Hesitant phone calls
Mar 17, 2011 14:52:51 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 17, 2011 14:52:51 GMT -5
The ride back to Paris had been tumultuous for Adrien; he had been silent and sad and shivery at first, allowing Dan to splint his fingers tenderly and then clinging to him through most of the ride. Megan made him uncomfortable. Over and over again he replayed in his mind the moment in which she'd pulled that gun on Adrian and pulled the trigger three times, again and again all he could see was Adrian's stump of a hand. He knew he'd held the same gun on Adrian, but he hadn't been able to shoot him. He'd loved him. He did still. He thought for sure he would never forgive Megan as long as he lived.
After the hours passed on, Adrien in mute silence, he went through a period of pure frenzy as the reality of the entire situation hit him. Thousands of people in New York were dead and it was because of Adrian, a little bit because of Adrien. Adrian was something strange and unknowable now. When Megan came near him he flew into a panic attack and then held onto Dan's knee as Dan - who himself was completely unlike the bespectacled tweedy Dan he usually knew, but who was at least hardly monstrous - and sobbed over and over, "Je l'aimais, mais je l'aimais, je l'aimais."
Dan's own appartment in Paris was nothing like his and Adrian's, but as he was trying his best not to think of Adrian this was a blessing. In the guest room that he'd been given he spent almost all of his time curled up asleep. Megan had washed his clothes for him, but he'd almost not put them on just because it was her, and for two days he lived in a shirt of Dan's that did not even begin to fit him, not even because Dan was a bit pudgy as being Dan was so broad and tall. He crept downstairs to sit by Dan's side with blank eyes, sometimes, or to creep about and get some weak tea, but he shied away from Megan and was prone to bursting into tears at very little occurrences. After four days, he was finally beginning to look less than red-rimmed about the eyes, and the bruises on his face and body from when he'd fallen down the stairs had mostly faded, but the smudge-looking blue marks directly under his eyes looked more like bruises than before. Even though he slept all day it hardly seemed to be doing anything for him. He saw people reduced to bloody heaps of gore on the bodies of other, living, screaming people whenever he shut his eyes, everything bathed in an eerie blue lights. A few times he'd woken up screaming.
On the fifth day of living at Dan's, wearing his own clean clothes for the first time and feeling uncomfortable knowing who'd washed them, Adrien finally sat up and looked about and felt that perhaps he was overstaying his welcome. It occurred to him even to call Divine and see if he could stay with her - and then to call his mother, and thereafter, the most appealing option, Crowley - but he realized he couldn't talk to anyone who did not know the entire truth behind what had happened in New York. Beyond even having to keep his mouth shut - he was afraid he'd become hysterical and somehow blurt out everything. Divine and his mother wouldn't say anything, he knew, but they'd judge him and Adrian forever if he went back to them. This needed to be his and Adrian's secret shame.
He almost wanted to be able to tell Crowley, to let Crowley convince him never to go back to Adrian - but Crowley, unlike Divine or his mother, seemed likely to tell someone else, to try and bring Adrian down. That couldn't happen for obvious reasons. He adored him and would have wanted to stay with him, but... when it came down to it, Crowley, too, was unpredictable. This reminder of Adrien's tendency to trust without truly knowing someone brought fresh tears. He wiped them away before they became too much.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Adrien reached for a nearby phone and pulled it into his lap. Then, taking a deep, shaky intake of breath, he slowly began to dial a number.
After the hours passed on, Adrien in mute silence, he went through a period of pure frenzy as the reality of the entire situation hit him. Thousands of people in New York were dead and it was because of Adrian, a little bit because of Adrien. Adrian was something strange and unknowable now. When Megan came near him he flew into a panic attack and then held onto Dan's knee as Dan - who himself was completely unlike the bespectacled tweedy Dan he usually knew, but who was at least hardly monstrous - and sobbed over and over, "Je l'aimais, mais je l'aimais, je l'aimais."
Dan's own appartment in Paris was nothing like his and Adrian's, but as he was trying his best not to think of Adrian this was a blessing. In the guest room that he'd been given he spent almost all of his time curled up asleep. Megan had washed his clothes for him, but he'd almost not put them on just because it was her, and for two days he lived in a shirt of Dan's that did not even begin to fit him, not even because Dan was a bit pudgy as being Dan was so broad and tall. He crept downstairs to sit by Dan's side with blank eyes, sometimes, or to creep about and get some weak tea, but he shied away from Megan and was prone to bursting into tears at very little occurrences. After four days, he was finally beginning to look less than red-rimmed about the eyes, and the bruises on his face and body from when he'd fallen down the stairs had mostly faded, but the smudge-looking blue marks directly under his eyes looked more like bruises than before. Even though he slept all day it hardly seemed to be doing anything for him. He saw people reduced to bloody heaps of gore on the bodies of other, living, screaming people whenever he shut his eyes, everything bathed in an eerie blue lights. A few times he'd woken up screaming.
On the fifth day of living at Dan's, wearing his own clean clothes for the first time and feeling uncomfortable knowing who'd washed them, Adrien finally sat up and looked about and felt that perhaps he was overstaying his welcome. It occurred to him even to call Divine and see if he could stay with her - and then to call his mother, and thereafter, the most appealing option, Crowley - but he realized he couldn't talk to anyone who did not know the entire truth behind what had happened in New York. Beyond even having to keep his mouth shut - he was afraid he'd become hysterical and somehow blurt out everything. Divine and his mother wouldn't say anything, he knew, but they'd judge him and Adrian forever if he went back to them. This needed to be his and Adrian's secret shame.
He almost wanted to be able to tell Crowley, to let Crowley convince him never to go back to Adrian - but Crowley, unlike Divine or his mother, seemed likely to tell someone else, to try and bring Adrian down. That couldn't happen for obvious reasons. He adored him and would have wanted to stay with him, but... when it came down to it, Crowley, too, was unpredictable. This reminder of Adrien's tendency to trust without truly knowing someone brought fresh tears. He wiped them away before they became too much.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Adrien reached for a nearby phone and pulled it into his lap. Then, taking a deep, shaky intake of breath, he slowly began to dial a number.