#it’s difficult to imagine myself growing old when I’ve struggled with suicidal ideation and I can’t have any sort of model or example

[buysomecheese]

I <3 older trans people I wish I could know more in real life

[writeanapocalae]

Falling Apart part 1

Just some random pre steseb thing I thought up. I don’t know where it’s going yet though. Warnings for: body horror, suicidal ideation, alcohol/ism, and gore (and probably abuse though that will be more apparent in part 2)

He knew that someone was following him. It had been blocks since he’d felt it and the giant eye in the sky wasn’t helping things. The massive camera lens, wrapped in tendrils had been following his every move since he’d left the Theatre, left that so called artist to bleed out on the tiled floor. He had expected the eye to fade, it’s lids to close as it sank away, but it hadn’t. The attention of its spotlight had also attracted all manor of things.

But that wasn’t what was bothering him now. No, he knew that there was someone following him. A person, not a monster. A monster would have caught up with him for now. He would have killed it. He was sure they were there, in the quieter moments he could even hear the click of soft heels against the cement. He would act like he didn’t know, would take his gun and suddenly turn, but no one would be there. It was starting to make him think that he was going crazy.

--He’d spent so much time, thinking that he was insane. He didn’t know, what was the difference between this reality and another? Whenever he closed his eyes he expected the world to change. He had seen him, Leslie, so many times, but he never responded when Sebastian called out to him. He was always just too far away. Whenever he reached him in a crowd he was gone. Everyone knew something was wrong with him. He’d been let go. They’d let him go. The therapists weren’t helping. --

He took a turn. There weren’t any monsters around, he’d cleared them all out, a few times, but now they seemed to be very few and far between. He thought that he could hear a camera priming, but he turned into an alley. A few more blocks and he’d be at the safe house. He had a lot of supplies but none of them were in the right form. He had to get them all ready. And then he could meet up with Sykes and find some way out of here.

–Two years. He had spent two years looking for Mobius. They didn’t exist. They were a ghost story. Every time he thought he was getting closer something turned him around or he saw someone that he was certain couldn’t be real. He thought he saw the dead and the living but missing but then they’d be gone too. He couldn’t trust his eyes. He couldn’t trust his instincts. But Mobius was out there and he never wanted them to find him again.--

A bottle rolled down the alley, down the street, passed him. It was clumsy. It must have been a mile that he’d been followed and that was clumsy. He pretended that he didn’t notice. He was good at that. It kept people out from trying to break into his thoughts. He was almost out to the other side of the alley before he acted.

He swung around, he arm strong and clutching, hand grabbing the lapels of a purple jacket and pinning it, and it’s wearer, to the wall. He was holding a dead man under his arm, one who was gasping, eye lolling in surprise, applying a bit of pressure to his throat.

–They thought he was dangerous. They didn’t know how right they were. People would come up to him, asking for change, and he’d have them pinned to a wall, a knife to their throat. He’d never carried a knife before. Now it felt like necessity. After a few times, after too many homeless kids rushed off in terror from his mistaken instincts, he’d forced himself to leave it at home. He was dangerous.--

Stefano was breathing, chest heaving, and he was alive. He looked good, all things considering, His skin back to how it was before he’d had the aperture attack Sebastian, it was clean and clear. The look in his eye was still manic, but that was on account of how Sebastian had taken him by surprise, not from a need for blood. His hands were on Sebastian’s arm, trying to free himself. That was good, meant he couldn’t go for his knife or that blasted knife.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian snarled. “How are you even alive?”

Stefano whined, unable to do much else with how constricted his airway was.

“You’re dead! I killed you myself!” Sebastian was sure of it. He was. He wasn’t so sure now.

--His eyes lied to him. How many times had he seen Myra drive by the station? His apartment, looking at him from within a car he didn’t know, in clothes he didn’t recognize? How many times had he seen her on the street. He couldn’t trust his own eyes.--

He kept talking, kept asking questions, and with each one he was more frustrated, more angry. Stefano wasn’t answering any of them. He couldn’t pinned as he was, face growing red from blood, lack of oxygen, a desire to answer any one of Sebastian’s demands. The man was shaking against him. Good. Sebastian wasn’t one to get off on having power over someone, but over Stefano, he didn’t mind. The man had been a thorn in his side, had taken his daughter, had made everything far more difficult than it had any right to be. He was allowed to suffer a bit.

He was gaping like a fish though, his eye wandering, latching onto something else. That wouldn’t do. Sebastian let up a bit, let him suck in a deep breath and then slammed him against the wall, harder this time, hearing his skull crack against the brick. There was blood on his jacket, old and dried from their last meeting, and now new blood was joining it.

