capeandcowllogs | find a thread to pull and we can watch it unravel.

[ bradbury's nervous about this too, but if there's anything his conversation with jenny quantum has gotten into his head, it's that he's got to stop avoiding responsibility, even if it wasn't something he asked for. he's no good at this crap. people depend on him to keep them safe and keep their secrets, not to... validate their life choices or whatever. he's not even sure that's what terry is looking for from him; what terry's looking for at all.

regardless, when he slips into the diner, terry's easy to find, sticking out against the otherwise cheery decor like a black hole of despair. bradbury manages not to wince, hoping that thought doesn't cross his face, and he slides into the seat across terry. ]

Hey. You order anything yet?

[ terry lifts his eyes when bradbury slides into the seat across from him, but his gaze doesn't linger long beyond that brief acknowledgment. in a second, his attention drifts back to the window, where people and cars occasionally pass by. he seems tired -- he always seems tired, but the bags under his eyes are especially dark, and there's something exhausted in his shoulders.

he huffs out an exhale before responding, absently brushing his bangs from his face: ]

Wasn't sure, so -- I just. Ordered what we got last time. [ there's something uncomfortable in his voice. he's missing abby, too. maybe that's why he's so worn out. all these stupid feelings. after a tense pause, he goes on: ] Listen, can we skip the whole small talk thing?

[ there's a flicker of something in his eyes -- regret, maybe, or just the reminder of lost friends too -- but he simply nods, folding his hands in front of him on the table. ]

Yeah, we both know I'm shitty with small talk, anyway.

[ he doesn't waste any time cutting to the chase, since they both know what he's here to talk about. ]

Jenny's back.

Yeah. She is.

[ he says that like he still isn't sure if that's good or not. he's seen her. she looked so small and tired, like a part of her was still missing. he hadn't had a clear view of her when she'd gone down, but in his head, she must have looked something like that -- exhausted, powerless.

finally, he turns his head to face bradbury again. ]

If you're wondering? Yes. I saw her. No, I don't know where she is, and no, I don't know what she's planning.

I wasn't asking about Jenny.

[ bradbury's tone of voice is even enough, and he shakes his head. it's natural, that it's terry's assumption, but part of it distantly stings. he'd never actually asked terry for that kind of information, nor had he expected it to be given, and it hurts, thinking that he assumes that's what he'd want from the get-go. ]

I talked with her too. [ and the less said of that, the better. he takes a breath, wondering if he's ready for this conversation (how can he be ready for this conversation) before he speaks. ]

I'm not here to talk about you and Jenny. I'm here to talk about you and me.

[ the longer terry sits there, the more sure he becomes that he isn't ready for this conversation. nevermind the daddy issues, the intimacy issues, the trust issues -- he isn't even sure how he got to this point, with so many people he actually gives a real shit about. back home, the emotional wall he put up was thirty feet high and then some. how did he get so invested here anyway? invested enough that he can't brush off what bradbury or jenny means to him.

he fidgets a little, uncomfortable. ]

What's there to talk about? It's not like you killed me.

[ bradbury's normally a pretty calm guy, but he's nervous and worn, tired of dealing with teenagers and all these goddamn feelings, which are more trouble than they're worth. ]

No, but I murdered your best friend. [ or one of them, anyway. the waitress chooses this moment to drop by with their orders, leaving them with a pile of faintly steaming pancakes in front of them, filling the air with the sweet, sticky smell of syrup as bradbury awkwardly clears his throat. ]

You can't tell me you're okay with that. Or that your friends are.

[ something instinctively hardens in terry's face when bradbury uses that word -- murder. he isn't sure specifically what he dislikes about it, but it brings to mind the violence of the act, the sound of the gun shot (terry still remembers that). if it were anybody else, there aren't words to describe what he and julian would put them through. physical and mental torture, death if their victim got lucky.

people forget. these are dangerous kids with ambiguous morals, horrible powers, and a strong sense of loyalty.

but instead, terry's here. eating pancakes. with the guy that killed jenny quantum. ]

No. I'm not okay with it. We're not okay with it. And the only reason I haven't done anything about it is because it's basically my stupid fault and because you're -- [ what's the word. he doesn't know. friend? father figure? an adult he can actually trust? ] Just. This whole thing is really. Really. Freaking stupid.

