goneawaycomms

York takes her weight without trouble or comment, letting her get out whatever she needs to. She seems to get stuck, though, choking on the sobs that she won't just let out.

"You think what?" he prompts gently, then because he's incapable of not chattering even in moments like these, "I don't think he's going to tell you that, I think he's just got to work through this. Admit what he's feeling to himself for once."

The next sound out of her is a dismissive snort, though it loses some of its edge when her breath breaks for another choked sob. "Y-You didn't fucking hear him. See him. He wouldn't even hug me, he practically fucking pushed me away and he—"

She hisses a curse under her breath as her voice cracks again. God, she feels pathetic.

"We were in a fucking memory. One of— one from when we were kids, first time I ever heard someone tell me I should be more like him and— when he left, he went over to that little kid me and kissed her forehead and—"

She bites back the next sob so hard she bites her own tongue.

"I'm fucking bad for him, York. I always fucking have been. It's half my fucking fault he's even like this and— and I think he's finally gonna fucking realise it. Real— Realise he's only gonna get better about this shit if he cuts me out."

"Or he could just get better about this shit," York counters, "and you could get better about your shit. You could improve together, even if you're partly responsible for the other being the way you are. It's just about how much work you both want to put in."

"I tried! I fucking tried! I spent months fucking trying and he promised me we were being honest with each other whilst letting me believe a fucking lie the whole time and now I don't even know if I can trust him if he says he wants me back in his life anyway because then— then how am I supposed to know anything's changed?!"

It comes out in a single breath and she slumps, shoulders shaking.

"A-At least if he disowns me I know he's doing something. I-I betrayed him, his own fucking twin, and he hasn't processed any of it. He's spent months not thinking about it because he knew it'd change things, he knew he wouldn't be able to fucking look at me the same and— and now he's hurting and it's all my fault, like it's always been my fault."

She swipes at her face, but trying to stop the tears is futile. She can try and fight the sobs, even hold some of them back, but the tears are out of her control.

"I-I was always a fucking problem. I've always been the fucking problem, the problem he's been trying to solve his whole fucking life. I caused him nothing but trouble while he tried to look out for me, mopped up after our fucking dad, ran the fucking house, and I resented him for it because everyone wanted me to be like him so I got. worse. Over and over again. And he kept looking out for me, because I was his baby fucking sister. But I'm not a fucking kid anymore, I'm a fucking monster who got him killed and I don't even think he fucking loves me anymore. Not the real me. Not—"

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. She bites her own fist to try and ground herself, because the more she says the more pitiful she feels, the more exposed she feels. It’s years of bullshit released all at once and maybe it needs to be, but she’s never talked about this kind of shit with anyone but North until now, until he’s the only one she can’t talk to.

Edited (bigger wording changes) 2021-06-24 04:36 (UTC)

York is quiet for a long moment, shifting the arm he has around her to rub her back while she cries. He can't argue any of it and has no real desire to soften it for her but he does see the changes. He sees the effort she's been putting in. So when he speaks again, it's with a gentle question.

"Who's the real you? And who do you want to be?"

"I'm—" the sound aborts in the back of her throat. Who even is she, anymore? Does she even know? Does she even know who she wants to be? "I— I don't know. I don't know who I am, I don't know— I don't know."

She knows who she isn't. She knows she's not the little girl North still loves, comparatively innocent and still wronged by the world more than she'd wronged it. She knows she's not the South that betrayed her brother and left him to die, who shot Washington in the back and bargained with a monster.

But she doesn't know who she is. She's changing too much too fast and she can't get a grasp on it.

"I always— I always thought I wanted to be— be free of him. So I could be me. But then I lose him and I don't even know who me is."

"How about you work on figuring that out, while he's sorting through the rest? That way when you get an answer, one way or another, you can know who you are. Who you're going to be."

He breathes out, and this is something he wouldn't have expected to be saying to her only a few months ago, but. Well.

"You don't have to be a monster, South. The things we've done aren't all we are."

She snorts again, but it's weak. In the abstract, she knows he's not wrong, knows he wouldn't be saying this to her of all people if he didn't mean it. Just— it's hard to believe it, right now, after the way North looked at her, after that goddamned forehead kiss, after he couldn't even call her by her actual name after he accepted the truth.

'South' is a monster, and Natasha is gone.

"S'easy for you to say," she mumbles, scrubbing a hand across her face and cringing feeling the tears. The words lack any sort of bite. "Fuck. Fuck. I-I don't even know where to start. It's always been... we've always been..."

She bites her lip and shakes her head. She's not saying he's wrong, or that she won't try, it's just... hard.

"You start with what you want out of life. Leave North out of it for now."

It seems to York that South's spent too much of her life wrapped up in her brother, and vice versa. That isn't their fault but it's a problem. It built resentment and dependency.

Another snort, but there's an edge of dark amusement to it now, despite the tears still dribbling down her face. "H-Hell of a fucking place to try and figure that out."

York's right, of course. A lifetime of resentment and dependency, a cycle neither of them have been able to break. Knowing each other so well and yet sometimes not at all.

North's all South's had for years. The only person who never turned his back on her, no matter what she did. The only person who never left. She resented him for it as much as she needed it, needed the stability, needed the assurance that she'd never truly be alone because no matter what, Andrew was always there, waiting.

And now she's driven him away, too.

York shrugs, then goes back to draping his arm over her shoulders.

"We have to be who we are no matter where we are, South. What do you want? Friends? Self worth? New skills? A cup of coffee? Just think about it."

"Ugh, you and your— philosophical shit." There's still no bite, the frustration doesn't even seem genuine, especially as she turns a little bit more into the arm around her. Hard to put up a convincing mask when you're as emotionally wrecked as she feels right now. "I want..."

(An identity. Self-worth. Friends. A life. To be loved for who she is.)

"...right now, I kinda wanna drink all that fuckin' booze I stole."

Well that doesn't sound like the best plan.

"Maybe not all of it..." The alcohol won't make her feel any better, but he really doesn't know what will. "And not on an empty stomach. How about washing up and heading to the mess? I bet I could sweet talk the staff into breaking out the ice cream. Or the jerky, because you're weird."

There's a flash of surprise at the fact he even remembered that at all, but then she's—in an instinctive move the confuses her just as much, anyway—shouldering him with a proper amused snort.

"Asshole, that doesn't make me weird. You're weird. Or— dipping jerky in the fuckin' ice cream like some people do with fries and milkshake, that'd be weird."

She rubs her face, wiping away any fresh tears but failing to do anything about the mess left behind. Ugh, yeah, she needs to wash her damn face before facing any other human beings. Or even non human beings.

"...guess that's not a bad plan, though."

"It's at the very least a decent idea. Come on."

He gives her another little sideways hug and stands up, ready to go. He has a feeling she'll do better with a snack after such an emotional episode. And doing something else might make her less awkward around him, because he's pretty sure that's going to be a thing. South doesn't show vulnerability. She just doesn't. But this bit was a step in the right direction.

She'd never admit the way she leans into the hug before he stands up. It takes her a good twenty seconds to do the same, twenty seconds spent levelling her breathing and making sure she's not going to start crying again, but then she's on her feet.

If the way she can't quite look at him dead on is anything to go by, he's right on the money, but she just jerks her head as a 'alright, come on'. She doesn't retreat, recoil, run away. Not for now.

She'll deal with the complicated emotions surrounding letting all of that out later. Right now... right now, she just doesn't want to be alone.

York will hang out with her for as long as she wants in this instance, even if she wants to dip her jerky in ice cream.

York

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject