deercountry | Mostly Closed Catch-all for November

Entry tags:

Mostly Closed Catch-all for November

Who: Lance (

azurestar) and CR
What: Catch-all for November, after this
When: All of November
Where: Prufrock, Cellar Door, Crenshaw

Content Warnings: discussion of death, murder, trauma/ptsd, psychosis, past torture

( ooc: this is a catchall for Lance this November after his conflict with Reaper and then Maul, though I am trying to keep my new threads this month limited in number, if you have CR with Lance already you are welcome to come plot something with me here or on plurk at

spypigeon and we can start something here in this log or I may ask to wait till next month while I get his inbox more caught up and under control if I've already got too much going on, either way I'm happy to plot always! )

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[Reaper took the glare without even a flinch. Lance wouldn't be the first or the last person to glare at him, and he had learned a long time ago to let it roll off his back.]

I don't care much for death. Besides, that's not the first time you've blown me up.

[He gestured to the beams above them. He knew that getting Lance on task was the only hope for getting them to feel productive.]

Do you have supplies to get this started? Or should I start with Wraith to assist? With no thumbs, he's going to be a poor producer.

[Lance's jaw works and clenches at the reminder of the last time he blew up. He'd been the one to die that time, though. It struck a terrifying chord with him in how he feels about his powers, himself, and Reaper. The fact that the man scares him that much, that when he was just the right amount of vulnerable, he exploded from his own ability… it terrified him more. An added layer of fear of himself on top of the fear of the psychological power Reaper had over him just by his mere presence.]

…That time was different.

[He hugs his elbows, wincing a little at the action, and then looks around at the area. He's having trouble focusing, his fingers twitch on his arm in an agitated way and his eyes flicker to different points of focus that only he can see. Ghosts and shadows. He's so tired. But he answers in a tight, mumbled and reluctant voice.]

It's all by the cart on the street.

[Reaper was more than aware that Lance suffered from a very strong case of PTSD, yet the kid was relatively functional under most circumstances. He also was keenly aware of what someone living with a sense of fear and dread and anxiety looked like. It might not have been his job, but he had made certain to spend at least a portion of leave time visiting soldiers who had suffered from similar conditions back States-side.]

And yet, it's very much relevant to who you've become. You were emotionally broken before I ever came on scene, and I don't see that improving any time soon.

[He turned to look down on the ground where the cart in question was. He glanced up at Wraith then shrugged and stepped off of the beam to fall the distance to the ground. He landed heavily, sending up some snow around him before he was moving to explore the cart's contents. He picked out the raw materials and connections to be used. Beams were set to his shoulder, tools and nails in a bag in a hand and he took a run and jumped the distance back up to the beam.]

Let's get a start, since that's why you're here. Busy hands stabilize a wandering mind.

[For the second time in this interaction, Lance flares with intense energy as he whips his head around to look at Reaper. There's fear and hate there and an immense amount of dread and fierce denial.]

You don't know anything.

[But he knows Reaper is right on one thing: he was definitely broken long before Reaper got his hands on him. But he doesn't see why that matters, how it's relevant to anything. The rest… the rest is his greatest fears vocalized, everything his shadows whisper and laugh at him over and keeps him from sleeping basically every night. Then he continues glaring as Reaper goes to assess the materials.]

And I was doing just fine on my own.

Don't let your hatred and fear of me blind you from what I am saying. The truth for one's enemies can open doors for actual solutions.

[If he pushed Lance, maybe the kid would untwist enough to go and find help with friends and allies alike. One of the best parts of these encounters was that there were low stakes. The back and forth was typical, and he knew Lance would always hate him. So be it.

He tossed Lance hammer, and a bag of large nails, some brackets and a few other tools.]

And you're doing just fine with my assistance. Let's go. These repairs won't make themselves happen.

[Lance's omen catches the hammer in his teeth for him since Lance is busy simmering with something.]

Ugh, shut up you asshole! I don't hate you! [He blurts out in frustration. And then his mouth forms a tight line that turns into a frown as he looks away and clenches his teeth against the tears that suddenly want to come. His voice tremors as he speaks again.] You don't know anything… about how I feel. Or who I am or if I'm… if I'm gonna be broken forever. You don't know any of that, so just shut. Up.

