[ Cartilage popping noisily from stiff joints, Stiles gently untangles their limbs until he’s able to swing both legs over the side of the couch. Already, the cold air swarms to leech the warmth on his front left behind by an overheated body. He suppresses a shiver, determined not to give Itachi a reason to give back the sweatshirt. Right now, the other man desperately needs it – and his medicine, which Stiles is relieved his boyfriend mentions. ]
Nah, [ he answers honestly, bending down to retrieve his folding knife from the floor. Closing it, he returns it to a pocket. ] I’ll crash later. Had too much on my mind to sleep.
[ With a groan, he pushes himself up onto his feet. It feels like he might require a steamroller to knead out the kinks in his back from laying down on that couch all night. Later, a bath is definitely in order. But first – ]
Gimme a sec.
[ Stiles disappears, mobile in hand. The sound of tired pipes creaking to life echoes through the cabin a moment later. Itachi may catch a few muffled sentences as the teenager speaks into the phone, ostensibly calling someone about the shuttle schedule at Whitegrave. When he walks back into the room, the device is cradled against his ear, both hands otherwise occupied with glasses of water. One is offered to Itachi without a word. The other is sipped as he waits to be transferred to the relevant department over the phone. He doesn’t know how his boyfriend planned to travel to Sumarlok, but Stiles refuses to entertain the idea of walking or flying. Not in Itachi’s condition. It’s just a matter of finding out what hour the shuttles are available. After another few minutes, he finally receives an answer and hangs up. ]
Okay, the shuttle here can bring us back to the city in about thirty minutes. The driver is just waking up. You’re gonna need something to wear.
[ Knocking back the rest of his water, Stiles shucks off his pants and silently drapes them on the couch beside Itachi. The black boxers he wears underneath are hardly appropriate to be seen in, but they’re better than having the shinobi walk around with his dick out. Not for the first time, he’s glad to share clothing sizes with Itachi. ]
We need to talk, though. [ Unconsciously, he folds his arms over his chest, defensive body language he can’t quite help. ] If you’re gonna take your medicine, does this mean you’ll agree to talk to a doctor about the disease? I… I gotta know. If there’s a chance to cure you, will you take it?
[Silent, he watches Stiles default immediately to business. He takes the proffered water in one hand, fingers feeling wooden around cool glass, and does not yet drink from it. There's little guesswork needed to determine who Stiles is speaking to on the phone once words are exchanged; so they're taking the shuttle. He doesn't protest this decision.
As the pants are laid out, Itachi studies them, gaze transitioning from the boy to the couch in a calculated look, a frown beginning to work lips into bent shape. Another decision he'll accept—setting aside untouched water to pull on Stiles' pants without protest, fabric warmed with body heat. Head down as deft fingers fasten the zipper and button, hair slides like a curtain to conceal his face when Stiles begins to question him.]
… I will speak with a doctor. [That low voice remains carefully neutral despite a slight gritty rasp.] A cure isn't guaranteed or even likely. You shouldn't anticipate it.
[Now dressed, he twists around to take a folded woolen blanket off the couch, rolls it loose, and steps over to Stiles in order to drag it around his shoulders like a makeshift cloak. The action is almost identical to the last time they were on these very mountains, when he'd wrapped Stiles' hands in his own scarf. Then he moves to reclaim the water, words coming only after a few shallow swallows.]
Even if I found a cure in this dimension, do you believe it would be guaranteed in the next? My illness could return. Additionally, what if treatment proved dangerous? Would you still wish me to pursue it?
[ Oversized blanket draped over his shoulders, he feels more than a little ridiculous – but nonetheless gladly cinches it shut over his chest with one hand, soaking in the warmth it offers from the drafty cabin. They probably should have started a fire last night before settling down; fortunately, the summer months have staved off the biting chill of the mountains. Stiles glances out the window to gauge the weather before settling back down on the couch, nodding absently in response to Itachi’s warning about an unlikely cure. His stubborn refusal to believe in such a worst-case scenario should be obvious. Like how he latched onto discovering a way to ensure Itachi lives beyond these dimensions, so too has Stiles grounded himself firmly in the idea that Itachi will survive this disease. His typical pragmatism has its limits where loved ones are concerned; he absolutely cannot handle the alternatives.
