembers the collapse of the planet around him, even though he'd long been a corpse by then.

Miles starts with a gasp and a choked sound, then he goes still for a moment, barely breathing as the world seems to tear itself free around him, leaving him in the cold and empty hall of the Moira, Frisk at his side. He pulls his hands away from his face, shocked to find his palms wet and the rest of him whole and dry, free of blood. He licks at chapped lips and realizes the taste of blood in his mouth is from a split lip. Must've bitten down too hard. He glances at Frisk with a jerky motion, curling his hands tight to keep them from shaking. His face is so pale he almost looks gray.

"God, I'm...sorry, kid. I, ah..." Miles fumbles feebly for some excuse, some explanation, some anything. He smiles weakly. "Don't you just hate it when you start having bad dreams even when you're awake?"

Frisk startles and goes still for a moment when Miles finally snaps out of his fugue, pulling their hands back reflexively before reaching to gently pat his back again. They scoot a little closer, the other small hand resting on his upper arm in a steadying gesture--it's okay, they're here, he's alright.

It might be odd to Miles just how easily Frisk accepts that explanation, how they nod and smile sadly rather than showing any confusion or fear. Their arms move up, looping around his shoulders for a hug that isn't too tight, but still firm enough to be whatever support he might need right now. They don't remember that they're not supposed to understand that hurt and pain, not right now.

"Yeah. It's scary, but you're okay now."

"Close enough to it, anyway." Miles is relieved, at least, that he hasn't reduced the kid to tears of their own or frightened them at all. In fact, they seem strangely calm about all this. Seems like a kid who knows plenty about nightmares...

Still, not the kind of first impression Miles prefers to give, particularly not to children, and he widens that rueful smile a bit, Wiping his eyes on the back of his uniform sleeve, he straightens up and gathers as much of his composure and dignity as he can will still half-curled against the wall and holds a hand out to Frisk.

"I'm Miles, by the way. I know the polite thing to do is to introduce yourself before the panic attack, but I seem to be a little scrambled today."

Logically, they should leave now. The man is steady again, and if he really is determined like Chara suspects he is there's every chance he'll get suspicious of Frisk and start asking questions. They've always been bad at lies on their own. But at the same time, Frisk wants to help him, and make sure he'll still be alright after they leave.

"'M Frisk." They smile and take Miles's hand, radiating as much peace and calm as they can manage. "'S okay, I get confused sometimes, too."

Settling themself to sit crosslegged now that the worst of his episode seems to be over, Frisk cocks their head to the side curiously. "...d'you wanna talk about it?" A memory of a tense, scolding voice echoes in their head, and they catch themself just before they admit to knowing what it's like. "When...um. When I have a bad dream, it can help sometimes. So you remember it's not real."

This has got to be the most level-headed child Miles has met in a long time. He likes Frisk already. But he feels like he's exposed the kid to enough already -- and, if he's totally honest with himself, he's self-conscious as hell about it right now, trying not to let the sick embarrassment show on his face. Nothing to do with Frisk, no -- more an inner shame about having broken down like that in the middle of the hallway -- in public -- over nothing more than a near-miss collision with a child and a few loud noises. Miles's breath stills in his chest, and he wavers.

"It was...very real, I'm afraid." Miles gives Frisk the best smile he can conjure, a rueful little twitch of his lips. Somehow, despite the color that tears brought to his face, he looks even more tired than before. His breath is still short, a little labored. He sucks on his lower lip, deciding that hedging around it would just be a disservice to a kid as perceptive and level-headed as Frisk obviously is.

"I, ah... I died, a few months back. I don't think you were on the ship; the crew was much smaller then. But there was a conflict on a planet we visited a while ago. Things went very badly, and it destabilized the planet -- almost the entire planet was made of glass or something like it, you see, and everything was breaking, collapsing. The people there, they had built huge towers made of glass, sculptures like you've never seen, and they were all coming down, breaking apart. It was like the sky was falling." He shivers at the memory, and curls his hands in fistfuls of his uniform at his lap. His mouth is peculiarly dry. "We tried to evacuate everyone on the planet, tried to get them to safety before the whole thing came down. We saved a lot of people, but not everyone made it. I didn't."

Miles's gaze is distant now, staring at the middle distance somewhere just before him. Absently, he rubs a hand over his throat, where the cryo prep scars should be but aren't, and then he tugs up his uniform collar. A new tic he's picked up since his death. He saw those little white scars on his throat in his reflection back on Caducus Primary, that glimpse of his future self -- if his death on that planet wasn't the death it foretold...the alternative leaves him cold in the stomach. "But we mostly don't stay dead around here, as you might've heard. I guess my own mortality is still catching up to me." It's a weak attempt at a joke, but he dredges up a smile anyway.

