deercountry | o5 . bone house mingle!

[It's late. Probably past 1 A.M. or so. The kids when to bed awhile ago, still recovering from being pulled from the ocean to regain their form or just... all the shit they've been dealing with. It's been a lot to say the least.

Suddenly loud thud upstairs, just outside the dining hall and then... nothing else. If the kids were causing mischief then it's never limited to a single incident. It's a series to cacophony of loud banging, depending on what's happening and who is the instigator.

If Jod goes to investigate, he'll find Kaworu collapsed on the ground, just outside of his room and in-front of the stairs. He's sweaty, like he's got a fever, the back of his pajamas is sticking to the back of his shirt. There's puddle of salt water in the corner.]

[ The convenient thing about being God— even here, getting smacked down by bigger squid every other day— is that one generally doesn't need to walk upstairs to investigate a mysterious thump. He has a peripheral awareness of every body in the household. When he bothers to shift his attention, he can get a sense of how dire a situation is.

Dire is a big word for a kid who isn't actively dying, but he can parse the flutter of distressed breathing, the contractions of an unhappy digestive system— the hallmarks of somebody puking and being miserable. Downstairs, God rises from the chair in his study.

A skeleton clatters along upstairs to clean the saltwater. Behind it, walking slow and calm, is God. ]

Still queasy?

[ He comes to a stop beside the curled-up little body on the floor, and there he crouches to touch a gentle hand to Kaworu's shoulder. ]

[The boy's eyes (and ~~eyes~~) slowly drag from looking at the floor to up at God as though the effort is greatly costly.

It's hard to remember how to move them properly. Hard to remember to move his body within a single space within a single plane of existence. It's not only his stomach but his entire existence is unsettled and havering. He once had a thousand eyes and a thousand bodies and moved them across thousands of places and times all at once. Now he's collapsed to a single point and pulled upwards out of the crushing depth. (Those weren't his eyes. That wasn't his soul.)

He manages a weak nod.]

[ This he considers very seriously. He weighs his options. The likelihood of getting saltwater all down his front; the likelihood of something vast and angry rearing up to the surface.

But that's the opposite of their problem just now, isn't it? Kaworu's got his soul in crooked. He is like a shuddering newborn revenant in a body that doesn't quite fit. It should fit: it's his body.

... except it isn't, is it. And maybe it wouldn't hurt to pin everything together a little more firmly, til Kaworu's soul figures out for itself what and where it's meant to be. ]

Come and sit with me a while, then. Til it passes.

[ Without invitation or question, he scoops the boy up.

This is not difficult to do. The process is a little awkward, all the same. He fits a steady hand against the boy's shoulder, crouches, tucks his other arm behind skinny knees. When he stands, the movement tucks Kaworu to his chest. This will probably invite more saltwater spew down his shirtfront, but they'll get there when they get there.

With his touch comes the first gentle press of power to soul. The thing which forced Kaworu down was dark and crushing as the sea; God is vast and blinding-bright as the sky. He nudges Kaworu's soul back towards the position he figures it should hold, just so.

It may hurt. It may help. There's rarely one without the other. ]

[Kaworu accepts the physical touch without a fight, allowing Jod to easily pick him up and slump against his chest like an exhausted child. Which he is, really.

However, at the gentle nudge to his soul, Kaworu's entire body goes rigid and then arches as the gentle touch caused him pain. His soul doesn't know what to do with its position. It doesn't know how bring life to this body anymore. It's like it's forgotten and now it has so much weight to carry and God's brightness is like staring into the sun.

There's a gag and some saltwater spews on both of their shirts before he manages to turn his head and eject the rest of it onto the floor. There's too much to actually have been inside his body and it certainly would have killed him anyway. Something, or a remnant of something, is trying to use this body as a vessel.]

[ Ah. Well. Yeah, there's the saltwater.

It would be funny if he were squeamish, right? He isn't. But the fact that it's saltwater still feels a little personal, and it makes his skin fucking crawl. ]

That's alright. Let it out.

[ He thinks he accepts it with good humor, getting puked on. He thinks he doesn't telegraph just how unnerved he is by the thing, the shadow of something vast, that still obscures this boy like a partial eclipse.

Anyway, he stops touching the kid's soul. Better to put him somewhere with a bucket, first. ]

Let's go downstairs.

