[he knows that being like this to her, to someone who cares for him so obviously, is fucked up. he's different from those kids from the below, who are too socially retarded to know better]
[Badou, contrary to popular opinion, is not socially retarded; it's just that he's seen society, every disgusting part of it, and he's grown to hate it, hate everything it's ever done. he may understand society's rules, but he's never, ever going to adhere to them, not if he doesn't damn well have a good reason to]
[(becoming a journalist in the city really fucked somebody up; being raised a journalist, when you had a mind naturally like a rat trap, was light years worse)]
[it makes her irrationally -- angry, that he thinks she'd do that, go snooping for information about him instead of just asking him. carol knows he doesn't trust her, maybe he won't ever, but she's been fighting so hard to prove at least that she is a trustworthy person, that she cares, and every time he turns back around and pushes and refuses it digs further into her, hurts worse, like claws in her skin.]
He said you're going to die.
[that you want to die.]
All of you. That that place is going to kill you. I told him I wouldn't let that happen.
[some tension drains out of those aggressively arched shoulders; she didn't know anything new, she just got -- scared. he probably told her about what it was like, down there]
[shortly (he still doesn't have time for her hope, but he won't bash his head against it until they're both bleeding, like stupid fucking Heine would)]
He's from real deep. He don't know about the City, even. He don't know nothin' else but dyin'. It's --
[she knows too much now, and he has no idea, and she wishes she could just... forget it all. that they all could. that these stupid, sad, fucked-up kids could get a fresh start to just be kids, because they've been too aged and broken by the world, more than anyone should be in a lifetime, let alone in fourteen years.
so it isn't a comfort to her. she knows it wasn't just heine's life informing his outlook. there's something else there, and it's all badou.]
If you ever get sent back...
[quietly, her shoulders hunching up, in on themselves like badou's are sometimes wont to do.]
I'm gonna find you. I'm gonna pull you out. I don't care what it takes.
[something flinches in his face, angrily, but for just a second; he looks away right after, because even though Badou is good at not saying something, at filling his mouth with useless, stupid words and misdirections instead, he's always an open sore to look at, all teeth and twitch and viscera]
I don't believe that people get sent back.
[it's a short, true statement that says nothing at all important; the cigarette's taken from behind his ear, from below that black strap as he rolls a shrug, squats down on his haunches to light it back up; he has no fucking intention of getting rescued, not by her, not by anyone]
[it says a lot about carol's priorities right now that she doesn't even glance twice at the cigarette, at the fact that he's smoking right in front of her and it's just another way of killing himself. at least that one's not so immediate. at least she has time, there.]
Wherever they go, then. It doesn't matter.
[it's stubborn, dogged, awful honesty, the kind carol is best at, and it's written in every line of her face, every angle of those hunched shoulders; I will not give up, I will not surrender, this is the way things are, this is the way they're going to be. I'll make sure of it.]
If I have to rip a hole in spacetime and drag your ass back through it, that's what I'm gonna do, and nothing's going to stop me.
[a short snap, like Carol's stepped on his tail and he's warning her, don't fucking do it again]
M'not stayin' here, I'm goin' back.
[he regrets it the instant it's out, wishes he could have stuck that filter in his mouth just a second faster; he does now, takes a drag on the cigarette (it's getting smoother, and he doesn't cough anymore -- shit, one day he might even actually want to taste these stupid fucking things)]
[her nails dig into her palms and carol can feel it coming on again, that awful push that always happens between them, when she cares too much and he doesn't care enough and everything ends up -- bad.
this has got to stop happening. she can't stand it.]
You have business there? Fine. You get it done, but you come out of it safe. You make sure of that, or I will. And then I'm getting you out. I won't leave you to rot in that place.
[for a moment, he entertains it; a world where he goes into the pits and comes out, comes out with Dave, and they get away from the horrible fucking City that Dave wanted to save so badly from itself, and Badou just wanted to burn, burn, burn]
[even in the brief dream, it doesn't make sense -- Dave would only want to fight harder, having seen kids like Heine (he thinks of how he felt, meeting Heine; furious, mostly -- some things would never change). could Badou let him? no. could Badou walk away? no, to that too.]