[ if he was going for accuracy, bradbury might have used the word manslaughter. he may have intended to take a shot, but the actual one that he'd fired hadn't been on purpose. it had done the trick, regardless, and with his finger on the trigger, did arguing about the semantics matter? ]

It is pretty stupid. [ absently, he pushes a piece of pancake around his plate, watching it soak up the syrup. ]

But it's not your fucking fault. Why do you think it is?

What the hell are you even talking about? I was the one that let you get to her.

[ he sticks a fork into his stack of pancakes probably more aggressively than he needed to. ]

Did I ever tell you about my mom? What I did to her? I traumatized her so bad they had to put her in a nut house. That was me using my powers on accident. That's me not even trying. Do you even know what I could've --

[ he cuts himself off, frustrated. annoyed. agitated. ]

I mean, if it'd been Julian there instead of me? He would've killed you.

Would you be feeling any better if you'd killed me?

[ you don't even know what he's capable of. jenny's words come back to haunt him now, and it makes his chest ache, feeling like something's stuck in his throat, and it definitely isn't the fucking pancakes. he's never felt more powerless than he does now, sitting across from one of the people he's come to care about in the city -- really care about, though fuck if he knows how that happened -- and grasping for the right words to say. to make it better.

then again, maybe there is no making it better. ]

I wouldn't have held it against you, Terry. [ which is probably such a stupid fucking thing to say, and he doesn't know why he's saying it. he would have understood, is what he's trying to say. there's a difference between someone you're willing to die for, and someone you're willing to kill for to protect. ]

[ maybe this is just what happens with kids who get neglected, emotionally fucked, abused, hated, abandoned, starved of affection -- once they find each other, once they find belonging, it's terrible and powerful. they're barely starting to grow up, but there isn't even once among them who hasn't killed someone before. and there's a special kind of comfort in being fucked up together.

honestly, half the time, terry isn't sure what to do with the sort of positive attention bradbury gives him. ]

Killing people doesn't make me feel better. I'm not that fucking evil.

[ none of them are, really. not yet. jenny quantum and her lost boys. ]

If it'd been someone else, we could've just hunted them down and that'd be the end of it. It wouldn't be better, but we'd be even. With you, it's like -- Jenny actually liked you, you know? I like you.

[ "liked," in the past tense, and "like" in the present. it's probably a stupid thing to take note of, that difference, but he figures terry wouldn't be using those words unless he meant it. ]

Yeah, I know. Or I do now, anyway.

[ he hadn't known. terry, at least, seemed to know something about how to show people he gave a shit -- abby's influence, he wonders? -- but with jenny quantum, he hadn't realized the signs were there until it was too late. he wonders if she realized it in the first place.

someone else, maybe, would have told terry his friendships are fucked up. that he needs to find friends who won't destroy him. but bradbury's too familiar with knowing what it's like to find somewhere you belong and clinging it to it with all you've got to be the kind of guy who gives that advice. besides, it would be hypocritical. his own friendship with the mayor (if you could call it friendship) doesn't make any more sense.

at least whatever these kids have, it's genuine. ]

Liking someone doesn't mean they get a free pass on the stupid shit they do. [ he smiles, but it's an awkward, strained thing, and he reaches up to point at the bruise still healing on one cheek. ] Where do you think I got this?

[ honestly, he's surprised he said that out loud -- like maybe he'd hadn't even been sure it was true until he'd said it. sometimes, he wondered if jenny was a sociopath. they all were a little messed up like that, but she'd always been farther off than the rest of them. "raised by gods and monsters." she'd said something like that, like it was an explanation for how she was.

but he does know that jenny's angry, or something like angry -- and he's never known her to get visibly angry about something she didn't care about. he knows she could go after bradbury and try to kill him, but she'd rather argue with him instead.

terry doesn't even try to smile back. when he eyes bradbury's bruise, his default frown deepens just a little. ]

Who gave you that? Julian? [ if it was julian... ] Looks like you got off easy.

