#but srs plz reply or reblog or ask me ideas for this kinda thing

[bakageta]

I think I'm gonna post Blue Beetle stuff here first and not worry about things like editing and coming up with a summary and thinking up a title. I'm running off vibes right now and don't wanna wait.

This is totally inspired by @wazzappp's anatomy post. I already wanted to do something about why it took (relatively) longer for Jaime's back to heal and that post just gave me more to write about. I wanna write more too! So throw body horror ideas at me plz!!!!

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After the wake and the funeral and the burial and the mourning, after everything calmed down and everyone had a chance to breathe, Jaime looked at the scarab on his back again.

It wasn’t the first time he’d showered since everything, of course, but it was the first time he’d been able to focus on his thoughts instead of quietly disassociating until he was clean. Now he was appreciating the amenities in the hotel suite Jenny’d set the Reyes family up in while their home was repaired. There was a rainfall shower head. The toilet had an actual bidet that had sprayed Rudy’s ass the first time he’d taken a shit.

As always Khaji was ticking away in the back of his head, reassuringly present in a way Jaime didn’t want to look too closely at yet. It didn’t say anything though.

“Soap won’t bother you, right?” He hadn’t scrubbed himself down in a week or so. Partly because he’d been busy and then distracted, but also because just the shampoo running down his back during the first shower after it all had burned at the raw edges between his skin and Khaji Da.

Correct. We are fully healed now.

“Bien.” He squeezed the last of the sample sized hotel soap onto a washcloth and reached over his shoulder to start scrubbing. The scarab between his shoulder blades is anchored firmly, he can feel its legs under his muscles. 

That wasn’t a surprise. Jaime had felt every moment of Khaji burrowing up his spine and digging a home in his back. What was new was the strange… straps? the straps crossed above his shoulders and under his arms beneath his skin. They came from the scarab, where its front and back legs would be like, like it was some kind of awful fucking backpack.

“Khaji?” Jaime dropped the washcloth and shifted so he was able to trace up his spine. The three knots of alien tissue that Khaji had left like breadcrumbs also had straps running below his skin. Bending forward, Jaime realized he was able to feel where the straps anchored and the dips in his back where nothing had changed. “What am I feeling Khaji?”

The anchors for my carapace and sensory nodes. It hesitated, something it had only started doing after, as it started to learn when and when not to elaborate. They secure me and reduce the risk of damage or dislodgement. The growth of new tissue is why your back took so long to heal. Our efforts were split: your body prioritized your epidermis and my systems prioritized my security.

Sure. That made sense. Self preservation was a thing for alien symbiotes. The odd tug Jaime’d felt moving around was the growth of Khaji’s anchors and not muscle soreness like he’d assumed. Or maybe Khaji’s anchors counted as muscles. Wonderful. It also answered a question he’d never thought to ask: why his back had looked so bad for so long while cuts and scrapes healed in minutes. Great.

The hotel probably didn’t let guests on the roof.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t get there.

Jaime waited until after his shower, after Millagro took over the bathroom, after he hugged Mama and Nana, and after he swore up and down to Rudy that he wasn’t gonna fly off, to go to the roof. He made his way up the stairs, shorted out the electronic lock with a subtle lick of blue energy, and laid down on the flat gravel and tar paper roof. Like this he could feel Khaji and its nodes digging into his back alongside larger chunks of stone, foreign objects embedded in his body.

The sky was clear, but this close to Palmera, the stars might as well be invisible except for the most bright. Still enough to ground Jaime, to make him feel a part of life when everything was too much. A jet flew overhead, beacon flashing against the night. Jaime wondered if it was coming or going. 

Flight DL1332 is on approach to Palmera International, Khaji intoned.

“Huh. How d’you figure?” Jaime folded his hands behind his head to cushion it. 

After a moment the itching growth of the blue beetle’s carapace spread across the backs of his hands and arms. It stopped short of the full thickness armor Khaji was capable of, only forming the tough black underlayer.

They are communicating using radio frequencies. It is not difficult to interpret.

“Cool.”

Would you like to listen?

Jaime sighed. “Sure.”

Static faded into Jaime’s ears, interrupted regularly by steady trailing voices. It was calming. Like listening to another language, even though the pilots and controllers were still speaking English.