Die Another Day [Post-Death Open Post + some closed]

[be_seeing_you]

Who: Number 6 & YOU
What: Waking up from death after a sliiiight miscalculation
Where: Cabin 113 + Other places around the ship, just going about his day like nothing happened
When: The day after the beach party
Warnings: discussion and depictions of death, trauma, grief



That was unpleasant.

Pain is the last thing he remembers. Pain, and the distant sounds of screams. One of the voices may have been his. The black abyss they'd tipped into was akin to being swallowed whole in a nightmare. Fittingly, when you die in a nightmare you wake up. So too, does Number 6 awaken again at exactly 6:00 am the next morning, safe in bed. But not safe from the memory of the black and the way it scraped at his mind like a dull cheese grater.

He lies there a moment reorienting himself. Above him, the sight of his familiar cabin roof is both sickening and a comfort. He's alive. He's... unharmed? Why does that fact make him furious? He'd hoped, foolishly, that if he did meet death out there on the water it would be the kind that lasts. It would free him from the fate of being tied forever to the Eterna. No such luck. But if he's here then... Arthur! And young Steve! They must be just waking up as well.

There's no time to wallow in his failure. If he must continue to live here, then he may as well get on with it. He should go see how his fellows are doing. He thought he saw a group of people lingering on the beach after the last call went out. Were they planning their own escape, or was there something else going on? The only way to find out is to get out of here and go see for himself.

Number 6 can be found all around the ship, going about his day like he didn't just fall off the edge of the map like a chump. And, no, he really doesn't want to talk about it, thanks very much. (So definitely bring it up to him, wink.) He kicks off this brand new day with his usual routine of training on the sport's deck. Does he seem like he's hitting that punching bag just a little harder than is necessary?

After training and then a long shower, he'll go down to Sand Dollars to order himself a coffee (yes, you heard that right) and a cake. Today, apparently, he's making an exception about his no sugar rule. He'll stay there for an hour, reading a book with an aura radiating off him that threatens violence to anyone that approaches. (But when has anyone let that stop them?)

Full of caffeine and sugar, he'll spend the next part of the day pacing the decks and the promenade, feeling the need to just move and keep moving. During that time, he will realize with dismay that he knows neither Arthur nor Steve's cabin numbers, so he will either have to ask someone else or wait to find them on his own. Mostly, he's choosing the latter.

He finished the book Clara gave him this morning over his coffee, so once the pacing gets too tiring, he tries popping back into the library to find something else. All he ends up doing is staring at the titles without hardly reading them. He's not really in the mood.

Eventually, he will drag himself to the Windjammer for an evening meal. And sit alone. As one does when trying to avoid talking to anyone about their first death experience. He's got himself an entire plate of bangers and mash but he's mostly just pushing it around his plate. He just keeps seeing the black. Over and over. How is he going to sleep tonight? He supposes he will cross that bridge when he comes to it. Which won't be until well after midnight this time. He's got some more pacing on the deck to do first.

But he's fine. Really. He's fine. There's no need for anyone to talk to him about this. Ever.

Comments

windjammer

[inhairently]

[ Steve Harrington and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Chapter 1

Steve now believes beyond the shadow of a doubt that he never died back home and this is no kind of afterlife, because he would definitely remember it. To put it bluntly, dying fucking sucks. Death by raft-over-the-edge-of-the-world-into-a-horrific-void really fucking sucks.

He'd awoken that morning in a panic, flailing his way out of bed and onto the floor, certain he was still on the raft and still falling to his excruciating demise. Once reality set in he did the only sensible thing: he crawled back into bed, and he stayed there. All day.

His growling stomach eventually forces him to emerge, hair uncharacteristically disheveled with dark circles under his eyes, and still wearing the same outfit he'd died in. He makes his way to the Windjammer and once he's there he scrounges up a burger with all the trimmings. It's paired with the best-looking french fries he's ever laid eyes on. He doesn't think he can stomach it.

Nevertheless, he goes looking for a seat, and when he spots a familiar face he doesn't wait for an invitation to slide into the empty seat across from him. ]

Hey.

[be_seeing_you]

[Steve has saved him the trouble of looking too hard. Small miracles. He also happens to be one of two people who won't be immediately told to go away today.]

Mr. Harrington. It's good to see you looking well enough.

[What else does one say to a teen you've accidentally helped kill?]

Have you seen Mr. Lester yet today?

[inhairently]

Yeah, you too.

[ He stares at his food, picks at the fries, contemplates dunking one in ketchup and actually eating it, then doesn't. He's absolutely starving but the thought of eating still makes his stomach turn. Something something about going over the edge of the world into an excruciating void messes with your appetite, apparently.

