cacophonish | COME SAIL AWAY: IC INBOX

[ he types, deletes, hyperventilates, types, deletes, has a cry, then sends three messages in succession: ]

im awake

are you in your room

i dont want to be alone

im home come here please. door ajar.

He blacked out. He lost time. There's texts on his phone, conversations he can't recall, spanning days he doesn't remember, and he can't remember anything beyond some overwhelming feeling of nothingness, which is a total fucking contradiction, right? How can you feel nothing, and experience it, and remember it, as a concept in its own right, instead of as the absence of something else?

He woke up in an outfit he's never seen before, a tattered suit jacket over a skeleton shirt, and it feels so wrong, he has to peel it off before he can even see Bash. He shoves it under the couch and sifts through a pile of clothes that must've come from the Spirit Halloween, before all the unfamiliarity is too overwhelming, and he reaches for the nearest things that spark any recognition. Cozy Tommy Bahama pajama pants, and a sweatshirt he'd cut up into a crop top and drew all over in markers a couple days ago.

(Weeks ago, he realizes.)

He doesn't bother to wipe the tears from his face, and he probably looks like a fucking mess, anyway, having cried so much he felt like he was gonna puke. He just drifts in the direction of Bash's room, moving with a dazed sort of purpose, like a ghost going through the motions of a half-remembered life.

If Bash is still in his bed, that's where Jeff will head, to curl up beside him with a desperate need for warmth and contact. He doesn't say anything yet, because if he opens his mouth, he's not sure he'll be able to hold it together, to get through a single goddamn word without bawling.

He has no idea what happened. Again. It's a terrible, familiar fucking nightmare.

Bash is sitting on the bed until Jeff joins him, and then he's clinging desperately, tightly. It's clear that whatever happened, Bash is aware of it and Jeff's been missed--but was there any doubt that he'd know, he'd always know, from the moment someone else opened Jeff's mouth?

"Thank the gods you're back. Thank every god and titan you're back. Oh, fuckin' hell, love, you're not allowed to scare me like that ever again. Ever-ever-ever."

It feels like the greatest relief to hold Bash, and be held, and to know, to have it confirmed, that he exists. As long as Bash's arms are around him, he can't float off into nothingness again. Jeff nods against him, opens his mouth to say something, but only manages a pitiful, hiccuping sob at first. It takes him a few moments before he can finally speak.

"I'm-- I was gone, and I don't-- I don't remember--" There's too much he's trying to say, and he can't stop tripping over his words, and fuck, it's hard to stop, but he needs to take a breath. Just. Breathe.

He sniffs, and in a small voice, he finally asks, "What happened?"

He's already dreading the answer.

Edited 2022-10-30 17:19 (UTC)

"It wasn't Ziggy, in case you worried about that. The ghosts on the ship started possessing people. Passengers from a previous voyage. Guy riding you was a real asshole, but he wasn't you, couldn't fake being you. He did...a lot of shit. They all did. Last night, Halloween party, they mounted a coordinated attack. Had to be killed, in order to free everyone. So, you're waking up from being dead."

That's perhaps not the most thorough highlight reel in the world, but he can answer questions from here. You know, while he combs his fingers through Jeff's hair and peppers his forehead with kisses and just...tangles into him in that comfortable way that they fit together, like one organism with two beating hearts.

"I remember... um... I think-- I think Sharky..." Fuck, he's gonna be sick. "Killed me."

His head's a bit too much of a mess to untangle his last memory from what Bash just explained to him just yet. Doesn't realize that he hadn't actually died when Sharky whacked him over the head with his own guitar.

"What did he do when he was... me?"

He doesn't want to know. He doesn't, but he has to.

"Ate a grilled chicken salad, tried to get in my pants, killed Crichton, set Spirit on fire, sent one of the other ghosts against me without actually managing to identify me so he went after Klaus instead, dressed up as my dad for Halloween and tried to kill me."

Beat. "You don't get to feel guilty about any of that, because it was not you, you didn't do any of that shit."