John Watson, actually. [ he raises a brow, and his lips twitch wryly, though there's no real humor to it, and it doesn't quite manage the smile again. ] You might have met him. He's the guy I got to take care of Terror and Rocket.

[ while i was in southwest phoenicia, he doesn't say. when i was trying to figure out if there was any way to stop your best friend without killing her. ]

This mean I can expect a talk with "Julian" too?

Edited 2013-03-12 10:32 (UTC)

[ right. watson. english guy, pet-sitter. terry remembers the awkward encounter -- nothing like meeting a guy for the first time and having to tell him one of his friends died. why is friendship so complicated anyway? ]

I don't know. Maybe?

[ his pancakes are getting cold. ]

He's a telekinetic. He was there when Jenny was killed by the Void. They were close.

So it wasn't the first time she's been killd. [ this is news to him, but he came in not too long after that whole void fiasco, and he still remembers reading the headlines about it. going by the guy's name, he can guess how the spirit of the century ended up dying.

christ, what a mess. ]

He wasn't in Africa, though. [ it's not exactly a question, but there's almost one there. did they not choose to stay, or did she chase them off? ]

She was killed in her home universe too. Long story. Ask her about it sometime, if you don't think she'll try to blow you into tiny pieces.

[ he doesn't mean to come off as abrasive as he does. but this is touchy subject -- one that he and julian pushed back and forth over and over, trying to figure out where the blame should go, if there was something they could've done better or different. should terry have stayed in the city? should julian have been in africa? would it have changed anything? ]

When we went out the first time, she wouldn't tell us anything. She sent us back. Maybe she was trying to protect us or something, I don't know. I don't even know why she let me stay, the second time. Maybe because she knew she was too far into shit for me to stop her.

She hasn't blown me up yet. [ and there's faint perplexment in that statement, like he's not sure how he's still standing. ] Maybe I'll push my luck. If she talks to me again.

[ he still doesn't know jenny quantum, and he doesn't particularly know what to make of her. he supposes she'll continue confounding him, and everyone else, until the end of time. it's still impossible for him to fully comprehend the exact level of destruction these children -- and they are children -- are capable of. finally, he shakes his head.

jenny said she'd cut terry down, if he got in her way. he wonders if that's really true, or if terry knows it. ]

What could you have done differently? [ plainly. ] What do you think you could have changed that would make things end any better?

[ terry doesn't really get it either. maybe on a subconscious level, he understands -- the need for a father figure, or even just an adult who doesn't see you as a weapon, a punk, a lost cause. there's something about what they are -- young, angry, dangerous, and powerful -- that being protected, having someone try to make them feel safe... that's something they so rarely have.

sometimes, privately, terry thinks the only thing stopping them all from going irreversibly off the deep end is people like bradbury. the little things -- the reassurances, the affection. forget the dramatic heroics. without all of that, terry might've already embraced the dark potential in him. jenny might have smothered what conscience she still has. ]

I don't know. Maybe we should have trusted her. Nobody can say for sure she couldn't do it. She's Jenny Quantum. She made a space ship just by thinking about it. She did enough over there in two months that there were people willing to die for her cause.

[ a little pause. ]

I could've stopped you.

You could have.

[ on pure technicality, of course, he knows terry has the capacity to. emotionally, the waters are murkier -- although it's not something he's afraid of. terry might have killed him, and he might not have, but one thing bradbury's sure of: it wouldn't have been because he wanted to.

there's a weird kind of comfort in that. ]

Do you really agree with how she did it? Could you really stand by while she decided to, I dunno, take over the world?

[ his gaze, when it swings back to terry, is troubled. bradbury knows his own faults. he's human, and always has been, and he'll always be limited by human thoughts and human failings. and yet, jenny quantum had said she wanted to save humanity, but he didn't see eye to eye with her methods.

jenny quantum didn't just attract people to her cause. she also repelled them. even if she'd been successful in her campaign, he wonders how far she'd go to crush that resistance. ]

Better her than me. Or Julian. Or -- I don't know, friggin' Quentin.

[ they were all "that type." the sort that adult superheroes worried about because they had the potential to go bad. the kind of kid they always tried to manage at xavier's or in government programs. ]

Do I wish she hadn't decided that international terrorism was the way to go? Yeah, maybe. I don't have a lot of friends. I don't have any extras to spare. And we had something. We were drunk a lot, and we all sucked at being friends like normal people, but we still had each other.

[ he's starting to get emotional. it's gross. he seems a little embarrassed of himself, reeling it in and visibly pulling into himself, arms folded over his chest, shoulders hunching. ]

Whatever. It's not like talking about it makes it different. I don't even know what we're doing this for.

She's back. [ is what he says, simply. ] And if she's all that set on saving humanity or wherever, that means she's gonna try something like this again.

[ unless they can find another way. he shifts, uncomfortably, on his chair. truthfully, he doesn't know what the point of this conversation is; he wants it to establish something, but he doesn't know what. ]

And I'm pretty sure neither of us wants it to come down to something like the last time, but there aren't any guarantees. [ he exhales, shaky, then speaks plainly. ]

So. You know what I can do, and you know I'd do it again, if I had to. You sure you still wanna keep hanging out with me?

You're the one that should be worried here. Between the two of us, there's one immortal, and it's not you.

[ terry makes a frustrated, dismissive gesture, waving his hand. ]

This is how you killed Jenny Quantum, okay? You killed Jenny Quantum because Julian wasn't there, and I didn't have the guts to stop you. You killed Jenny Quantum because she -- I don't know, gives too much of a shit about you to unmake you with her thoughts.

[ he probably doesn't even realizing how hard he's scowling. ]

So, no. I'm not sure. About anything. But I'm still here, so stop asking me stuff like that or I'm gonna get pissed and walk.

[ not sure about anything sounds like a pretty good description for how bradbury feels about everything right now, too. he looks at terry from over the stack of pancakes that have probably mostly gone cold by now, like he's considering something. considering him, mostly, and turning over the words in his head for a long moment. ]

Okay. [ he says finally, quietly. ]

Okay.

[ it's not really an adequate response to all of that, but it's all he can offer. he looks down, pushing a bit of pancake around his plate in a vaguely desultory fashion.

he can't promise terry it won't happen again. he's too realistic for that. he doesn't even know what terry wants to hear -- if he even wants to hear anything bradbury has to say.

and then, even more quietly: ]

Thanks.

[ the anger that was building in his face eases into something more like uncertainty. he's not used to adults responding like that -- just agreeing, accepting. "okay." it almost makes him uncomfortable. it takes away the authority figure that he can rage against, leaves him with an awkward feeling in his gut.

terry huffs out a breath, glancing off. ]

Thanks for what? I didn't do anything for you.

[ bradbury's gaze turns to terry, readily, and though the words feel like they should stick in his throat, they actually come out a little easier than he thought they would. ]

For staying. And for letting me stay.

[ if terry had asked him to leave, he would have. he can at least recognize that killing your friend's friend is one of the more extreme offenders on the scale of ways to fuck up a friendship. instead, here they are anyway. he figures that probably says something uncomfortable about how desperate for human connections both of them are, like jenny seems to think.

he's not calling terry out on it, as long as terry won't do the same to him. ]

So look, how about this: you don't shut yourself up in your room making me wonder if you're still alive, and I won't keep dragging you out for shitty heart to hearts. Deal?

I'm a teenager, Bradbury. Shutting myself up in my room is sort of what I do.

[ he's not disagreeing though. he's not being a contrary asshole. that's agreement enough. instead of arguing, he's finally cutting off a corner of his pancake stack, forking it into his mouth and chewing. it's a little soggy and they're not warm anymore, but hey, pancakes are pancakes. ]

Anyway, don't you ever get like, friggin' tired of babysitting weird fucked up kids from other universes?

At least play music loud enough so I know you're still breathing.

[ so dry, but he gets what terry's (not) saying. he takes a cue from him too, mechanically working on his pancakes. no sense in wasting food. ]

I dunno, babysitting'd mean you actually let me take care of you. I think you'd break my face if I tried.