“Pay attention to me!” Sebastian grit his teeth. He’d never been this angry before.

--Rage filled him, like a fresh bottle of whiskey and the only way to get rid of it was to empty it one way or the other. Get in a fight, lose spectacularly so that he could only limp his way back to his dingy little apartment and finally drink himself to sleep or sleep at the bar, nursing a bottle until it was as devoid of fluid as he was of emotion. He was barred from as many bars as he had nights that he couldn’t remember.--

Then Stefano was grabbing him, expertly, considering how inebriated on oxygen deprivation e was, and spun them, twisting and shoving Sebastian against the wall. Sebastian almost struggled, but then he saw what Stefano had seen, what he was staring at.

She was moaning and gasping and shuddering, right on top of them. Sebastian was going for a gun, any gun, and Stefano was there, in the way, as if he knew how fast she was, how quick she was. There was no time. That terrible gray thing was vomiting, acid pouring out of her, almost onto Sebastian. Stefano was there though, shoving himself between the pair of them and he screamed, the sound ear splitting, his voice wrecked and scarring and horrific, more a shriek than a scream. The acid was pouring down his back, burning away his clothes so fast that it was like he wasn’t wearing any at all, and then burning into him, eating his skin.

It smelled foul. It smelled foul before it made contact but now, with the small of burning flesh added to it, all Stefano’s organs and bones becoming visible before being eaten away, melting down his side, onto the alley floor beside them, it was just too much. It was only adrenaline, a need to take the shot, that kept Sebastian from vomiting.

He shot the thing in the head and it burst. The spilling of acid was done immediately, she was rearing back, stiffening and falling to her side. Stefano was falling, gripping onto Sebastian, fumbling, collapsing, the acid having already burned through so much, continuing to burn deeper. He couldn’t scream, not anymore. It took too much energy. It took too much strength. He was hurting too much for that.

Sebastian fell with him, watching as his face tried to make sense of what was happening to his body. He dug through his supplies. He still had a couple of syringes and he reached out, shoving the needle into something that looked like it might still be skin.

--So many nights that he had stayed awake, far too late, just thinking about the things that he had done or hadn’t done. He didn’t know anymore if they had ever happened. All of those things with Joseph, trying to help him, only to end in him dying, right in front of him, falling to the ground at their comrades gunshot. He wondered if there had been a point to it at all. He wondered if he’d wasted his time, his energy, and his very few supplies, on a man destined to die all the same.--

Stefano grabbed him harder, pushed away enough to vomit onto the ground, before shuddering and shaking. Sebastian could see parts of his spine now. The burning had stopped, at least, but the damage wasn’t repairing. He wasn’t getting better. He was hiccuping and sobbing, dying, even with the mystery fluid in his system. He was clutching onto Sebastian.

“Please,” came out of him as a hiss, as a plea. Sebastian didn’t take him for a begging sort. Still, his body was a mess and he couldn’t imagine the amount of pain that he was in.

He took out the other syringe. His last syringe. He pushed it in, right next to the other one and injected him. Now, finally, he started to see the tissues grow back, the burns start to fade. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t instantaneous like it had been for Sebastian. It was taking a long time and Stefano was sobbing and clutching onto him all the while, whimpering, begging. Sebastian didn’t know what it was that he wanted though. It was just that word, ‘Please’, over and over again.

--He’d curled in on himself, begging himself to get it over with. There was no point. Everything hurt. Everything always hurt. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make the pain go away. He was a coward though or he was brave, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to end it.--

He wasn’t going to kill Stefano, he found himself realizing, as much as he hated the man, as much as he didn’t want the man to live before this. He wrapped his arm around the remains of Stefano’s back, his other arm going under Stefano’s legs, and he picked him up, cradling him close to his body.

“It’s okay,” he lied and then promised, “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.

Stefano sniffled and cried against him, gripping him, holding onto his harness.

A few blocks, that’s all it was. They were almost there. He thought he’d killed everything out here. He couldn’t believe that there was still something like that out here.

--He’d wrapped Myra in his arms. She’d been shot and all of a sudden there were all of these terrifying thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to lose her. It wasn’t because it was his fault that she’d been shot, being too cocky and too dumb to listen. It was because he hadn’t realized that she was more than just his partner. The EMTs couldn’t get to them, didn’t know where they were. He had to carry her, out of the building, down the stairs, and she was so strong but she still cried and he was crying too.--

He kicked the door open to the room and carried Stefano in, laying him down on one of the many tables, knocking papers out of his way as he did so. Stefano immediately tightened in on himself, whimpered, and tried again. His back was only about half way back to how it had been, halfway back to being an actual human body. Blood and puss was dribbling out of him, his flesh like a squeezed sponge. It didn’t know how to repair itself from such a state.

