middaeg | It begins here in the silence [closed]

[ In comparison, they both look like different people than just a few days ago.

He sets the medallion down beside him for now. In truth, it's a relief to see Waver again and doing so well in comparison. The limp is his fault and that fact makes his chest tighten. There's a lot that happened that he doesn't want to talk about or address. He doesn't even comment on the tears in the turnskin's eyes; that feels unnecessarily cruel.

Berserker manages a faint smile despite the discomfort that rises in him. His own safety is never a thought in his mind -- that's why he ended up hurt before this nightmare happened. It's a problem now that he has a mortal body and people that care about him. ]

You did promise...I'm impressed. [ And grateful, though that part is much harder to say. He places his hand on top of Waver's and gives it a gentle squeeze. ] ...I can survive almost anything. Don't worry about my safety.

[ Even if his safety was not ensured in that hellhole. ]

Edited (formatting...) 2020-01-23 02:30 (UTC)

I already told you. Merely surviving isn't the goal.

...but I understand. I won't scold you.

[ Uncomfortably, slowly, Waver lifts his head to take a better look at Berserker's bandaged body. He looks better, of course, but that's relative. The damage was so... thorough.

Waver swallows hard, feeling his throat starting to constrict. Deep breaths. His hand squeezes Berserker's again. ]

H-how are your... wings? Can you move?

[ He keeps a firm, but not painful hold on Waver's hand. Reassurance through touch is still a fairly new thing to him, but he's trying. Berserker spreads his wings slowly and with significant effort. It hurts and the damage is visible in scar tissue along the membranes and outer edges where they had been so badly torn. ]

I've been told not to fly...not yet. [ His wings fold back down against his bandaged back. The rest of the damage done to his back is covered and out of sight, though he knows it isn't out of mind for Waver, he's sure. ] It will take more time for them to be fully healed...I should be able to fly again eventually.

[ The positive feedback from Berserker and the gentle pressure are soothing, help in Waver's efforts to calm himself. This isn't something he can ignore or run from. Berserker certainly doesn't have that luxury.

He exhales slowly and admits, very quietly: ]

I'm so... relieved to hear that. Th-that it's not permanent.

If there's anything I can do...

[ he trails off lamely, knowing already that Berserker will probably just refuse. knowing it's mostly to soothe his own conscience, and there's something sick about that too. ]

I don't need the help. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can do.

[ Berserker's expression softens for a moment. He's being a bit too harsh right now and he knows it. ]

...But your company is fine for now.

[ He has his own shameful acts to deal with. ]

That bite I gave you is giving you trouble, isn't it?

[ Waver was favoring the leg Berserker had bitten, that much he recognized. He had no way of knowing what his poison was capable of in doses as high as the one he gave Waver, especially not from a direct bite. ]

[ It is harsh-- but Waver was expecting that. Berserker is right, after all. Waver even manages not to flinch.

He opens his mouth, about to ask if Berserker prefers to be alone instead, and what the dragon says next does surprise Waver a bit. Maybe it shouldn't have. It sparks a pang in his chest, deep and aching, relief mixed with guilt. It'll go away, eventually. Waver nods. ]

All right. Then I'll stay.

[ As for Berserker's observation... Waver bites his lip, looking away. There's no point in lying. ]

...a bit. It's just healing slowly. It'll be fine.

...You hid the reason it's healing that way, didn't you?

[ Or at least the concealed the fact he knew whose poison it was. If that's the case (which he's sure it is), he appreciates it more than Waver knows. Berserker couldn't take someone prodding him to give a sample of his poison; the trauma from experimentation and torture was far, far too fresh for that.

He puts his free hand over the necklace he set aside and his expression darkens. It's something they need to talk about, but it's not a pleasant topic. Berserker takes a deep breath and slowly exhales it. ]

There's something else you should know.

I didn't tell them where the venom came from, if that's what you're asking. I didn't want to cause more trouble for you...

[ Waver looks down at his leg uncertainly. The bandage is hidden under pajama pants right now and he's been given pain-relieving herbs, but-- ]

But it's resisting magical healing. It doesn't make sense that there'd be any venom still in my system, though. Just... it's fine. I'll figure it out.