If breaking faces was a thing I could do, I probably would've had an easier time in high school.

[ he rolls his eyes when he says it, but it's mostly for show. dryly, but not maliciously: ]

Do you even remember high school?

Hey! [ bradbury looks so offended, terry, seriously. ] How old do you think I am? I'm only turning thirty-nine this month.

I remember high school just fine. [ he grimaces, like it's a bad memory. ] Mostly that I was a stupid shit with too much to prove.

Thirty-nine? Oh. I guess you're not ancient yet. Just almost ancient.

[ not that terry has any room to talk about ancient when he's looking at existing for the rest of eternity. now there's a daunting thought. ]

I bet you were a jock. I totally hated jocks. They hated me too. [ a small beat. then, almost like it just occurred to him: ] So. When is your birthday anyway?

Totally a jock. [ bradbury confirms, not looking chagrined in the least. he knows he was a dick, but he figures everyone is that stupid in their life at one point or another; at least he got over it eventually.

at the question, he raises a brow, then snorts. ]

The twenty-first. When's yours? [ he says it almost like a challenge. ]

[ terry makes a face. to him, jocks were always the equivalent of bullies. but it wasn't like he'd been the most likeable highschooler either. he'd been one of those awkward kids with hot topic clothes, black nail polish, and friends who did hard drugs. he's matured a little since then, but it probably wouldn't take much guessing to figure out what kind of labels he had in school. ]

Gross.

[ bradbury's question makes his eyebrows pinch, like he wasn't expecting it. he almost looks annoyed. but it's more that he's caught off guard, and it takes him a second before he answers: ]

It was in January. Missed it already.

You little shit!

[ in a supreme act of maturity, bradbury kicks terry in the shin -- and he's none too gentle about it either, but he's affronted, as if the fact that he stopped mid-chew just to glare at terry peevishly. ]

The fuck didn't you tell me?

Ow -- what the hell, Bradbury!

[ terry flinches, then glares back across the table, pointedly drawing his legs up and sitting indian-style in the booth. he's all bones, okay, there's not very much padding! ]

What was I supposed to tell you for? So we could have some kinda awkward party or something? And who cares anyway, I'm going to have an eternity of birthdays, most of which I'm probably not gonna celebrate.

Wouldn't have had to have a party. [ terry wouldn't have been around to celebrate with, after all. ] You could've said something so I could have sent you a picture of a shitty birthday cake.

[ he's never been good about keeping up with friends, never exactly had many of them in the first place, but he would have made an effort for terry. kids deserve to have at least one less shitty birthday. ]

How old are you now, anyway?

[ his shoulders hunch a little, and he sinks into his seat like he wishes he could just be absorbed by the cheap cushions. irritably, he runs his fingers through the unkempt fringe of his hair before folding his arms loosely over his chest. somehow this turned into "talk about terry's personal crap" time, and he isn't sure what to do with it exactly.

at length: ]

I'm eighteen.

Guess that makes you officially old enough to smoke legally now. Don't, by the way. It'll stunt your growth. [ although if he hung around jenny, it was probably inevitable that he'd have done it at some point already. hell, they'd already gotten ridiculously drunk, and that was just once on-camera. who knows what else they've done.

those days, though, are probably long behind them. he wonders if terry still thinks about those days. they weren't that long ago.

belatedly, he realizes he's henning again, and grimaces in apology, shaking his head. ]

Can't really tell you what to do, though. [ as terry already knows, bradbury's a bit of a chain smoker under stress himself. ]

[ if he were asked, he might deny it ever being a big deal -- those late nights, the ones where they woke up late in the afternoon the next day in various states of disarray, barely remembering anything, laughing at each other. but sometimes he misses it. that was as normal as their gang of misfits probably ever got -- the closest thing they ever had to being like other teenagers.

but terry's used to good things being transient. if he wasn't, it would've hurt so much worse. ]

You can if you want. [ the sullenness hasn't completely left him, and there's a boyish sort of petulance in his body language, but he's not being that contrary. it makes you wonder if there's a part of him deep down that welcomes the parental nagging. ] Doesn't mean I have to listen though. What's next, telling me to go to college, making me get my hair cut?

