It's all incredibly difficult to take in. Cater's brow remains in a permanent ridge as he watches, barely blinking. He's too tired to read and understand, but at the same time he can't stop. The text said he could pause, and he knows he probably should on more than one occasion, but his own mind grips him in place, cementing his feet to the floor and his fingers to the sides of his phone.
CONTINUE?
The word makes him go cold. Up until this point, it was a lot of shocking clarity, but he'd heard some of it already: Ortho's death, Idia's guilt, his near death. What had been a set of major plot points is now a detailed outline dripping with painful exposition.
So what's next? What's waiting for him here, in this terrible world that Idia's subconscious has birthed? Cater doesn't want to find out.
Knows he has to; there's no choice. This is Idia's misery and he's here to share it. Cater steels himself and pushes on like the good soldier he is.
Darkness, and then a return to the final battle. Only this time, after the third thunderclap? Ortho doesn't fall. Idia's rage swells, his scream a metallic scrape, and blot rushes from the two of them in a torrent. The inky blackness engulfs the gathered students, their cries mingling with Idia's monstrous ire.
The camera draws back, revealing the previously unseen avatar: Cater himself, though he hadn't been present for the actual fight. No, in Idia's nightmares, things can always be worse. The blot crashes over his digital self, seizing his flesh, his soul. A phantom rises over him, a tangle of six arms, fused torsos, madly laughing identical heads. Four hands wield chains of diamond-shaped links, the ends sunk deep into Cater's arms and legs. The other two tangle into his hair, yanking his head back. Split card is no longer at his command, now it commands him, steering him like a puppet.
Red and black crawl up his body, form-fitted to conceal nothing and slashed to reveal pale, bleeding skin. The world has taken pounds of flesh from him, too, after all. The right side of his face is swallowed by a crimson metal plate, diamond-shaped and mirror-polished and welded into his face like a grotesque half-mask. The eye itself has become a camera lens, pushing outward, distorting formerly handsome features. More lenses and flashbulbs are fixed to the ends of his fingers, jutting out of his shoulders, tearing through his stomach.
The Overblotted Cater screams with laughter through jagged shark's teeth as he turns toward the camera, his remaining green eye burning with loathing as he lunges, those flashing, shutter-snapping fingers outstretched.
The screen cuts to black, and the app closes before deleting itself.
Although Cater keeps himself at arm's distance from everyone in his life (aside from Idia, now), his heart still hammers watching the depiction of his schoolfriends being swallowed up by Idia's wrath. He couldn't have anticipated how much worse it was going to get.
It's him...a monster. Consumed by his obsessive need for positive attention, by his own farcical self. For what it all is, it's so graphic. As the app gives its final surprise, Cater cries out in fright, the phone dropping from his hand as he jumps backward, crawling onto his bed and away from the glowing screen on the floor. No wonder Idia had woken up in such a state of pure panic.
And for Idia, it had been so much more than just a nightmare. It was a memory bastardized into something worse. So, so much worse. Like a worst-possible-case bad end. In that nightmare, it wasn't just that Cater had overblotted. It was how it had happened. There isn't an ounce of him that for a second fears this nightmare becoming a reality, and in the back of his brain he completely understands how Idia could feel so hung up on the possibility.
After all, he'd already lived this, once. He'd almost...almost made a world of phantoms.
Cater shudders. He doesn't have nearly enough bandwidth to work through all of it. That would've been a tall order if he wasn't already running on empty. A knock on the door and Trey's voice asking if he's okay is all that shakes him out of his rattled state. Cater manages something about how he just dropped something and startled himself. Try sounds obviously in disbelief, but doesn't press. Once his footsteps retreat, Cater buries his face in his hands.
What was he supposed to do with all of this, anyway?
He sees himself behind his eyelids, twisted and laughing and angry. Angry at the world, angry at everyone and everything. They'd made him become a shell of a person, hollow, a tool. They wouldn't look at him, really look and see who he was, how he was hurting. So he'd make them hurt. Make an immortalized scrapbook of misery.
Even though Cater's felt so much happier, those feelings haven't totally left him. It would take a lot longer heal those scars, correct his bad habits. Maybe he'd never fully let go of that hatred. Feeling that darkness still inside of him makes him shudder. It's way too close, too real.