[ After what he did to Berserker, he can hardly complain. Waver doesn't blame him for defending himself. ]

Just thought you should know, I guess. For... future reference, or something.

[ Waver's gaze follows Berserker's movement. It's only then that he notices the medallion. Berserker will be able to feel his fingers tighten, shoulders stiffening. His heart drops so fast it makes him lightheaded. ]

...Ciarán. [ urgently, leaning forward, voice tight. ] What happened?

...Thank you.

[ Berserker had been suffering from the effects of his broken Bond with Geralt; without the connection and presence of his other Bonded, the emptiness and depression were heightened while they were kidnapped. It had made the experience even more brutal. He picks up the necklace, which has a large, rune-engraved fang on it in addition to the wolf pendant -- the gift he'd given Geralt after they Bonded. ]

Geralt is gone. I felt our Bond break the day we were kidnapped...I kept it to myself until now.

Wh-what do you mean gone?

[ Waver's voice cracks, the shock apparent on his face as realization slowly starts to set in. He's been lucky enough not to feel the breaking of a Bond -- and he never wants to -- but he's heard what it's supposed to be like. Going through that with everything else going on must have been... truly hell.

He pulls back, shaking his head. ]

Do you know if--? Is he... [ dead. ]

...I'm sorry.

[ His body tenses as he grimaces. That's about the reaction he'd been expecting. A sharp pain twists in his chest. He'd been trying so hard not to think about any of his Bonds during their captivity because it was simply easier that way; Geralt's sudden absence made that task much, much harder. The painful ache was only just now starting to fade and now it flares up again. It's better that Waver find out from him and find out now than to be surprised by it later.

Berserker ignores the tears that have started stinging his eyes. His emotions are too strong for him to control them. Waver is safe to be vulnerable around. ]

I don't know...I just know I was left this necklace and the skull from a shade he killed. And I can't feel him anymore. There's nothing there but emptiness.

[ He can't look at Waver. The tears freely fall down his cheeks now which only makes him frustrated. His hands tremble just slightly as he speaks again, quieter to avoid the quaver that wants to break into his voice. ]

That's why I tried so hard to protect you from their cruelty...Not for me nor Diarmuid, but for Geralt. And I failed at that.

[ Even at the worst of it, when they'd been locked in that wretched hole of pain and despair together, Waver hadn't seen Berserker cry like this. Not with this quiet, heartbroken sadness, the way he can't even meet his eyes as the tears fall helplessly, unable to stop.

Waver's own heart breaks for him, even as it starts to sink in for him too.

Geralt... is gone. His reliable presence and down to earth steadiness, the occasional wry humor, his quiet support. Gone.

Blinking hard, Waver tries to stop his own tears without much success.

He'd wanted to tell Geralt how his training had helped so much, how he'd fought his way out and how he'd never have been able to do it without Geralt's help. He'd hoped--

But Geralt is gone. And Berserker is here. ]

...no.

[ Waver shakes his head, tear-stained but earnest, placing both hands over Berserker's holding his. ]

You didn't fail at anything. I'm here. You're here. Stop blaming yourself for what a bunch of over-privileged psychopaths decided to do out of hatred and fear.

Geralt would say the same thing. I'm sure of it.

[ Waver's right and he knows it, but it doesn't take away the sting of what he feels. A part of him wonders how differently things would have gone for him if he hadn't lost a Bond; he likely would've gone feral in self-defense and been worse off for it. It's a pointless thought exercise that only serves to make the ache in his chest that much worse. Berserker doesn't have the means to deal with what he's feeling nor express it properly.

He stares down at Waver's hands, still ignoring his tears. There is a lot of hurt between them in their shared trauma. Instead of saying anything, Berserker pulls him into a sudden hug, pressing his face into his neck. Words are useless in the face of action.

His tears continue to fall silently as his body trembles. This is the first time he's allowed himself to feel anything about the loss of his Bond and what he experienced at the hands of their tormentors. The dam finally broke and Waver is the one to witness it. He hates how weak he feels -- he should have been stronger and let this pass instead of letting it out.