[He's not sure if he really doesn't hate Reaper. At the very least, he would say that hate is far too simple of a word to describe how he feels. It's confusing and painful. He certainly doesn't have good feelings about him, but hate probably isn't right. Otherwise, why would he have just said so… what's in his heart might feel a bit like hate, but also not quite. It's an emotion he's never had before and has no name for. Or it's many conflicting emotions at once that he struggles to pull apart.]

I know more about how you feel than you realize. [Reaper had been there in the beginning, dragging or holding dying comrades in a vain attempt for help. He'd stared at ally's corpses, people he knew by name, had eaten and joked with. He'd stepped over them, carried them to the back of a truck to be sent home, watched them be mutilated by heavy machinery or artillery fire.] You won't be broken forever. You'll find a way to live with the breaks and cope. But it will change you.

[He was lifting a wooden beam up, shouldering it until he could use his hands to get it into position. He looked at Lance, and a part of him saw a younger version of himself, a hotshot with good skills that had seen too much, done too much, pushed too far. But there was no stopping. One foot in front of the other.]

Time to hammer. Physical work focuses the mind.

[The thing is, he has always suspected Reaper understood, and now with his empathic power, he knows it. And it's something that's always frightened him because he doesn't want to be like this man. But this man who caused him so much pain is... possibly the only person who has come and said things to him that he actually needs to hear, that actually help and resonate. Idealists and friends who have given him advice recently and over the years have said pretty words about how he gets to decide who he wants to be and that the past is in the past, that it'll destroy him if he doesn't let it go. And each time he's felt like he was fumbling to figure out how to apply that to himself, how to live it, and he's been left feeling hollow, lost and inadequate.

And many of his memories of the time he completely broke after killing Allura are spotty and confused, but he knows it was Reaper there, and he knows it was Reaper who found him when he was a baby, and he knows by now that both he and Moira saw something in him that was... familiar. He's conflicted and he's tired. His omen hands him the hammer and he grasps it without thinking with his most injured hand and it fumbles to the ground and his omen immediately goes to retrieve it for him. A pause, and then he starts to really feel how messed up he is physically. It's not been that long since the fight, and yet...]

I'm... not healing. And... [He doesn't know why he admits it. His emotional state reached a certain point and he feels like his very core broke under the pressure of his fear and his exhaustion and confusion and slightly shifted perspectives in a way. He reached a point where he couldn't deny that he was getting certain feelings and having needs he didn't realize he had met by this bastard.] Actually I... I'm pretty sure you're the only person who really... understands me. And I hate it.

[He punctuates that with hammering a nail down. If he sounds utterly petrified, but too tired to keep fighting it... it's because he is. It sounds like he's resigned to the fact that he's lost a painful war, more pain is on the horizon and he can't figure out if he has any real control over his fate.]

[Despite all of his gusto and keenness on reputation, Reaper knew that he was a broken man. There were parts of him that had come apart and been put back together again over and over, and he had learned very specific coping mechanisms. He had seen the worst of humanity through the war, through the peacetime and through the collapse of Overwatch. He had also seen the best with family, the birth of his son, the friends that he had made - then almost all of them lost - and the constant striving for a sense of peace with his allies.

He knew that to be broken and repair wasn't the worst thing. Nothing would be sunshine and roses except in short periods, but the scars of old traumas would remain. They didn't have to be present or on the mind all the time, but they remained a baggage that would shape a person's character and responses to future events. He had no time for rose-coloured glasses. Sometimes it was comforting to know things weren't okay and get on with it.

He was good at reading body language, but he was also very good at understanding subtle changes in the air around people. Because Lance toed a line a little too close for comfort sometimes, he could tell that maybe, just maybe, they had reached an iota of understanding with one another. The admittance didn't hurt.]

You will. It's okay to take time to rest and heal, you know. Read a book, sleep, eat something, stare into space. [That would work both physically and mentally. But Lance would heal. He didn't think the kid was so bad as to need intervention.] Better to have someone who understands and hate them then suffer alone. I'm proof things break and there's still a life on the other side.