Jeff makes a queasy face at the notion of eating meat, but then it gets so much worse from there. Arson, murder, weird.... Oedipal taunting or something??? Is that what he was wearing when he woke up? Some psychotic Baron Samedi costume?

He doesn't know if he wants to cry or puke.

"But he-- he fucking used me to--" He looks at Bash, fingers curling in the other man's shirt as he clings to him desperately. "Is he okay now? Crichton, I mean, is he--" Oh god. "Even if it wasn't me, it doesn't change what happened. Everyone's gonna have all these fucking... horrible memories of me hurting them."

Wait.

"Who's Klaus?"

Edited 2022-10-30 18:04 (UTC)

"Crichton's okay now, and everyone knows about the possessions so no one. No one is going to blame you for any of it."

He stroke's Jeff's hair back away from his face, balls his hand into a gentle fist. Holding on, holding him together.

"Also, you'll like Klaus, he's adorable and gothy and has pretty eyes. Kinda your type, gotta say."

Normally, he'd smile at that description and be like, note to self, meet Klaus! But there's too much to process, and he's pretty sure if Bash wasn't holding his hair, he'd want to wander right into some horrible, floaty, dissociation just to escape having to think about any of this at all.

"Bash..." He hates that he's even going to ask this, because it's so selfish, and he shouldn't be diving right into self pity when so many people are probably hurting now, but-- "Why me? Why does this keep-- it keeps fucking happening, I can't-- can't keep my head, like I'm just... I dunno."

Not built to be his own person or something.

Edited 2022-10-30 18:14 (UTC)

"This one's absolutely and totally not on you. You were hardly the only person possessed. If someone like my roomie could get taken over...it wasn't anything where you failed to keep him out, you know? They were half-killing people to get into their bodies."

His grip tightens slightly.

"And I missed you every minute you were gone."

If that's what was happening, then that means... That means Sharky wasn't Sharky. Of fucking course, that's why he was suddenly playing the drums like a pro, and Jeff jammed with him for, like, an hour or two and didn't even notice. Sharky was an imposter, and Jeff was too stupid to catch on.

He doesn't say as much, though. That little nugget of self loathing will just stay inside, festering.

"I missed--" he starts, but he can't quite finish it. If he'd had any awareness of the situation, any sense of self or existence while he'd been ejected from his body, yes, of course, he would've missed Bash for every second.

But he didn't.

Jeff's voice breaks, and he practically crumples against the demigod as he admits, "I don't know where I went. It was just-- nothing. I was..."

Nothing.

"I can't go back. I can't. Never. Please, Bash--"

He can't die on this ship again. What if he never returns?

"I know. This place doesn't have an underworld. There's nowhere for souls to get to go. Or...rather. There's a Nothing for souls to get to go. It's wrong, it's unnatural. It's not how it ought to be."

He experienced it. For a much shorter time, but he remembers the Nothing.

It's not like Guinee or Valhalla or Duat, not like the battle field they pulled Elyse Connor's soul out of to speak to the night before Bash found himself in Duplicity. It's wrong, wrong in a way that makes a death demigod's teeth hurt.

"It was even worse than having Ziggy in my head," he murmurs. Jeff sniffs, and finally, wipes his eyes before looking at Bash again, his brows furrowing in concern.

"So... You were okay, right? I mean, I know... some psycho ghost asshole was using me to try to hurt you, but... You made it through okay?"

There's a bit of a pause. He honestly considers lying for a moment.

"I died during the Halloween party. Woke up this morning. But other than that, I'm okay, now. You had a lot longer in the Nothing, you don't need to worry about me, I've got me. And I've got you, alright? I've got you."

His stomach twists at hearing that. But, for the first time, Jeff seems to actually relax a little against Bash. He never doubted Bash would hold him and keep him from drowning, but having that assurance spoken aloud is like... Permission, in a way. He practically goes boneless against Bash, spent from emotional exhaustion.

"I've got you, too," he says softly. Even if he isn't in any state to be anyone's rock right now, it still feels important, and necessary, to say it. "I didn't, um... kill you, did I?" And though he doesn't ask, there are more questions swimming around his head. Who killed me? How did I die?