Unable to stand looking at that image of himself, he opens his eyes again, stares at his phone on the ground. It's put itself to sleep, sitting dark. To Cater, it looks like a bad omen. Still, he slowly slides down to the ground, reaches over and pulls it across the carpet. Opening Idia's message happens automatically, but he stares at it for a long time at a complete loss for words.
Idia was notified as soon as the app disappeared. He must be beside himself, waiting for whatever was going to come next. Cater wished he knew what the right thing to say was. Obviously, they can't talk about this over text. Putting anything to words right now, though, feels impossible.
Straight to the point, then.
Do you want me to come over now or wait until tomorrow?
The alert of the app deletion makes Idia startle, then sag with a sense of finality. So... it's done, then. Cater has seen the whole truth, the driving force behind Idia's suffering. For as much as the ginger boy has helped him start to heal, Idia had to put this weight on his shoulders because he's a damaged, selfish fool. He needed one person, just one, to understand fully no matter how much it hurt them. He's horrible, he knows that. If Cater hates him after this, then he deserves it. He sits in dim lights and blue monitor-glow, in silence broken only by the faint hum of fans and electricity, and waits. In truth, he'll be shocked if Cater has the fortitude to message him after that heavy blow to the brain.
His message alert has him blinking. It couldn't be... but it is. It's Cater. Oh Seven, he's not ready for this. He's not ready to lose what he'd gained. He's so selfish.
... huh?
Why does Cater want to come over? Unless... it's to yell at Idia for putting this on him when he's exhausted (because of Idia's nightmare, now compounded by digital trauma)? Why is he giving Idia the consideration to wait until tomorrow, unless it's so he can unleash his full fury after resting? But in the end, it's not really Idia's decision, is it?
ur choice
It's always been Cater's choice, to stay or to walk away.
Cater takes a breath and pulls up his messages with Trey, sending him a brief SOS: Emergency with Idia. Cover me if you can. Won't be back tonight. Without waiting for a response, he tucks his phone away and heads out the window. It's not curfew so he doesn't need to hurry or be incredibly stealthy, but he doesn't want any of his dormmates to know that he's not in his room studying. Ultimately, if anyone catches him he can just claim to be a split card out on errands, so he doesn't try too hard to stay out of sight.
Up until he reaches Idia's room, he tries to figure out what he's going to do...but he doesn't know. Cater struggles to play out scenarios in his head, but his exhaustion and his nerves keep him from being able to form any kind of realistic narrative. Before he knows it, he's standing at Idia's door, moving to open it on instinct.
There's no mask in place, this time. Cater's face is flatlined and serious.
It doesn't matter if Idia is sitting or standing or where he's placed himself in the room. As soon as Cater sees that lanky, emotionally strung-out teenager, all his questions and confusion and indecisiveness shuts itself out. His feet move of their own accord, bringing him up Idia, and his hands follow suit, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace.
Idia's pacing when he hears the door open. The sound makes him visibly flinch, as if he's expecting to be struck. He turns, only to gasp and blink as Cater yanks him into a hug.
That's... not what he was expecting.
As they stand there, Idia feels his eyes well up. His lip trembles. Slowly he raises his arms to loosely encircle Cater, and only then does he crumble. He all but crushes his boyfriend to his chest, leaning down to sob on Cater's shoulder.
How can it be possible? He's been accepted, selfishness and all.
Cater plants himself firmly as Idia's weight falls into him, holding him even more tightly. His hands ball into fists in his boyfriend's sweater, clutching him as if he's trying to ground him firmly in reality. For a long time he just stands like that, being his anchor as Idia sobs.
In the end, regardless of the subtext, regardless of the horror, a nightmare is just a nightmare, and the past is in the past. Idia was working so, so damn hard to be better and this was just another bump in the road. What counts, what really means the most, is what he's doing now: how he's trying to atone for his sins, whether or not they're self-prescribed.
"You are not your demons, Idia Shroud," he finally murmurs into his ear. "But I love you, demons and all."
Relief. Such overwhelming, pure relief that he's still wanted, still loved, has Idia sobbing even harder. Whatever disgust Cater might feel from what he saw, it's not enough to overpower their bond. He clings even as his knees give way, pulling Cater with him to the floor.
His head hurts and he's beyond exhausted, but it's okay. He hasn't lost Cater. Now he can truly start to heal.
Although he doesn't have any smiles to offer, now isn't the time for them, anyway. An upbeat attitude isn't what this situation calls for, even if it marks an ultimately positive change for them. As they reach the floor, Cater shifts his position to cradle Idia much like he had the night before, holding him and petting him and rocking him gently.