[and in the back of his head, another scenario; he goes into the pits, comes out, comes out alone -- ]
[ -- no. he'd rather stay down there, he'd rather get swallowed whole by that blackness, if that's how it would be, because there's nothing else he could possibly want, nowhere else he could possibly go, no matter how far Carol took him or how much she tried to love him]
[there's no escaping it, in the end. it's always gonna be him in the cold, cold ground]
[it's a growl, a snarl, a defiance that feels weak in the cold center of her chest (the part reserved lately for badou badou badou), but burns fierce through the rest of her, and the rest of her is more than enough.
carol wants to shout, to shake him, to take a fist to the concrete church steps beside him, do anything to wake him up. she doesn't; just stands there instead, fists and jaw clenched. she feels like she's shaking, isn't sure if she is. it doesn't matter.]
I've seen rotten. I've seen evil, and demented, and fucked up beyond saving, and none of that is you.
[care I don't care I don't care I don't fucking care, and he thinks of fucking Worick, thinks of must not want to see him all that much, and he knows it's part of the whole teenager goddamn play but he's so fucking tired of being misunderstood, sometimes, he could fucking scream]
I ain't gave up on nothin' that actually fuckin' mattered, so fuck you an' fuck your shitty rescue, I'm gonna get outta this shithole an' I'm gonna --
[find the way down, find the way back to his family (is he still smiling? does blood still coat his face, his clothes?)]
Gonna -- gonna --
[he's revving the engine, but the engine won't start; hot ash falls onto his fucked-up hand, but he doesn't feel it, shoulders shaking with something awful and cavernous, echoing of fury, love, and fear]
[her hand shoots out and catches his wrist, grips it, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough so he can't shake her off like he always does, always tries to, in every way that she hates.]
I don't want you to die.
[small and miserable and almost inaudible, too-honest, too-raw. I don't want you to die because I don't know what I'd do.]
[his fingers curl into claws around his cigarette, arm tense in the touch she knows he hates; that she says something is a relief, because he can bring up his stalling to a close]
That don't matter, would ya just shut up about it!
[it's snarled at her, raw and spiteful, but don't think for a moment it's due to a case of lost tempers; he's furious that she should presume any importance, any weight, any impact in his goddamn life, over his brother -- even if she doesn't know she's doing it]
[he's had about enough, nearing the end of that short emotional fuse (it's about two inches of old rope soaked in kerosene) and he tries to stand, and yank his arm away]
[it hurts. carol has known so many kinds of pain, but it's hard to find one to compare this to -- burning up from the inside out, maybe, her body doing all of it to itself and her being powerless to stop it. because badou never asked for her to care so much, never invited any of it in. what she's feeling right now is coming from her, not from him, but there's nothing she can do about it.
her face betrays her just as badly as his does, hurt and angry and awful, and for a moment she looks (feels) like she might haul off and slap him across the face, but she doesn't.]
Not you. I knew that already.
[carol doesn't want to let him go, she wants to keep him here and make him understand. it's pointless, though, isn't it? he won't. he'll just keep fighting her. so she gets up too, releasing her grip on him, turning away, a hand coming up to her face.
[he doesn't expect to be released so easily (Badou expects nothing to come easily, absolutely nothing), so red sneakers stutter an extra step down on the church steps with the force of his drag away. at least, he doesn't fall, at least he doesn't eat pavement (at least features a lot Badou's life)]
[the broken look on her face doesn't hurt him, like it should, but it does stop him long enough for more words to fight out of teeth that want to trap them inside]
Ya wanna fight the goddamn Underground? Ya wanna fight the fucking Below? Surprise of the fuckin' year, you ain't the only one. But you? Ain't lost a single goddamn thing to it. You ain't lost your voice or your eye or your fucking family. Fuck you for thinkin' you got a single goddamn say in whether I try ta get anything back, fucking rip that place to shreds, or get ripped ta shreds my fucking self.