The slew of theoretical questions does draw him up short, however. Expression twisting unhappily, he stares down at his feet and pours over the options. ]
…All these places will have the power to cure you, [ he eventually begins, meeting dark eyes with solemn determination brightening his own. ] Think about it. These dimensions can revive people from the dead. There’s no way they can’t cure your disease too. It’s all just a matter of finding the one with that power. If the doctors can’t figure things out here, then we’ll work on getting an audience with Malachite. And in other dimensions, we’ll adjust as needed. This is doable.
[ Stiles hesitates. Reaching out, he fiddles with his empty glass of water on the coffee table. ]
But if the treatment is dangerous… I don’t – I’m not trying to make you suffer –
[ A pause. He swallows, throat clicking. ]
My mom died from a disease. [ The glass is knocked askew, where it tumbles toward the edge of the table. Stiles catches it in time. ] There’s no cure for it. And the treatments…they had nasty side effects. I was young then, but looking back…I wonder if the medications were even worth it. Her quality of life was terrible.
I don’t want that for you. [ Quiet and soft, with the air of a confession. ] We can talk about it on a case-by-case basis. And you have the final say. Let’s just…consider all the cards on the table before we make any plays, okay?
[Stiles' logic on a cure is reasonable, lacking the fact they do not fully understand how these dimensions work in the reanimation of the dead. It has occurred to him already that the body he is in might instead be a vessel, not his original body, but he has found little evidence for that idea so far. And any damage appears to be permanent, given that he has carried scars from one dimension to the next. Whatever form he inhabits, it's one that remains consistent across time and space. One which can have its chakra sealed, its illness suppressed, and then unlocked again—nothing ever fully erased or removed. Is it possible to find a cure? … They don't have enough information to assume.
Drawn from these considerations at Stiles' next confession, he is momentarily struck still and quiet, staring. He did not know about Stiles' mother. Context on the boy's life—the presence of only his father in all of the memories he's witnessed firsthand—has assumed the absence of a mother, but he didn't know why. In much of their earlier history, it was not his place to question (or he wasn't interested in doing so, with as much space as he struggled to put between them).
Itachi watches the glass fall, takes an aborted step forward, freezes again.]
… I am sorry about your mother. [It feels a weak and paltry statement. It seems unfair, and unkind, for Stiles to be in this position again. It is not something he would have wanted for him; if there's anyone to blame, it is himself.
He could have refused to Bond with Stiles. He should have, knowing what he does now, yet even he did not have the foresight to predict what would happen to them following that decision. Ever since arriving in Aefenglom, he's been possessed with the sensation of being unable to predict the future—unable to know what he needs to know. And it is debilitating. And here he is, again, causing someone he cares for to suffer. Will he ever be capable of anything else?]
We'll consider the possibilities. [A slight give; we instead of I. Itachi crosses to the couch as though to sit again, then hesitates.] … Is that all you wished to discuss?
[ Lips quirk upward in a small, tired half-smile at the condolences, though he doesn’t otherwise comment. But in spite of the nonchalance with which he moves beyond the subject now – as if to insist the death is ancient history – the fact of the matter is that the loss of Claudia Stilinski continues to cast a foreboding pall over his every motivation here and now. Stiles has never recovered from his mother’s premature passing. As a result, he clings in a desperate, uncompromising manner to his remaining loved ones, driven to a point of near obsession about their safety and wellbeing. This facet of his personality will no doubt become glaringly obvious to Itachi as they tackle the shinobi’s health in the coming weeks. And Stiles appreciates that his boyfriend has purposefully addressed them as a team on the topic. It’s heartening to hear, after everything that’s happened.