If he wasn't sure of it before, he knows it now: he'll do anything in his power to protect his boyfriend from the horrors he's been immersed in. Idia was already climbing his way up out of the pit he'd fallen down into, but his body was tired and his mind broken. He just needed a hand to grab onto, to help him the rest of the way. Cater wanted to be that hand. Idia had suffered more than enough. More than he ever should have.
He figures it goes without saying that he's not leaving Idia's dorm tonight.
They can worry about curfew and Riddle and rumors and all of that later. Right now they need each other. Idia isn't the only one who has to heal from trauma, nor does he want to debate whose is worse. He hasn't cried like this in a long time, and now twice in less than 24 hours has left him feeling wrung out and almost feverish. Curling up together in bed would be wonderful, but Idia's not sure he has the energy to get back up and he aches all over. It's clear that he ate at some point, the empty dishes stacked on a corner of his desk, but the lack of good sleep has them both in a less than ideal state.
At least he calms down eventually, sagging against Cater a little too heavily to be comfortable. Twiggy as he is, he's still taller than his boyfriend, ensuring that outright carrying him to bed will be all but impossible even if Cater wasn't equally exhausted. Sleeping on the floor will prevent healing rest, however. For now, Idia has more immediate concerns.
"'m sorry for trauma dumping on you when you're out of stamina. Really crappy of me, but... if I didn't get it out, it would've been psychic DoT. Probably a party-wide debuff, not single-target."
Cater shakes his head, making a sound to acknowledge that he heard what Idia said. "I'm glad you shared," he assures. "You needed to let it out--and I want you to know that I'm someone you can share these things with."
Hopefully now Idia can have more faith in the idea that Cater won't run away or get scared off. Maybe after they've had more sleep, they can talk about it a bit more thoroughly. He can't pretend it didn't disturb him, even if that feeling isn't something that he's holding against Idia. It was hard, really hard, to watch all of that--but that only means he can only imagine how awful it felt to have experienced it firsthand.
Idia shakes his head. “You know all my worst ones now.” He has nothing left to shock Cater. If they’ve survived this, then they have a chance… at least until senior year. Idia will take what he can get.
For now, he struggles to get up. “Bed. Tired. Wanna cuddle.” He might sleep for the rest of the afternoon and through the night.
With a huff of air, Cater stands, definitely feeling a bit more sure footed than Idia. Once he's on his own feet he helps Idia to his. "Me too," he agrees, not willing to even bother taking anything off other than his shoes until they're safely in one another's arms. "You pick spot preference, this time."
Without moving away from Idia, he pulls his phone and wand out of his uniform and tosses them onto the nearest safe surface out of the way. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens tomorrow, and no amount of annoyed texts can change where he's staying tonight.
“Cuddle, no spoons.” He wants to hold and be held. Every second that ticks by sees him wobbling more, shuffling along until he finally sits heavily on the edge of the bed. Getting his legs up is a struggle but he does it so Cater won’t have to. A couple of awkward scoots and he flops back onto the pillows hard enough that it sounds rather painful.
It’s so tempting to fall asleep right away. But he forces himself to stay awake long enough to hold out a beckoning arm. He wants his Cater.
Cater assents without words, crawling eagerly into Idia's arms and tangling their limbs together. Once they're comfortable, he presses in for a sweet, soft kiss, resting so close to his face that the two are nearly nose to nose. "Tomorrow is a new day," he tells him in a whisper. "When you wake up, I'll still be right here."
Idia nods, huddling up so he can bury his face against Cater’s neck. Bed, cuddles, Cater. Things are already starting to feel much better. Anything beyond them and this bed would be tomorrow’s problem. Even the nightmare seems like a distant, retreating storm. It’s probably the extraordinary fatigue and stress crash, but he asks one soft question against his better judgment. He has to have hope.
"Always," he murmurs back, finding Idia's pinky with one of his own and curling them around each other. "There's nowhere else I ever want to be."
If Cater could get away with not sleeping, he'd just gaze into Idia's eyes for hours and hours. As the more intense of his emotions continue fading, however, the more physically exhausted he feels. It's betraying the both of them, forcing them to separate unconsciously before they're ready to.
All he can do is keep his word. In the morning, he'll be there. Come hell or high water, come Riddle Rosenhearts or Dire Crowley, Jupiter or Shroud.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
CONTINUE?