[He didn't move, stoic in his stance holding up the beam. Lance could take the hammer to him, and he'd probably let the kid at this point.] But you will heal, Lance. The damage to you will scar up, and you won't be able to always do and experience things the same way, but you'll go on.

[He sighed through his nose.] Hate me all you want, but if you need to talk or yell or hit something, all you need to do is find me.

[He's shaking so hard with this shift not just in the conversation, but in himself. In the way he let go of the fight just enough to own at least one of the many things he's afraid of deep down. And to Reaper of all people. And as Reaper speaks up again, he lets out a rough and bitter breath, because of course using himself as proof that there's life on the other side isn't exactly encouraging to him.

If he ignores that part then the rest is fine. But of course, it sticks out and he sits there tense and silent, grappling with his mind, with the way it keeps flashing back every time he tries to dig deep and overcome. Hugging himself and hunching over, he tries to just breathe through it, and it comes out shallow and ragged. Then he finds words.]

Your life on the other side isn't what I want… I already told you I don't want to be you. [His voice is scratchy sounding, like he's got a dry throat or has been sobbing. But he's just trying to keep a grip on himself and his injuries are not helping either. And with all of that, his hostility has lessened. Not disappeared, but lessened. And taking up that space is fear and exhaustion.] And I meant I'm literally not healing.

[Hands still shaking, he goes to pull off one of his gloves, and it's hard with how unsteady he is. But this is something he can focus on that's more tangible than the torrent of everything else that's more existential. When he gets his left glove off, it reveals a bandage soaked in red around the meat of his hand with a little bit of black.]

M-maybe I shouldn't be out here. But it's like you said… it focuses the mind. [He shakes his head, internally already denying the idea that it's because he's pushing himself, he'd considered that.] Something's wrong. My… my old wounds are opening up too. I dunno that any laying and staring into space is gonna help.

[A shuddered breath is let out and he lets his hand fall to his lap as he finally gets to the rest of what Reaper said. He visibly struggles internally with his conflicted and pained emotions, shaking all over. When he manages to find his voice, it's unsteady and there's a frog caught in his throat.] And… I dunno what to say to all that because I hate your guts.

Edited 2022-01-31 07:36 (UTC)

You will never be me. We are alike, but our lives have vastly different tracks and experiences. But you will have a life on the other side. [For one, Reaper had considerable more life experience than Lance. He knew the kid had been involved in a war, though he cared little for the semantics of it. He doubted that Lance had been part of a peace effort that was just a guise for another war from the shadows.

His eyes drop to the hand that was exposed, and it warranted very little sympathy from him. People fought situations wounded all the time.] You will heal. You might be wounded and pushing the limitations of your body, but you're still brimming with life. [That was one thing Reaper could do, especially this close to a person. His degrading cells would always be seeking the next life source and assess its potential for theft.

He considered the fact that old wounds were opening. That wasn't normal, no matter how much life Lance was brimming with.] Are your abilities tearing you apart from inside? Or is potentially a sign of corruption or blood going bad?

[He could have offered to bring his medical scanner out, but he knew for a fact that Moira had taken a liking to Lance. Some of his early actions against Lance had definitely had her exasperated with him, and he wasn't certain how Lance would react to knowing he had a machine that sounded just like her, insults and all.]

Don't say anything then. Your hate will continue, and that's fine. All you have to know is the option is there for you.

[Of all the things Reaper has said to him in this conversation, that probably holds the most comfort. Maybe it's not the most insightful or perspective shifting of words, (the award for that goes to his telling him in not so many words that killing him was what he needed to do to reclaim control), but certainly the most soothing. Of course, given their complex history and relationship, soothing from Reaper is like the difference between using a cheese grater or low grit sandpaper as a washcloth.

And due to that fact, he doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. But the shift in the air and his body language is significant. His shoulders relax more, and his head hangs lower as the tension that has had him so coiled reduces. And his expression doesn't shift too much or is very easy to see, but he looks closer to tears, the kind of good cathartic tears… that he is stubbornly going to hold in, especially in front of this guy.