When prompted about what he wished to discuss, he falls silent. A bubbling froth of wild fear threatens to pour forth from his mouth about his fate back home; he’s yet to come to terms with it. Even if Itachi can do nothing about it, simply being able to vent would likely be beneficial for Stiles. But he hesitates. They’re both still exhausted – it seems selfish to dump his troubles on Itachi when the man is already dealing with so much. And considering the cold response his explanation had earned last time, he isn’t sure if he’s ready to broach the subject again so soon. Unhappily, he shelves the conversation. ]
There’s…something you need to know. [ Guilt sits heavy as a stone in the pit of his stomach, forcing the uncomfortable confession up his throat like bile. ] I did forget everything that’s happened in these dimensions when I was back home. If I hadn’t, I never would have –
[ He cringes. A hand passes over his face and lingers there. ]
My friend, Lydia Martin... [ The words taste like ash on his tongue. ] Right before I was taken, before I was erased from existence, I told her I love her. And I’m pretty sure she loves me too.
[ The urge to pace sinks its teeth in him. Stiles doesn’t budge from the couch, ashamed and miserable. ]
You deserve to know. And I know…I know it’s not my fault. But it feels like a betrayal.
I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how bad I wish I remembered everything. Remembered you, and how important you are to me.
[It's clear before Stiles has even spoken that the confession has weighed heavy through the days of their separation—another burden in addition to all of the rest. Itachi is not surprised to hear it, had accepted this eventual outcome since their agreement months past, but his own reaction is a shock. Where he anticipates cool, clear resignation is instead a dark and murky well miles deep, broiling with an emotion that feels disembodied for the fact that he can't recognize it as belonging to him. He's never experienced it before. It hits hard: an excruciating pressure in the chest like a hand has reached in and taken hold of his heart, gut turning with nausea, disorienting dizziness as though the floor has dropped out beneath his feet. The keen feeling of loss, too, as acute as a blade between ribs but easily tempered. More easily understood than this alien sensation of something else, strangely shaped and volatile, triggering his body with a stress response impossible to immediately process.
Though not choosing to engage Synchrony in that moment, the bleed between them is as unconscious as always—and Stiles will feel some of that hard, sinking feeling as Itachi attempts to smother it down. Where he was about to sit on the edge of the coffee table, he redirects himself, agitated energy used to collect both of their water glasses and carry them to the attached kitchen still in Stiles' line of sight. He refills both. Brings them back. Sets them down together on the table. Moving again, picking up a pillow that tumbled to the floor sometime in the night, uncharacteristically unable to keep still, unable to look Stiles in the face.]
It's all right. [It's not.] You did nothing wrong. [I don't like this.] …
[What else can he say? Making the attempt is somehow excruciating. This is what he expected. This is what is meant to be, what will always happen, because Stiles belongs to another world with someone else.
Yet sick, unrecognized jealousy continues to eat him alive.]
That is the nature of dimensions like these, it seems. Memories are not kept. We should expect it to be a reoccurring trend.
[ Even without Synchrony active, the bond between them proves powerful enough that Stiles is afforded a clear, unobstructed view into Itachi’s internal reaction to the unwelcome news. As he processes the jealousy filtering through their connection – incorrectly identified as grief – Stiles watches his boyfriend quit the living room in favor of the kitchen. The rattled, restless energy exuded from the man is disturbing, so unlike the frigid composure that Itachi typically holds himself to a standard of. He doesn’t know what to make of it, honestly. But obviously, whatever the shinobi may claim, it isn’t alright. If Stiles were feeling more confident, he might have reached out to catch a hand and steady the absent movements Itachi tries to distract himself with. Instead, the boy remains where he sits on the edge of the couch, huddled in the soft folds of the blanket and looking smaller than he is.
There’s a separate thread of discussion possible here on the topic of memories, tied inextricably to Jonas and Sasuke’s promise to save the young man upon escaping Aefenglom. If losing memories of these dimensions is a common rule – which it would need to be in order to prevent spawning alternate universes of home worlds – then Sasuke will not remember that promise. In fact, the younger Uchiha brother won’t remember Jonas or Stiles at all. The reality of these dimensions is crueler than Stiles imagined. But he suppresses the desire to bring this up in response to his boyfriend’s comment. During the month they were estranged, he had the time to mourn the sad fate of Jonas. Speaking up on the topic now will only serve to distract them both from the current pressing matter: Lydia. ]
It might mean nothing, but…
[ Stiles glances at the water, eyes tracking a bead of moisture as it slips down the side of the glass. ]
If she was here, I’d tell Lydia I’m with you. I wouldn’t change our relationship for anything. Not even her. [ An admission that does not come easily; either way, he’s betraying someone. While it’s true that he’s in love with Itachi, that love does not detract from his feelings for Lydia Martin. The two sentiments sit heavily in his heart, impossible to reconcile. ] It’s like what I said in my vows. I chose you. I’d still choose you.