The word makes him go cold. Up until this point, it was a lot of shocking clarity, but he'd heard some of it already: Ortho's death, Idia's guilt, his near death. What had been a set of major plot points is now a detailed outline dripping with painful exposition.
So what's next? What's waiting for him here, in this terrible world that Idia's subconscious has birthed? Cater doesn't want to find out.
Knows he has to; there's no choice. This is Idia's misery and he's here to share it. Cater steels himself and pushes on like the good soldier he is.
no subject
The camera draws back, revealing the previously unseen avatar: Cater himself, though he hadn't been present for the actual fight. No, in Idia's nightmares, things can always be worse. The blot crashes over his digital self, seizing his flesh, his soul. A phantom rises over him, a tangle of six arms, fused torsos, madly laughing identical heads. Four hands wield chains of diamond-shaped links, the ends sunk deep into Cater's arms and legs. The other two tangle into his hair, yanking his head back. Split card is no longer at his command, now it commands him, steering him like a puppet.
Red and black crawl up his body, form-fitted to conceal nothing and slashed to reveal pale, bleeding skin. The world has taken pounds of flesh from him, too, after all. The right side of his face is swallowed by a crimson metal plate, diamond-shaped and mirror-polished and welded into his face like a grotesque half-mask. The eye itself has become a camera lens, pushing outward, distorting formerly handsome features. More lenses and flashbulbs are fixed to the ends of his fingers, jutting out of his shoulders, tearing through his stomach.
The Overblotted Cater screams with laughter through jagged shark's teeth as he turns toward the camera, his remaining green eye burning with loathing as he lunges, those flashing, shutter-snapping fingers outstretched.
The screen cuts to black, and the app closes before deleting itself.
no subject
It's him...a monster. Consumed by his obsessive need for positive attention, by his own farcical self. For what it all is, it's so graphic. As the app gives its final surprise, Cater cries out in fright, the phone dropping from his hand as he jumps backward, crawling onto his bed and away from the glowing screen on the floor. No wonder Idia had woken up in such a state of pure panic.
And for Idia, it had been so much more than just a nightmare. It was a memory bastardized into something worse. So, so much worse. Like a worst-possible-case bad end. In that nightmare, it wasn't just that Cater had overblotted. It was how it had happened. There isn't an ounce of him that for a second fears this nightmare becoming a reality, and in the back of his brain he completely understands how Idia could feel so hung up on the possibility.
After all, he'd already lived this, once. He'd almost...almost made a world of phantoms.
Cater shudders. He doesn't have nearly enough bandwidth to work through all of it. That would've been a tall order if he wasn't already running on empty. A knock on the door and Trey's voice asking if he's okay is all that shakes him out of his rattled state. Cater manages something about how he just dropped something and startled himself. Try sounds obviously in disbelief, but doesn't press. Once his footsteps retreat, Cater buries his face in his hands.
What was he supposed to do with all of this, anyway?
He sees himself behind his eyelids, twisted and laughing and angry. Angry at the world, angry at everyone and everything. They'd made him become a shell of a person, hollow, a tool. They wouldn't look at him, really look and see who he was, how he was hurting. So he'd make them hurt. Make an immortalized scrapbook of misery.
Even though Cater's felt so much happier, those feelings haven't totally left him. It would take a lot longer heal those scars, correct his bad habits. Maybe he'd never fully let go of that hatred. Feeling that darkness still inside of him makes him shudder. It's way too close, too real.
Unable to stand looking at that image of himself, he opens his eyes again, stares at his phone on the ground. It's put itself to sleep, sitting dark. To Cater, it looks like a bad omen. Still, he slowly slides down to the ground, reaches over and pulls it across the carpet. Opening Idia's message happens automatically, but he stares at it for a long time at a complete loss for words.
Idia was notified as soon as the app disappeared. He must be beside himself, waiting for whatever was going to come next. Cater wished he knew what the right thing to say was. Obviously, they can't talk about this over text. Putting anything to words right now, though, feels impossible.
Straight to the point, then.
Do you want me to come over now or wait until tomorrow?
no subject
His message alert has him blinking. It couldn't be... but it is. It's Cater. Oh Seven, he's not ready for this. He's not ready to lose what he'd gained. He's so selfish.
... huh?