And it's a good thing that he doesn't really care for sympathy, especially not from Reaper. There's a part of him that just wants to talk to him about it for some reason exactly because he knows Reaper isn't going to give him that worried look and treat him like glass. He has been hiding it from everyone since the incident and he's tired of carrying it silently without knowing what it is. Does this mean part of him slightly trusts Reaper now? Maybe… in some strange, distorted sort of way. It's so complicated and confusing, he doesn't want to spare the energy to think too hard on it right now.]

…I dunno. Both maybe… [He lets out a shuddered breath.] Moira gave me these powers… not on purpose, but… she'd know. Probably. Or Pidge might, but she'd worry too much.

[Where is he even going with this? He doesn't know exactly. It just feels like something he needs to talk about, maybe because he knows enough by now about Reaper's connection to the person who gave him his abilities and that he's not gonna worry about it, that it feels weirdly like a safe subject right now. Or maybe he will worry about it, what does he know anymore? At the very least, he won't show it.]

I know you don't care… I guess that's why I'm telling you. And my powers work fine, I can probably blow you up again right now if I wanted, it would just really… hurt. Like a lot. [Just, slipping in there that he's not admitting weakness. The idea that Reaper thinks he's an easy target right now does not help at all, fills him with intense fear he'd conquered when he killed him. With that out of the way, he sniffs and reaches into his coat with his good hand to pull out a roll of bandages. His voice takes on a scathing sarcasm.]

So as much as I really wanna yell at and hit you, it's not worth how much it would hurt. Unless you try to torture me again, anyway. Then all bets are off.

[When it came to being given powers, Reaper knew more than his fair share about that. He had undergone genetic manipulation on multiple occasions, the first time thanks to his own government and all the others by Moira's own hand. He understood that there was so much they didn't know about genetic tampering and its affect on generating weird and frightening powers.

He shifted his weight, resting the beam where it wouldn't just fall on their heads until it was fully secured. He kept one hand on it at all times as a 'just in case'.] Moira has a habit of giving powers, but often they take time to develop and can be overwhelming as they manifest them. However, the influences with blood magic don't always play nice with genetic tampering.

[Reaper snorted softly when Lance threatened him, taking it is stride. The idea of being blown up again didn't actually bother him, and he already had contingency plans in place should he and Lance ever throw down. For one, he probably wouldn't keep a distance and he'd be working on head-shots only to put the kid down quickly. He doubted it would come to that point.]

There's no need for threats. I've experienced what you're capable of. [He hadn't come here pushing to help Lance with repairs because he wanted a fight.] You can save the yelling and hitting me for when you can actually heal again.

[He chuckled softly.] I think my very presence is torturous enough. [Then he gestured with a hand.] I can bandage you.

[Lance tears off a piece of the bandage to clean off the still leaking blood. His jaw visibly clenches and he lights his other hand up with heat, wincing as he does, to see if that'll do anything when he places it on the wound. Of course it doesn't because he's resistant to his own powers and to all heat, cauterizing just isn't an option anymore.

As he does this, he's listening to Reaper talk about powers gotten by Moira… which has him pausing and tensing.] …She gave you yours.

[It's barely a question and his voice is even more guarded than it has been as he says it. More things they have in common, the opposite of what he wants. Everything he's afraid of. However, at the same time… it makes Reaper possibly the only person here right now who can really help him understand his own. Something he is not going to voice… or even pursue. It would have to be extremely dire if he ever did that. A voice in his ear laughs that it's long past that point.

He shakes his head free of that voice. Or tries… they never leave him completely, they fade in and out but have been increasing as his corruption has increased. Then he lets out a 'psh' sound at all the rest of what Reaper says, choosing to ignore what feels to him like patronizing bullshit about the lack of need for threats. It makes him feel better being around him, and he needs every little bit of security he can scrabble together.]