[It doesn't mean nothing. Neither does it bring the hot, sinking sensation inside him any relief. If she was here—here in this impermanent place, this murky in-between that would not last forever. It's not the place where Stiles belongs, yet they are fated to remain for an indeterminable time. The binding nature of their vows had dissolved with the Bond; Stiles is no longer under any obligation to stay with him. Looking at him, Itachi can only see the negative impact he has had on the boy—the weight loss, the dark and sleepless circles around soft brown eyes, the childlike huddle beneath the blanket. Stiles would choose him, but would it not come with regret eventually? Would he not see the potential of a relationship with someone from his own world easier, better? Someone who would understand him, who would be able to meet his needs for affection and reassurance? Itachi has always known that he would not be good at this. And living in the moment, to make the most of what little they have together before it is inevitably lost, is too unnatural for him to do with any ease.
He won't abandon Stiles again, knowing the cost of that decision. He is certain now that he would not live much longer without him. An acceptable fate—if only it could happen in a vacuum where Stiles didn't have to suffer as a result. He will cling to this for both of their sakes until Stiles is returned to his father, Lydia, and his friends. Then he can die in peace.
It will just take some time to convince the irrational part of him mind, still burning over the thought of Stiles with this unknown woman, to accept it.
Decided, Itachi finally calms and crosses back over to the couch, sinking down at Stiles' side. His weight barely depresses the cushion; they're close, arms almost in contact through the woolen blanket.] Making that choice right now isn't necessary, but I believe you. [He believes Stiles would do it, at least, even at the cost of his own happiness.] I would not blame you for your lack of memory. It's fine.
How much time do we have before the shuttle arrives?
[ Lambent brown eyes, reflecting the light of the rising sun from the windows, flicker away as Stiles swallows an objection. Making that choice is necessary, whether Lydia is here or not. He simply can’t continue to lead two lives. The Mieczysław Stilinski of Beacon Hills, lacking memories of these dimensions, doesn’t represent his real self anymore. It’s a crossroad he’s stood at for some time now – has even broached in topic with various acquaintances for advice on. Who is he? Where is home? ]
Not long. We can probably head over.
[ Hesitantly, he eases his hand over Itachi’s, a question in the gesture. But he knows the answers before his boyfriend reciprocates, twining their fingers. He’s Stiles, and home is wherever Itachi is. The rest? They can figure out together. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Nah, [ he answers honestly, bending down to retrieve his folding knife from the floor. Closing it, he returns it to a pocket. ] I’ll crash later. Had too much on my mind to sleep.
[ With a groan, he pushes himself up onto his feet. It feels like he might require a steamroller to knead out the kinks in his back from laying down on that couch all night. Later, a bath is definitely in order. But first – ]
Gimme a sec.
[ Stiles disappears, mobile in hand. The sound of tired pipes creaking to life echoes through the cabin a moment later. Itachi may catch a few muffled sentences as the teenager speaks into the phone, ostensibly calling someone about the shuttle schedule at Whitegrave. When he walks back into the room, the device is cradled against his ear, both hands otherwise occupied with glasses of water. One is offered to Itachi without a word. The other is sipped as he waits to be transferred to the relevant department over the phone. He doesn’t know how his boyfriend planned to travel to Sumarlok, but Stiles refuses to entertain the idea of walking or flying. Not in Itachi’s condition. It’s just a matter of finding out what hour the shuttles are available. After another few minutes, he finally receives an answer and hangs up. ]
Okay, the shuttle here can bring us back to the city in about thirty minutes. The driver is just waking up. You’re gonna need something to wear.