[ It's not very elegant, trying to carry a whole scrawny teenager down a flight of stairs, but it's less of a mess than rattling his soul around til he might be able to follow on foot. John will count his blessings, and leave the skeleton to keep mopping. ]

[He should say something. There's something that P̴̨͑a̴̗͐u̷̬͐ľ̴ͅ ̷̌ͅ or the Ò̵̧̧͛̈́̀͗l̵̠̆̔͆̃̚͘͝d̶̛̯̠͙͋̌ ̵͓̦͖̘͌M̶̢͙͉̳̳̹̼̓̽͗͋̅̏̑a̵̼̿̈́̈́̿̄͒̊̉n̷͕̗̬͕̬̓̓̋͘would have explained that you say to someone after you pseudo-vomit on them but he can't seem to remember the words. Or make his mouth form words.

All he can do is groan softly in relief when uncomfortable sensation of his soul being adjusted is removed. He curls inwards, closer to the person holding him, even though this person is little more than a stranger to him. It's nice to be held when you're suffering and it's nice to have a little hope that someone might help you.]

[ It's truly amazing that a kid can be so pathetic and so unsettling at the same time. You'd think he's collecting them.

Kaworu curls in close to his chest, and God shifts to keep this ungaingly tangle of teenager in his arms all the way down the stairs. He talks gentle nonsense as they go. God says things like, My own fault for stepping into the splash zone, and I didn't think the place needed redecorating that badly, and, Better out than in, eh.

The house is quiet, this time of night. They don't even pass Paul drifting around like a creepy wayward jellyfish, all blue light and that weird not-there prickle on skin. God simply shoulder-checks the door to his study open, and goes to set Kaworu down on the threadbare sofa. ]

There. Bit of company for us both.

[The words wash over him, not really processed, but grounding all the same. Usually, he relies on Paul to ground him, leading him around the house and gently giving direction. It helps. He can remember where he is when someone is there with him, speaking to him.

When God deposits him on the couch, he looks around the unfamiliar space, blinking curiously. He still doesn't understand why this man is looking after him. Did Paul ask him to? Where is Paul?

He tries to sit up to ask these questions but all he can mumble out is:]

Why...?

If you're going to flood the house, might as well keep it to one room. I should tidy in here anyway.

[ This he says mildly enough, even as God steps back and examines their surroundings. Upon consideration, he goes and picks up a few stacks of notebook paper left on the table before Kaworu; these he shuffles off to a desk across the room. He nods to himself. ]

I think I have a fix in mind, but it could get messy. Wait here a moment.

[ Without preamble or apparent concern, he turns and leaves for the kitchen. Kaworu is left alone in the cluttered little study, every surface scattered with papers or vials of blood or odd-colored bits of stone.

When God returns, it's with a chipped mug of tea, a glass of water, and a rust-edged little rubbish bin from some forgotten corner of the mansion. The tea he sets on his desk, the water on Kaworu's table, and the bin he sets politely beside the sofa. ]

Right. Let's have a look at your monster problem.

[For the time that he's alone, Kaworu just curls up into a ball, trembling, trying to create as many points of contact on his body to himself as possible. He won't lose himself if he can remember where he is, what his body is, what it's like to be there.

When God returns, Kaworu glances up at him, eyes pained and desperate. He forces himself to sit up, even though the motion makes him gag up seawater into the smartly placed bin.

The monster problem is a soul struggling to exist in the body it was placed in. The Leviathan submerged it so deeply that it's struggling to adjust being back on the surface. And the dregs of the beast threaten to pull it down further if he can't fight.

(And even more the part of the boy's soul that's fighting to surface is just a fragment of his entire soul. There's something beneath the surface.]

[ So. This might be a tricky operation.

The thing trying to occupy this body is vast and unknowable, which is a fun twist, because the thing which should be occupying the body— this second one being Kaworu— is also vast and unknowable, but in a more carefully-restrained way. It's like he's looking at the tip of an iceberg, a little bit comforting white snow above a lot bit horrible eldritch glacier; and then there's another, fully-fucked-up glacier trying to press it out of the way. The situation is more slippery than he'd like, and he doesn't know what might happen if he changes the water line.

He doesn't know what will look out of Kaworu's eyes if he loosens the leash.

But he is God, and he invented soul-pinning. Maybe he can't pry the Leviathan away, but he can at least fix Kaworu nearer the top; he can stabilize things, lessen the slippage. Maybe it won't hold forever, with the gravity of the Leviathan still exerting its pull. But it'd make for fewer hallway floods, probably. ]

Let's give this a try.

[ He reaches out, palm-up, in offer. Kaworu has struggled up to sitting, so Kaworu can make the choice to take his hand.