When Smith brings up their unlucky companion, he shakes his head. ]

No, I've been in my room all day. You think he's okay?

[be_seeing_you]

I think he's likely to be in the same condition we are in.

[Whether that is "okay" or not is up for interpretation.]

You should try to eat. Starving yourself won't improve your disposition.

[Says the man pushing mashed potatoes around his plate.]

[inhairently]

Yeah, well, I doubt barfing everywhere will improve any of this — [ He makes a vague, halfhearted gesture to their general surroundings. ] So. You know.

[ Regardless, he does pop a fry in his mouth. It's not terrible.

He's quiet as he chews, then: ]

Are you okay?

[ He doesn't look directly at Smith when he asks, keeps his focus on his plate, but he does cut his eyes up just to see if he looks appropriately okay or not okay, depending on his answer. ]

[be_seeing_you]

[Number 6 commends Steve for trying. And, in solidarity, takes a bite of his own food. He still grimaces as he chews it.]

I am. Or, rather, I will be. I am resilient.

[Steve will see that, while his expression is still grim, it's set with a kind of weathered determination. He has experienced troubling things before. He will survive this too.]

I am also sorry that I was responsible for getting you hurt that way.

[inhairently]

[ Resilient. Steve is too, he thinks, so he'll be okay, too.

The thought makes him feel... better? Maybe? Or that could just be the french fry. That first bite is definitely enough to remind him that he hadn't eaten all day, and nauseous or not, he should put more food in his body.

He's contemplating trying the burger when Smith decides to apologize. Steve snaps his head up to stare at him. The look on his face is somewhere between disbelief and confusion. ]

What? No. Don't — no. Don't act like it's your fault. You didn't force me on the raft, I made you bring me. I'd do it again, too. In a heartbeat.

[be_seeing_you]

[This young man... what is he to do with him? Nothing. Because he's apparently cut off the same cloth as Number 6 himself. Still...]

You don't understand. If I'd told you the entire truth that night, maybe you wouldn't have gone through with it.

[inhairently]

What are you talking about?

[ Smith hadn't appeared to have any inkling that the open ocean was anything but, so Steve can't fathom what he could possibly mean by that. ]

[be_seeing_you]

I told you that coming with me on that raft wouldn't get you any closer to your home. But I didn't tell you why.

[It pains him to have to be the one to deliver this news, yet he supposes this is his penance.]

None of us can go back to where we came from. Not ever. The moment you set foot back in your own time, you will be obliterated.

[inhairently]

[ Those words hit like a cold dash of water that washes over his body and seeps into every part of him, numbing his brain and his limbs, but not his heart. No, his heart hammers so hard in his chest that he can feel it pounding in his ears, too. It's beating so fast he has a wild, fleeting thought that it might give out right here in the middle of the goddamn buffet and kill him all over again.

But he doesn’t understand it. Steve knows he can be slow on the uptake sometimes. He doesn’t mean to be; it just happens. Sometimes he misses details, or those details just don't fit together quite as he expects them to.

But this isn't like that.

What Smith said — he knows what it means. He gets it. But it can't be true.

He curls both hands into fists on the table in an effort to hide how they're suddenly trembling. ]

I don’t — [ He stops, shakes his head. His face twists into something hurt as if Smith had said something deliberately cruel. ] What?

[be_seeing_you]

[It's just punishment, thinks Number 6, this heartwrenching pain he's feeling as he watches those words sink in for Steve. The grief is so much worse for those who have people at home to lose.]

I don't want it to be true, either. But what we are is now separate from what we were. You are not missing at home. Your friends do not know you are gone because, to them, you never left.

cw emetophobia (not graphic)

[inhairently]

[ Steve doesn't really hear Smith's answer because his mind is buzzing with thoughts of Robin, Nancy, Dustin, Max, Lucas... Each of his friends back home. Even the assholes he used to call friends like Tommy H. All people he'll never see again, if what Smith says is true. He'll never see his big, empty house again, or go grab a movie at the Hawk downtown. Never know if they beat Vecna. Or if he ever had a chance with Nancy.

His stomach had been off all day but now the one french fry sits heavy in it and — oh, yeah. Fuck. He's absolutely going to be sick. There's a big trashcan not far from their table and Steve calmly stands, makes his away over to it, and sticks his head in to puke. It's mostly bile and a lot of painful dry heaving, and when he's done he doesn't return to his seat at the table. He just slumps down to sit on the floor, back against the trashcan.

It's a minute before he speaks. He wipes his face on his shirt, then tells himself that the stinging in his eyes is from barfing and absolutely not because he's on the verge of crying in front of this cooler, older, emotionally-in-control man. ]

It's bullshit. It has to be.