Well there's one thing we agree on. [He grumbles with a hash snarl to the edge of his tone. Then looks at Reaper like he just suggested they hug… even though he's really struggling with this bandage because everything hurts.] What? No! The hell makes you think I want your presence closer to me? You just said it was torture.

Edited 2022-02-27 04:21 (UTC)

[Reaper shrugged his shoulders lightly to Lance's not-question. It was clear that Moira was involved to anyone that knew of their close friendship with one another. She had dedicated much of her days in Talon researching methods to stabilize his form or to at least decrease the amount of agony that he lived in on a daily basis from having a body that was in a flux like his had been.]

She built on what was already there. [Because genetically tampering a person once was desperation of the military; genetically tampering with them twice was just pushing the boundaries of science for personal reasons. He hadn't been ready to die back then, and now he just plain couldn't die apparently. So, they had both gotten what they wanted, right?

Reaper stepped in closer and above on the rafter, Wraith walked along overhead. The peacock was watching the proceedings carefully, ready to intervene to take on the other Omen as he closed the distance on Lance.

He held out a hand for the bandage material, calm and assured.] And you're a tortured soul, hijo. On some level you can't explain, I think you like it because it's comfortable since it happens so often. [He stopped just within touching distance.] Let me bandage you. Then I promise to leave.

[It's a slight distinction that separates them, so it doesn't make him feel better on the subject, but it's an improvement. He knows Moira was kind more than a little morally gray and did questionable things. But she was genuinely trying to help him, he knew that much… he can only assume she was trying to help Reaper too. With what, he doesn't know and he'll never admit to being curious about it or ask.

Once again, he glares at Reaper when he calls him hijo, it's just one more thing that reminds him how much he really can't trust him fully. Even if their relationship is in that weird gray place and the man has filled some need he didn't know he had that nobody else did before now. He watches him closely and his coyote does the same to his peacock.]

I think you're describing yourself, pendejo. I don't like being tortured.

[His fear response is kicking in as Reaper comes closer, heart rate picking up and breath coming a bit shorter. The slow approach helps but it's clear Lance is fiercely against him coming closer at all. But he's also against him even being here. There is a big noticeable difference, though. In the past he'd be panicking and starting to glow and sometimes get even hostile. This time, he's clearly anxious and triggered, but the glow is faint and the hostility is more of a warning glare.

That promise to leave is enticing, but he loathes that Reaper is making it a tit for tat… even if the exchange is letting him help him. He doesn't want it, he doesn't want any of these conflicted feelings, this man has hurt him so much and continues to by ignoring his boundaries. But… if he has to put aside his pride for a moment to get this to end, to get another moment of peace…

He snarls and then scoffs, his head turning to look sharply away and down, every part of him coiled tight like a wounded animal ready to strike at any second. His omen stands on the beam nearby with the same energy, watching closely with its ethereal spirit wings out and ready to flap whereas normally they aren't even visible.] …Fine.

And yet you continually put yourself in situations where you are tortured on some level, don't you? If not physically, you definitely do it to yourself emotionally.

[He waited to see if Lance would go nuclear as he drew closer, keenly aware that they were in a populated area and that would go south real quick. He suppose that he should set up a parameter and usher the people away, but quite frankly, if Lance went nuclear, they probably couldn't get clear anyway. Leave them be.

He watched the conflict, aware that it had to be a delicious internal struggle. It went against the grain of their relationship, which always seemed to border on hostile no matter the conversation or distance between them.

Wraith remained calm and certain, just like Reaper. His omen walked along the beam with the same steps as he made, but the peacock was staring at Lance's omen instead, spurs clicking against the wood with each step. If anything, Wraith's form became more smoky at the edges and denser in the middle.

Slowly, Reaper reached out to take the roll of gauze and stopped once he was at an appropriate distance to bandage Lance's open injuries.] Let's have a look, shall we? The faster this is done, the faster we separate. Isn't that a good thing, yes?

[Lance growls at him for that, his powers flaring like some kind of wild ocean creature's dominance display.] Keep saying shit like that if you wanna get roasted.