[another drag on the cigarette, short and deep, making embers flare, and he drops the stub to the pavement, grinding it under his sneaker like he usually grinds her concern]
If ya wanna help, if you're so goddamn set on it, crack open the Landlord's head for me, an' get me the fuck outta here, an' away from shithead hypocrites like you.
[she's furious and miserable and shattered, she's shaking with it, but she keeps her back turned on him now, lets his words fall on her and weigh her shoulders down even more until it feels like they might snap under the pressure. but she can take it. she can.
(can she? really?)
carol has never been good at knowing when to run away, or knowing how, but right now she wants to. she doesn't know what else to do.]
Fine.
[there's no heat to it anymore. every tense muscle slumps, and she starts to walk away.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: action
[he knows that being like this to her, to someone who cares for him so obviously, is fucked up. he's different from those kids from the below, who are too socially retarded to know better]
[Badou, contrary to popular opinion, is not socially retarded; it's just that he's seen society, every disgusting part of it, and he's grown to hate it, hate everything it's ever done. he may understand society's rules, but he's never, ever going to adhere to them, not if he doesn't damn well have a good reason to]
[(becoming a journalist in the city really fucked somebody up; being raised a journalist, when you had a mind naturally like a rat trap, was light years worse)]
Heine, then.
Re: action
[it makes her irrationally -- angry, that he thinks she'd do that, go snooping for information about him instead of just asking him. carol knows he doesn't trust her, maybe he won't ever, but she's been fighting so hard to prove at least that she is a trustworthy person, that she cares, and every time he turns back around and pushes and refuses it digs further into her, hurts worse, like claws in her skin.]
He said you're going to die.
[that you want to die.]
All of you. That that place is going to kill you. I told him I wouldn't let that happen.
Re: action
[shortly (he still doesn't have time for her hope, but he won't bash his head against it until they're both bleeding, like stupid fucking Heine would)]
He's from real deep. He don't know about the City, even. He don't know nothin' else but dyin'. It's --
[A MOTHERFUCKING SLAUGHTERHOUSE]
-- worst, down there. I told ya already.
Re: action
so it isn't a comfort to her. she knows it wasn't just heine's life informing his outlook. there's something else there, and it's all badou.]
If you ever get sent back...
[quietly, her shoulders hunching up, in on themselves like badou's are sometimes wont to do.]
I'm gonna find you. I'm gonna pull you out. I don't care what it takes.
Re: action
I don't believe that people get sent back.
[it's a short, true statement that says nothing at all important; the cigarette's taken from behind his ear, from below that black strap as he rolls a shrug, squats down on his haunches to light it back up; he has no fucking intention of getting rescued, not by her, not by anyone]
Re: action
Wherever they go, then. It doesn't matter.
[it's stubborn, dogged, awful honesty, the kind carol is best at, and it's written in every line of her face, every angle of those hunched shoulders; I will not give up, I will not surrender, this is the way things are, this is the way they're going to be. I'll make sure of it.]
If I have to rip a hole in spacetime and drag your ass back through it, that's what I'm gonna do, and nothing's going to stop me.
[not even you.]
Re: action
M'not stayin' here, I'm goin' back.
[he regrets it the instant it's out, wishes he could have stuck that filter in his mouth just a second faster; he does now, takes a drag on the cigarette (it's getting smoother, and he doesn't cough anymore -- shit, one day he might even actually want to taste these stupid fucking things)]
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this has got to stop happening. she can't stand it.]
You have business there? Fine. You get it done, but you come out of it safe. You make sure of that, or I will. And then I'm getting you out. I won't leave you to rot in that place.
Re: action
[even in the brief dream, it doesn't make sense -- Dave would only want to fight harder, having seen kids like Heine (he thinks of how he felt, meeting Heine; furious, mostly -- some things would never change). could Badou let him? no. could Badou walk away? no, to that too.]