Sebastian went to the coffee maker, glad to see it was, a least, ready, and poured a cup. He brought it back over to the table, grabbed Stefano by the shoulder and helped him sit up, somewhat, even though it made his wince and sob and choke on the sound of it. His face was soaking wet, his hair clinging to his skin. There was blood from his hidden eye and tears from the one that remained and mucous and saliva and sweat. He was a mess.

“Come on, I need you to drink this,” Sebastian brought the cup up to Stefano’s lips.

The man shuddered in response. When he spoke it was all broken, shakey as he was, shivering. “I came. Toyou. Cause. Cazzo. Cazzo. Thought you’d. Killme. Faster.”

It took Sebastian a moment to understand what he was saying and then he was worried, more worried than before. Watching Stefano die was worrisome, especially with how slow it was acting like it would be. Now though, knowing that Stefano had come to him to die, that that was what the please must have been, his mind was racing. Something else was out there to kill him and it was going to take it’s time with him.

“Drink this.” He nudged the cup against Stefano’s lip. “I’ll kill you later, after I get some information first.”

Stefano spasmed and shook. “You’re going. to. Torture me? No need. Per favore. I’d tell. you. Anyway.”

“No. You’re going to drink this and then we’re going to talk, that’s all.”

Finally Stefano opened his mouth and allowed Sebastian to pour the coffee into his mouth. He could hardly swallow and Sebastian had to use his other hand to stroke the man’s throat, force the fluid down it. He sputtered and gagged but the coffee all went down into him soon enough. He closed his eye and leaned on Sebastian’s shoulder.

“That coffee. Is torture.”

Sebastian chuckled and put a hand on Stefano’s back, helping him lean against him at the same time that he checked his back. It was healing faster now, but still not as fast as it did for Sebastian. He could see the blood soaking into all of the papers beneath him, the ones that didn’t scatter upon Stefano being deposited onto the table.

--Joseph had been so patient. He let Sebastian do what he needed to, let him vomit, let him cry, let him sleep, and he was always quick to be there, to help Sebastian clean up, to help him get ready for work. There were so many nights in which he just sat there and let Sebastian lean against him, tell him the same stories again and again. Joseph was hurting too. He never knew. He didn’t care to know.--

“You’re a mess,” Sebastian mentioned, trying to lighten the mood. He ran his hand through Stefano’s hair, fluffing it. At any other time he would expect to get a knife in his side for that but Stefano just pouted and hid his face in Sebastian’s neck. His hair was softer than Sebastian had expected it to be.

“And who’s fault is that?” he whined. “You wouldn’t let me warn you.”

“I wouldn’t have trusted you if I had,” Sebastian admitted, “I would have assumed you just wanted me to turn around to stab me.”

“I came to warn you and this is the thanks I get.”

“You were sneaking around.”

“I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”

Another check on his back and the muscles were growing back in angry red lines, like taffy being pulled. It looked painful but Stefano wasn’t complaining about it. He had gone mostly silent, other than when he was talking. The crying had stopped, as had the sniffling.

Sebastian pulled away from him and Stefano tilted his head. Rubbing against Sebastian had freed his hair from his face and it now stuck up oddly, but there was still enough of it for Stefano to cover his face with. The rest of him was hidden by the angle he stayed at.

“What did you need to make your mind up about?”

--he’d never had patience, not like Joseph. He could ask witnesses questions, he could get them what they needed to be comfortable enough to trust him, but when it came to suspects he was just as likely to boil over. He’d only hit a suspect once, some cagey kid who smiled whenever Sebastian asked a question she knew would sentence her. He’d been suspended a week for that. He learned to walk away, be a scary kind of bad cop. Joseph always had more patience.--

“You,” Stefano gestured at him, the first time he’d moved his hand since he’d become paralyzed by pain. “Him. He was the one who sent me to you, he wants you for some reason.”

Sebastian put his hand on Stefano’s cheek, trying to tilt his head so that he could see his expression. Stefano just slapped his hand away.

“Him again. You mean Theodore?”

Stefano shuddered again but this time it was from something other than fear.

“Why won’t you say his name?”

Stefano shook his head. “Look, he wants you, wants to make some sort of deal with you. I have told you before, he can reward you with things you never thought imaginable, and he wants to offer such things to you. He sent me out to deliver the message, that his door is open for you, to talk, alone. I think he’s ready to replace me.”

Sebastian remembered what Theodore had said, how he’d referred to Stefano.

@chibi--raiden @angelicsociopath @detectivesebcas @lokis-queen-hepta-the-destroyer @ruvikkin-art @samofgallifrey27 @sebcastellanyes