Frisk listens quietly, in a way that could almost be eerily calm if not for the absolute feeling of understanding and sympathy beneath it. They rub Miles's hand while he speaks, and when he explains how he died they take it between both of theirs. It sounds like something out of a story, a whole world of glass falling apart like that, but they believe absolutely that he's telling the truth. He has no reason to lie, and they're pretty sure they could tell if he was.

"Mmm. Sans an'...an' Chara came back." Their voice catches in their throat for a moment, but Frisk plows on. "But it still hurt them. It's scary for ev'rybody." Frisk returns his smile with warmth and comfort, and they squeeze his hand for just a moment. "I, um. I think I would have nightmares if that happened, too. So it's okay if you do."

Miles's gaze flicks down to their hands and knows that there's simply no way Frisk would know about cultural notions from a far-flung world, that that small gesture can mean so much on Barrayar, that it forms the basis of the ultimate pledge of loyalty. He smiles weakly and pats their hand with his free one.

"Oh, yes. I've started a collection, in fact. I just didn't mean to open an exhibit." Miles blinks owlishly, trying to clear the rest of the glaze from his mind. "I've met Sans and Chara both. You did remind me of the latter. I don't suppose you're...related, in some way."

There's an amount of hidden baggage to the gesture on both ends, though for Frisk it's far more convoluted. They remember sitting just outside the golden corridor, curled up with both hands clasped and rubbing small circles on their palm while an ever-present voice insisted they were fine, Frisk, just worry about yourself, they've heard the whole thing a million times already!

Frisk nods with a small smile...and then frowns with annoyance. Ugh, why does everybody say that? "Nuh-uh. They're my--" Wait, they shouldn't say they're too close to Chara, should they? Even adopted family still shares a lot of things... "We're friends."

Ah, he's misstepped a little. Miles knows that look -- from his own clone, even, although on Mark it's much, much darker and angrier. Mark hates being reminded that he looks like Miles -- that he shares any connection with his progenitor at all -- but then, at least there doesn't seem to be any such resentment between Frisk and Chara on that note. He hadn't really pegged Chara to have friends their own age, but in a weird way, he's glad.

"Sorry." He gives Frisk a tired smile of apology. "Is the assumption that you're all from the same world any safer, or am I really shoving my boot in it today?"

A little bit of a misstep, but hardly one that could ever put Frisk off for long. They smile easily and shake their head.

"Naw, we're both from Underground. I only ever saw them first here, though." Technically true, by the very slimmest of margins. "Um, how do you know Chara?"

Oh, yes, he's heard of Underground, mostly from Papyrus. Miles pauses, trying to figure out a response that's both diplomatic and truthful.

"We talked once, that's all." He's not sure how to phrase I visited them while they were in prison diplomatically, so he doesn't. He does want to be honest, though. Miles gives them a crooked smile. "I'm...afraid they didn't take to me very much, but they left an impression."

That's not a whole lot more than what Chara has already told them, but it's enough to get a little bit more of an idea of what must have happened between them.

"Mmm...Chara is kind of. Um." Frisk chews on their lip. "They don't like a whole lotta people."

"Ha." Miles puffs out a laugh. "Yes, I gathered that much. Don't worry, I didn't take it personally."

He reaches out to put a hand on Frisk's shoulder -- not quite a pat, but a grateful gesture all the same, and he starts to push himself to his feet with a quiet grunt. Somehow, that whole episode left him strangely aching. He sniffles one last time, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand, and offers a hand to Frisk. "Thanks, kiddo."

Frisk laughs a little, smiling, and nods with full understanding and more than a little shade of gratefulness. They know Chara isn't the easiest person to understand, and anyone that doesn't discount them right away is alright in Frisk's book.

They accept Miles's hand and pull themself up with a shy smile. "Um, you're welcome. Sorry I knocked you over."

"Don't worry about it." Miles gives Frisk's hand a gentle squeeze before he lets go. He lets the corner of his mouth quirk up. "At least it wasn't a hit and run, eh?"

He starts to leave, but he pauses. "Hey -- listen. If there's anything you need, you come to me, alright? Not saying you can't handle yourself -- you obviously can -- but. Well, you know."

Frisk smiles a little wider and nods before turning to run off down the hall. But he speaks again and they stop, looking at him first with faint surprise, and then...a cautious sort of acceptance.

"Okay, I will." And then off they go!

[ miles catch-all: one-way train to crazy town ]

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