[ Knocking back the rest of his water, Stiles shucks off his pants and silently drapes them on the couch beside Itachi. The black boxers he wears underneath are hardly appropriate to be seen in, but they’re better than having the shinobi walk around with his dick out. Not for the first time, he’s glad to share clothing sizes with Itachi. ]
We need to talk, though. [ Unconsciously, he folds his arms over his chest, defensive body language he can’t quite help. ] If you’re gonna take your medicine, does this mean you’ll agree to talk to a doctor about the disease? I… I gotta know. If there’s a chance to cure you, will you take it?
no subject
As the pants are laid out, Itachi studies them, gaze transitioning from the boy to the couch in a calculated look, a frown beginning to work lips into bent shape. Another decision he'll accept—setting aside untouched water to pull on Stiles' pants without protest, fabric warmed with body heat. Head down as deft fingers fasten the zipper and button, hair slides like a curtain to conceal his face when Stiles begins to question him.]
… I will speak with a doctor. [That low voice remains carefully neutral despite a slight gritty rasp.] A cure isn't guaranteed or even likely. You shouldn't anticipate it.
[Now dressed, he twists around to take a folded woolen blanket off the couch, rolls it loose, and steps over to Stiles in order to drag it around his shoulders like a makeshift cloak. The action is almost identical to the last time they were on these very mountains, when he'd wrapped Stiles' hands in his own scarf. Then he moves to reclaim the water, words coming only after a few shallow swallows.]
Even if I found a cure in this dimension, do you believe it would be guaranteed in the next? My illness could return. Additionally, what if treatment proved dangerous? Would you still wish me to pursue it?
no subject
The slew of theoretical questions does draw him up short, however. Expression twisting unhappily, he stares down at his feet and pours over the options. ]
…All these places will have the power to cure you, [ he eventually begins, meeting dark eyes with solemn determination brightening his own. ] Think about it. These dimensions can revive people from the dead. There’s no way they can’t cure your disease too. It’s all just a matter of finding the one with that power. If the doctors can’t figure things out here, then we’ll work on getting an audience with Malachite. And in other dimensions, we’ll adjust as needed. This is doable.
[ Stiles hesitates. Reaching out, he fiddles with his empty glass of water on the coffee table. ]
But if the treatment is dangerous… I don’t – I’m not trying to make you suffer –
[ A pause. He swallows, throat clicking. ]
My mom died from a disease. [ The glass is knocked askew, where it tumbles toward the edge of the table. Stiles catches it in time. ] There’s no cure for it. And the treatments…they had nasty side effects. I was young then, but looking back…I wonder if the medications were even worth it. Her quality of life was terrible.
I don’t want that for you. [ Quiet and soft, with the air of a confession. ] We can talk about it on a case-by-case basis. And you have the final say. Let’s just…consider all the cards on the table before we make any plays, okay?
no subject
Drawn from these considerations at Stiles' next confession, he is momentarily struck still and quiet, staring. He did not know about Stiles' mother. Context on the boy's life—the presence of only his father in all of the memories he's witnessed firsthand—has assumed the absence of a mother, but he didn't know why. In much of their earlier history, it was not his place to question (or he wasn't interested in doing so, with as much space as he struggled to put between them).
Itachi watches the glass fall, takes an aborted step forward, freezes again.]
… I am sorry about your mother. [It feels a weak and paltry statement. It seems unfair, and unkind, for Stiles to be in this position again. It is not something he would have wanted for him; if there's anyone to blame, it is himself.
He could have refused to Bond with Stiles. He should have, knowing what he does now, yet even he did not have the foresight to predict what would happen to them following that decision. Ever since arriving in Aefenglom, he's been possessed with the sensation of being unable to predict the future—unable to know what he needs to know. And it is debilitating. And here he is, again, causing someone he cares for to suffer. Will he ever be capable of anything else?]