[But even as he says it there's a wobble in his voice and demeanor. He's at war with the part of himself that has started to come to terms with the reality of what's happened to him, and the part that it weak to this sort of gaslighting. The part that still needs to believe he had control enough to be to blame for everything that's happened to him and that he's done to other people when pushed by dark forces.

His jaw clenches and he's coiled tense as Reaper approaches that glow still threatening and definitely hurting him further, but he doesn't go nuclear. When Reaper is close enough to take the gauze, his non-injured hand is in a tight fist against his thigh and he tries to not let his injured hand shake, but it's not happening. His jaw is visibly clenched and he scoffs through his clenched teeth at Reaper's commentary.]

Just get it over with.

[When Reaper goes to examine his hand, he will find what is probably a very familiar bite wound. It's leaking red blood that has light absorbing dark streaked in it. If he dares to push the edges of Lance's flesh apart to get a better look (which won't get a good reaction) he'll find what looks like a dark nebula under the skin, the beginnings of Lance's slowly increasing corruption.]

Promises, promises...

[Reaper might have come on with a soft confidence of someone who planned on delivering what he had planned on doing to the best of his ability and thus he would be more helpful than antagonistic, but he knew Lance was teetering on the edge a bit. He watched and knew he could go to smoke before anything too nuclear happened to him. That was the benefit of being him.

With the gauze roll in hand, he leaned down slightly to examine the wound. It wasn't the best light, but it wasn't as if he was going to offer to suture anything either. He just let Lance get used to him being there, making a soft humming sound as if he were considering their options on wound care.

He did note the strangeness beneath Lance's skin, but again, the light wasn't the best to determine if it was a trick or some show of Lance's power. Eventually, he moved his hands so he could begin to wrap the old bite wound with the gauze. Even he liked to say that he had done a good job, tying it off and tucking the tail into a lower layer of the gauze.]

Flex your hand and let's see if it moves much.

[He is fine, totally fine. Well, definitely the opposite of fine, but he's handling the proximity well enough. The anger helps, the resentment that this was the deal he has to stomach to get just maybe a day of peace from him. He knows Reaper sometimes watches him, even just finding out by chance once or twice was enough to reason it happens more than he's directly aware.

So he resents that he'll have to make this deal and then wonder if he's really being left alone. And he resents how long Reaper is taking to figure out how to treat his hand, he resents how carefully he finally does it. By the end he's still glowing and shaking with all of those feelings, but he resolves to say nothing. Just powers through.

He does as asked, flexes his hand, even if he feels like it's completely unnecessary and Reaper is just stalling to test him. It doesn't move, and he grits his teeth against the twinge of pain and then pulls his hand to his chest as he grinds out a response.]

It's fine. You can go now.

[Distantly, he's mildly surprised Reaper didn't mention anything about how his boyfriend likes to bite. And also… resentfully grateful.]

[Joints were the worst for bandaging, what with all the potential for slipping. It was a balancing act of having the bandage snug enough to be effective and keep from falling and loose enough to not trap all the blood there and cause swelling. It seemed that he had, so far, hit the right balance. Time would tell with use if his assumption on the matter was correct.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of Lance, aware that the kid was barely holding it together, but he'd give credit that Lance did actually not just blow up. Look, the kid was learning some real valuable time in the realm of self control.

He chuckled at the dismissal, making certain to shrug his shoulders. He stepped away with a flare of his coat.] As we agreed, yes. Don't push yourself too far while I'm gone, alright? Otherwise, someone might come to check on you.

[Maybe he'd call on someone to check on Lance while he looked on from a distance. However, a deal was a deal, and he stepped off the beam that they had been working on and fell to the ground below. He landed far more softly for someone of his size should and didn't even look back.

Wraith lingered for longer, bobbing that head before giving a sonorous war cry and taking to the wing to follow after him.]

[Lance tenses and despite the flare of heat around him, a chill enters him and makes him feel sick at those parting words. He stares silently and hard at Reaper's back as he leaves feeling torn and sick and adrift. It takes him a while to get back to work in any kind of real efficient way. Eventually, he retreats from the work site to find a place he hopes is safe and secluded: the shores by the sea caves.]

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Mostly Closed Catch-all for November

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