[and in the back of his head, another scenario; he goes into the pits, comes out, comes out alone -- ]
[ -- no. he'd rather stay down there, he'd rather get swallowed whole by that blackness, if that's how it would be, because there's nothing else he could possibly want, nowhere else he could possibly go, no matter how far Carol took him or how much she tried to love him]
[there's no escaping it, in the end. it's always gonna be him in the cold, cold ground]
[what he says is]
M'already rotten, idiot.
Re: action
[it's a growl, a snarl, a defiance that feels weak in the cold center of her chest (the part reserved lately for badou badou badou), but burns fierce through the rest of her, and the rest of her is more than enough.
carol wants to shout, to shake him, to take a fist to the concrete church steps beside him, do anything to wake him up. she doesn't; just stands there instead, fists and jaw clenched. she feels like she's shaking, isn't sure if she is. it doesn't matter.]
I've seen rotten. I've seen evil, and demented, and fucked up beyond saving, and none of that is you.
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I don't care what ya think I am. Like it even really matters?
Re: action
the anger pulls back to simmer somewhere low in her gut and carol crouches down to his level, trying to catch that one green eye.]
There's one thing I know you are: worth fighting for. So I'm gonna. Even if you've given up.
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[care I don't care I don't care I don't fucking care, and he thinks of fucking Worick, thinks of must not want to see him all that much, and he knows it's part of the whole teenager goddamn play but he's so fucking tired of being misunderstood, sometimes, he could fucking scream]
I ain't gave up on nothin' that actually fuckin' mattered, so fuck you an' fuck your shitty rescue, I'm gonna get outta this shithole an' I'm gonna --
[find the way down, find the way back to his family (is he still smiling? does blood still coat his face, his clothes?)]
Gonna -- gonna --
[he's revving the engine, but the engine won't start; hot ash falls onto his fucked-up hand, but he doesn't feel it, shoulders shaking with something awful and cavernous, echoing of fury, love, and fear]
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I don't want you to die.
[small and miserable and almost inaudible, too-honest, too-raw. I don't want you to die because I don't know what I'd do.]
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That don't matter, would ya just shut up about it!
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[his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother is dead--]
I won't lose another person I love just because you're too stupid to see how important you are.
Re: action
[it's snarled at her, raw and spiteful, but don't think for a moment it's due to a case of lost tempers; he's furious that she should presume any importance, any weight, any impact in his goddamn life, over his brother -- even if she doesn't know she's doing it]
[he's had about enough, nearing the end of that short emotional fuse (it's about two inches of old rope soaked in kerosene) and he tries to stand, and yank his arm away]
Re: action
her face betrays her just as badly as his does, hurt and angry and awful, and for a moment she looks (feels) like she might haul off and slap him across the face, but she doesn't.]
Not you. I knew that already.
[carol doesn't want to let him go, she wants to keep him here and make him understand. it's pointless, though, isn't it? he won't. he'll just keep fighting her. so she gets up too, releasing her grip on him, turning away, a hand coming up to her face.
stupid. this was stupid.]
Re: action
[the broken look on her face doesn't hurt him, like it should, but it does stop him long enough for more words to fight out of teeth that want to trap them inside]
Ya wanna fight the goddamn Underground? Ya wanna fight the fucking Below? Surprise of the fuckin' year, you ain't the only one. But you? Ain't lost a single goddamn thing to it. You ain't lost your voice or your eye or your fucking family. Fuck you for thinkin' you got a single goddamn say in whether I try ta get anything back, fucking rip that place to shreds, or get ripped ta shreds my fucking self.
[another drag on the cigarette, short and deep, making embers flare, and he drops the stub to the pavement, grinding it under his sneaker like he usually grinds her concern]
If ya wanna help, if you're so goddamn set on it, crack open the Landlord's head for me, an' get me the fuck outta here, an' away from shithead hypocrites like you.
Re: action
(can she? really?)
carol has never been good at knowing when to run away, or knowing how, but right now she wants to. she doesn't know what else to do.]
Fine.
[there's no heat to it anymore. every tense muscle slumps, and she starts to walk away.]
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