[be_seeing_you]

[The way Steve stands, so calmly, Number 6 doesn't at first suspect what's about to happen. Not until the boy's already got his head over the bin.

Number 6 sits rigid in place, frozen in indecision. Does he get up? Go to Steve and... rub his back? Hold his hair? How do you comfort someone at a time like this, when there's not a thing that can be said to make the situation better?

He does, eventually, stand. He goes to Steve's side as the young man slumps down, offering out a napkin for him to wipe his face with in one hand and a glass of water in the other.]

I'm sorry you had to find out this way.

[inhairently]

[ Steve says nothing but accepts both the napkin and the glass of water. The glass goes on the floor next to him, and after he wipes his mouth with the napkin he wads it up and throws it over his shoulder into the trashcan in a very cool (relatively speaking) basketball toss.

His mind is still in overdrive, fixated on how apparently there's another Steve Harrington who's still in Hawkins. A Steve who's never died, who won't ever have his horrible bat bites treated by a girl who talks about radiation burns like they're as common as a scraped knee. A Steve who doesn't think ghosts are real, or aliens, and has no real idea just how far the universe stretches beyond Hawkins, Indiana.

It still doesn't feel true. ]

Wait. Just... wait a sec. How the hell do you even know about this?

[be_seeing_you]

[He stands by quietly waiting for an inevitable question to break through the shock. And there it is.]

Have you met Ava Star? She was the one who told me. She has been here a long time.

[inhairently]

No. [ He shakes his head. ] But how does she know?

[ Seems like it's something impossible to know for sure, unless anyone here has actually seen someone get obliterated, as Smith so eloquently put it ]

[be_seeing_you]

She bore witness to another member on this ship being... inundated with memories of his life he had yet to live. He experienced it all in a flash without ever having gone back home. The only conclusion is that the memories were made by the him that stayed behind on the pre-determined path of his life.

[Don't be mad about his precise use of vocabulary, Steve.]

You are welcome to ask her about it yourself. But hers is one of the opinions I trust best on this ship.

[inhairently]

[ Steve has a big think about that, and decides to say something that's quite big talk coming from a guy who just vomited into a trashcan. ]

I don't buy it. Sorry. I don't. The whole point of this ship is to make people suffer, right? That's what I've been told, anyway. [ He spreads his arms wide as if to say there you go. ] So if you kidnapped a bunch of people, what would be the number one best way to make sure they're as miserable as possible? Make it look like they can never go home. Obviously.

[be_seeing_you]

The only thing more effective than making us believe we can never go home, is ensuring it to be true.

Last night should have been proof enough. I thought I could test his limits. I thought perhaps we might be somewhere beyond his absolute control. And yet, we came no closer to freedom than ever we were. I didn't want to believe it, either. But each day here a new piece of evidence is revealed that seems to corroborate what she said.

[inhairently]

[ Steve grits his teeth, because the alternative means giving into that feeling that he could break down in tears and he is absolutely not going to let that happen in front of Smith. ]

Okay, so? We just, what, give up? [ He shakes his head. ] I'm not doing it. I'm not staying here. Sorry if I'm not ready to believe what some random girl I've never met has to say.

[ He finally stands, leaving that glass of water forgotten on the floor for now. He's not as tall as Smith, but he doesn't let that intimidate him. He just squares his shoulders and looks him in the eye. ]

Are you going to try again?

[ Because Steve will absolutely try again. And again. And again. Whatever it takes. ]

[be_seeing_you]

I'm not expecting you to give up. I'm telling you this now because I want to right a wrong. You should have been told sooner. What you do with this information, now, is your own prerogative.

[Number 6 remains an immovable force as Steve squares up to him. His expression barely even changes.]

Yes. I will try again. I'm no more content to stay on this ship today than I was last night.

[inhairently]

[ That answer satisfies Steve as much as it could right now, and his posture relaxes a little as he nods. ]

Okay. Good. [ pause ] I wanna help. When you try again.

[ He stops just sort of saying please, though he may as well have with the pleading look he's got on his face. ]

[be_seeing_you]

[It's the unspoken 'please' that really does him in. He can see it in Steve's eyes.]

I'm surprised you would trust me enough, but, if you insist...?

[inhairently]

Yeah, of course I — [ He stops, huffs a sigh. ] Look, I know I can seem like a screw-up, okay? Like I don't get what's going on or whatever. I know. But this? [ He tilts his chin up and gestures to the nearly-faded ligature bruising around his throat. ] I get risks, okay? I know sometimes they don't work out, but you gotta take the leap anyway.

So far you and Lester are the only two people around here who seem to get that too. So yeah, I guess I insist.