Why does Cater want to come over? Unless... it's to yell at Idia for putting this on him when he's exhausted (because of Idia's nightmare, now compounded by digital trauma)? Why is he giving Idia the consideration to wait until tomorrow, unless it's so he can unleash his full fury after resting? But in the end, it's not really Idia's decision, is it?
ur choice
It's always been Cater's choice, to stay or to walk away.
no subject
Cater takes a breath and pulls up his messages with Trey, sending him a brief SOS: Emergency with Idia. Cover me if you can. Won't be back tonight. Without waiting for a response, he tucks his phone away and heads out the window. It's not curfew so he doesn't need to hurry or be incredibly stealthy, but he doesn't want any of his dormmates to know that he's not in his room studying. Ultimately, if anyone catches him he can just claim to be a split card out on errands, so he doesn't try too hard to stay out of sight.
Up until he reaches Idia's room, he tries to figure out what he's going to do...but he doesn't know. Cater struggles to play out scenarios in his head, but his exhaustion and his nerves keep him from being able to form any kind of realistic narrative. Before he knows it, he's standing at Idia's door, moving to open it on instinct.
There's no mask in place, this time. Cater's face is flatlined and serious.
It doesn't matter if Idia is sitting or standing or where he's placed himself in the room. As soon as Cater sees that lanky, emotionally strung-out teenager, all his questions and confusion and indecisiveness shuts itself out. His feet move of their own accord, bringing him up Idia, and his hands follow suit, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace.
no subject
That's... not what he was expecting.
As they stand there, Idia feels his eyes well up. His lip trembles. Slowly he raises his arms to loosely encircle Cater, and only then does he crumble. He all but crushes his boyfriend to his chest, leaning down to sob on Cater's shoulder.
How can it be possible? He's been accepted, selfishness and all.
no subject
In the end, regardless of the subtext, regardless of the horror, a nightmare is just a nightmare, and the past is in the past. Idia was working so, so damn hard to be better and this was just another bump in the road. What counts, what really means the most, is what he's doing now: how he's trying to atone for his sins, whether or not they're self-prescribed.
"You are not your demons, Idia Shroud," he finally murmurs into his ear. "But I love you, demons and all."
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His head hurts and he's beyond exhausted, but it's okay. He hasn't lost Cater. Now he can truly start to heal.
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If he wasn't sure of it before, he knows it now: he'll do anything in his power to protect his boyfriend from the horrors he's been immersed in. Idia was already climbing his way up out of the pit he'd fallen down into, but his body was tired and his mind broken. He just needed a hand to grab onto, to help him the rest of the way. Cater wanted to be that hand. Idia had suffered more than enough. More than he ever should have.
He figures it goes without saying that he's not leaving Idia's dorm tonight.
no subject
At least he calms down eventually, sagging against Cater a little too heavily to be comfortable. Twiggy as he is, he's still taller than his boyfriend, ensuring that outright carrying him to bed will be all but impossible even if Cater wasn't equally exhausted. Sleeping on the floor will prevent healing rest, however. For now, Idia has more immediate concerns.
"'m sorry for trauma dumping on you when you're out of stamina. Really crappy of me, but... if I didn't get it out, it would've been psychic DoT. Probably a party-wide debuff, not single-target."
no subject
Hopefully now Idia can have more faith in the idea that Cater won't run away or get scared off. Maybe after they've had more sleep, they can talk about it a bit more thoroughly. He can't pretend it didn't disturb him, even if that feeling isn't something that he's holding against Idia. It was hard, really hard, to watch all of that--but that only means he can only imagine how awful it felt to have experienced it firsthand.
"No more secrets from either of us, yeah?"
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For now, he struggles to get up. “Bed. Tired. Wanna cuddle.” He might sleep for the rest of the afternoon and through the night.
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Without moving away from Idia, he pulls his phone and wand out of his uniform and tosses them onto the nearest safe surface out of the way. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens tomorrow, and no amount of annoyed texts can change where he's staying tonight.
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It’s so tempting to fall asleep right away. But he forces himself to stay awake long enough to hold out a beckoning arm. He wants his Cater.
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“Always…?”
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If Cater could get away with not sleeping, he'd just gaze into Idia's eyes for hours and hours. As the more intense of his emotions continue fading, however, the more physically exhausted he feels. It's betraying the both of them, forcing them to separate unconsciously before they're ready to.
All he can do is keep his word. In the morning, he'll be there. Come hell or high water, come Riddle Rosenhearts or Dire Crowley, Jupiter or Shroud.