Berserker backs off after a moment. He puts his hands on Waver's shoulders and looks him in the eye. His face is tear-streaked and reddened, but there is determination in his gaze. ]

...I will continue to protect you. I can't teach you like he did, but I will protect you to the best of my ability. I promise you that.

[ Waver meets his eyes, just as tired and tear-streaked; ears down, shoulders slumped, he looks very small, and very sad. ]

Please... stop.

Berserker-- Ciarán, you don't have to push yourself to protect me out of some sort of obligation.

It's not your fault. It won't be your fault if I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time again. Don't beat yourself up like this. Don't make yourself responsible for me.

How do you think that makes me feel? Being a burden to you like that?

I don't need protection.

I just want you to be--

[ His voice catches. Waver blinks fast, trying to stem the rush of fresh tears that threaten, eyes brimming and shining in the low light filtering through the drawn curtains. ]

I just want things to go... back to normal. You don't need to do anything else.

[ He feels so useless and helpless. His instincts scream at him that he needs to protect Waver because he's important not only to him but those closest to him, and yet...he can't. And he's being told not to. It's intensely frustrating to be stuck in this position. It's not like Berserker to just relent, but he doesn't want to put Waver in a similar position, one he also doesn't want to be in. He doesn't view that duty as a burden, rather something he chooses to take on.

Berserker lets go of him and settles back on his bed. Shame is all he feels now. He's ashamed for breaking apart in front of Waver and ashamed for making the promise he thought would help. So he says nothing and just lets the shame burn his chest. He can't even bring himself to look Waver in the eye any longer.

He focuses his attention on the medallion in his hand. ]

You're not a burden, [ he says weakly and without much conviction. The shame that burns inside of him is too strong for him to overcome. ] But if it bothers you that much...so be it.

[ He doesn't raise his head. ]

... You can leave when you like.

[ That... is not the reaction he'd been expecting. Or would have ever hoped for.

It's the so be it that strikes him like a knife-blow in the gut, tearing all the air out of his lungs. His heart sinks, plummets, at the look in Berserker's eyes just before he turns his face away. The space between them feels so cold suddenly, as Berserker's hand retreats and he pulls in on himself, away from Waver, clutching Geralt's medallion like a lifeline in a storm. ]

No--!

[ It's blurry. The world is blurry, Berserker is blurry, and Waver blinks and realizes he's crying again. Silent tears that slide over his cheeks, making new tracks in the wake of the old ones. He's cried so much, it feels he should have dried up by now, become a shriveled shell and blown away like dust. The emptiness hurts more than the wounds. ]

Ciarán... [ Waver reaches out, trying to touch his wrist again with a bandaged, shaking hand. ]

Cú. [ It's what he knows Diarmuid calls him. And Flat. Maybe it's too familiar. Maybe he shouldn't, but it slips out, soft and earnest and almost a sob. ]

It doesn't bother me... you idiot...

I don't want to leave.

I just- I just don't want--

[ This time it is a sob. The guilt is crushing, squeezing the air from his blood, leaving him lightheaded and weak and leaning forward onto the edge of the bed, shaking his head so his hair sticks to his tear-stained cheeks. ]

I don't want you to get hurt again! Because of me!

[ Berserker doesn't pull away, letting Waver grab his bandaged wrist. It's odd to hear his more familiar name, the one from his True Name, coming from Waver. It doesn't bother him, though, and it actually makes him lift his head. His own tears stopped by now, though the sorrow and shame hadn't left him. He's taken aback a little bit by the sudden force of his admission.

It hadn't occurred to him that Waver felt guilty about what he did. Why it didn't is beyond him. Of course Waver would blame himself...Berserker didn't blame him. He wasn't in control of himself when it happened and had no way of being in control then. His expression turns suddenly serious as he stares at Waver. ]

... That wasn't your fault. [ The conviction is back in his voice suddenly, strength returning to it as he remembers how absolutely livid that terrible situation had made him. ] That was the fault of the pieces of shit that drugged you and no one else.

[ Berserker sits back down and fiddles with the medallion. The passion in his voice is gone, replaced with quiet resentment. ]

It was their fault...All of this is their fault.