You can keep the hair. [ bradbury props his chin against his hand, to all appearances giving the matter as much serious thought as possible. ]

College might not be such a bad idea, either. [ that's only half a joke. he knows it'd be complicated for a number of reasons, not the least that terry's an import. ]

Or you could get a real job. One where you don't have to clean up after raccoons.

Right. I'm sure there's like, dozens of jobs out there where being a Satan spawn cult baby with zero social skills is a prime prerequisite.

[ terry rolls his eyes lightly -- but more for show than anything else. it isn't like he hasn't thought about it now and then, but some days he just doesn't feel functional enough for something so mundane as an ordinary job. he used to be better, when he had healthy relationships in his life (abby, carrie, other people long gone), but he doesn't know if he can even stand to be around normal people long enough to work a real job.

he's sort of become resigned to always being the misfit. ]

Seriously? I didn't even finish high school.

[ why not, bradbury almost asks, but he stops, because the answer is obvious enough. after a moment, he shrugs. ]

You wouldn't be the first. And you could get a GED.

[ or join the military, but he knows better than to suggest that option. not that they'd let an import enlist, in all likelihood. ]

Seriously, though. Maybe you need to get out more.

I don't like getting out.

[ it's almost a touch petulant the way he says that -- grumpy, but in a teenager's way. he can't even pinpoint exactly why he's so avoidant of social interactions in general, except that somewhere between always being able to sense people's worst fears and having hurt people he cared about too many times, it's almost instinct to reject the idea of being around people whenever he can manage it.

bradbury, of course, is one of the few exceptions. ]

What would I do with a GED? Put my score on the fridge for posterity or something? And besides, what difference does it make? I'm basically screwed for life anyway.

On the fridge? Nah, it'd have to be framed or something, at least.

[ somehow, appetite notwithstanding, he's finished his pancakes off, and he looks at terry like he's trying to decide how to articulate something even he isn't sure how to feel about.

it's funny how similar he is to jenny quantum, in the sense that they've resigned themselves to an inevitable fate, don't seem to believe they could be something better. he doesn't know how to convince them of it, either -- or if he has the right to. everyone has to make their own decisions. ]

Why do you stay in the City, though? [ it's an abrupt question, as if he wasn't really planning on asking it. ]

Hell, if you're screwed for like, you might as well see what the fuck's out there. [ he waves a hand. ] I used to dream about doing that. Seeing the world.

[ terry seems a little surprised by the question, like he didn't expect it and doesn't exactly know the answer himself. it isn't like he hasn't thought about it now and then -- traveling, exploring or whatever. he's immortal after all. he has all the time in the world to see everything there is to see, learn everything there is to learn. he doesn't have to squander his immortality locked up in his room.

but most of the time, he wants to. and some days he can articulate his reasons better than others. at length, he responds a bit crankily: ]

What's to see? I just got back from Africa, and all I had to show for it was a nasty sunburn. [ a beat. ] Besides, all the dumb shit I care about is in the City. And it's not like I'd go around spreading joy and cheer or whatever. Even Jenny can help people. The best I can do is not fuck them up.

[ bradbury wrinkles his nose, like he doesn't know what to make of that answer -- since he didn't know why he was asking in the first place, though, that's fair enough. it seems like a waste of a life, somehow, but he doesn't really know what it's like to grow up not being human, the kind of problems it brings. growing up (almost) normal was already hard enough. ]

Never know what might happen unless you try it. [ he brushes crumbs off his tie absently, gives him a nod. ]

You ready to head out?

[ he won't dwell on it. he knows somewhere in the future he'll try his best at the bettering-the-world thing. he'll finish his education, become a counselor, clean himself up a little. but he can't see how he gets there right now. he' still got too much anger and conflict inside him, and not enough control.

his attention comes back to bradbury when he asks that question. he doesn't respond right away, but after a second he gets up, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ]

Yeah. Let's go home.

find a thread to pull and we can watch it unravel.

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