“One, it was not you, so stop talking like it was. You don’t hold any guilt for his actions. Two, no, it wasn’t the guy riding you who killed me.”

Riding. Bash used to talk about Duplicity riding them, when it wasn’t chemical aphro but just the city taking over, possessing them and making the fuck happen.

Oh, he definitely still feels guilt for what the ghost did while piloting his body. Maybe Jeff isn't responsible for his possessor's actions, but as far as he figures, he's responsible for that thing getting into him in the first place. If he hadn't been so fucking naive...

"Okay." He doesn't sound entirely convinced, but he's not going to argue it. "Do you know anything about him?" He doesn't know if he wants to know, but it seems... better, right? To put a name to whoever was using his body?

"Yeah, some. I thought there was a chance I could talk him out of you. I thought if I was nice enough, maybe he might let you go. Stupid, right? Even had some sympathy for him, after he killed Crichton, because he'd never asked to be on this fucking ship in the first place."

There's room for self-loathing for everyone here!

"That's not-- Kindness isn't stupid." Now it's Jeff's turn to reach for Bash's hair, stroking his fingers through it, seeking sensation and familiarity just as much as he's offering comfort. "I would've tried the same thing. If it was you--" He grimaces at the thought. "I would've tried anything to convince 'em."

Anything short of violence, anyway. He knows he wouldn't have the stomach for it. Maybe it's for the best that he was possessed for this whole nightmare... If it'd been up to Jeff to save anyone, they'd all be fucked.

"His name was Chase. He had magic, but it was more like Quentin's than yours. His taste in music was rancid and he hated having to sing to do things. He's gone now, but he asked me to remember someone who was kind to him, a girl from his voyage who didn't end up possessing no one. He seemed like an asshole, but the self-defensive kind of asshole. He wanted power and freedom. He wanted power to get freedom."

Bash sighs heavily. "So. Yeah."

Bad taste in music, hated having to sing... Does that mean he did use Jeff's magic? How's that even possible without years, years of practice, and learning, and building an understanding with the Gift? How could he even cast a single spell if he couldn't stand the music?

Every question answered just brings a hundred more, and it's hard enough keeping a breakdown at bay as it is. The stretch of nothing in his memory is unsettling, the knowledge that his body was just moving around, doing, saying, casting things he'll never remember makes him want to scream until his throat's raw, and no matter how many answers Bash can give him, it won't be enough.

Jeff's breath hitches, and he reaches for Bash's hand, lacing their fingers together with the faintest squeeze.

"What was her name?"

Fuck Chase, whoever he was. Jeff will process his feelings about the ghost later. But he'll do his part to help Bash fulfill that request and remember the girl, if he can. It's some small kindness to focus on, at least.

But that's the last he'll ask about the past month. He takes another breath, trying to take it slow, and calm.

"Do you... um. Do you still have your sharpies?"

Because right now, he just wants to be with Bash. Exist. Just the two of them, with no homicidal ghosts haunting the room.

Edited 2022-10-31 08:36 (UTC)

"Her name was Kenzi."

He pauses at that last question. Moves to disentangle slightly, a slow smile coming to his lips. "Are you going to undress for me like a good boy, so I can write wherever I want on you?"

Old patterns. Familiar rhythms. They're going to grope for something comfortable. Even as he stands to grab the markers, he finds himself humming quietly.

Edited 2022-10-31 08:43 (UTC)

"Uh huh." Jeff smiles (is this the first time he's smiled since waking up?), a little light coming back to his eyes as he moves to start peeling off his shirt, followed by the pants. "I'd rather wear your words than Tommy Bahama."

This is familiar. This is safe. Comforting. When his body doesn't feel like it's his anymore (just a thing, a meat puppet, an object to take and use and discard--) at least he can hand the reins over to Bash.

He even remembers to fold his clothes neatly, smiling, singing along to Bash's humming. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."

Edited 2022-10-31 08:52 (UTC)

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