Edited (sorry for all the edits!!) 2020-01-31 05:58 (UTC)

[ Waver doesn't look up, though he can feel Berserker's eyes on him. He scrubs at his tear-stained face with the clean bandages on his wrists and the heels of his palms, his breathing loud and ragged, hiccuping as he tries to get it back under control. ]

That's true... so then, by that logic, you can't blame yourself either. And it's not your fault, or anyone's but the people who actually did all those horrible things, but--

[ But it happened. They both got hurt. They'd both been used against one another in such awful ways, and Waver still feels sick with himself for what he did, even if it had been forced. It will take time to get past that. Just as he's sure it will take time for Berserker to stop blaming himself for perceived weakness. ]

This is what they wanted. To make us doubt and hurt each other to keep everyone under their control. They want you to feel weak. But you're not. Don't let it get to you...

O-or try. At least, try not to. And I'll try too.

[ Waver slides off the chair and onto the edge of his bed slowly, carefully, giving Berserker time to stop him if he wants. Berserker is large, filling up most of the infirmary cot, but Waver doesn't need that much room. ]

I don't want to leave... Is it okay if I stay? At least until Diarmuid comes back...

[ He doesn't respond to Waver's reasoning, at least not verbally, just giving a weak nod. Waver is right: this is exactly what they wanted. A sick feeling settles into the pit of his stomach that makes his expression darken. It's not a pleasant thought knowing he played right into their hands. Even if things had gone differently, if he'd been stronger or if he hadn't lost a Bond, something worse may have happened. A feral dragon was a dangerous thing and extremely easy to use against others. He tries not to think about worse possibilities than what already occurred; there was no sense in upsetting himself further.

Berseerker scoots over in the bed to give Waver enough room. He'd managed a nap cuddled up to Flat in this bed already and Waver's about the same size. ]

...You can stay, I don't mind.

[ It's better than being alone with his thoughts and his shame. ]

[ And even shorter than Flat! So he can be tiny curled up, it'll be fine!

Waver is very careful when climbing onto the side of Berserker's bed, making sure not to jostle him and minding both of their injuries. He hates being in the infirmary, and he's sure Berserker's not having a great time of it, either-- but there's not much they can do. He just wants some sense of normalcy restored, some reassurance that they'll be okay, not just physically but also their relationship as friends and... more, in a way. They don't have a Bond officially, but having mutual Bonded and people so close to both of them has helped build a very close bond of the unofficial variety. The cracks in that trust aren't either of their faults, but they are there now. Trust that needs to be rebuilt, even if it wasn't intentionally broken. ]

...thanks.

[ Waver waits for him to settle before curling up against Berserker's side. The guilt still weighs heavily on his chest; it will take time to fade, no matter what Berserker says. It will take time to trust himself completely, after he'd been made to doubt his own reality and control of himself so often and so much. That's been the hardest part: the physical wounds will heal, but those gaps in his memory when he knows he was forced into a feral state and weaponized against his fellow prisoners, those won't go away. It won't help to know what fills them, either. He just has to learn to accept it wasn't his fault and let it go. Someday. ]

[ Berserker, too, will someday need to accept the fact that nothing was the fault of his weakness. It's unlikely that day will ever come and he will always blame himself for being too weak to resist, too weak to defend himself, and too weak to protect anyone. That guilt gnaws at him painfully as Waver curls up against him. If things had turned out differently, maybe if he hadn't lost a Bond, he would've been nothing more than a feral beast left in that cell, lashing out at everyone and everything in his pain and anger to be free. It's equally painful to think about that option...

He ignores it, though, and slips an arm around the turnskin. This is familiar and it's actually happening. Geralt's necklace is still clutched in his free hand, the pendant held close to his chest as he lets his eyes close. Maybe...some rest would be okay right now. It's better than being awake and his body will heal faster. A little rest until Diarmuid returns is alright. Maybe the nightmares won't plague him this time, the way they didn't when he napped with Flat.

He could hope, at least, that everything would be alright. It would never be the same again, but maybe it will be okay eventually. And that would be fine. ]

It begins here in the silence [closed]

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