When he does, God will fix his soul in place and hold it there, in the grip of blazing power. If they're lucky, it should— in time— start to feel like solid ground. If they're lucky, the pain won't last. ]

[A shaking hand, clammy and cold, is placed into God's. And there's an explosion of pain. It's not physical, Kaworu is used to that sort of pain, but in the depths of his being. Like someone is touching and holding the sacred parts of him to keep his head above the water but it hurts. It painful to surface, to live, to be after so long of not doing so.

The boy makes a pained noise and ducks down, heaving up impossible amounts of sea water into the bin, hand clasping God's like a lifeline.

And then it's over, he sits there, gasping for breath but he can remember and feel that he is breathing. He looks up, a little wide-eyed, at the man who pulled him back from the depths.]

[ The piece of Kaworu that he wants, the piece that's boy and not monster, writhes and goes brittle— and then he steadies, settles, begins to even out. God holds his hand through it all.

The bin threatens to run over with seawater, which is a problem for the hardwood floors. They'll get to that later. The house has, evidently, seen worse.

When Kaworu looks up, with the dazed and rumpled look of someone realizing the scope of just how fucked they'd been, God quirks a tired little smile at him. ]

Feeling better?

[Kaworu opens his mouth to respond but there's a final gag of saltwater into the bin before he manages words. He feels terrible, quite frankly, like he's had the stomach flu even though he's never had it but somehow, even this terrible weakness and nausea is better than the alternative. At least he knows he's here, in this room, and in this body.

He shakily reaches up to wipe his mouth on his sleeve.]

How did I get here? Where is here? What happened?

[ God should, at some point, change out of his soaked shirt. (The smell of brine still makes his skin prickle every time he catches it; it's been so long.) For now he is resigned to the situation, and drops back into his chair. ]

You've been ill. This is my study, which is, I hope, a bit more comfortable than the hall.

How did I get here...? Where's Paul?

[Kaworu trembles a little, pulling knees to his chest as he looks around the room. His memories are fragmented, broken into pieces that he has to put back together. The battle on the beach feels far away. He remembers seeing Paul there, yelling out his name and then it's darkness and pressure. Even the last few days are extremely hazy.]

[ He splays his hands in the universal signal of easy, don't freak out. ]

Upstairs and asleep, I hope. He's been in a state, too. The both of you came through that fight a little worse for wear.

I brought you back here to heal.

[There's a flourish as Kaworu intends to stand, determined to find Paul, only to collapse back down onto the couch with trembling legs. He's much improved but still recovering, like the weakness at the end of a fever.

He shivers, oblivious to how meak he looks.]

Why? [Did you take us.] What happened?

[ He watches the stumble and fall, and tips his head in resignation. ]

Let's take it slow. There's nowhere you need to be but here. Like I said, Paul is asleep, and he could use the rest.

[ It sounds nice, anyway. ]

It's not a kidnapping. You and Paul needed somewhere safe to recover, and I had the space. Harrow and Gideon are here, too.

[He hiccups and wipes his mouth, eyes glancing up towards the stairs, longing to check on Paul and make sure he's okay. Make sure that he's not angry with him. But for once, Kaworu can't really blame him if he was.

A sigh and he curls up on himself, wrapping his arms around skinny knees.]

So. Did we win? Did Paul... die too?

[ The kid curls up, and he settles back in his chair in response. At least this might save them another embarrassing sprawl on the floor, for a bit. ]

Yes to both.

[ He says it low and gentle. ]

Paul went down a little after you, I figure. He got it right in the heart... but he didn't walk away. The beast fell not long after that.

But death is gentle, here. We just wake back up again... as though it were a dream.

[When he hears those words, he wonders if that's how it felt when Shinji crushed him effortlessly between the fingers of his Evangelion. The truth is, he doesn't remember any pain. Perhaps it was too quick or perhaps his mind spared him the memories.

But now there's an overwhelming weight that comes crashing down on him. It breaks his bones and smashes his flesh into bits. Was it his fault? Did he make that thing stronger? Make Paul weaker? He remembers calling the other boy's name in an unfinished apology.

Kaworu makes a low, pained noise and curls in on himself, pressing his knees to his chest and burying his face into the soft fabric of his pajama pants.]

[ The kid curls in on himself in a truly pathetic, miserable huddle. The silence hangs for a long and terrible moment. Then John rises, quietly, before him. He reaches out, and smooths a hand across the boy's shoulder.

There is no lurch or steadying pain, this time: it's just a touch. ]

Easy. The fight's done, and Paul is here alive. The recovery won't be instant... for him or for you. But I am impressed with the both of you.

o5 . bone house mingle!

Early March; Kaworu.

The Soul Bends

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