We'll consider the possibilities. [A slight give; we instead of I. Itachi crosses to the couch as though to sit again, then hesitates.] … Is that all you wished to discuss?
no subject
When prompted about what he wished to discuss, he falls silent. A bubbling froth of wild fear threatens to pour forth from his mouth about his fate back home; he’s yet to come to terms with it. Even if Itachi can do nothing about it, simply being able to vent would likely be beneficial for Stiles. But he hesitates. They’re both still exhausted – it seems selfish to dump his troubles on Itachi when the man is already dealing with so much. And considering the cold response his explanation had earned last time, he isn’t sure if he’s ready to broach the subject again so soon. Unhappily, he shelves the conversation. ]
There’s…something you need to know. [ Guilt sits heavy as a stone in the pit of his stomach, forcing the uncomfortable confession up his throat like bile. ] I did forget everything that’s happened in these dimensions when I was back home. If I hadn’t, I never would have –
[ He cringes. A hand passes over his face and lingers there. ]
My friend, Lydia Martin... [ The words taste like ash on his tongue. ] Right before I was taken, before I was erased from existence, I told her I love her. And I’m pretty sure she loves me too.
[ The urge to pace sinks its teeth in him. Stiles doesn’t budge from the couch, ashamed and miserable. ]
You deserve to know. And I know…I know it’s not my fault. But it feels like a betrayal.
I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how bad I wish I remembered everything. Remembered you, and how important you are to me.
no subject
Though not choosing to engage Synchrony in that moment, the bleed between them is as unconscious as always—and Stiles will feel some of that hard, sinking feeling as Itachi attempts to smother it down. Where he was about to sit on the edge of the coffee table, he redirects himself, agitated energy used to collect both of their water glasses and carry them to the attached kitchen still in Stiles' line of sight. He refills both. Brings them back. Sets them down together on the table. Moving again, picking up a pillow that tumbled to the floor sometime in the night, uncharacteristically unable to keep still, unable to look Stiles in the face.]
It's all right. [It's not.] You did nothing wrong. [I don't like this.] …
[What else can he say? Making the attempt is somehow excruciating. This is what he expected. This is what is meant to be, what will always happen, because Stiles belongs to another world with someone else.
Yet sick, unrecognized jealousy continues to eat him alive.]
That is the nature of dimensions like these, it seems. Memories are not kept. We should expect it to be a reoccurring trend.
no subject
There’s a separate thread of discussion possible here on the topic of memories, tied inextricably to Jonas and Sasuke’s promise to save the young man upon escaping Aefenglom. If losing memories of these dimensions is a common rule – which it would need to be in order to prevent spawning alternate universes of home worlds – then Sasuke will not remember that promise. In fact, the younger Uchiha brother won’t remember Jonas or Stiles at all. The reality of these dimensions is crueler than Stiles imagined. But he suppresses the desire to bring this up in response to his boyfriend’s comment. During the month they were estranged, he had the time to mourn the sad fate of Jonas. Speaking up on the topic now will only serve to distract them both from the current pressing matter: Lydia. ]
It might mean nothing, but…
[ Stiles glances at the water, eyes tracking a bead of moisture as it slips down the side of the glass. ]
If she was here, I’d tell Lydia I’m with you. I wouldn’t change our relationship for anything. Not even her. [ An admission that does not come easily; either way, he’s betraying someone. While it’s true that he’s in love with Itachi, that love does not detract from his feelings for Lydia Martin. The two sentiments sit heavily in his heart, impossible to reconcile. ] It’s like what I said in my vows. I chose you. I’d still choose you.
no subject
He won't abandon Stiles again, knowing the cost of that decision. He is certain now that he would not live much longer without him. An acceptable fate—if only it could happen in a vacuum where Stiles didn't have to suffer as a result. He will cling to this for both of their sakes until Stiles is returned to his father, Lydia, and his friends. Then he can die in peace.
It will just take some time to convince the irrational part of him mind, still burning over the thought of Stiles with this unknown woman, to accept it.
Decided, Itachi finally calms and crosses back over to the couch, sinking down at Stiles' side. His weight barely depresses the cushion; they're close, arms almost in contact through the woolen blanket.] Making that choice right now isn't necessary, but I believe you. [He believes Stiles would do it, at least, even at the cost of his own happiness.] I would not blame you for your lack of memory. It's fine.
How much time do we have before the shuttle arrives?
/fin
Not long. We can probably head over.
[ Hesitantly, he eases his hand over Itachi’s, a question in the gesture. But he knows the answers before his boyfriend reciprocates, twining their fingers. He’s Stiles, and home is wherever Itachi is. The rest? They can figure out together. ]
Let’s go.